Ugg….I can’t think of ONE FRIGGIN thing for my fics…NOT ONE! I’M VERY SORRY! It’s just…eerrrgg….I need help, (no not mental lol)….I’ve got two paragraphs for it, and one sentence….then …I can’t think of anything to put next. Looks like the Writers Block goblins are having a party.

Yet again, another oneshot…inspired by a painting I saw. Why can’t I get inspiration for my FICS not ONESHOTS? Forgive me, it’s always this way, I get a bout of inspiration for oneshots, but NEVER for my actual fics :begs for wonderful peoples’ forgiveness:

Modern times.

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Misao didn’t understand them.

Their reactions, rather, to the number of painting hanging on the many walls of the extravagant museum in Tokyo Japan. Some would ogle them, staring at the huge medley of colors and shapes, some would wrinkle their noses, scoff with friends and walk past, lips moving with complaints and other such atrocities.

Misao kept her mouth firmly shut, afraid the strings of insults would come pouring out of her mouth like water from a flood. She concentrated on the huge, labyrinthine fountain in the very center of the roar of talk and walls and sunbathed floors. The thin, fan-like streams of pure water stretched clear arms toward the ceiling, falling back into the pools of intricately designed slabs of rock under a replica of a sculpture, David was his name. He stood tall and glorified, somber eyes staring off into nothing like sculptures always did.

She turned her head to gaze at a large painting next to her, one that got the viper like protests from her fellow peer groups. In a word, it was sublime; colors’ blending like the sun does in the sky, dripping with wonder and beauty—and it was nude.

A silhouette, actually of a woman, long velvety hair hanging loose about slender shoulders and hips. What was to be seen of her slim face was a small smile curving her thin lips, and practically nothing more.

Her willowy arms hung about her sides, trim fingers relaxed at her mid thigh. Misao glanced over her shoulder, where two girls her age giggled with red faces over a very nude painting of a man, and a group of males staring curiously at the full breasted Venus that the very same painter had made.

Misao grumbled under her breath, stealing a few more glances at the other painting hung carefully on the walls behind red ropes. Too caught up in the sights at her side, the raven-haired girl failed to notice the marble plaque in her walkway.

“Ouch! Damnit!” She hissed, clutching her bare arm and clenching her teeth in pain. She opened one green eye open, snapping the other one open after and the phrase that came out of her mouth was completely understandable.

“Woah…” the pain in her arm seemed to vanish instantly, her sight taking in the paper pressed into the plaque in front of her. She was an angel, a goddess; whatever she was wasn’t human at least. It was thunderous, it was fragile, it was sad and the picture etched into her eyes like a knife to soft stone.

She was much too beautiful to be human, her white skin flashed against the darkness of the background, her equally white and downy bird wings spread proudly upward. Twisted, bramble like chains bound her crystalline wrists, fringes of metal twining around her fingers to vanish in the blackness. Her hair billowed up like tree branches, swirling, diving, and curling about her wings and the non-existent air that blew it.

The somber, tortured eyes gazed back at her longingly, their color that of the bluest flower. Misao was in awe, never could she have thought such a thing was real, so tremulous, harder than harshest lightning and softer than the dimmest candle flame.

“Interesting isn’t it?” Misao woke from her reverie with a start, looking to the figure that stood next to her, coming with out sound or was she too caught up in the pencil sketch to notice?

The figure was edging toward his mid-twenties, much like herself, dark of hair, light of skin and sparkling eyes. “Uh, yeah, very.” Misao muttered, kicking herself mentally for staring at the drawing like it was the only thing in the museum.

“Do you know its name?” he asked, tapping a slim finger on the words at the base reading in red: NIGHT MUSIC GODDESS: FOURTH IN SERIES. “Night music goddess…” Misao said absently, rolling the words off her tongue easily. “She looks so…sad.” She stated absently, tracing a fingertip on the glass that encased it. “There are reasons for her to be, I should know actually…I..uh..drew her.” The male stated, somewhat sheepishly from the way a blush dusted his cheeks and the timid tone of his voice.

Misao nearly had a heart attack. “You? You…drew..THIS?” the jade eyed girl screeched, gaining odd glances from the people around her by doing so. She cleared her throat, rolling glares to them as they proceeded on their way. The man only shrugged, “Yeah, I have more in my bag though, would you like to see them?” Misao nodded furiously, wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

“Aa, but, maybe we should go sit down first.” He gestured toward the café a few yards ahead, walking to it with Misao in tow. “So, uh, what’s your name?” she piped up suddenly, taking a seat on the wooden chair across from him.

