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Date Posted: 21:32:58 06/02/02 Sun
Author: SirensSong
Subject: Surprises part 5
In reply to: SirensSong 's message, "Surprises" on 21:21:03 06/02/02 Sun

The two of you walk back in silence. But it's a companionable silence, not awkward. You try to get your brain back in some sort of working order. But you're not having much luck. For one reason... I should have kissed him. You blink. That thought came out of nowhere.
You arrive back at the mansion. He escorts you back to the room where you dined. The plates have been cleared, and replaced.

"Dessert?"

For dessert is a chocolate soufflé, dusted with powered sugar. You nibble at yours, distracted by the man seated once more across from you. The way your heart is pounding, you're surprised he can't hear it. Well, who knows? Maybe he can... you think wryly. All you can think about is what happened in the garden. How would he have reacted, you wonder, if I HAD kissed him? Probably would have had you thrown out. You take another bite of soufflé.

"Who's your favorite artist?" he asks.

"Right now it's George Seurat," is your response. Irons thinks for a minute.

"Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte?" You grin.

"You know his work?" Not very many people actually can name any of George Seurat's paintings. This is yet another pleasant surprise.

"Of course."

"I'm glad. Too often too few people know his art," you tell him, with a hint of something else in your voice.

"Don't worry. Your art will never go unappreciated."

You look at him sharply, stunned at how he managed to pick up on your line of thought.

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's good."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, but that doesn't mean anything. A lot of artists are good. But they go without a bit of appreciation. All they have is their love of the art itself."

"Like you." It wasn't a question at all.

"Yes, like me."

"On the contrary, you work is indeed appreciated. Or have you forgotten?"

"No, I haven't," you reply.

"As well you shouldn't."

At some point in time, as the two of you talk on one subject or another, you happen to glance at a clock. Not on purpose, but you accidentally find yourself looking at a timepiece. You can't believe what time it is. You have been in his company for five and a half hours. It's one thirty. Mentally you thank yourself for not having a "normal" job. You really should be taking your leave of him. Should is the key word. But it would be for the best...

"Oh my God. I'm sorry, Mr. Irons. I didn't realize what time it was." You tell him apologetically, getting to your feet. He rises as well.

"It's perfectly all right. I enjoyed your company. And please, call me Kenneth." You look up at him, and smile.

"Kenneth."

He comes around the table, to stand in front of you. Looking into his blue eyes, you make a split second decision. What the hell... Crossing the small amount of distance left between you, you take his face in your hands, rise up on tiptoe, and kiss him, hard, on the mouth. He pulls you close, kissing you back intensely. After a few (way too short) moments, you reluctantly pull back.

"Good night... Kenneth," you murmur, before turning, and leaving him behind.



You step into your apartment, and sag against the door. Well, he didn't kick me out you think with a grin. Quite the opposite, actually. You can't stop smiling. You feel kind of giddy. And if the door wasn't supporting you, you might very well sink to the ground.

Kicking off your shoes, you walk into your bedroom. Taking the rose out of your hair, you carefully tuck it into your great big leather bound copy of "Hamlet" to press it. You hum a bit to yourself, "Written in the Stars" being your song of choice. You finish taking your hair down, and hop into the bathroom to take off the slight bit of makeup your wore. There is no way you're going to be able to sleep. Not yet. Besides, it is absolutely perfect outside.

Upon changing into a pair of loose fitting pants and a tank top, you pad barefoot onto your balcony. You bring an easel, a paintbrush, and some paints with you. Positioning the easel as close to the railing as you can, you start to paint. You don't really think about what you're painting, you just let it flow from the paintbrush bristles. This is how you relax, by coming out on the balcony and just painting whatever feels right. Sometimes it's not anything in particular, just abstract. Tonight though, it's the night sky, and the skyline you're focusing on. You study your subject intently before putting paintbrush to canvas. You love painting skies, especially night skies. The wind whips your hair around, getting it in your eyes. You brush it away absently, smudging dark blue paint on your nose. Loading up the brush with more paint, you pause. Cold shivers run up your spine. You glance around, because as silly as it seems, you feel like someone's watching you. You laugh.

"It's nothing," you tell yourself.

Now say it like you mean it... You decide to shrug it off, and go back to painting. After a while, that tingly sixth sense feeling vanishes. So you just tuck it away, and stroke the brush down the canvas. Your focus is on that piece of canvas alone. You're not entirely unaware of your surroundings, though. You have developed an ability to multitask rather well.

Considering that your watch is lying on your dresser, you lose all track of time. Your painting is partially finished as the first light of dawn begins to turn the horizon golden. You glance up, at the sky.

"Wow..." you murmur thoughtfully.

Setting aside your paintbrush, you wipe your hands off on an already paint smeared cloth. Tossing that to the ground, you decide to watch the sun come up, sitting on a chaise lounge you have on your balcony. You stretch out, watching as the sun reaches out golden rays to slowly warm the earth. The soft breeze and just how many hours you've been awake start to take their toll. Your eyes begin to drift closed. You try to keep them open, but sleep wins out, and just as the sun peeks over the horizon you drift off to dream...

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