Decatur Street, Study in Blue (closed for cgraven)

[Azalea]

OOC: Elizabeth Marceaux
age: 40
build: 5'4", nice figure, not skinny, in shape
occupation: journalist for The Times-Picayune, on vacation
status: single, recently ended a long-term relationship

IC
The familiar, lonesome sounding version of "Misty" that always made her so melancholy, greeted Elizabeth Marceaux's ears as she walked up the sidewalk from the Brewery to Cafe du Monde.
Her heels struck a staccato chord as she huried a little, wanting to get out of the wind which was unexpectedly brisk, blowing in from the River across the Riverwalk.
The old faithful saxophonist smiled at her as he played his standard, and she absentmindedly dropped a bill into his instument case, waving a little and continuing into the Cafe.
The touristas had not yet invaded the place in large numbers, so she had no trouble finding a free table, close to the railing by the sidewalk. She parked her tote bag on one of the little chairs and ordered one cafe au lait and order of beignets from the petite Oriental waitress who greeted her with the usual broken English.

As she bit into her first hot doughnut, the generous coating of white powdered sugar rained down like a little dusting of snow on her red cotton trench coat. Licking her fingers, she bit down delightedly into the fresh hot fried treat, closing her eyes with the first few bites. Settling back comfortably, she propped her feet on another chair and looked across the street to the front fence of Jackson Square, where the horse-driven carriages were lined up waiting for the tourist trade. She noticed several artists had already set up their easels and hung their wares on the wrought iron fence. Though the Square had been dominated by psychics and tarot readers of late, she had begun to notice the gradual return of painters and charcoal portraitists, and was happy for that trend.

She noticed one artist she had not seen before. From across the street, his work seemd of high quality, in fact much better than she normally saw on display there. He had his back to the street, and was already at work painting a portrait for a mother and child. Elizabeth decided to finish her beignets and coffee and head on to the Square to take a closer look. As she crossed Decatur, she noticed the Pontalba balconies covered with an unusually lush array of ferns and blooms, and was glad it was spring.

 

[cgraven]

OOC:

Jules Corbeau
Age: 52
Build: 5’ 11”, dark brooding, he is lean compact, no stranger to hard work, complexion ruddy.
Occupation: artist

IC:

My leg was stiff it hurt like hell as I limp up Decatur, the small brown bag in one hand, a rucksack on my back, and a cup of hot steaming coffee. “C’est, c’est Bon”
The rich taste of Community coffee a taste peculiar to the city, rich dark and exotic.

Jackson Square, St-Louis’s, the touch, the feel of, the heart of my home, for me there was no other place. The soft light of early spring, color, aroma, the taste of the city in the air. She was coming alive the soft, sensual, feel of her embraced my every sense. I set up my easel the little folding chair, a blank canvas.

Oil Portraits $50.00

French Market doughnuts, beignets, call them what you want, but to me they where still, “Pigs Ears” the childish name that I had known them by from my earliest memories for the way the corners curl up when they where fresh, the powered sugar hanging to them like snow.

The hordes of Mars de Gars where gone, the tourist that only new Beal St, gone. The city left to its self. A mother and her daughter come up, she wants a portrait but $50.00 was to much, the line s of her face the innocents of her daughter’s eyes, ther s something there a light, a special something.

“Ok for you Mademoiselle a special price……………………..$35.00”

The price fixed, hardly enough to cover the costs. The strokes are quick, the color’s vibrant, the play of light upon flesh, a glimpse of that something special that I see. A shadow falls over the canvas.

“You are in my light…………….”

Ten more minutes an it is gone. Start to finish one half hour,

“Is that really me?”

the bright eyed little girl asks.

“Oui Ma Cher, it is”

The smile that light in her eyes, her mother blushes.

“The paint is acrylic, you may pick it up in 30 minutes, it will give you time to enjoy a coffee, you can pay me then, I trust you Mademoiselle.”

 

[Azalea]

As Elizabeth approached the artist and his customers, she noticed that all of the portraits hanging on the fence were of a much higher quality than one generally saw at the Square. The little girl he was painting squirmed in the folding chair to the right side of his easel, while her mother looked on from another chair to his left.
Elizabeth stood in back of him and noted how he had captured the liveliness of the child, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes that was so evident, even to a stranger. The likeness was very good, and the mother was indeed fortunate in her choice of artists.
"Please, you are in my light," he spoke suddenly, and Elizabeth moved so that her shadow was no longer on the canvas. He had a deep voice, had spoken firmly but without any note of anger or even aggravation. She found herself staring at his rugged, handsome profile, and couldn't help but notice the veined muscles of his bare arms. A painter who works out, she thought, intrigued by this juxtaposition of physical strength and artistic sensibility.
After the portrait was done and the painter had sent away the mother and child, he turned to Elizabeth and smiled up at her.