“It’s Soujiro, and yours?” He said politely, taking out a thick sketchpad from a black bag at his side. “Misao, it’s nice to meet you!” she said cheerfully, a bright smile curving her lips. “Okay, so Misao”, he said, sliding the phrase out of his lips like drops of ink on paper. “It looks like you liked the other art here, what kind do you usually look at?”

Gods that was smooth. Misao’s mind drawled, swirling his name again in her head as she replied: “Just the normal stuff, you know, Da Vinci, and the likes.” He eyes strayed over his form, thanking whatever was watching over her for the run in. He was dressed in a black long sleeved coat, under it a wrinkle-less button up collared shirt stuffed neatly into the black jeans covering his legs. Carefully cut brown hair framed his face, jagged bangs hanging over navy eyes. A warm smile curved his lips, adding more to the strange allure about him.

“I see.” He said as he flipped through his sketchpad, stopping at one page and picking out a pencil from a pocket inside it. “There’s a few more papers in there if you would like to look at them.” Soujiro tilted his head toward his bag, which Misao opened and drew out a few white papers from.

“Wow, it’s no wonder the museum decided to put one on display.” She absently commented, picking one out and inspecting it carefully. It was nothing too elaborate; just a young woman kneeling down on some grass, a bouquet of daisies in one arm as her fingers plucked a small sunflower from the ground.

“I suppose, I never really considered my art to be of quality, I just sketch whatever comes to mind.” Misao watched avidly as his hand scratched the pencil tip lightly on the paper, turned away slightly so she couldn’t view whatever his mind had come up with. He made absent comments as he sketched, partly to her and partly to himself and Misao couldn’t help but gape at how he rendered the words. Things like: You’d make a wonderful painting; I don’t think I can capture much on this paper; I’ll start over then. Or little mumbles as he stole glances at her face and parts of her hands and arms.

Misao tried to hide the sprinkled pink on her cheeks, nodding idly as she fingered the napkin under her fingers as his pencil danced across the page. Soujiro spoke a lot as he worked, and to Misao the phrases and words were like pieces of the finest cloth, which he flung into the air casually and she couldn’t help but feel like she wanted to take them and keep them in her mind for weeks after.

If an artist, who created beauty through mouth and paper but was also beauteous himself or herself, through soul or appearance could capture her attention so avidly was truly a sight to behold. “I can really see your eyes you know that? Brightest I’ve seen.” Misao rolled her eyes over the room, vainly attempting to cover the redness on her face. A sudden clap alerted her, and she jumped in her seat, casting a curious glance at the person across from her.

“This is what I thought of when I saw you, sorry of it’s…messy.” He flicked his wrist, handing the paper over to her and she clutched it as if it would shatter under her fingers. Misao couldn’t hold back the intake of breath as her eyes drank in the drawing presented to them. It was a picture of her face, lightly shaded on the edges to capture the darkness of her hair and the lightness of her skin. Silky bangs hung over one eye, shading one half of her face to draw back gracefully as stray strings tucked behind her ear. The exposed eye gazed back at her, sensuous and bright at the same time. Her lips were curved into a smile, the slim column of her neck and shoulders bathed with her loose, wavy hair.

“This is…I’m not this pretty.” She muttered in awe, looking down as sudden warmth cupped her hand. “Now why would you say that? I’m sure you have to carry a big stick around to beat all the men off with!” Soujiro said warmly, adding a gentle squeeze other hand to emphasize his point.

Misao only shook her head, redness still present on her face as she handed him back the paper. She lowered an eyebrow as he shook his head; laughing softly and pushing it back into her hands. “No, you keep it, I’d much rather you keep it than myself actually.” Misao clutched tightly in her hands, opening her mouth to ask something but he got from his seat and smiled at her as he swung the bag over his shoulder. “Well, I have to be going now, it was certainly a pleasure to talk you Misao, I hope I see you again someday.” With that, he whirled on his heal and began to walk out of the café.

“Wait a minuet!” she called after, getting up from her seat and grabbing a napkin and a pen from her pants pocket. “How about we talk again sometime? Here’s my number so feel free to call whenever you like Soujiro.” She scribbled a few characters on the napkin, handing it to him with a bright smile.

“That would be nice! Would this evening sound fine to you? Maybe we should get some coffee sometime ne?” He said with equal fervor and took the napkin from her placing it carefully into his bag as she placed the pen back inside her pocket.

“I would like that, see you again Soujiro!” Misao waved bye to him as he walked out the door, her heart suddenly lifting with joy. She walked past the plaque with contained one of his pictures, looking back at her own parchment in her hand and nodded happily.

It was definitely a good day.

-

Uhh…I don’t think I’ve been drinking stupid tea lately, so I guess this was alright I suppose. Hope you enjoyed!