Beauty in the Sewer

He examined the walls, reaching up to pat one once in a while. He liked the more textured sections. Maybe they would add texture to the plants? Or whatever else they put up here. It would look nice! Maybe they could make it look like outside? That might be nice.

"Do you want me to bring all the stuff tomorrow? No one comes down here, so if it's not finished we can just leave everything in a corner."

He turned at her question and chuffed softly. He didn't want her to feel rushed, though. Hopefully she knew he could wait. Waiting was what he was best at.
 
Not a nod, and not a definite head shake either: he didn't mind. Brilliant deduction by Ingrid Caton Wattson. His indifference was a relief: soon after she'd offered she realized lugging a bunch of supplies down all at once would likely snap her spine. There was also the matter of obtaining everything. Paints were easy to take, pictures were printed easy too...There was another thing she wanted to get, though. Keeping with the arty theme.

"I can probably bring stuff down piece by piece. You gotta promise not to mess with anything while I'm gone though. No painting without me!"
 
Despite the limited range of facial expression, Claudius managed to look well and truly offended. He growled softly and tossed his head in denial. He most certainly would not work on the masterpiece without the master present! How could she ever think him so base as that? He cocked his head and eyed her critically out of one golden eye.

Alright, he was mostly bluffing. Mostly. He knew she didn't mean it like that, not entirely, but still! So he held his miffed expression and waited.
 
Ingrid took on her own look of huffy disgruntled-ness, crossing her arms and scrunching her face indignantly. She wasn't going to stress an apology this time, no-sir. She had to make sure he wouldn't meddle with the art stuff while she wasn't around! Because that's what she'd do if it was her.

Seconds past, with them locked in a tense staring war of bluffed annoyance, until Ingrid's facade finally crumbled due to a quiet cackle of laugher. She'd lost this battle of the will, and now she had to pay the price:
"Alright, i'm sorry, I know you wouldn't do that. Can you blame me for making sure? This stuff isn't cheap."
 
The dragon gave a low growl of laughter and dipped his head. He understood. While he did not know exactly how much art supplies would cost, he did vaguely remember something about art being surprisingly expensive. Besides, anything was expensive when you lived in a sewer, and he knew enough not to mess with anything he might break.

Wait... expensive... he could help!

But first...

Claudius lowered his head and peered at her shirt. Had he torn it? Oh, dear, it looked like he had. He grumbled softly as he examined it then looked at Ingrid. Hmm... He started walking out of the tunnel and headed toward where she normally exited and entered.
 
Hooking a finger into the hole to tug at it lightly (and subsequently making it worse), Ingrid joined him in examining the damage. Albeit with a far less critical, and more dismissive eye. She tore shirts all the time, it wasn't anything too new.
...The shirt itself was sorta new, but he didn't need to know that.

"Oh don't worry about it, Claud! I tear shirts all the time-- This one was old anyway."
Any attempt at making him feel better apparently fell on deaf ears, since when she glanced back at him he was already on his way out. It was the politest hint she could've gotten that it was time to leave, so she didn't hesitate to follow beside.
 
Claudius led the way back to the sewer exit and stopped. He looked at her and tipped his head slightly, warbling questioningly. She would come back tomorrow, right? He wanted to see her, give her something, and talk more about the artistry on the walls. More than anything, he wanted to talk to her. But he couldn't. So he would try to use the art she provided as an outlet.

His head dipped down to look at her more closely as he waited for her answer, his snout closer than usual. He was tempted to nuzzle, but he refrained. She'd probably had enough of his sporadic headbutts and affection for now.
 
Ingrid glanced between him and the exit. Was there something she was supposed to do? Wordless questions usually had obvious prompts, or a something previous to go off. In a moment of complete mental blankness, there was a brief cut of worrying silence.
"Oh- Oh! Exit. Leave. Back. Okay---"

No sooner did she space out, she spaced right back in with an exclamation. Nodding and rubbing the back of her neck, Ingrid gave a thumbs up and flashed a grin.
"I'll be back tomorrow, yeah. For now, it'll just be paint buckets I think."
Judging by how he dipped his head down, she was sure he wouldn't mind the small pat to the muzzle to emphasize her reassurance.
 
Her hand was cool yet warm on his snake-like scales. He grunted softly, eyes narrowing in pleasure. Good! She would be back. With paint cans? Hmm, that seemed heavy. He hoped she wouldn't hurt herself trying to carry heavy things on her own. Maybe he could help on Friday?

He backed up and lifted a claw. He waved it up and down, trying to imitate a paint brush. What if she got the brushes first, instead?
 
Her hand mirrored his gesture slowly, flicking an index finger up and down as if to materialize whatever he was miming. The other hand was planted on her hip, with Ingrid shifting her weight to one side to stand more comfortably. Her legs were already annoyed at her, since she'd be subjecting them to walking home soon--And the fact she would also be hauling stuff from point A to point B over the next few days.

