This was inspired by two challenges given to me by VeloySR595, I hope this is ok 😊.
(Y/n) had been watching him for months, the unusual, awkward man that seemed to shuffle along the streets of Gotham, dressed in his black pants, white shirt, and thin tan coat.
She had seen him first when he had shambled into Helms Pharmacy, and she couldn't help but notice the strange man; as soon as she had seen that sad, yet handsome face she knew that she had found her muse, the spark for her creativity. There was something about him that spoke to her soul, something about him that spoke to her heart as he waited for the pharmacist to finish serving his current customer.
(Y/n) hid behind the shelves, using one of the mirrors that hung on the wall to spy on the nervous man; her heart went out to him as he pushed his dripping wet hair from his face, he was soaked to the skin yet didn't seem to care that he was visibly shaking from the cold.
Quickly (Y/n) pulled out the little sketch book that she always kept with her, and began to draw the melancholic man that she could see, furiously scribbling down every subtle line and crease on his face; she could imagine him as an angel, a beautiful yet sad dark angel, that hid a pair of huge black wings that grew from the back of his lithe body, an angel that sat atop the great gothic cathedral of Gotham in an eternal vigil over the equally dark city.
Now all these long months later, her work had become obsessed with the unusual man that she had discovered was called Arthur, a man that by day dressed as a clown, his face painted in an attempt to conceal the sadness that seemed to consume him, his great black wings hidden under the bright, gaudy costume that he wore; yet at night he would become her sad angel again, her inspiration.
She was ashamed to admit that she had been following him, watching his every move, his every gesture; but without him, her work would have been nothing, his features haunting her every waking moment as she painstakingly replicated his every nuance, the thoughts of her sad angel pushing her to achieve the perfection that he was.
"My god (Y/n), this has to be some of your best work; its haunting, eerily beautiful. Who is he?" Douglas, her manager asked, as he looked through the vast array of sketches and black and white paintings that were amassed in her small studio, (Y/n) not really taking notice of the question as she added the last touches to the large canvas in front of her. Dropping the brush to the floor, she stood back and surveyed the masterpiece that she had been working on every spare hour, for months. There was her sad angel in all his glory, his pale naked torso and face standing out starkly from the great dark gothic building upon which he stood. His wings were outstretched, seemingly glowing in the rays of a high moon, the kisses of the celestial orb gracing every taut, sinewy muscle and protruding bone of his lean frame; below him was Gotham, the vile city that (Y/n) and her muse called home, the white lights of downtown the only thing that seemed to brighten the all invasive gloom that permanently hung over the great metropolis. He was Gotham's fallen angel, the combined images of thousands of homeless and poor people, he was the personification of man, yet he was a god, their god, the only hope for the hopeless.
"Jesus (Y/n), who is this guy?" Douglas asked again, as he came to stand behind her, unable to move his gaze from the two perfect green eyes that (Y/n) had given her muse, the eyes the only bright colour that appeared in any of her paintings of him.
"All I really know is that he is called Arthur, and he works for that place called Ha-Has, as a clown." (Y/n) told Douglas, as she looked upon her work.
"Any gallery in the country would fight to display this work (Y/n); but I think that I can finally persuade Macintyre to give you that show you always wanted in the city." Douglas said, as he stood behind (Y/n), and placed his hand on her shoulder.
>>---------------------------------<<
Arthur slowly ascended the stairs to work, the ride in had been uncomfortable and he had no real desire to put on a happy face, but as he pushed open the door to the locker room he saw a smiling Gary.
"Hoyt wants to see you." Gary informed him, noticing as Arthur's head and shoulders dropped.
"Hey, don't worry, I think that you might actually like this meeting." Gary said with a chuckle, as Arthur looked up at his small friend.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked nervously, failing to see how a meeting with Hoyt could be enjoyable.
"Go and find out, Hoyt's waiting for you." Gary told him, more or less pushing Arthur out of the door.
Arthur reluctantly knocked on Hoyts door, entering when he heard his bosses voice.
"Yes, that's him." An unfamiliar male voice said, as Arthur moved into the office.
"Come and sit down Arthur." Hoyt said, signalling to a chair on the other side of the desk.
