Starving Artist

[Avocet Oleander]

Winter 41, 512 The blue basket that held him that afternoon had once been the most liberating place in Avocet's world, where he put his worth on display. Sketches and paintings had once hung pridefully from its awning or were stacked carefully against its back wall, each a unique piece with its own passions and purposes. Once, he could not make them faster than he sold them and once, he had loved the art of the sale. But he had not been so lucky lately. The young artist's talent had not changed enough with the tides of fashion and he had become old news, floundering in the undertow of his own confidence. It struck him down as easily as it had picked him up, and for the first time he found himself struggling. New to the life of a lonesome bachelor, he had spent beyond his means and found himself threadbare, thin, and too ashamed to be sad. He probably should have just packed up his pride and moved back to his parents' sac, but the thought was too embarrassing to entertain for long. His sister was near to marriage and however little he liked it, he needed the money to travel, to provide her with the means for a family. How could he admit to her that he needed help with even that basic duty? At least his art had not lost its original spark; the elegant lines and romantic flourishes that had once been his edge could not be muted even by desperation. In fact, it endeared him more to his own work, made it difficult to part with the intimacy of their creation--even in the company of an interested eye. But still he wore a smile. He found solace in the little things, the Beauty of the world and the Truth of his grief. His recent pieces were the same wildlife and landscape scenes as always, but they had begun to focus on the embellishment of memory, the splash of splendor that always comes in a retelling. He had decided that it was his responsibility to see those things where others overlooked them. It was its own catharsis.

[Nissabella Rose]

Nissabella often liked to joke that her aerial dance career took up so much of her time that the only hobby she could really afford was shopping. This was more in the nature of an embarrassed confession than any kind of reflection on the study of dance, for she knew she verged on the excessive. Buoyed along by the very comfortable stipend that the Cobweb paid to every dancer who completed his or her training and contributed to performances, she liked nothing better than to spend her days off wandering the Orchard Market visiting the jewel-like stalls, trying on new dresses, and marveling at the variety of luxury goods and other merchandise on sale. On this afternoon, she flitted toward an amethyst-colored stall, irresistibly drawn to its slim, elongated dressing dummies draped in sleek, brightly colored gowns. The weaver and seamstress who ran the stall smiled in recognition as Nissabella approached, knowing her for an eager and susceptible customer. "Looking for some new clothes, are we, Endalla?" the seamstress asked by way of greeting. "You haven't stopped by since late fall! We have some new styles that I think you'd enjoy. For you, may I suggest…?" Two hours later, Nissabella emerged from the seamstress' stall slightly weary but satisfied, with a new loose dress for dance practice over one arm and an order for a new gown for special occasions in royal blue silk. She giggled with private excitement. From the sketches the seamstress had shown her, the gown would be beautiful, and she was sure to feel beautiful wearing it. It would be costly, of course, but then this shopping excursion was meant for splurging! She scampered toward another familiar booth, laden with jars of liquefied, blended fruit. They would make a treat, but her dancing teachers had warned her against too many sweets in her diet. Nissabella regretfully moved on. The next stall was blue-toned and its goods--an assortment of drawings and paintings--were unfamiliar, at least to her. Of course, vendors tended to change often in Kalinor's hanging market, more than she could ever keep up with. Vaguely interested in the novel wares, Nissabella wandered over. The first drawing that captured her attention was a portrayal of what she thought must be a deer. She had only seen the animal once, on one of her rare excursions aboveground during a school field trip. Nissabella would never admit it to anyone, but being aboveground always frightened her. All that sky, all that brightness…it was just too much. Too frightening, too empty and vast, not like the dark, cool safety of Kalinor. She had liked the deer, though; she remembered that much. The artist here hadn't gotten some of the proportions right, from what little she recalled of the delicate, slender creature's appearance before it had bounded away into the underbrush. But he had beautifully captured its air of fragility and sensitivity and the innocence in those huge dark eyes. It was a small, but pretty piece, and she wondered idly how much it cost. Lifting her head to inquire, Nissabella blinked incredulously when she saw the familiar, colorfully clad figure inside the stall. She hadn't seen him since her last year at Mene Madras, but his name rose easily to her lips. "Avocet?" she asked, sounding slightly astonished. "Is that you? Are these drawings, are they all yours?"

