"Sold? I haven't sold so much as a single painting so far. No, I don't intend to close the studio and move back to the manor." Gray argued into his rotary phone with a firm hand on the top of his easel that threatened to snap it. "Just because I.. No.. Really now, I.." he continued, the person on the other end cutting him off as he tried to explain himself. "I'm not giving up my one passion, regardless of if you think it has any merit! Good day!" he finishes his call by slamming the handset down and huffing, pacing around his room as he looked at the myriad of paintings littering the walls and floor of his studio. "The nerve of him, really.." he exhaled in frustration before letting himself sag down onto his little stool and putting his hands over his face.
Damon Gray was the oldest of three siblings and from an old aristocratic family, the only one of them to not graduate from a fancy school and the only one of them not currently employed at a well paying job. His passion for art and painting had led him away from his home and into a completely different part of the country, where he felt his newer ideas would be recognized and he could find a place to belong in the art world amongst what he thought would be his peers. Though the reality was far different than the idealized dream.
Damon was a portrait artist, something that was going out of style in the new century. When everyone could have their picture taken in an instant why would they ever sit in front of an artist for what could be hours at a time waiting for their portrait to be painted? The art world had moved on to surrealist imaging and bold, new displays that were designed to shock and to excite, to get a rise out of the simple minds of rich patrons. Damon would not temper his vision in any way and it was costing him dearly. His studio, though only having been operating for the better part of six months, was a complete failure in his eyes. He hadn't sold a scant few portraits, or any of his experimental pieces for that matter. He'd recouped some losses by painting his neighbors and close friends for a small fee, but those were few and far between nowadays. His father, who had been the one on the other end of the phone just a moment before, had told him he would no longer be sending more financial contributions in the mail, effectively killing his business. He would have to come back home with his tail between his legs and admit his artistic passion was nothing more than a hobby, before going on to work for his fathers company. The thought had put him in a foul, depressed mood as he sulked on his stool.
A sudden knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts. He swallowed nervously as he stood up, he wasn't expecting a visitor today. For a moment he stared at the door, his mind still wandering to other places as he tried to remember if he had a portrait piece scheduled today. Another three heavy knocks fully wake him up and he raises his voice to call through the door. "Who is it?" Gray asks as he looks in the mirror strapped to his easel, fixing his messy blond hair to the best of his ability. "Mr. Damon Gray? I'm here for a portrait, monsieur." an effeminate voice calls through the door. "I don't have any portrait jobs scheduled for today, who is this?" Damon asks as he moves to open the door, hand on the doorknob. "I thought I would just come to see you, monsieur." the voice replies back. This intrigued him enough to at least open the door. Standing before him was a figure dressed in a blue, woolen winter coat with thick white fur around the neck, a scarf covering the figure's mouth and a white fur hat. It reminded Damon that it was the middle of January, he hadn't been outside in a day or two but judging from how this person was dressed it must have been freezing.
"Bonjour, monsieur Gray. It's a pleasure." the figure spoke as they reached out their hand, allowing Damon to welcome them. He politely takes their hand and thinks to plant a kiss on the top of it, but decides against it. He simply holds the hand in his. "Good evening, to whom do I owe the pleasure?" he asks cautiously as he slowly lets go of the hand, the figure not seeming offended that the gesture wasn't answered back properly. "Your friend Harrier referred you to me, he says you paint excellent portraits, no? I've never modeled before and it seemed exciting." the figure answers. Damon was a good head taller than the visitor, he lurched in his entryway a little and leaned on the side of it to seem a little more casual. "That's all well and good, but I was asking your name." he lets out before realizing how unintentionally rude he was being. "My name is Esther, may I come in?" they say with a sweet lilt. Damon was trying to get a read on them, trying to discern something from their expression, but with their face being halfway covered up it was hard to glean anything. "Of course Madam, come on inside." he invites them in, closing the door slowly after them. He straightens his back out as he points towards the coat hanger by the door, hoping Esther got the message.
