vibrant

six; the studio

Ophelia slams the door to the Volkswagen closed, rushing around the front, "Lia," Jj calls through the open driver's side window, "Seriously, when do you want me to bail you from this thing?"

Ophelia pushes her glasses up her nose, "I don't need you to bail me from anything, Jj. I'll be fine."

"It's Topper's family."

"Good point," Ophelia says, considering her options, "Three hours. Then come for me."

"Countin' down the minutes," Jj winks, and Ophelia rolls her eyes at him as she heads to the front door, her cheeks burning. Pope and Jj start to argue over what radio station to listen to, and Ophelia's amused as she enters her house.

Ophelia hears laughter in the living room, and she heads there, "Hi," She shyly says, entering the room, eyes landing on her Dads, Dr. Thorton, Topper's dad, and Topper Thorton himself, "Sorry I'm late. I lost track of time."

"It's alright, sweetheart," Michael says, "We were actually just talking about you."

Ophelia perks a brow, as she takes a free seat on the couch, "Don't worry," Dr. Thorton, Cynthia, assures, a glass of red wine in her hand, "All good things. Reid told us the story of you sneaking a chicken into the house when you lived on the farm in Kansas."

"Right, the chicken," Ophelia mutters, a certain wound from earlier in the day a little too fresh, "I was trying to paint a portrait of him, but he wouldn't sit still."

"Speaking of," Reid says, setting his wine on the coffee table, "Ophelia is actually putting her portfolio together for art schools."

"Well, that's exciting! What schools are you considering?" Cynthia asks, and Ophelia looks between her dads, who are giving her looks of encouragement.

Ophelia offers a tight smile, "Uh, Yale is the dream. Their program is one of the best in the country. But, I'm only sixteen so, I'm looking into a lot of places."

"Yes," Michael agrees, his tone a little braggy, "But you know me, a classic Columbia Alumni, I'm really just trying to get her to New York to see the school, and look into it's art program.

"Really?" Topper's dad asks, his nose turned up and his tone a little too judgemental for Ophelia's liking, "Art, what can you do with that?"

"Oh, lots of things, actually," Ophelia perks up, her eyes scanning the faces in the room. She does her best not to shrink under Topper's harsh glare, "Like my Dad, you can study art history, or be a gallery curator, a cartoonist, an architect, uh, the list goes on."

"What about you, Topper?" Reid asks, a smirk on his face, "Looking into any colleges? Oh! Your mother told me you got, what was it? Eighth at nationals this year?"

"Seventh, actually, sir," Topper corrects, and Ophelia has to stop herself from laughing at Michael taking a long sip from his wine glass, "I'm training up for next year, though. Should do a lot better."

Cynthia's lips press into a thin line, "He's looking into some schools under a general major," Ophelia winces slightly at the cold tone of the mother's voice, "His options are open."

"Right," Michael turns to Ophelia, "Ophelia, sweetheart, why don't you take Topper upstairs, show him your studio. You probably don't want to hang out with us anyways."

"Oh," Ophelia nods, standing to her feet, "Sure. Come on, Topper."

Topper is quiet as Ophelia leads the way upstairs, when she flicks on the light, she steps to the side, letting Topper look around the room. She has old work scattered on the walls and around the room, a few lamps, and a desk with some commission work that had been dropped off a few days before, "Cool," Topper mumbles, his eyes on an abstract piece.