Chapter 95 - Paint Me?

Moonlight pierced through the stained glass window on the left wall, illuminating the solitary figure that sat on a high stool in the center of the wide open hall—a brush in her hand. She cast a long shadow on the floor, but longer yet, was her hair—paler than the moonlight itself.

A towering canvas stood before her, each stroke of her brush gracing it with elegance. She intermittently dipped the bristles into the palette next to her, a dance of color and creation unfolding. Half of her lit face had a picturesque beauty to it—thin lips, a sculpted nose, a sleek chin, and eyes that seemed tender yet detached.

Adorned in a beret, baggy pants, and a poncho, she was a canvas herself, splashed with myriad colors and vivid splotches of paint marking her attire.

Perched atop a stool towering over two men in height, she reached the upper echelons of the tall canvas. Her hair cascaded down in a graceful fall, nearly brushing the ground.

One leg rested on the stool's platform while the other swung rhythmically in the air, mirroring the sway of her body. It was as though she moved to an inaudible melody, her every motion in harmony with the music only she could hear.

A heap of smaller canvases lay at her side, all of them depicting a slight variation of what she was painting right now. Vern didn't understand art as much as he would have wanted to, but admiring it was always a pleasure.

He was having a hard time understanding this one, though. He could almost make out a face and an opulent interior in the background, but there were these red and white strokes that seemed to cover the face-up.

The general art style was mesmerizing, but it was hard to figure out what was actually going on in the scene.

She gripped the platform of the stool with one hand and leaned forward, making some intricate changes in the painting. That's when her lips moved, and a soft sound entered his ears, "What do you wanna read?"

Vern shook his head and snapped himself out of the reverie. The ambiance had captivated him, leaving him spellbound for a while.

But her straightforwardness threw him off a little. Hadn't they skipped a few steps there? Still, clearing his throat, he answered, "I was hoping to start with the very basics of Observation."

She didn't even look back and replied, "Shelf C, fourth row, 'The Axioms of Observation,' bring it back and read it where I can see you."

Vern opened his mouth to say something but turned right around and walked to the mentioned shelf, which was made obvious by the lettering on their sides. He easily spotted the said book in the fourth row.

It was a thin one, which was sad. He was hoping it would be something with enough content to last him for a while. But if she recommended it, there must have been a reason.

So he grabbed the book and walked back to her, only to notice something peculiar. She was holding up the papers of the canvas, and a different painting peaked from underneath it.

She swiftly added a few strokes to the painting underneath, and Vern watched in amazement as a stool just…appeared between her and the window out of thin air.

He glanced at the small section of the painting that peeked from behind her hand and then at the stool. She had just added a similar shape to the painting! But before he could scrutinize it further, she dropped the hand that was holding up the pages on the canvas, and all he could see was that red-white scene again.

There was nowhere else to sit, so it was clear she drew it for him. Vern didn't mind it. He would sit on a painted stool over a normal one any day.

Is this how she rendered that shelf invisible? he wondered, making his way toward the small stool wordlessly. If she could 'paint' changes onto reality, what exactly was she trying to do by drawing that red-white thing?

Going by the thickness of the 'sketchbook,' there were at least a hundred other pages in it. What other things can she 'manipulate' like this? he mused. But not like she would tell him, and he had no interest in prying for the sake of it.

He sat on the wooden stool, and unfortunately, it felt exactly the same as a normal one. He had hoped it would dissolve into paint or something. He chuckled at the thought and let it be.

She didn't really pay him any mind and focused on her painting, but he was really curious, so he went ahead and asked a little hesitantly, "Are you Lady Irene?"

"Just Irene is fine," she replied, biting the brush's tail with a contemplative look.

His guess was on point, it seemed. Captain Shinsei was looking to introduce them to her during the tour, but she wasn't around last evening. So he did his usual, "Nice to meet you, Irene. I am Vern."

"I know," she quipped back. After a couple new strokes on the painting, she added, "I also know that you just waltzed up here."

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Vern almost dropped the book from his hands before scrambling to find the best way to vocalize his innocence. Soon, he began, "It’s—it's not like that. The door was open. I was checking to see how it worked, and it just swung wide open—"

But then he heard low giggles and looked back up, only to see her lips trembling as she did her best to hold back a laugh.

Ohhh. Vern's cheeks heated up almost instantly as he realized he'd been had. She was making fun of him.

"I opened the door, hahaha," she tipped her head back and let loose, her soft laughter echoing through the library.

Vern didn't know how to react. Between her short fits of giggles, she added, "You should've seen your face when I painted the shelf away."

Vern opened the book and hid his face behind it, his cheeks flushed. But it was hard to hold back, and her laugh was infectious.

It spread through the room and soon caught up to him, and he joined with light chuckles of his own. That one might have indeed been a little funny to watch from an outsider's perspective.

But then, out of the blue, her soft laughter died down, and she yelled, pointing her brush at him, "WOW! Hold that pose!" and Vern involuntarily froze in that exact position.