"Good morning, mademoiselle, may I help you?"

"I just wanted to tell you how excellent your work is. One doesn't often see such quality around the Square these days,"
she replied.

"Very kind of you to say so. Could you hand me that bottle there, on the chair behind you?" he asked, wiping his hand across his brow.

Elizabeth handed him the water bottle and walked over to the fence where his work was displayed. Turning to him, she asked,
"Are portraits all you do?"

He took a swig from his bottle, licked his lips, and said, "I find them the most challenging thing. To capture the personality and character of a person is not an easy thing to do, but I enjoy trying."

He indicated one of the chairs, and Elizabeth sat down. In front of him now, she could not help but notice his shirt was open, revealing a lean but muscular chest. His physical attractiveness, in fact, was beginning to stir her imagination to subjects other than painting techniques.

As they exchanged a few words about his work, pieons fluttered on the sidewalk nearby, pecking at crumbs and debris, their soft cooing sounds creating a gentle music. The morning sun bathed the Square in warm light, the air a bit hazy as the early mist was burning away.

 

[cgraven]

"Good morning, mademoiselle, may I help you?"

"I just wanted to tell you how excellent your work is. One doesn't often see such quality around the Square these days,"

"Very kind of you to say so. Could you hand me that bottle there, on the chair behind you?"

"Are portraits all you do?"

“I find them the most challenging thing. To capture the personality and character of a person is not an easy thing to do, but I enjoy trying."

Her voice was light, her eyes animated as she took everything in at a glance. Her features where not those of a student at university but rather those of a woman that knows the trials and tribulations of life. Her age a thing of mystery, she could have just turned thirty or forty. No, not a young virgin in her fresh blush of youthful beauty, rather a woman at the highest of sensual beauty. Most intriguing, she peeks my interest as I motion for her to sit.

The pigeons of the square start their daily begging for crumbs, their soft cooing and the subtle beat of their wings, their payment for our crumbs. I empty the tails from my breakfast for them and they flock to the offering.

“I know they frown on feeding pigeons but I have done so all my life……tilt your chin to the right and up a bit Mademoiselle!”

A clean canvas on the easel thee first quick storks of the painting.

“There was a time when I did more than portraits but a last they pay for the necessities of life……………………… am Jules Corbeau……….and your are Mademoiselle?”

I add colors to my palette picks the lights and darks of raw color that will be come her on the canvas, which will breathe the life I see before me on the stark white jesso.

“A little to the left…ah that’s it…………………So I take it your are not a tourist. ”

Dip, mix, economic strokes the canvas takes life from her image and my hands.

 

[Azalea]

"And you are, Mademoiselle?" he asked as I tilted my face according to his suggestion.

"I'm Elizabeth....Elizabeth Marceaux," I replied, trying to hold as still as possible. "I work for the Picayune....special features."

As he blocked out my face with quick, sure strokes, my eyes were drawn to his hands. They were quite delicate-looking hands, really, almost at odds with the veined musculature of his arms. His fingers were long and slender, the nails short but perfectly trimmed. I was feeling a bit lonesome and vulnerable - had been feeling a lot of that lately - and the thought of such gentle, skilled fingers caressing my face suddenly left me feeling pensive.
I tried to shake off such thoughts, as pleasant as they were, and keep my mind on his drawing.

"So I take it you are not a tourist?" he asked, eyes intent on his canvas. What pretty eyes, I thought to myself, so deep and searching......but there I went again, and I pulled myself out of such reverie and answered, hoping my hesitation did not cause him to think me flighty or shallow.

"Lived here the past fifteen years," I said, "and been with the paper for about ten."

Then, for a time, we sat in silence, Jules busy delineating the triangles and circles that would evolve into my bone structure and expression, and I taking pleasure in watching a skilled artist at work, as well as in the soft breeze, cooing pigeons, and nickering horses in their jaunty flowered hats.

 

[cgraven]

"I'm Elizabeth....Elizabeth Marceaux," I replied, trying to hold as still as possible. "I work for the Picayune....special features."

my hazel eyes soft intense as her face began to come alive on the canvas. Wee talked as I worked, the sun playing on Elizabeth features. Her eyes where alive, and missed nothing. I saw questions there as she studied me a rye smile bowed my lips as I wondered what she looked like with out the trappings of her ensemble. I could se the delicate practicalities curve of Elizabeth’s torso the gentle curve of her bust and I longed to see more.

"Lived here the past fifteen years," I said, "and been with the paper for about ten."


Time seemed to ceased to exist there was just the light and shades that teasingly played across Elizabeth’s. I found her enchanting,

“Is it ready?”