[Avocet Oleander]

Avocet recognized her the moment she dropped in, but the words to acknowledge her caught in his throat. From the opposite corner of the stall, he watched her observe his work, scrutinize it. Telling himself he would have done the same with any customer, he waited in cowardice for her golden eyes to turn to him. Any more would be impolite. "Nisabella!" He greeted, and as his arms flew outward in welcome, one collided with a hanging canvas behind him. It bellowed like a drum and swung in protest, while its aggressor recoiled with a laugh. Steadying it, he inspected the integrity of the paint as he answered, "Yes, yes. They are what keeps me busy nowadays. And you?" Then he finally turned to her, wiping his hands' distraction on his thighs. A split decision and he was offering her his hand. It had been, perhaps, just a bit too long since they had last met. Anything more than a shake would be too intimate. "What have you been up to?" In fact, he knew exactly what she had been up to. She had not lost that dancer's body which she had worn in their shared youth, and Avocet did not hesitate to steal a glance at it. He had never been ashamed of appreciating such Beauty, even when social rules dictated otherwise. Anyway, he knew he had seen her name on a billfold once or twice. His inquiries were a polite curiosity at most, and a sales tactic at their basest. His rubied gaze trailed down to the drawing that had caught her eye. An eagerness welled in him to mention it, but he knew it was too soon. Hopefully she would bring it up first, and he could invest in a warm meal tonight.

[Nissabella Rose]

A giggle bubbled forth from Nissabella's lips at the sight of Avocet's enthusiastic welcome, all flying arms and cheerful laughter. It must have been three or four years since they had last spoken, back when they were both attending Mene Madras, Kalinor's public school, but clearly some things about Avocet hadn't changed a bit. He was still clad in wildly colorful Ranekrissa silks, he still expressed himself in dramatic, eye-catching gestures that both amused and delighted her, and he still had an eye for pretty girls, if his speculative glance at her was any indication. In those days, she'd often teased him about becoming an aerial dancer himself, given his penchant for all things striking, vivid, and memorable. She hadn't known that he could draw and paint, though. It suited him, Nissabella decided, accepting his proffered hand and shaking it lightly, as befitted old friends who had drifted apart in the last few years. She could just see this colorful young man not just bumping canvases with his arms, but also smearing paint in his hair and all over his hands while lost in the throes of creativity or impetuously splattering drops of paint on artwork while making one of his trademark sweeping gestures. "Oh, me?" she replied airily. "I've been studying aerial dance, of course. I'm only an Egg at the moment, one of the chorus dancers, but I've been getting better and better parts in the productions, and I like to think that I've caught Kanasa Curare's eye and…" Nissabella broke off, laughing self-consciously. "Listen to me babbling about myself! I didn't mean to sound so self-centered. Really, it's good to see you again. I swear, you've hardly aged a day! Looking at you, I can hardly believe it's been four or five years since you and Aessila…that is…" She caught herself just in time on the verge of blurting out something insensitive or careless. This was hardly the time to bring up ancient and awkward history or to touch upon any wounds that might still linger from the past. Her eyes moved toward Avocet's, mutely seeking understanding and pardon. With an effort at lightness, she changed the subject, doing her best not to sound too ignorant about his chosen occupation. "So, tell me about your drawings. Is this how you make your living nowadays? Does it…well, does it pay? I don't think I've ever seen an artist setting up shop in the Orchard Market before. " Nissabella gestured toward the paintings and pictures behind him, her movements more measured and delicate than his greeting. "And most importantly, of course, which one of your artworks do you think is your best? I couldn't possibly presume to judge your work, but you must know how to appreciate art better than anyone, especially your own art."