Drawing Jerusha IIIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | PreGameLogs | Drawing Jerusha II For his second session with Jerusha Corrino, Claudio made sure to arrive at the Papingo Terrace a little ahead of time, since he had some extra setting up to do. He'd brought a large-sized sketch pad and an easel to set it up on, as well as his usual artist's satchel and bakery box. He studied the terrace, the sky, and the angle of the light for a while before he chose a spot to unfold the easel. Then he propped the sketchpad on the easel and dug out several sticks of charcoal from his satchel. Jerusha arrived a little late, walking fast without appearing to hurry. "Good day," she said in a pleasant tone. "I take it I should sit over here?" "If you would, please," Claudio replied, "on that bench next to the balcony rail. I'm going to be asking you to sit still this time, so choose a position you'll be comfortable in." "Do I get a cookie first?" she asked mischievously. On closer inspection, she moved as if she were a little tired, and had a glow of recent exercise about her, which Claudio easily recognized. "I won my bout," she added. "I didn't really expect to, but I did." "Good for you," he applauded, as he stooped to untie the string of the bakery box. "Who was your opponent?" Since he followed the sport, Claudio knew most of the sword dancers by name and at least somewhat by reputation. "Dusaer Vangrast." The woman she named was at around the same level as she, perhaps a bit higher. "I heard she's been training hard. But then, so have I." Jerusha plucked two chocolate cookies out of the box and retired to the bench, where she moved around a bit until she found a comfortable position. Claudio nodded, impressed. "She's been riding high, I know that. She took down Eskaton Arpril last cycle, and he was an odds-on favorite. Nice work." He took a cookie from the box and nibbled it while he got himself settled behind the easel. "Thank you." He studied Jerusha intently for a few moments, then said, "I like that pose, but if you could tilt your head up and to the right just a little..." "Like this?" she said, trying to comply while whisking cookie crumbs away from her mouth. "Yes, that's good." Claudio grinned briefly. "We'll save the rest of the cookies for when we take a break. Hmmm... I want to see that hand. Can you rest your right wrist on your left knee so that it hangs down? Is that comfortable?" "It doesn't feel terribly attractive," she remarked. "But you're the artist." "Mm-hmm, and this isn't a courting portrait, either," Claudio said with a note of amusement in his voice. He picked up a stick of charcoal and started putting lines on the paper. She pulled an odd face, somewhere between and laugh and a frown. "No," she agreed. "Are there such things?" she added a moment later. "Oho, yes. They're practically an industry," Claudio informed her. "Houses who want their children to make advantageous marriages commission portraits that will -- show their best side, shall we say -- and then send them round to other Houses whose alliances they wish to court. There are Trumps in a similar style, too, though they're usually commissioned at a later stage in the courtship." "Oh. I've never -- paid much attention to such things. I'm not interested in getting married." Years of practice made it possible for her to seem perfectly relaxed. "It seems rather pointless, when they're bound to see the, er, candidates in person eventually. And when the candidates can shape-shift, anyway." "Mmm, well, shapeshifting to the extent of fine-tuning personal appearance isn't as widespread as you might think," said Claudio. "Most shifters have two or three basic forms and alternate between those. But I agree with you -- the thought of a political-alliance type marriage doesn't really appeal to me either. Of course, it's easy for me to say that since no one's likely to offer me one," he added with a slight, rueful laugh. Jerusha winced, then tried to return her head to the same angle it had been at before. "Father and I really aren't important enough for that sort of thing, anyway," she said softly. "All the better," Claudio maintained. "That means that when you do choose a partner, it will be because that's what you both want -- for yourselves, not anybody else. Chin just a little higher, please," he added parenthetically. She blinked, trying to work out which 'you' he meant, and also moved her chin. "I suppose so," she said dubiously. "I daresay Father will want to marry again someday. I don't know why he hasn't." She tried to keep the disapproval out of her tone. "Thank you, that's good." Claudio gave Jerusha an intent look before returning to his work. "Perhaps he simply hasn't met anyone he could love the same way as he did your mother," he suggested. She held very still for a long moment. "He doesn't act like he's in mourning." Claudio shook his head. "That's not the same thing." He looked up at Jerusha again. "Why, would you rather he did?" He sounded curious rather than accusing. Somehow she managed not to twitch her chin out of line again. "It's not respectable behavior," she said. "What, not staying in mourning for the rest of his life? Given that he's a Logrus Master, that could be rather a long time," Claudio