He was settled on the stool, one foot anchored on the footrest, the other extended slightly forward. The open book obscured the lower half of his face, concealing a hint of his smile, with the hand holding it relaxed upon his knee. Bathed in moonlight filtering through the stained glass window, he was enveloped in a shadowy interplay of light and dark, creating an almost mystical aura around him.

Standing atop her own tall stool, she picked the next upturned page of her massive 'sketchbook' and flipped it over. A new empty white canvas now waited for her, and she excitedly mixed colors on her palette. Doing so, she said, "Don't move. Please!"

Vern didn't know what to do about this situation. Trying to avoid a helpless look from creeping onto his face, he spoke, holding the pose strong, "Miss Irene, I am not sure if I am a worthy subject for your art—"

"First Lady, now Miss, can you drop the formality already? It's so…awkward," she interjected, picking up different colored vials from the bracket in front of the canvas and mixing them up.

Vern sighed, "Okay, Irene. Can I go back to reading?"

She shook her head, a slow rippling wave propagating through her long hair, "No. It's your fault for looking so good in that pose."

"…" He was speechless. Luckily, the book hid the blush.

It had been a while since someone had given him a sincere compliment about his looks. Fundamentalists didn't care much about faces, while most nobles he interacted with were all about wealth, status, and bloodlines—of which he had none.

Swish Swish

Dipping her brush in the newly mixed colors, she began with wide strokes that weren't really all that clear from this angle. She looked at him every few seconds before adding a couple new strokes to the canvas.

Swish Swish

Soon, however, his paranoia won over his shyness. But since it had done him nothing but disservice today, he asked about his fears veiled as a joke, "Irene, are you drawing me so you can make me disappear, too?"

Swapping the thick brush for a thin one, she retorted, "Tell me you're joking. You can’t be clueless enough to think I am some witch that can break the Axioms of Observation."

His hand wanted so bad to go up and scratch his head. What did she mean by breaking an axiom of observation? How did that work?

But he didn't get to ponder that for long because she chided him, "No, no, no! Go back to the previous expression. Don't bring your eyebrows together, and smile a little!"

But how? She was demanding too much of him. He was no model. Closing his eyes for a while, he tried to do as she suggested.

Without his prompting, she began again, a smirk etched on her face, "But obviously, you don't know the Axioms," she stopped her strokes to laugh before speaking again, "You wouldn't be holding that book if you did, after all."

That was indeed true. Which is why I came here in the first place!

Taking a deep breath, he began his counterattack, "Well, at least I am not going through an artist's block," he chimed, his eyes focused on the heap of similar drawings next to her.

She stopped, clearly taken aback. She first looked at him, then at the heap, before she wordlessly grabbed the first few pages of her canvas like some curtain and then drew a few more strokes on the drawing at the page underneath.

Swish Swish

Vern watched in stupefaction as the heap of paintings was erased from reality as if it were some line drawing. She then dropped the canvas papers and looked back at him with a cheeky expression, "What artist's block? Where's the evidence?"

Vern stared back silently before shaking his head but soon broke out into another chuckle, and she followed him with a giggle of her own.

Then suddenly, she stopped, ready to chide him again for breaking the pose, but he didn't let her speak and declared, "Sorry, but this sketch model demands compensation for sitting here. I came here to read, but I can't do that now, can I?"

She opened her mouth to speak but then stopped. Then, after a while, she looked at him as if she was making the biggest compromise of her life and said, "I can read it to you?"

Vern shook his head and quipped back, "That sounds like reading it myself—but worse."

Her eyebrows shot up, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, as if she wasn't going to back down any further, she replied, "I…I will answer your questions regarding Observation."

Well, that was a little too easy, almost suspicious even. He didn't even mention that's what he wanted, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He smiled to himself and asked, "Are you well-versed with the complexities of Observation?"

She narrowed her eyes and leaned towards him on that stool dangerously, "I own this library! I am more learned than five copies of you combined! And I am starting to rethink my offer the way you’re ruining the pose right now."

Vern shirked back, I guess that question was somewhat rhetorical anyway. Obviously, she knows more than me.

He offered her a smile and applied the technique he had mastered during training, seamlessly readjusting himself into the previous pose with near-perfect precision. It was all just points, anyway.

Her expression went from exasperated to awed to mesmerized real quick and she grabbed the brush and began painting right away. Soon, she spoke, the moonlight reflecting off her beautiful face, "Anyway, what do you wanna know?"

Vern reeled back his mind from her elegant features and pondered on where to start. The obvious choice was asking about these Axioms, but honestly, he'd heard about them before from Esther, and he didn't think they were the 'fundamentals' of Observation.

If someone was willing to answer his questions, he'd rather start from the very basics. He was missing so many little details that any higher concept would just go right over his head.

So, he thickened his skin and braced himself for potential ridicule before asking, "Can we start from the start? Could you explain precisely what Observation is and how it functions?"