[BATIM/BATDR]A Lonely Sepia Melody

Part 8

Charlie's eyes shot open and he sucked in a suffocating breath, body wrenching up in defense of a sudden stagnancy he wasn't prepared to experience. The quiet drip, drip, drip of ink had Charlie's eyes darting around for an enemy he couldn't see. He couldn't feel his pipe on his hip or see it anywhere nearby on the tiled floor. Defenseless for now. Oh lord, he was defenseless. His chest tightened momentarily.

Breathe.

Hands shaking, Charlie closed his eyes and counted slowly in time with his breaths. He focused on the expanding inhales and the releasing exhales of his chest for a bit, ears pricked for any unwanted noises nearby.

After a few more minutes, Charlie finally opened his eyes, the annoying fuzziness of his mind had faded for the time being yet he couldn't quite settle the faint tremble in his inky fingers. Slick yet not sticky; cold and patchy. Inky hands and warm cheeks would bring no comfort to himself, only to everyone else. In the back of his mind, Charlie wished he could be back in his small hideaway in the upper levels. Maybe he would go out hunting for the Creator and have a nearly one-sided conversation with it. The comfort of its golden hands on his shoulders and the feel of its smiles and parental chiding. It was the only one ever able to help Charlie the same way Charlie helped others. He wished he had that help now in this grand paper mache palace.

Shivering as he stood, Charlie shook himself out of his head, you're acting like a child.

He gripped his fists tight and gathered an idea of his surroundings.

Very dim lights, per usual, a room made out of Victorian tiled floors, and a grand piano in the center. A bookcase with untouched books on the wall behind the piano. A fish tank to the left of the piano and a useless window to its right. Turning around, Charlie spotted a wooden door just behind him, which he figured would be the right way to go.

Until he found out it was locked- damn it to hell, he thought bitterly as he tried to kick the door in but to no avail. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he looked around the familiar style of this building.

I've been here before, he realized, uneasy. Though there was no time to dwell on it, he scanned the room.

It was really barren like it had been decorated simply for the purpose of not being empty. Charlie figured he couldn't say the same for Mr.Drew's Studio. It was cluttered as though cleaning were simply an afterthought. The desks were covered in attempts to keep organized, offices with so many storyboards that they ended up being taped to the walls in a beg for space. Drywall being knocked out and rebuilt to expand. Workers hastily moved across wooden floors that creaked and croaked if you weren't familiar with the pattern enough to dodge the slats that gave yourself away-.

"-to Joey and Sammy who are having a very heated...debate," Jack muttered as he crossed out some words on the music sheet and rewrote another couplet above them. Norman hummed as he cranked a wrench up the projector again.

"It's been gettin' pretty tense with that there deadline comin' up lads. Y'all should know better than to snoop, you 'specially, Charlie." The young artist felt his ears heat up under the knowing stare of the dark man, refusing to make eye contact as he sketched out the lines for the background of the next scene. Well, he was certainly attempting to sketch the new background. He'd gotten distracted once or twice and ended up spending a page or two drawing Jack, hunched over his corner desk with a pinched expression and a small figure, and Norman, working hardily on the new projector that just came in, with a wrench in his very large hands and grease on his shirt.

Charlie shrugged and set the leather-bound sketchbook down. His shoulders were starting to ache under the tightly-clasped suspenders he had on and he was planning on amending that. Truly he had nothing to say for his talent of slipping around the shadows of the studio, unheard, if he wanted to.