pointed out. "No," she said crisply. "Acting like people don't know or care what he does. Or who he does it with." "And do they?" Claudio inquired mildly. "Care, I mean." "They must. Even when he's here, he almost never goes anywhere or does anything." "Maybe he doesn't want to," Claudio suggested. "The social whirl isn't to everyone's taste. Though he's obviously socializing with -someone,-" he added, quirking an eyebrow at her over the edge of the easel. "He used to see a lot more people, before he practically moved to Amber." Her voice was firm. "Now, everybody knows he's done that. He just works on medical things, visits around our House. Sometimes even when he's here I don't see him for days at a time." "I'm not sure I quite understand," said Claudio. "First you're saying that he never goes anywhere or does anything, and in the next breath you're telling me he's gone for days at a time. Something doesn't match up here." "Work doesn't count," she said impatiently. "Doesn't it?" responded Claudio, sketching busily. "For someone as dedicated to his work as your father, I'm not sure that's true." "I suppose. But if he's that dedicated, why does he have to run off all the time? Other people work hard *and* stay in the Courts where they belong." "Sometimes you have to go where the work is, I imagine," said Claudio. "From what I've heard Delluth say, the post at Hendrake University was a good opportunity for him." "A good opportunity for what?" she asked. "There was never a shortage of work before he left, as far as I could tell." "But not as prestigious, perhaps," suggested Claudio. "Or he wanted the chance to teach ... or the stimulation of a different environment. Who can say?" "Exactly! There's no good reason for it. It's a, a whim, or something. It's irresponsible." Her current mulish expression was most likely familiar to Delluth, but probably was not something he'd like to see captured in a painting intended as a gift. "Ah, well," Claudio said in a placating tone, "I suppose we just have to assume that our parents are old enough to make up their own minds about these things." She shot him a hard look at the tone, then remembered that she was criticizing her father, and in front of someone who considered him a friend. "I suppose," she said, and tried to compose herself. She'd been in such a good mood... Claudio scrutinized her closely for a moment, glanced up at the sky, then suggested, "How about a break? Take a stretch, work the kinks out of your shoulders, have a cookie." She sighed a little, and flexed her shoulders. Too much tension. "Has your brother Pavlo told you about his upcoming schedule?" she asked, hoping to start a conversation about a nice, neutral topic. "Do you mean his tournament rounds, or his patrol postings?" asked Claudio. He passed the box of cookies to Jerusha, and added with a sly grin, "Or are we talking about his social schedule? That's been rather hectic of late, from what I understand." "Tournament rounds," she said with mild disapproval, fishing for more chocolate. "He and Rudin are getting ambitious." There was a pause, while she visibly decided whether to add to that. "There may be personal reasons for that, I suppose," she concluded primly. Claudio gave her an overly innocent look. "High spirits, you mean? Could be." "Showing off," she said around a mouthful of cookie. "A common affliction among sword-dancers." He laughed. "I hardly think it's limited to them!" "True, but the sport itself tends to bring it out more than, say, gardening does. Or maybe it just attracts a lot of people who want to show off." "It does draw audiences," admitted Claudio. "I should know -- I'm one of them. Quite aside from having family and friends involved, it's lovely to watch." "When it's done well," Jerusha said. "If you know what you're looking at, some of the beginners, particularly, are just horrific to see." "That's true of any art," said Claudio. "You would =not= want to look at my first, oh, dozen sketchbooks, believe me. And let's not talk about the first year or two after Madalin took up the vielle." He winced comically. She chuckled. "Remembering that stage makes watching it even more painful." "Because you can remember yourself doing just those things," he agreed, nodding. "And wanting to be better, but not being there yet." Jerusha leaned back on one hand, holding another cookie in the other. "It's good to be able to look back over all that territory." "As well the way you still have in front of you. I know," said Claudio, smiling. "Fortunately, it's not something you run out of." She nibbled thoughtfully on the cookie. "It doesn't seem as urgent as it used to, somehow. Like there's no need to hurry, and I can choose my route. Maybe that's what they call maturity." "I'm still in the impatient stage, I'm afraid," Claudio said a little ruefully. "There's so much I want to be able to do, or at least try, that I can't accomplish yet." "Keep practicing," she advised benevolently, having forgotten that she was supposed to disapprove of him. "It'll come. Or it won't. The only real failure is giving up," she concluded, sounding a great deal like her father. "That doesn't seem likely to happen anytime soon," Claudio assured her with a twinkle. "I've been told I'm quite amazingly