She wouldn't say she was unathletic...Just somewhat reserved in the fitness section of life.

"Brushes?"
Ingrid questioned, giving only a 2-second window for an answer before she went on.
"It'd be easier on my back, sure, but the paint cans won't cost money, so...I figured I could grab 'em first.
You make a good point though, Brushes would only take up a pocket, and I wouldn't have to haul them around."
There was another pause so she could check his reaction and see if she was on the right track.
 
Claudius grunted and tossed his head lightly in agreement. Yes, that sounded right. But... How could brushes cost and the paint not? Did she already have a lot of paint? That seemed an odd thing for someone like her to have an abundance of, but what did he know? Perhaps it was completely normal. He still wished he could help with the carrying, but perhaps he could help in another way.

Not that there was much else to be talked about right now.

He gave her the tiniest of nudges then turned and started walking back down the tunnels of the sewer. Long, cold, dank tunnels. Strange, he hadn't felt discontented with his life down here in a long time. It was what it was, and that was that. It wasn't hard to get used to something when you disallowed anything else into your life.
 
It was no surprise when a raspy, strained goodbye quietly echoed after him, followed by the distant audible struggles of a tired woman crawling out of a manhole once he'd vanished out of sight. Ingrid made a point to watch him go, as if it would help lift the pit in her stomach every time she had to leave him down here. Even though she was doing what she could to make it better, it didn't feel like enough.
It was just 'oh, that sucks' guilt before.
It only got worse.

It was comforting that she didn't have to dwell on it on her walk home, though. She needed to think about the bigger picture.
...Hah. She made herself chuckle, at least.

Ingrid spent a good portion of her night digging around her house for spare change. She had the money for the brushes, but she needed change for something else, too. Maybe some more paper, too...It was surreal to look over the notes she'd written herself. Figuring out his name, all the way back to speculating on what he was.
Nostalgic, but no time.
She needs to look at the bigg-- No. Wait. She'd made that joke to herself before. She couldn't think of any more...But she could chalk that up to being tired.
Hehehehe.
 
Claudius put in similar work, although unlike Ingrid, he waited until the morning after he'd had a good night's sleep. He hunted high and low and raided his stash until he had two full backpacks. But not too full or else Ingrid wouldn't be able to carry them. He looked forward to showing her what he'd found. He took everything to the special room, hiding it under a pile of crumpled cardboard boxes off to one side.

Morning shifted into afternoon. Afternoon crept into evening. And evening dragged on and on into night.

Finally, it was time. He waited patiently in their usual spot near the manhole, his tail tapping slightly in ill-contained excitement.
 
Ingrid had awoken to the unfamiliar, but not surprising, sound of activity in her apartment. Amalie was here, and after their previous discussion about the company Ingrid kept...She suddenly wasn't feeling all too excited about stepping out of her room.
But, she had to. It was midday (a staggeringly early time for her, considering her general exhaustion being coupled with late nights), and she had things to collect. The thought of picking up some art supplies did brighten her mood enough to usher her out of bed, but sadly, the objective of picking up her bag and leaving didn't go unnoticed.

"Where are you off to?"
"Out."
"I can see that."

Ingrid felt her posture deflate with a sigh, her hand on the doorknob in preparation to leave the moment a chance presented itself. If she kept her gaze fixed firmly towards the door, perhaps it would lessen the feeling of her sister's eyes burning into her skull.

"...You're not doing anything dangerous, are you?"

There was an uncomfortably long silence. The weight of the words carried so much more than a simple question. It was accusatory. It was caring, and concerned.
It was something Ingrid didn't want to deal with right now. Maybe not ever.

"That's none of your business," She replied icily, and before more could be formed, the woman was out the door.
She wasn't going to let that ruin her day. She wasn't going to let it ruin his day, either.

-

By the time evening had rolled around, Ingrid had managed to regain a semblance of her excitement, although ever so gently eroded away by continuous social interaction. She'd been to three stores today, one even being out of the downtown cesspool. To say it was out of her comfort zone was like saying the Antarctic was only mildly frigid, or meeting a scaly monster in the sewers was only slightly out of the ordinary; It was an immense downplay.
There was also mild discomfort in being watched haphazardly climbing down into a sewer with a sports bag slung over your back, but while she floundered at socializing, she excelled at ignoring.

"Hey, Claud," She started, forgoing the last few steps of the ladder and jumping down with a small grunt. It didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for, regarding Claudius with a half-smile that conveyed only a small fraction of her enthusiasm.
"Hope you haven't been waitin' too long."
 
