So this is Love ● The Beast

{1}

"Did you find everything you needed?"

I pause midway into stuffing the old painting palette into my oversized bag, the seams were torn at the ends and the fabric had long since worn down and ripped. Paintbrushes, stencils, and wooden jars half full with the colorful liquid filled the bag to the brim.

Finnegan, my brother, stood tall above me with his body leaned against the door frame, his weight balanced on one foot as he let the other drift behind him carelessly. His dark skin stood out significantly as the sun rays from the open window found his face, a common trait from our mother.

I straightened, my back feeling sore from the uncomfortable position I've had it in for the past half hour, I placed a hand on my hip. "I don't think I'm missing anything, if that's what you mean. I'll probably find out in the middle of my work, if I am or not." I confirmed with a careless sigh, my hand finding my forehead as I looked around the room.

Finnegan shook his head, putting down the rusty pail he held in his hand. He walked over to me as I analyzed my collection of utensils, all of which I had made myself, trying to find one that I had not stuffed into my sack already. "You're never this stressed about a job." Finn evaluates, his tone laced with surprise. "Did you talk to Luce last night? You know your not supposed to be around such a downer before a job." He scolded me teasingly, I breathed a laugh before turning towards my brother.

"Lucille, has her methods of trying to help and you have yours." I said it hesitantly, trying to find the right words. My head tilting as I found myself proceeding, "Her words just don't always come out how I'd like them too." I admitted.

Being that he was considerably taller, I couldn't see as my older sister, Lucille, walked into the room with a roll of her eyes and her purse over her left arm.

"I'll try to be a little more pleasant when I give you advice, it's not like I've been skillfully crafted in the trait, however." Her voice startled the both of us, Finnegan turned providing me with a view of the older woman. She frowned slightly at the eye contact before looking down at her pink nails, she had colored a fair shade of it with the paint I had lost the a few nights before.

"What advice?" Finnegan began, "The only thing you've ever painted are your nails."

Lucille flushed angrily, her gaze lifting to glare at her brother. "I don't appreciate your blub, Finnegan. I don't need to know how to do it to tell you what to do with it." She crossed her arms over her chest, her tight dress seemed to constrict her upper body enough to cause her bust to swell considerably around the area. "I'll have you know that I'm the one who brought Etta's first palette set."

In actuality, Lucille had been present during the event and had even talked to our mother against buying the colorful ingredients for me, instead vouching for the pale laced fabric for her newest dress. At the end of the day, mother and Lucille had ventured back from the market with a full basket of art supplies and a pouting child who bitterly stomped up the steps to her shared bedroom.