stubborn. Not to say pigheaded." The right-hand corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. "No wonder my father likes you." "Yes, we do seem to have that in common," agreed Claudio. "Along with an unconscionable degree of curiosity." "Hmm. A good combination for a scholar, but for an artist?" "I'm not sure there's such a dichotomy between the two," said Claudio. "Or why one person can't be both, for that matter." She shrugged, stirring a bit restlessly. "I still don't know much about doing art." "Don't you? You're a Sword Dancer," Claudio pointed out. "But I don't think of it as an art," she said seriously. "It's a skill, a competition, and, yes, a way to show off. Stubbornness is useful, but curiosity? Only if determination to learn more and more counts as that." "I think that's part of it," said Claudio. "Pushing the limits ... of your abilities, of what it's possible to do." "Maybe," she mused. "I guess I'm judging by my father's curiosity. Which goes any-which-where all the time. I'm more focused than that, like most people." "You've also chosen activities where you can more or less tell what sort of knowledge will be useful to you and what won't," Claudio said. "When one's field of study is the world around us ... or even if you narrow it down to 'people' ... well, who knows what might come in handy?" "True enough," she said, shrugging again, and tried to get the conversation back onto a more interesting track. "So, I heard Pavlo and Rudin are going to declare intent to move up to the next level." She referred, Claudio knew, to a declaration that sword dancers sometimes used when they felt the normal scoring and assignment system wasn't moving them along fast enough. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it was just humiliating. Claudio nodded. "Now that Rudin's back from patrol. Pavlo says he needs the challenge ... at least, that's what he told me." "I hope they know what they're doing," she said, and proceeded to talk about the pairs Pavlo and his partner would have to 'get through' to achieve their goal. She had a serious kind of enthusiasm, talking about her sport (or art), which showed more in the energy she applied to it than in facial expression. It was no wonder people thought her cold. Claudio kept his eyes on her as she talked, storing up the subtle shifts in her expression that might pass unnoticed by a more casual gaze. He was knowledgeable enough about sword dancing to ask pertinent questions, to keep her going. Once she was finished with her cookie, however, he interrupted long enough to say, on a note almost of apology, "Can we go back to sketching? I still have a bit of work to do on this before we end the session, and I don't want to make you late." "Oh -- of course," she said, surprised at herself. She put herself into a good approximation of the pose she had been holding before. He really was a nice young man, she thought; it was a pity he came from such a disreputable family. A glance at his sketch, however, told Claudio that the approximation wasn't good enough. "That's not quite the way we had it before," he told Jerusha. He got up from his seat and limped over to her. "If you don't mind...?" He paused a moment with a hand raised toward her face, his eyes querying permission to adjust the angle of her head. "All right," she said, with fairly good humor. His touch was light, almost clinical, in contrast to the penetrating intensity of his gaze. She stared back at him, puzzled, and then a man's voice off to her left said, "Jerusha?" She flinched, just a little, and turned to look. "Hello, Tiercel." Her cheeks began to turn pink. Claudio, also turning, saw a tall man with a rough-hewn look to his face that seemed at odds with his fine, fashionable clothing. He knew the name, if not the face: Jerusha's erstwhile sword dancing partner. Hanging on to the man's arm was a thin, sharp-faced woman he knew rather better, though without much liking. Jarka Manhanakorn had been a classmate of his sister Madalin at one time, a daughter of a minor House who routinely belittled others in order to shore up her own ego. He straightened, his hand coming away unhurriedly from Jerusha's face. "Tiercel Deshane, I presume?" he queried. "And your ... wife?" Jarka recognized him at about the same time and exclaimed, "Claudio Barimen!" Tiercel glanced between Claudio and Jerusha, who was getting to her feet. "That's right, Mr. ... Barimen?" he said doubtfully. "Claudio's a friend of my father's," Jerusha said, locking down the unhappiness that filled her whenever she saw Tiercel. "And Jerusha agreed to pose for me for a gift for him," Claudio continued smoothly, tilting his head toward the easel set up a little distance away. "Oh." Jarka sounded almost disappointed. She went on to say, with a narrow-eyed glance at Jerusha, "I'm sure it's a lovely spot..." "The light's very good, excellent for skin tones," Tiercel said, smiling. "Yes, exactly," said Claudio, relaxing a trifle as he returned Tiercel's smile. "It's easier to find time for painting than for other things, these days," Tiercel added, with a regretful look at Jerusha. "As a hobby, I'm sure that's so," Claudio said noncommittally. Then, seeing the look of annoyance intensify on Jarka's face, he went on, "Pardon