The Architect [Pipabeth AU]

s e v e n: acting

P I P E R

"The first floor isn't exactly what I want to change," I said. "But there is one thing. This wall between the kitchen and the dining room, I want gone. I want the open space here."

Annabeth had her charts, graphs and blueprints spread over the end of my dining room table no one was eating at. In her arm, she held a tablet with a stylus. She maneuvered the room around, digitally taking out walls and moving furniture, to show me what she could do.

"So if I open up this wall," she told me, "We'll obviously have to completely redo most of the kitchen. These counters are going to have to be pulled up. You're definitely going to need a plumber to look around before you make any final decisions. We can take this window out and turn it into a wall, so you can flip your counters around to there instead."

"I hate losing the view out of the valley," I said. "It'll have to go though. This dining room makes me feel claustrophobic. Also... can you change up the color? It feels like... a mafia theme in here or something."

The dining room was sleek black with red highlights. There was one door, and one dark-tinted floor-to-ceiling window at the end. The black table and dark walls with red curtains and chairs really put a damper on anything fun.

Annabeth laughed. "I agree. I'm not sure why they would design it like this. It's like a conference room with a touch of kingpin. It feels so lonely."

I frowned. I was lonely, and I wanted this room desperately changed because it reminded me of it. I had gotten take out so many times and sat alone at this table sobbing that I wanted a change. I had spilled a lot of tears in here. Something needed to be done to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," I agreed. "A new paint job. Which brings me to my big request... after we finish eating, I'll take you upstairs and show you."

"Sounds great." Annabeth said. Now that we were done talking business, I wasn't sure where to take the conversation. Annabeth didn't seem like the type for small talk. She also didn't seem like the type for conversations with a stranger in general.

"So," I tried to small talk anyways. "How long have you been in the business?"

Her eyes lit up immediately. "Oh, I've always wanted to be an architect. It's been my dream job since I was 12. As far back as I can remember, I've been drawing up blueprints I'm never going to actually build and reading architecture books... I won't get into all that. I graduated from NYU in 2 and a half years with an architectural engineering degree. Then I got a part-time job for a guy my father knew..." she paused, and hesitated. "I went part-time so I could go ahead and get my masters at the same time. I finished up my masters in a year and took a full-time job in New York when I turned 23. Now... this has been my life for the last 3 years."

"You were done with your undergrad and masters in 3 and a half years?" I asked, astounded.

Annabeth didn't try to play it off. I could tell she was proud of her accomplishments. "It was a lot of hard work. Summer classes. Late nights studying."

"Summer classes? Geez, you must have never went home."

Annabeth's face changed, and I immediately felt like I'd trespassed on dangerous territory. "I didn't." She said, and I knew to stop asking questions.

"So... traveling and doing what you love," I said. "Sounds perfect."

"You know what that feels like," Annabeth said. "Traveling all over the country to perform."

I tried not to let the negativity seep into my voice, but every time I was asked about my career, I just felt disappointed inside. My livelihood had turned into a burden, and every time I was reminded of it, I wanted to crawl under a rock and sleep for the rest of my life. I never knew someone could feel so lonely in such a crowded room. Maybe my life looked glamorous from the outside, but the cutthroat directors and co-stars, money-hungry producers, and selfish tabloid publishers drowned out all the good in being creative. Most celebrities were just unhappy, isolated, and dejected, and in their downcast states turned to drugs, alcohol, parties, and money to mend their problems. Of course, this just made them worse, but you couldn't tell a mentally ill starving artist that.

The truth? I wanted something more. And God, more than anything I wanted a friend. I couldn't remember the last time I had sat down next to someone and actually been myself. I felt like I was forced to hold up the standard of what everyone thought I was, like I was forced to be the girl everyone saw on the TV interviews and talk shows. I was an actress. That was my job. That was what I loved to do. And I'm not really sure when it started, but somehow, my entire life became one big acting job. It was almost hard for me to distinguish what was real and what was a part of the act I had made up.

I shortened my thoughts to, "I like the music. I like the songwriting, and the singing, and the feeling like I'm helping people."

Annabeth nodded as she finished her meal. "I've heard great things about your music."

"I could say the same about you."

She met my eyes, and for the first time I noticed them. Really noticed them. They were startling grey, like storm clouds. All in that moment, a thousand song lyrics rattled through my brain. I stood up, and calmly picked up both of our plates and took them to the kitchen. As soon as they touched the counter, I whipped out my notebook and started scribbling lines. They were so stunning they were poetic.

Annabeth came out a minute or two later with her arms full of graphs. "Is there anywhere specific you'd like to designate as control command center?" She asked.

"Um..." I said, barely looking up as I scrambled to write the multitude of words down that had fallen like dominoes in my head. "Um... couch, maybe?"

Annabeth laughed, as if she knew the feeling of trying to grasp fleeting ideas and put them down on paper as quickly as possible. "Which couch?"

"Umm..." I said, still not even sure what she was saying.

Annabeth laughed again. "I'll pick one. Cool?"

"Uh-huh," I mumbled back.