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rainbowfic2021-06-03 11:20 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2021-06-03 11:20 pm
Cadmium Yellow 17, Skylight 19: Art
Author: Kat
Title: Art
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Cadmium yellow 17 (Art is the signature of civilizations.), skylight 19 (Cultural center)
Supplies and Materials: Fabric (Felix's painting)
Word Count: 160
Rating: G
Summary: Art makes us real.
Warning: none.
Notes: Pride #3.
"Art's important," Felix says, and dips his brush in paint the prismatic black of an oil spill. He strokes the color along the underside of a leaf, cocks his head considering, then adds another dab. "It's so annoying when people say it's not necessary, because they're wrong."
"Why?" Jack asks. He's not curious, he's not even really listening. He just wants Felix to keep talking while so he can watch those hands, paint-spattered and graceful.
Felix might know that, because he dips his fingers in his rinse water and flicks them at Jack. "Art makes us real."
Jack thinks of Charlotte playing the piano, the way her eyes light up and her whole body animates. He thinks of Miranda dancing with their cousins, every mask fallen away, every pretense discarded. And Felix here and now, complaining as he paints the Garden of Eden, a frame of leaves around the face of a beautiful man.
"Yeah," he says. "I get that."
Title: Art
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Cadmium yellow 17 (Art is the signature of civilizations.), skylight 19 (Cultural center)
Supplies and Materials: Fabric (Felix's painting)
Word Count: 160
Rating: G
Summary: Art makes us real.
Warning: none.
Notes: Pride #3.
"Art's important," Felix says, and dips his brush in paint the prismatic black of an oil spill. He strokes the color along the underside of a leaf, cocks his head considering, then adds another dab. "It's so annoying when people say it's not necessary, because they're wrong."
"Why?" Jack asks. He's not curious, he's not even really listening. He just wants Felix to keep talking while so he can watch those hands, paint-spattered and graceful.
Felix might know that, because he dips his fingers in his rinse water and flicks them at Jack. "Art makes us real."
Jack thinks of Charlotte playing the piano, the way her eyes light up and her whole body animates. He thinks of Miranda dancing with their cousins, every mask fallen away, every pretense discarded. And Felix here and now, complaining as he paints the Garden of Eden, a frame of leaves around the face of a beautiful man.
"Yeah," he says. "I get that."
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