𝚆𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙽 || Original Story

I | WAR

THE WAR WAS FINALLY OVER. Four wretched years of heartbreak and death shook the world and now the tremors were beginning to ease. But for some, their lives were destroyed for good.

Montelimar Finch (known as Warwick to his friends) had returned home in the winter of 1917 due to a leg injury that meant he could no longer be active in the British Army. And good riddance to those hellish trenches!

So with the newfound free time had had during his recovery period, he did what he did best: create artwork and write poetry.

His chosen mediums were the simple graphite pencil and watercolour paints. Warwick knew he was good with them and so did his peers. At school, he was usually found outside with his paint set and a sketch pad, which he was initially made fun of for because art was so unlike mathematics or engineering: a career couldn't be made out of it. But Warwick begged to differ. He soon grabbed the other boys' attention, though, and soon they all wanted portrait sketches of themselves.

But for three years, he hadn't touched his art. Poetry was a little easier to create in the trenches, but Warwick hoped more than anything to survive the war and return home because he had a statement to make.

War should never be an option. War is evil.

And so, when he did return home, he spent hours and hours at his easel and desk, tirelessly scribbling and painting until the message was clear.

His statement left a profound mark and by the beginning of 1919 there wasn't a soul in the city who hadn't heard of Warwick's work. He knew that some people would agree with what he was trying to convey, but he never would have guessed that he'd have such an overwhelming response.

Losing a loved one to a war was universal.

In 1915, somewhere in rural France, Warwick met Jimmy Warner- an art dealer by trade and somebody who could help Warwick simultaneously earn a living and spread his message. They fought side by side and they became very good friends.

So when, on one fine morning in the middle of March 1919, Jimmy brought a client round to Warwick's house and Warwick himself was hoping to sell his latest creation; something he'd been working non-stop on for three solid weeks.

"Warwick," Jimmy introduced with his usual charming smile. "This is Mr Ronald Darnton. Ronny, this is the legendary Montelimar Finch."

"Mr Finch," Darnton grinned, extending his hand. "What a pleasure!"

"The pleasure's all mine, sir. But, please, call me Warwick."

"Ahh, yes. I believe that young Jimmy here started that off. What about Monty? Surely that's a better fit."

"Nobody calls me that," Warwick said bluntly. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"He gets touchy sometimes," Jimmy then interjected, noticing Mr Darnton looking somewhat stunned. "But his art is better than his manners. Trust me on that."

Jimmy was a sweet talker. In the trenches, he managed to swindle extra cigarettes and such from other soldiers and before they found out they'd been duped, Jimmy made it his mission to hide. One might say that would be difficult in such a cramped space, but he made it work. He always made it work.

So naturally, Jimmy did what he did best and when the hour was up, Mr Darnton left a happy man with an original piece of art under his arm.

"I'll see you on Friday, Jimmy," Darnton had said before he departed. "And don't forget the whisky!"

"What's happening on Friday?" Warwick then asked.

"Some guy called Randall Kepler is having a party," Jimmy replied, flopping down onto the sofa and lighting a well-earned cigarette. "He seems pretty interested in your work, actually... And his house isn't that far from here now that I come to think of it."

"Well, you have fun with that."

"I need a plus one since Daisy has ditched me to visit her sister... And you know who I'm thinking of to be my guest, don't you?"

As Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows, Warwick let out a sigh and frowned.

"Jim, you know I'm not particularly fond of gatherings."

"Don't be such a fool," he scoffed, taking a large drag of his cigarette. "You'll have a good time, I promise. And there might even be a beautiful lady or two."

"Are you trying to tell me to ditch the bachelor lifestyle?"

"Oh, God yeah. Daisy keeps telling me about some of the single women she knows and says, 'oh, Jimmy, you have to tell Warwick about her! She's such a catch!' and by 'her' I mean about twenty different women."

Warwick laughed. He knew Daisy (Jimmy's fiancée) meant well, but no woman would marry an artist; they wanted husbands who were doctors or lawyers and the financial stability that came with the respect. They didn't want husbands who had no set wage and spent days on end messing with paint and words as if they had nothing better to do.

Warwick saw no guarantees, but saw a risk worth taking, so shrugged in response to Jimmy and said, "I'll come as long as you get my tuxedo dry cleaned. That's the deal."

"Okay, deal," he grinned. "Oh, the things I do for you, Montelimar Finch."

"And the things I do to make us money, James Warner."