"I would like you to meet Mister Douglas Campbell, he is the manager of one of Gotham's most preeminent artists, and he has something to invite you to." Hoyt informed a stunned Arthur as the man in question came forward to meet him.
"Mister Fleck, it's a pleasure to actually meet the real man, I have only ever seen you on canvas." Douglas said, chuckling at Arthur's obvious confusion.
"I-I-I'm sorry.....but, do I know you." Arthur asked, taking Douglas' hand and shaking it.
"No, Mister Fleck, but I feel like I know you; I feel like I've seen you a thousand times without actually setting eyes on the real you." Douglas told Arthur as he sat in a chair next to him.
"Have you evert heard of the artist (Y/f/n) (Y/l/n)?" Douglas asked, watching as Arthur turned his gaze to the floor, mulling over the question.
"Well, no matter, but I can assure you that (Y/n) certainly has knowledge of you, and I would like you to be a special guest at a show of her work; I assure you that you could find it most enlightening." Douglas said, handing a stunned Arthur a card with the time and details of a show in one of the most prestigious art galleries in the city.
"I am quite sure that it would pay you to attend." Douglas told him, placing a reassuring hand on Arthur's arm.
>>-------------------------------<<
Arthur looked at himself in the window of one of the big stores, he was only around the corner from the gallery, but he was still having an internal battle with himself as to whether he should go or not. He had made sure that he was neatly dressed, still not sure what to expect; Mister Campbell had said that it would pay him to attend, but how could attending some fancy art gallery full of rich people possibly benefit someone like him? Arthur shook his head, he had promised that he would be their for the opening night, and he was already half an hour late, and despite the fact that he didn't like the idea of being in any sort of crowd, he straightened his jacket, and combed his fingers through his slicked back hair before taking a deep breath and heading off around the corner.
As he got to the gallery, Arthur's eyes grew wide as he looked in the display window; there on a large canvas, under a banner entitled, "The Sad Angel" was a painting of him, a painting of monochromatic mastery that made him gasp in disbelief.
He gulped down the large lump that had formed in his throat, and tentatively pushed his way into the disturbingly busy gallery, his eyes scanning the faces of the crowd, looking for the only person that he knew.
"Ah, Mister Fleck, I am so glad that you could come. Well? What do you think?" Douglas asked, watching as Arthur's eyes skipped from one glorious image to another, each one a well-studied likeness of him; but it wasn't him, he was a clown, a simple man, yet here he was portrayed as some kind of deity, a dark god that ruled over the dark city.
"They....... they're amazing, but, but how, who?" Arthur asked, turning his gaze from the pictures to the man stood next to him.
"You are a muse, Mister Fleck, and I think that its about time you met the artist that you inspired. Just wait here, I'll be right back." Douglas chuckled, handing Arthur a glass of champagne before disappearing into the crowd.
Nervously Arthur walked around, trying the best he could to avoid the looks of the people that milled around and spoke in hushed tones as they looked between him and the paintings.
Suddenly he found himself stood in front of the largest painting in the show, his eyes taking in every last detail of the painting that had been titled "Gotham's Saviour"; the image of a glorious angel staring back at him as if he were staring into a mirror.
"That's how I see you." A soft voice said from behind him, a voice that made Arthur spin around, nearly spilling the undrunk glass of champagne on the woman behind him, his eyes growing wide as he found himself face to face with another angel.
"You...... I mean you painted this, you painted me?" Arthur asked nervously as the woman smiled at him.
"Yes, you are my muse, Arthur; my sad angel." (Y/n) said, as she looked at the features of the man that she knew all so well.
"Do, do I know you?" A confused Arthur asked, as she took his hand.
"No, but I would like to get to know you, I would like to get to know my greatest inspiration better, if he will allow it?" (Y/n) asked hopefully, as Arthur looked down at their hands, her fingers gently intertwining with his.
"My name is...... is Arthur, it's nice to meet you." Arthur said hesitantly, as he looked deep into (Y/n)'s eyes.
"Hello Arthur, its nice to properly meet you at last; my name is (Y/n)." (Y/n) told him, smiling as she felt Arthur's hand grip hers a little tighter.
"Well, let me show you the rest of the show, Arthur." (Y/n) said, taking him by the arm and leading him through the gallery, the two talking as they walked, the artist and her sad angel together at last.