Spite

A general forum for all in-character posts as they relate to Act VI: Absolution, the characters that inhabit the world at large, and the events that help shape both.
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Marlowe
Posts: 42
Character: Quincy Everhard

Spite

Post by Marlowe » July 29th, 2022, 10:14 am

It was bound to be just another stroll through the Craft Hall marketplace, a well-trodden path he'd taken countless times by then. Yet something caught his eye: a handful of people gathered here and there, peeking at what seemed to be frames at a distance. As Quincy approached, he noticed those were actually finished paintings. Hollis' paintings. He knew beforehand it was a lost battle resisting to compare his artwork with hers, so he simply yielded and stroked his mustache while perusing her pieces.

Only after some time he realized his countenance was locked in a scowl, deep crevices etched on his forehead. Composing himself, he flickered a glance to his sides lest somebody would notice his face. Quincy knelt by a depiction of Greatport, a place he was very fond of. Hollis' technique was lacking, with elements elbowing each other in the foreground and other questionable decisions, but he dwelt somewhere else in that particular painting; it was a neutral piece with mundane representations of a bustling settlement's everyday life. And that was beyond his grasp with a brush.

Staring at a blank canvas brought forth a maelstrom of disagreeable sentiments, culminating with abstractions of what he wished would remain locked deep down in a chest. Even a common fruit basket became a fly-infested, gloomy portrait of a desecrated cabin, ravaged by the advancing disease consuming the entire continent. "Painting is nothing but writing with colors", he'd boast to friendly ears everywhere; but Quincy knew that to be far from true: his vision with a brush was his own, whilst with a pen it was not so. He made an entire career of embracing the words of others as his own, all the love poems he memorized and grand tales with the tragic heroes of old. Yet in none of the poems he could love vicariously (they seemed alien to him) and certainly there hasn't been a single hero in all of Vitaveus bound to cowardice as he was.

He closed a deal for a couple of Hollis' pieces, but not because he particularly liked them: he'd study her strokes; perhaps then he'd understand how she could present herself so freely through her craft. Only one person in the province had laid eyes on anything he'd painted, and as far as he was concerned it was still one person too many. "Who are you?", she once asked. How can a grown man still falter with such a simple question? He didn't know. He was a vampire, sucking pleasant words from his peers through a stage smile and a good voice. But ultimately he was really just the estranged son of a late notary in Coquelicot, still defined by his bloodline rather than his own merits. Bravo.

Hollis.Maeby
Posts: 76
Character: Hollis Maeby

Re: Spite

Post by Hollis.Maeby » July 30th, 2022, 1:37 pm

Hollis wandered groggily from her apartment to the marketplace, her bag heavily ladened with new wears and her hands cradling the rest that wouldn't fit in the bag. As she rounded the corner she could see Inga setting up for the day, carefully laying out the goods Hollis had instructed her to. Observing the stall she counted only two out of the five paintings she had just set for sale.

“Inga?”, she said as she approached the woman with a teasing grin, “Have we been robbed?”

“No, Miss Maeby”, the hired merchant said with an amused chuckle, “You’ve sold some of your art! There was quite the fuss over a few of the pieces. I think you really struck a chord with your paintings of back home.”

Hollis considered the woman for a moment, looking over the painting of the Meddler’s Risk and the large mural that remained. Her painting of Greatport, The Church of Bones and The Murderfields had all sold much faster than she had expected. Perhaps this place wasn’t the uncultured and dreary place she had expected it to be?

With her eyes still locked on the painting of the Meddler’s Risk, Hollis furrowed her brow in thought. “Inga? Did a tall western man with a mustache buy these paintings from you?”. Hollis had received a great deal of help from Constantine, a friendly Westerner who ran the local watering hole and she was still not convinced he hadn’t bought her first painting she’d put up for sale of the Rumbling Pass.

“No, Miss Maeby”, Inga replied again as she organized the jewelry and other goods in her stall, “In fact, it was a different man with a mustache, I’d say he was an Easterner, or perhaps a Midlander.”

Hollis pursed her lips together, looking up from the remaining paintings and considering the tall, thin woman with da dark complexion and a top knot. It had never occurred to her that Inga was perhaps Western herself and therefore not as skilled at pinpointing the subtle differences between the often muddled cultures.

“I wish I had gotten his name Miss, but it was a busy day”, Inga said with an apologetic smile and motioned to take the overflowing wares Maeby was carrying.

Without a word she passed over the new items to the merchant, lost in thought and contemplation. She wondered if Inga was speaking of Quincy, the other painter she had met recently. But why would a fellow painter buy so many of her pieces, particularly, those pieces? She had made those paintings with the intention of striking emotion into the residents of the fort in the hopes that a view of the places they had left would encourage sales. They weren't what she would have considered abstract enough or even refined enough for a fellow painter to purchase. These pieces, Maeby had thought when placing them for sale, were simply quickly done art for the untrained eye to enjoy in their den.

Either way she was glad someone had seen her work and understood the value in her craftsmanship and talent, even if it wasn't her best. A smile played across her face and for a moment she allowed this temporary success to go to her head.

“Inga!”, she announced suddenly with electric excitement, “I think it’s time to start thinking of doing an art show!”

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