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23 October 2006 @ 10:48 pm
Lower East Side, Manhattan: Isaac's Studio  
Open to Simone.

Isaac realised, blearily, that it was daylight because his eyelids seemed to be painted cadmium red on the inside, and that meant there was more light than just streetlights and starlights and the occasional police helicopter. Daylight meant getting up out of bed--was he even in bed? His back seemed to suggest he wasn't, so at least he was a step closer to the end goal. Daylight also meant that Simone would probably be over. She hadn't been by, not since the overdose. So she would be, more than likely. To pick up paintings or to lecture him on how much electricity he was using or something stupid that meant, in Simone-world, that she cared, that she was invested in him. Art was a language of subtleties, and he knew Simone's well. He should, after all this time. He knew her language and she knew his, and that should be enough to make sure they could communicate, but shoulds rarely panned out into actualities. That, Isaac had to admit, was frustrating. Spanish, English, body language, sketches, something should make sense. Something.

Groaning, Isaac opened his eyes and pulled himself upright. He was on the floor, and the latest canvas was there on the easel, completed, unremembered. It made Isaac's head hurt to look at it, so he just dragged himself to the bathroom to splash water on himself and try to remember which day it was. She'd probably ask if he knew, anyway, and having an answer would be a good first step.
Current Mood: groggygroggy
enabling on October 24th, 2006 04:39 am (UTC)
"The others aren't half as good, and you know it," she replied sharply, putting down the suitcase and automatically moving around the apartment, picking up trash as she went.

"You're a month behind in your rent," she continued on, dumping an armload of dirty rags in the large trash can near one of his easels. Or at least, she thought they were just dirty rags. "When was the last time you ate? God, what am I going to do with you.."
Isaac Mendez: Portrait of the artist//greyviridian_hue on October 24th, 2006 04:42 am (UTC)
"I don't care. It's not for sale," Isaac repeated, finally finding a battered button-down that smelled half-way decent and he pulled it on. "I lost track of...a lot of stuff, I guess. But if he really wanted the rent, the landlord would've hauled his ass up here to kick mine, so it can't be that late."
enabling on October 24th, 2006 04:47 am (UTC)
"That isn't the point," she said, turning back to him. "You weren't like this a month ago. I didn't have to hound you half as bad as I am now." I should have known something was up, she continued on inwardly, moving to pick up a broke brush beneath one of the tables he kept his supplies on.
Isaac Mendez: Presentable//seriousviridian_hue on October 24th, 2006 04:52 am (UTC)
"I wasn't producing worth shit a month ago," Isaac told her with a shrug, crossing his arms over his chest, expression turning surly. "You know that. So how many times are we gonna talk about it like it might change?"
enabling on October 24th, 2006 04:56 am (UTC)
"You were doing the comics. They were selling great. Are selling great," she amended, holding the broken pieces of the brush in her hand. Simone sighed, finally letting her shoulders drop a little.
Isaac Mendez: Portrait of the artist//greyviridian_hue on October 24th, 2006 05:03 am (UTC)
Slowly, Isaac shook his head, jaw setting in a firm line. "They're better now. So much better. And you know it. They're clearer," he insisted. "It's all better now. You can't tell me you don't see the difference." Those last words, they were almost questioning, as if asking for some kind of aknowledgement, trying to draw her back into his orbit. "The art is what matters, Simone. It's better now."
enabling on October 24th, 2006 05:09 am (UTC)
Simone moved her eyes up to him, looking him clearly in the eye. It was all in his body language, that silent plea. He was right. The paintings were clearer, more defined, frighteningly so. But he'd been right the first night. Even if they were hauntingly beautiful, the ends did not in any way justify the means. Not to her. No amount of art mattered that much.

"Baby, you need help," she said, her voice pained. "It'll only get worse. You almost killed yourself. I want to help you."
Isaac Mendez: Blues//down and outviridian_hue on October 24th, 2006 05:26 am (UTC)
His body language changed with those words, turning defensive again, turning inwards, buffering himself. "I don't need help, I need...Christ, Simone, I need a lot of things. I need you to just believe me. I can't stop, don't you understand? If these are...if this is the future, I can't stop. I have to keep painting. And this is the only way I can see it, I can get to it. And if this is what's going to happen..." He trailed off, tracing his bare toe across one of the lines of the painting on the floor. "I have to know. I have to see, carida. I can't just let it go."
enabling on October 24th, 2006 12:11 pm (UTC)
"Believe you. Like you wanted me to believe that you could just stop?" Simone replied, expression torn between concern and frustration, her hands moving to gesture around them. "Like you'd wanted me to believe you last time, with the wild claims? You lied to me. It's crazy, Isaac. Painting the future. It's the drugs. I'll admit, this- these-" she took a few steps closer, eyes moving to the paintings. "-They're so alive it's creepy, but that's all it is."