yeah .. i am drawing a bin, tag --» open

[Stephen Joshua Travers]

Muses were a fickle thing, but a requirement when you attended a school of arts. If you didn’t have inspiration then, well, you were screwed and either found another or called it a day. Stephen’s muse was rather consistent at the moment, though he had taken to drawing the most random of artefacts that wouldn’t exactly be deemed conventional art. He didn’t really know what to title his latest sketch of a dustbin, and he refused to use the phrase ‘modern art’, as that was complete rubbish to him. If modern art meant taking pictures of a piece of gum on the floor, then art had reached an all time low. Art was the only real aspect of his life that he would have said was ‘traditional’. He liked his drawings of natural scenes and at times he could be stretched to doodle a few pointless cartoons, but most of the time he tried to keep his art rather professional. Again, it was also the only ‘professional’ point in his life, as he hardly looked qualified if you saw him in the art classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. He could be found perched atop a desk, legs crossed, with a sketchpad on his lap and a cap sat awkwardly on his head. No, he didn’t look professional, and in fact looked very much like someone who was bunking off lesson or had nothing better to do with his time. Well, both assumptions would be wrong if you were to question him.

He had intended to come into the classroom to ‘take’ a few art supplies that he would be needing for the rest of the week, but he was easily distracted and before he knew what he was doing he was making a sketch of the bin that was surrounded by dozens of screwed up pieces of paper. It wasn’t meant to signify anything in his head and he was not one to give titles to his sketches, but the light was decent in the room and it had simply caught his eye. Of course, it was likely that as soon as he got to his dorm he would be very much confused by the fact that he had ‘wasted’ a few hours sketching something pointless, but he would soon shrug it off and stick it in the ‘maybe’ stack.

The pencil scratched across the paper rapidly and at odd angles, and he was constantly smudging the pencil marks to get an accurate shadow. Every so often he moved the pencil to scratch that back of his neck, before looking back to the bin and cocking his head to the side.

ooc --» yeah, this is very short and that depresses me >.>

[Caron Brandeis Angelis]

Inhale.
Lick.
Exhale.

If one were to take a leisurely stroll through the halls of WBS and stumble upon the Nurse's Office, they'd be in for a rather interesting surprise; for within the confines of the rather large office was a miniscule closet, which, supposedly, was to be used for storing files, perscriptions, bandages, and whatnot. But, for Caron Angelis, he'd found better use of such a room. A giggle, that is if that same evesdropper were still around, and the sounds of zipping and ruffling, no matter how much they tried to supress them, could be heard. The bronze doornob turned ever so slightly and out came Caron, a grin of satisfaction eternally plastered on his lips--which were, if you must know, a cherry red, from whatever immoral acts they were used for. The female, petite and only four years his senior, had straightened her dress and closed the closet door; it was Caron's cue to exit and make his way to... doing what he normally did when he wasn't in class: painting. Before leaving, he reached into his pocket retrieving from it her dainty, lingerie that she'd forgotten to take back from him before coming out. Navy blue orbs, tainted with lust and amusement, watched as she took them back quickly and holding them tightly--as if it was her only posession--timidity taking control of her cheeks as they flushed a violent shade of crimson.

The poor dear was chagrined by Caron's curt action.
How... quaint.

With a wink and a mischievous smirk, Caron left her office, and waltzed through the halls, contemplating on where he should go next. No doubt, his hair was disheveled, but he didn't care much for that--there was no hope for it anyway--and he stopped, briefly, to smooth out the wrinkles of his shirt, and fix his jeans. He didn't want any unneeded rumours spread about his whereabouts--not that there wouldn't be speculation anyway--he didn't want to get the girl fired. She wasn't the nurse, more like her intern--more specifically, her neice who needed a place to gain experience and make money; which was why she was hired for the job--so it was up to Caron to make sure that their little visits were sporadic; there was no way that he wanted Jordan anyone to think that he was shacking up with the nurse; especially since she wasn't that great. He just needed someone to fulfill his needs at the moment and the woman was ready and willing. Not that he was surprised at this; Caron had that effect on the female species--and it was doubled for the males--and couldn't help but dazzle them; wasn't his fault that he was born pretty. The boy shook that thought away, shoving his hands in his pockets, navy blue eyes scanning the halls for where he left his... and a smile jumped on his lips as he walked towards one of the few vending machines they had at WBS and reached behind it to retrieve his bag.

Inside said bag was his sketch book, several brushes of various sizes, a large zip-lock bag filled with tubes of acrylic paints, his eraser, chips and a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and his cell phone which he kept on in case Jordan wanted to text or talk or something. He'd made up his mind, over the course of the minutes it had taken him to walk from the Nurse's Office, that he'd go over to the art classroom and... well, lounge around. Since he was a senior and was near graduating, he'd been given the tall order of completing about thirty-two paintings--or 'works of art', in general--in order to pass and graduate with honours. Bull-fucking-shit. He'd painted a good number of his required, but still had a large amount to accomplish. Damn his procrastination! What had been on his mind lately? Oh, yeah, Jordan and Aiden. Damn them both Aiden to Hell. Ugh. See? He'd told himself before coming to WBS that he wouldn't get in too deep with anyone--only focus on his work and he'd succeed with flying colours. But no. Caron just had to be with someone.

A mental slap was needed, and that was what woke him up as he finally arrived at the classroom. Thinking that no one was inside, Caron turned the handle, and entered said room. There was another boy in the room: Stephen Travers, as Caron's mind told him, the face immediately recognizeable, but it did not stop him from coming in and 'ruining' his silence. His eyes followed Stephen's line of vision toward the subject he was currently sketching: the dust bin? A dark, elengant brow raised on Caron's pallid face as he closed the door, deposited his bag on a chair and went to the cabinets where the supplies were kept. As long as he was here, he might as well be productive and restock on his paint. There was no sense in buying paint when the school had them right there, and for the taking too. His tounge moistened his lower lip as he ran several lithe fingers of the many bottles to choose from. He wanted them all, but knew that he would have to make a decision, settle for a couple, select few colors and make due with that.

Oh, how he hated being so picky!

He'd leave Stephen to his sketching for now, he didn't want to 'disturb' his work--since Caron knew exactly how frustrating it was to be pulled away for something so... unimportant; not that Caron's presence wasn't important... he just knew how easily frustrated he became whenever someone interrupted him. From a fellow painter to a fellow painter, he knew how to dish out common curtesy of keeping his rather large trap shut--which was saying something, since Caron was always talking and socializing with just about everyone. Oh well... there was a first time for everything.