Living Beauty

Who: Chelo and Rafe
When: evening
Where: outside, then the Delacourt house

It had been days since the masquerade. How many, Rafe didn't know. All he knew was that he'd only been sleeping between short bouts of exhausted sleep, and painting like a madman. Most of them had ended up broken and shredded on the floor, but a couple large canvases had actually survived and he was satisfied with the paint on them. They all had centered around one particular beautiful dark-haired woman, in various states of death and undress, in almost equal measure.

He'd left the house late that afternoon without telling Rey where he was going. He only realized after he'd been standing across the street from Chelo's flower shop for about an hour that he hadn't brought any gloves. Or a hat. He dismissed the revelation, not really caring. He had to see her again, had to, even just a glimpse. The shop had to close sometime, and he was going to wait until it did, positioned perfectly so that he wasn't obvious, but he would see her when she came out.

The customers had been steady despite it being a Sunday, a day she was usually closed but had decided not to be for once, and they had been timed just right so she could help each one find what they wanted. By the time the last customer had left the shop Chelo was a little bit beyond tired - she'd been up early, and she was closing the shop a little late, but it was a good kind of tired that dogged her steps as she moved through the shop, taking care of a few flowers and making sure the windows were shut. Not that they wouldn't be - considering the temperature - but she still needed to check.

They were all closed, and soon she had the lights off too. The lights were flicked on again for just a moment when she remembered her coat, but then she turned them off for good and stepped outside into the cold, snowy dark. Chelo hadn't put her coat on fully and it fell off of her shoulders as she leaned forward to work the annoying door shut, locking it up.

Rafe straightened up slightly as he saw her walk out and begin to start working on the door. His dark eyes crawled over her from his spot across the street, mentally sketching out the way her coat fell around her shoulders and the light from the streetlamp caught on her hair. He didn't move, not yet, just staying in his slightly-shadowed spot and watching. He hadn't even decided yet if he was going to make his presence known, it felt more normal and comfortable just to observe for the moment. See her when she didn't know she was being seen.

The snow that had been coming down all day was continuing to fall, big, fat flakes that landed on Chelo's head, melting with her body-warmth and sliding down her hair. When she turned her face up it landed on her cheeks, though it took longer to melt there. It was cold, but cold wasn't bad, and so she welcomed it as she pulled her coat over her shoulders again. All of a sudden, she was glad she hadn't driven to work today. Her driving under good circumstances left something to be desired, so in this weather? It was best not to drive. Looking both ways she stepped into the street, beginning to cross.

The demon's heart started to beat a little faster as the woman crossed the street to his side. The way that she moved ... it wasn't exactly graceful, but there was so much personality in it that he could see, and he was suddenly dissatisfied with every bit of art of her he'd ever done. It was nothing compared to the real thing. He would have to burn them, start again. Do it correctly, because he wasn't doing her justice. He imagined her laying out in all this big, fluffy snow, perfectly still with her eyes open, skin and lips slowly turning blue as she passed out of the world. He realized a little too late that she was too close for him to continue on unseen, and he cleared his throat a touch as she grew near, taking a half-step out. "May I walk you?" he asked.

Chelo would have started - truth be told, she still did - had she not felt the brush of emotions against her own. A warm smile, warm against the cold white of the snow, spread across her lips as she stopped before Rafe and nodded. "Of course," She replied, lightly flicking long fingers in the direction they would need to go to get to her apartment. She used those same fingers to brush her hair back behind her ear, touching the icy-cold-wet the snow was leaving behind there. "We go that way," She then said, starting in that direction, passing out from under the light from the streetlamps and into the shadows beyond.

He didn't think it odd that she didn't think it odd that he was there, Rafe's brain just didn't work that way. Instead, he just silently fell into step beside her, eyes moving from their feet to the side of her face and back a couple of times. She had to be cold, her hair was getting kind of moist. He had no sense of how far away from anything they were, but he found himself hoping it was far. He didn't inquire into how she was, what she'd been up to, he just walked and imagined painting them together. His figure a swirling dark splotch on the canvas, and her's tinged with silver snow-light.

She was alright without questions, and alright with walking without asking why someone had been waiting. Truly she didn't even think that maybe he'd been waiting. She walked along, turning to look behind them at the footprints they left behind in the pristine snow. Chelo reached out to rest her hand on his arm for just a moment, voice soft as if to fit better with the soft flakes that fell on their hair. "Nieves." Snows, She said, watching their farthest prints begin to fill, "That's my middle name. It fits the weather right now..."

"Nieves," he repeated, just as quietly. He turned to look at her face looking back at where they'd been. Her profile was exquisite. He wanted to lick her cheek, but restrained himself. If he was going to do this right, he had to do it slowly, and correctly. She wasn't just one of the few women he'd actively had in his adult years, she was so much ... more. Perhaps the first woman he couldn't decide would be more beautiful dead or alive. "Why did they name you that?" he asked just to keep her talking.