Claudius lifted his head with a low purr of welcome. She was only a few minutes later than usual. What had held her back? Perhaps her sister? He did not mind. She was here now, and she carried a large bag over her shoulder. He rose to his feet and leaned over to eye the bag. It smelled funny and not at all like a sandwich, but today was too big of a day to worry about chicken sandwiches. He turned and started walking toward their special room.

For once, he barely kept himself slow enough for Ingrid to keep up. He felt he was getting a little carried away with excitement, but nothing had happened to him like this in one... five... four.... multiple years! It was difficult not to get carried away in excitement when nothing happened. He reached the special room and stopped in the center rise, turning to look at Ingrid. Maybe she would find the backpacks, maybe he would show her.
 
His curiosity towards the bag didn't go unnoticed, and Ingrid shifted the shoulder that was suffering the most of the weight with a dry huff of laughter. The sooner she got the bag set down and gave her back a well-needed stretch, the better.
It seemed Claudius had the same idea, likely for different reasons, as Ingrid had hardly opened her mouth for a greeting before he was starting off down the sewer pipes. There was only a few seconds delay in her following, and he was already halfway down the pipe.

"You excited then, I take it?"
Ingrid questioned with a playful tone, her look of coy smugness not all-too visible in the dim lighting.
"Me too. I think you'll like what I've got with me- It may not be everything, but, it'll give'ya something to do in the meantime."
 
Claudius turned, scales and claws rasping on the new concrete floor as he did so. His head dipped, properly abashed at his nearly reckless behavior. He really needed to get ahold of himself. He leaned toward Ingrid, looking her over curiously then staring at at the bag. What did she have? He would have asked if he could have, but she had gotten very good at reading his motions by now.
 
Ingrid stepped down into the room with an exaggerated slump, wasting no time in setting the bag down and leaning back to stretch. Jeez, it wasn't even that heavy, was she that weak-bodied? Sure, she was on the thinner side, and not the most active, but a bag of arts and crafts shouldn't render her into a frail old lady.

She peered out of the corner of her eye at Claudius and grinned. She'd kept him waiting long enough, plus she could use a sit-down, so with no shortage of theatrics Ingrid plopped herself down and riffled through the bag, talking through it as she did so.

"First thing I got was brushes. I wasn't too sure you'd appreciate the pencil-thin ones, so-" With the sound of wood clacking together, Ingrid lightly tossed two large flat brushes in Claudius's direction. They were akin to ones painters would use when wanting to finish a wall, but not willing to use a roller, for whatever reason.

"We also have some pictures! I, uh, only have a few printed out in colour since the ink was pretty expensive. I think you'll like them though."
Handled with a slight bit more care, were five sheets of paper, all having a decent(-ish) print of various flowers. Three of them were black and white, consisting of simple flowers like daisy's, buttercups, and the like.
The other two were vibrant. As vibrant as a public library computer could manage, anyway. They were both yellow flowers; One picture was a bunch of Agrimony, and the other was of Daffodils.
"I, uhm...I figured flowers would be a good starting point. I've got some pictures of trees, too, but you'll have to wait for tomorrow for those."
 
Claudius was looking at the brushes curiously as he tried to figure out how to use them. He poked one with a claw consideringly. Maybe if Ingrid picked it up and handed it to him? Then she mentioned something about flowers. He turned to look.

His eyes widened.

The flowers in the pictures stood out vivid and real, as real as if they were growing out of the concrete. They were vibrant and colorful! More colorful than anything he'd seen in years! These were the first flowers he'd seen in years. When was the last time he'd seen flowers? He could not remember.

The brushes, the bag, anything else Ingrid had, it was all forgotten as he stared at the pictures, trying to remember how they smelled and felt.
 
Ingrid pulled out a few cardboard packets and looked about ready to go on a spiel about /those/ too, until she paused to study Claudius's reaction. It wasn't too hard to gauge what he was thinking; He was clearly enamoured with the photos he was presented with, and it made her feel...Something. She felt a cheerful amusement at how he regarded pictures with such wonder, and she was glad he liked them!
...It did cater to that all too familiar sense of negative emotion she had yet to name, though. This shouldn't be the nicest thing he's seen. Claudius deserved more than just a few shoddy .png's.

Ingrid snapped out of her spell of pessimism with a snap of her fingers, hoping to regain the dragon's attention. He'd have plenty of time to look over the flowers when she was gone.
"They're nice, but I'm not done yet, Claud. This-"
She rattled one of the boxes before tipping its contents onto the ground. Multiple chunky sticks of chalk rolled out of the cardboard, all in various colours, and left a small trail of coloured dust as they went.
"This is chalk. It's not edible, just in case you were wondering."

Sure, the box said only small children should receive that warning, but Ingrid wasn't ready to put Claudius's chicken sandwich withdrawal to the test.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top