me for not greeting you at the outset, Madame Deshane. I shall have to remember to mention to Madalin that I saw you." "Oh yes, Madalin... She's still living at home, then?" "Yes, she is," Claudio answered blandly, and saw Jarka's expression shift to one of muted triumph. No doubt she was congratulating herself on having contracted a marriage while her age-mate remained single. Unless Claudio was mistaken, Tiercel looked faintly relieved. "I hear you're doing well on the lists, Jerusha," he said. "Yes, thank you," she said. Her color was still high, and it took an effort for her to meet Tiercel's green eyes. "She was telling me that she won a bout with Dusaer Vangrast today," Claudio put in. "Really?" Tiercel said, with genuine interest. "I -- don't get out to see much of it any more," he finished, not quite glancing toward his wife. Jarka was indeed looking somewhat disapproving of the turn the conversation had taken. Claudio gathered she was not a sword dancing enthusiast and wondered how she (or possibly her family) had managed to snare Tiercel Deshane. "I heard you have a child now," Jerusha said, hoping to rescue Tiercel from himself. "Yes," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. Following the look, they saw a demon attendant trying to keep a small boy from climbing up one of the trellises. "Kalsom," Tiercel called. "Come over here!" "I remember doing that," Claudio said a trifle wistfully. "What, climbing things you weren't supposed to?" Tiercel said, smiling. "My mother says she used to look forward to my suffering what she did, but now she's old enough to just feel sympathy instead." The boy trotted forward and stopped beside his father, reaching up to grab his free hand. "Kalsom, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, Jerusha Corrino, and an acquaintance of your mother's, Claudio Barimen." Kalsom stared up at them, then pointed at Jerusha and announced, "Sojer!" Jerusha painted a smile over her dismay and uncertainty. "I'm a warrior of House Corrino, yes," she said. "And do you have military ambitions yourself, Kalsom?" Claudio asked mildly. "He means, do you want to be a soldier too, Kalsom," Tiercel interpreted. The boy beamed. "I be sojer like Daddy!" His father smiled down at him; Jerusha stared at the toes of her boots. "I'm sure you'll be a fine one," said Claudio, all the time wondering how he could end the conversation without rudeness and get the Deshanes moving on. The sky was not going to stand still, and he had a portrait sketch to finish. Tiercel, however, caught Jerusha's expression, glanced at his wife, and displayed his tactical expertise. "Well, we'd better leave you to your work," he said. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barimen. Jerusha--" He hesitated, then settled on, "Good luck on the field." "Thank you," she said quietly. "Good day, Madame Deshane. And Kalsom." "Yes, we should leave you two alone," said Jarka. She scooped up her son with one arm and placed her other hand firmly on Tiercel's arm. "Good day to you both, and do give my regards to your sister," she told Claudio. "I certainly shall," he said politely, but Jarka was already hustling her male belongings down the path. Claudio waited till they were out of earshot, then rolled his eyes at Jerusha and remarked, "As I was saying about marriages of policy...." "What?" she said blankly, then, "Oh. Yes. They're really not calculated to make people happy." She resumed her seat, the blush receding from her face, and looked toward his easel. "Sketching," she said firmly, and moved her hand back into position. "Yes." Claudio retreated behind the easel. "Chin a little higher and to the right, please." She moved her chin, resolutely pretending that she was not miserable. She'd won her bout today, and there had never been anything worth mentioning between her and Tiercel, anyway. There was silence from behind the easel for a few moments before Claudio flipped the charcoal stick from his hand into the box sitting beside him. "No, it's no good," he said regretfully. "I'm sorry, Jerusha." "Eh?" she said, dragging her thoughts back from where they had wandered. "What's wrong?" "You're unhappy," he explained, "and that's not the way I want to show you to your father." "Oh." She stared at him for a moment. "It would be accurate," she offered. "Accuracy isn't the same as truth," he stated. "Yes, it would be accurate at this moment, but that's not what I'm aiming for." "I was talking about truth," she said. "He might not recognize a picture of me smiling." "Well, maybe not with a big goofy grin plastered over your face, no," Claudio agreed. "That's not your style. But the difference between when you arrived here this afternoon, and now..." He turned a hand palm up. "Let's just say I think it'll be better another time." "All right," she said slowly. "I think ... two Turnings from now, a little earlier, if that will be all right?" "That will be fine," he said, smiling. "Thank you." He leaned over to offer her the box of cookies. "One for the road?" "Thank you," she said, taking one, and standing up to leave. "You're -- very kind, Claudio Barimen." And she strode away, in the direction opposite the ones the Deshanes had taken.
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