Chelo thought about it as she turned back around, stepping into another circle of lamplight that cast warm, golden light on the snow, making it sparkle beneath their feet. "My christening wasn't until December, though I was born in May, and they still had not decided my middle name then." She turned her palm upwards and let the snow land on it as she looked over at Rafe, taking in the white that was a stark contrast to his dark hair. A good contrast. "When they were carrying me into the church, it started snowing, and all I wanted to do was watch the snow they say."

He could picture it in his artist's mind perfectly, a tiny chubby hand reaching up toward the cold wetness falling from the sky, her big brown eyes alive with wonderment. And look how far she'd come. Humans were unfathomable sometimes, the way any of them survived long enough to do anything at all. His stomach felt vaguely tumultuous as he met her gaze. "It suits you. I like the dichotomy, the connotation of snow and your love for living things," he said, sticking to Spanish in contrast to her English without even thinking about it. Reflected streetlight suited her too; she almost looked like she was glowing, as though the cold couldn't touch her.

"It's especially odd since no flowers grow outside when the snow is over the earth." the Spanish felt welcome on her tongue as she spoke in it, prompted by Rafe's speaking. They passed a pine and she reached out to touch that, too, her arm stretching past Rafe as she lightly tugged at the soft needles of the tree. "Except for the evergreens. They're the same year round unless you cut them down for Christmas." She didn't do that. She couldn't stand it. It was different when you were cutting flowers than cutting a tree. Chelo told Rafe this, still using Spanish as she let go of the pine.

Rafe had never even come close to celebrating Christmas in his life, so the very idea was kind of foreign to him, but he nodded anyway. He was more interested in the line of her arm, and he wanted to run his hands along it. Maybe it would make his paintings more accurate, imbue them with more life -- to mix with the death. He leaned into her just a small bit, nostrils flaring without his being aware of it to take her in amidst the crisp scent of snow. "You must model for me," he said in a sudden rush. He hadn't even been aware it was an idea in his head until it was out of his mouth. It wasn't something he'd ever done before, but he was currently very compelled to want it.

She looked back at him again, blinking away the snowflakes that clung persistently to her eyelashes. The snow fell to her cheeks and melted there, the melted water slipping down to her chin, leaving icy trails behind. "I..." She paused for a moment, looking back at the road and the light spilling from houses on the opposite side. "You want me to model for you?" Chelo finally asked, though that had been what the dark-haired Rafe had said. But she could have misheard what he'd said...

"I paint, and I want to paint you," he stated, intense eyes locked in on her face. It was sort of going out on a limb, but if he could have her there in front of him, maybe he could capture her in oils the right way. Just once, that was all he wanted. So that perhaps when she died, he could remember her this way. Things were so hard to hang on to, memories slipped away so easily ... Chelo Nieves in snow was not one of them he was keen on losing. He managed not to mention that he'd been painting her constantly since they'd met.

Chelo remembered that - he'd said it, or his brother had when she'd met him at the masque - and she nodded in answer. He was an artist. "I'm flattered," She replied, rosy color that wasn't from the cold climbing up her neck and staining her cheeks. It was flattering, and she slipped her fingers into her pockets as she nodded again. "If you really want me to, I would... I would like to, yes." Now she wanted to know if he looked unfocused when he worked on his art, as she did when she worked with her flowers.

Rafe was nodding. Of course he wanted her to, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. Or demanded, whichever. And he wanted to paint her now, just as she was, as though he could pull materials right out of his pocket and set up an easel on the street or something. "Tonight?" he asked, slipping back into English without realizing it. "Are you busy? I don't live far." He didn't think so, anyway. It was just a detail, regardless.

"Tonight," She repeated, a comment that sounded like a question and a statement at the same time. Chelo pressed her cold fingers into the material of her jeans, then nodded slowly. "I'm not busy," She replied then, noting his slipping between the two languages with some interested. Watching him it didn't seem like he noticed, focused as he was on something, she knew not what. "And the snow is nice, so walking even if it were a bit further is alright."

Eager now to get to his paint and to get her sitting somewhere with good light, Rafe reached out for her hand, the ghost of a faint smile crossing his face before it went away again. He knew that he would have to be careful, he couldn't let his imagination get away from him, but ... he could paint more than death. Those could come again later, when she wasn't there. He wasn't entirely stupid. "Come then," he said.

"Lead on, MacBeth, Chelo said, her tone teasing as she let him take her hand in his. It was warmer than her own by a little and she curled her fingers around the edge of his hand. "Unless you want me to lead the way without knowing which way to go." She doubted he did, though. Behind them there footprints were gone completely, filled by the snow so no trace was left. Chelo peered over her shoulder at that once before she followed after Rafe.

