Random thought dumps

Guy meets gorl

  Clarissa composed her self shortly, as to not disappoint or show fear to any audience who may have been in the room at the time.  She dove right into cleaning her easel and pallet for the next painting, though her hands still ached from the former, and she couldn't wait to relax in the acres of gardens stretched across this estate. She walked over to a guard watching her within the room, though the Bertrand's seemed very superstitious and guarded of every guest, the Lady of the house had all but two left of the average five left in the room to watch. Clarissa questioned if they would help her move a canvas off of the easel and onto the back wall so she could bring the new one to replace. The guards stiffened, and the sound of a door being shut ensued at the same time as they could mutter a mundane response. Inside with a condescending smile, trotted Ms Marion Polack, following ever too closely behind Mr Ivor Bertrand, the second son to Lady Millicent Bertrand.
   He stood proud around six-foot two, with his darker hair adding around half an inch to it, and his outfit the most un-impressive thing you have seen, not standard for a kind of household like this. He was quite handsome, and the same could be said about the party behind him. The lady could be no more than 5'8, accounting for the fact she was wearing flats. Her dress was the most beautifully adorned baby blue with gold accents, and her hair wrapped up in flowers and bows. Clarissa took her bow, introducing herself in awe wondering what made them endeavor to visit, and filled in her current progress and halt of the painting. She dared make eye contact with either for very long, and kept her responses shorter, thinking out each statement for efficiency, attending to every question with haste. "You seem, rushed" Mr Ivor let out a small laugh, only to realize it wasn't some light matter. "If you desire, I could help with this- you say to this wall?"
   He pointed to the canvas, looking down the guards who he had just previously witness treat the painter with poor taste and un-trust.
"Yes, but please do not strain yourself with this Mr Bertrand. I have acquired the guards assistance and shall make most use of it. I will start your painting by the following afternoon."
He preceded to shake off both her dismissal and the persistence of Marion's disapproval of this, and grabbed the bottom of the canvas without second thought. Clarissa hurried over and grabbed both of his wrists, pulling just hard enough for them both to topple onto the floor. "The paint is still wet, sir." She stated shocked and frozen after a few seconds pause, quickly grabbing a wet cloth from her bucket to clean the paint off. "Well I'll be, I've never seen such a picture!" Marion screamed, before grabbing the cloth from Clarissa's hand, and pulling the stunned man to face herself instead.
   She started to clean the hand, though sorrowfully realizing the paint was spilling into her skin, and recoiled at the notion. She didn't say anything, but her actions made it obvious enough that Clarissa took another cloth from her bag, soaked it in the cool, stale water, and handed it to her without a word, turning away to ask the guards again for help. They agreed more hastily this time, seeing as their master is in the room, and Clarissa instructed them to grab the back of the painting, and hang it on a larger set of nails she placed in earlier that day.
   Ivor laughed a loud, long laugh, perplexing and startling every person in the room. "My my, you do amuse me, I shall pray I never dare as to offend by assisting you without listening first again! I do wish our next few weeks together be as fruitful as today has been, and I can only hope you receive my sincerest apologies Ms-..?" He was now standing, oblivious to Marion's meltdown behind him, and walked to meet Clarissa, curiosity beaming from him. "Clarissa, Mr Bertrand, and please do not feel the need to apologize, I had not given instructions in the first place, and dared place my hands upon you without asking. It is I who should be praying for forgiveness, not the former."
   He lightly chuckles, "You may call me Mr Ivor, seeing as we'll be spending the next while in each others company, and this is a family friend, Ms Marion Polack." A dainty hand splits the room between the painter and her muse, only to interject about how she should be referred to as Ms Polack, and how audacious it was to be referred to as any other. Though Clarissa saw Ivor roll his eyes, she bowed and proceeded to state that she needed to prep the next canvas before dinner, so she would have enough time to ready it for the following day, thanking them for their politeness and patience. Mr Ivor stated he should watch to make sure he could help next time there was a need for assistance, but Marion's objections to the idea overthrew any kindling hope he had, and they walked out of the room almost as fast as they had walked in. Clarissa took a huge breath, and carefully walked to put the new canvas onto the easel.