Looking up startled the mother and child had returned.

“Oui Mademoiselle it is…………. $35.00 was the price”

The woman’s eyes lit up and she handed me $45.00.

“Oh no the price was made.”

But it is too little really Sir I must insist.”

“Very well”

She left her daughter clinging to her hand.

“Elizabeth’ Would you care for a coffee?...............My hands are stiff .”

 

[Azalea]

The mother'eyes showed how thrilled she was with Jules's rendering of her little girl. When the woman had paid for the portrait, he stood up to encase it within a protective vinyl sleeve for her, and Elizabeth heard an odd clicking sound as he moved from his chair to the fence where the painting hung. Looking closely, she realized Jules had an artificial limb, and she wondered what had happened to cost him a leg. She made a quick decision not to mention it, but to allow him to tell about it, if he chose to raise the subject at all.

Once the mother and child had gone, chattering happily together about their new possession, Jules turned his attention back to Elizabeth.

"Would you care for a coffee.....my hands are stiff."

"I would love to have another coffee, Jules," she said, smiling, quite eager to continue being in his company. "Shall we step over to the Cafe? But wait," she remembered suddenly, "your setup....will it be safe to leave evrything here?"

"No problem, we will be just across the street. And the young man in that second carriage there is a good friend, he'll keep an eye out for me as well," he replied.

Jules quickly covered the portrait he had just begun for her, locked a metal box containing paints and other things, and then turned to accompany her across the street. He placed his hand casually on her arm, chivalrously guiding her as they walked, and she found his touch, light as it was, exciting.

Only a few weeks before, she had ended what had been a rather long, predictable romance with someone she had known since childhood. The two of them had simply lost interest.....and it had been a long time since the touch of a man had surprised her with such......intensity. She discovered her heart was racing a little, as they crossed over to the Cafe and quickly found a table by the sidewalk.

It was not long before they each had a familiar white china cup of cafe au lait in hand, and they sipped their coffee and talked companionably of little things.....his work, her work, the usual sort of conversation people have at such times. But as they chatted, Elizabeth became increasingly stirred by thoughts of his hand on her arm, and she found herself feeling suddenly rather vulnerable. It was a pleasant feeling, actually, and she made up her mind to relax and go with her feeelings.

"Jules, how is that hand?"

He held up his painting hand and flexed his fingers, and replied, "The muscles are stiff.....I've been working quite a lot recently, and I'm afraid I may have overdone it a little."

"If you do not think it too forward of me, Jules, I would be glad to massage your hand a little," she offered abit shyly. "I have a way with such things. May I try?"

"Why, go ahead, I will welcome any relief, my dear," he replied, holding his hand out to her across the table.

She held his hand supported in her left palm and used her right to begin massaging his fingers, one by one, gently squeezing and tugging each joint, working her fingers down methodically. Then she used both hands to massage his, taking her time and trying to be firm enough to do him so good without causing any discomfort. Jules watched her work, fascinated by what she was doing, and occasionally sighing audibly, letting her know it felt good.

 

[Azalea]

BUMP
*keeping it easy for cgraven to find*

 

[cgraven]

Elizabeth’s hands where heaven and they brought a well welcome relief to my stiff hands. I watched as her fingers worked their magic and smiled.. I had seen the look on her face when my leg clicked into place and yet she had not run nor did I see that uncomfortable look in her eyes. I sipped my coffee from a blow as was my custom, the rich dark taste of the community club like ambrosia to my mouth.

“I am afraid it is my turn to be forward Ma Cher

.”

I took another sip and studied her clear steady eyes. Taking a deep breath to relax my face still and placid, a slight cough to clear my throat.

“Mademoiselle Marceaux I would like you to pose for me.”

Before she could answer I barged on while I still had the courage.

“I would like you to pose for a nude study.”

There it was said and now I waited for her polite refusal.

 

[Azalea]

Still holding his hand, working his fingers gently, I smiled and did not hesitate more than a moment.
"Jules, that would be an adventure," I said evenly. "I have never posed for an artist before, though."

Jules seemed surprised by my quick affirmative response, and said, "Then, you are willing to sit for a nude study, Elizabeth?"

I nodded my head and replied, "I am certainly willing to give it a try, although I am not sure if I can sit still for that long!"

Letting go of his hand, I sipped the last of my cafe au lait and asked, "Do you usually work on such studies at home?
And if you'd care to begin this morning, I am free."

Jules said, "Let me take care of packing up my things at the Square, and then we can go to my apartment and make a stab at it."

I found myself becoming quite aroused suddenly....the thought of posing nude for a perfect stranger had intrigued me, and I was eager to see how this would work.....

 

[Azalea]

*bump*
So CGraven and I can find it when he gets back