He didn't get the reference, but that didn't really matter. He was taking her home. He would actually have a muse in the same room as him. It didn't occur to him that that might not be the best idea, given how he preferred to paint half-naked with his tail comfortably out, and was prone to fits of rage if the oils didn't slide the way he wanted them to. He couldn't think about that, just that he was taking Chelo home with him to paint her. Being distracted with his thoughts, he led her in the right direction, wiping at his face every so often as snow melted on it.

By the time they reached Rafe's house Chelo's hair was more than a little damp, strands of it clinging to her throat in chilly ringlets. She hooked those with long fingers, pulling them away from her flesh and moving them over her shoulder where they rested against the shoulder of her coat. The snow had slowed some, but the flakes were as big as they had been, falling to earth slowly and landing on their dark, bowed heads.

Not feeling the need to talk, just the desire to paint, Rafe led her up the walk to the too-big-for-two house that Rey had picked out when they'd moved there, and dug his keys out of his coat pocket. He unlocked the door and let them in, noting with some satisfaction that the place was dark and silent. His meddlesome brother wasn't home. He ushered Chelo inside and closed the door behind them, looking her wet self over in the shadowed dark of the house. Not bothering with any lights downstairs, he took her hand and started to lead her toward the steps. "My studio is upstairs," he informed her, still speaking in a quiet and soft tone.

Chelo nodded, silent for once as she looked at the house, taking in its size. It was as big feeling inside as it looked big outside. If he lived with his brother it was awfully big for the two of them, but it wasn't her place to comment on this fact. She followed him up the stairs, walking nearly on tip-toe, just because the house made her feel as if she should for some reason. She only felt his emotions, no others aside from her own, but her range wasn't so great that she could tell if there was anyone else in the darkened house. "I hope I do not drip on anything important," she murmured.

"There is nothing important in this house," Rafe said before he thought about that statement any, mounting the stairs with her. It was true, most of it was just junk that Rey inevitably filled the house with to make their money known. Rafe generally didn't pay it any attention. He navigated the house flawlessly in the dark, the way to his sanctuary imprinted onto his brain irrevocably. He could remember the way from the front door to whatever room ended up being his in every house they'd ever lived in. Once they were there, he opened the door to let them in. He moved to the easel and took the big canvas down and moved it to the wall, the back of it to the rest of the room. He kicked a broken remnant out of his way and flicked on a table lamp to get their eyes used to light before he began turning on more. "Make yourself at home," he told her, stripping out of his coat and just letting it fall. "My brother is out and likely will be the better part of the night. He usually is."

Unable to just drop her coat somewhere when she was in someone else's house, Chelo slipped out of her own coat and hung it on the doorknob to Rafe's studio. Once she'd done that she turned to get a better look at the room, taking in the canvases, the easel, and just everything as her flesh grew a little chilly. She rubbed a hand up her arm, smoothing away the prickly-cold feeling as she grew adjusted to the temperature. "That is alright by me," She commented to him, following after him, "It's not him I am here for, now, is it?" Not that she knew of, it wasn't.

Rafe glanced back at her, a little frown line between his eyebrows before it smoothed out again. That was really just sort of sinking in. That he had a guest, a woman in the house. A beautiful woman, no less, and he was going to paint her. He moved around the room, turning on lights until there was enough to paint by. He moved a chair from against the wall to set it out kind of in the open middle of the room, and slid his own stool to where it had been kind of shoved back in front of the easel. He found a blank canvas to put on it and looked at her again, not positive on where to start, himself. He'd never had a model before.

For a moment Rafe's gaze went unnoticed, but she caught it when she'd turned around. Chelo tipped her head to the side just slightly, her damp hair slipping off of her shoulders to hang down slightly, dripping just a little bit. Frigid drops of water that hit the floor slowly until they stopped. "Where do you want for me to sit?" She asked, gaze curious as she focused on Rafe once more, thumbs tucked into her pockets.

"The chair," he said, pointing. Before she could, he moved to it again and kind of turned it so that it would be sideways from his angle at the easel and gestured for her to sit down. His tail was tightening and unclenching around his leg rhythmically, and his hands were impatient to get onto brushes and get started.

She did sit down, kind of sitting with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together and tucked underneath her chin. "This good?" She asked again, looking out at him from the corners of her eyes, half her mouth pulled into a light smile.

"Perfect," Rafe murmured in English as he backed away and positioned himself behind the easel again. He focused in almost immediately, intent dark eyes ticking between her and the palette he picked up to mix on. So many dark colors. He set to work without another word, to capture living beauty as it sat in front of him.