(parenthetical) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
parenthetical) wrote2008-04-06 11:49 pm
parenthetical) wrote2008-04-06 11:49 pm
[untitled; famine/basil hallward, 900 words]
Title: Untitled
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blindmadness
Word Count: 900
Pairing: Famine/Basil Hallward
Rating: PG
Fandom/'Verse: Good Omens/The Picture of Dorian Gray crossover;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
desperatefans-based interpretation of the characters in question
Summary: Written fordreamyoudeny in May of '05. Characterization of Basil is based on hers.
Basil was painting, his entire being focused on the easel in front of him. There was silence in the room, except for the quiet swish of the brush on canvas. The scene taking slow form on the stretch of white was a bowl of fruit -- a typical still life, its mirror image coming to shape under Basil's careful hand. The wood of the table gained new shine in the picture...the bowl became more solid, more real...the fruit looked more edible, more ripe and delicious than the one on the table. The silence wasn't deafening, it was peaceful. The task was more than painting; it was the creation of something beautiful, something perfect.
Even focused as he was on the nearly finished canvas before him, Basil would have noticed the presence of the other man in the room. As it were, the rumble of his stomach, followed by a low chuckle from a few feet behind him, made it a certainty; the painter said nothing, but a small smile lighted on his face.
Neither of them spoke until the painting was almost finished. Basil was carefully mixing the colours to use for the play of light on the apple; as he touched his brush to the canvas, Famine murmured quietly, "That's very good."
Basil smiled, putting the brush down to survey the painting. "Do you think so?" he asked, eyes slowly sweeping over the canvas. "It isn't exactly what you usually enjoy," he added with a quiet laugh.
Famine chuckled and crossed the room, his fingers brushing Basil's shoulder in passing. It was a gesture of both praise and intimacy, and the painter felt both pride and warmth fill him. He watched as Famine leaned against the table, studying the fruit with an amused expression.
"It isn't." A long, slim finger reached out and tapped the apple. Raising an eyebrow at the sound, Famine turned a quizzical, amused gaze back onto Basil. "Wax?"
Basil grinned. "The orange is real," he explained. "The others aren't. Come now, you know I would never be able to find any real food unless you were out. The orange was all I could manage."
Famine grinned, tilting his head towards the painting. "You make them look real." It was a compliment, but there was a slight undercurrent of blame. Basil knew he wouldn't be able to paint fruit anymore, not without feeling shame and a sense of having betrayed Famine.
The taller man looked at the canvas; Basil felt as though he was scrutinizing the painting even though he was on the opposite side. "You shouldn't paint things like this,” he finally said, taking the bowl of fruit into his hands. Slowly, he dumped the fruit out, letting it roll to stops at various places on the table. "There," he said with a grin, placing the empty bowl back in the center. "Paint this. 'A Portrait of Malnutrition.'"
"That's terribly morbid," Basil protested, but he couldn't help a slight grin at Famine's tone and expression.
Famine shrugged in an easy, fluid motion. He picked the orange up and turned it around in his hands thoughtfully, then tossed it into the air. It spiraled upwards in almost a straight line, then fell again. Famine caught it, then turned to Basil with a grin. "What would you like to paint, then?"
Basil shrugged in turn and Famine threw the orange into the air again. The painter's eyes followed the ascent and descent of the fruit; Famine tossed it a few more times, deliberately, fully aware of Basil's gaze. He paused, then, to slowly rotate the orange, his slender hands gently moving over the rough skin of the fruit. The painter watched, unable to tear his eyes away, until the motion stopped. Flushing, he looked up to meet Famine's amused charcoal gaze. The man smiled, then turned away to toss the orange into the air again.
"You," Basil said suddenly.
Famine caught the orange, turned, and blinked. For a second, a strangely open expression crossed his face. It was one of shock, unguarded and fleeting, but underneath that, a faint undercurrent of pleasure and flattered joy. "Me?" he asked, his handsome features sliding back into their usual mask, but with a startled note lingering in his voice. Basil, smiling to hear it, nodded.
"You know," Famine remarked, pulling a stool up to the table and seating himself for the painting, "in some cultures, allowing someone to paint you is considered a sign of trust."
Basil, who had been replacing the canvas on the easel with an empty one, looked up in surprise. "Is it really?" he asked, cocking his head inquisitively and allowing a faint grin to cross his face.
Famine snorted, tossing the orange into the air again. "No," he replied, catching it and placing it back into the bowl. Basil's gaze lingered onto the fruit, feeling as though he could devour it in one bite, rind and all. He hadn't eaten in three days.
Then Famine raised his head and looked at Basil over his glasses, his dark grey eyes intense. They held a look of straightforward honesty, of respect and openness...and something else, something deeper that made the painter's knees go weak. "It's true, though," he added, and grinned.
And it was moments like this, Basil reflected through a delighted haze, that made the hunger and the loss of proper still life subjects entirely worth it.
Author:
blindmadnessWord Count: 900
Pairing: Famine/Basil Hallward
Rating: PG
Fandom/'Verse: Good Omens/The Picture of Dorian Gray crossover;
desperatefans-based interpretation of the characters in questionSummary: Written for
dreamyoudeny in May of '05. Characterization of Basil is based on hers.Basil was painting, his entire being focused on the easel in front of him. There was silence in the room, except for the quiet swish of the brush on canvas. The scene taking slow form on the stretch of white was a bowl of fruit -- a typical still life, its mirror image coming to shape under Basil's careful hand. The wood of the table gained new shine in the picture...the bowl became more solid, more real...the fruit looked more edible, more ripe and delicious than the one on the table. The silence wasn't deafening, it was peaceful. The task was more than painting; it was the creation of something beautiful, something perfect.
Even focused as he was on the nearly finished canvas before him, Basil would have noticed the presence of the other man in the room. As it were, the rumble of his stomach, followed by a low chuckle from a few feet behind him, made it a certainty; the painter said nothing, but a small smile lighted on his face.
Neither of them spoke until the painting was almost finished. Basil was carefully mixing the colours to use for the play of light on the apple; as he touched his brush to the canvas, Famine murmured quietly, "That's very good."
Basil smiled, putting the brush down to survey the painting. "Do you think so?" he asked, eyes slowly sweeping over the canvas. "It isn't exactly what you usually enjoy," he added with a quiet laugh.
Famine chuckled and crossed the room, his fingers brushing Basil's shoulder in passing. It was a gesture of both praise and intimacy, and the painter felt both pride and warmth fill him. He watched as Famine leaned against the table, studying the fruit with an amused expression.
"It isn't." A long, slim finger reached out and tapped the apple. Raising an eyebrow at the sound, Famine turned a quizzical, amused gaze back onto Basil. "Wax?"
Basil grinned. "The orange is real," he explained. "The others aren't. Come now, you know I would never be able to find any real food unless you were out. The orange was all I could manage."
Famine grinned, tilting his head towards the painting. "You make them look real." It was a compliment, but there was a slight undercurrent of blame. Basil knew he wouldn't be able to paint fruit anymore, not without feeling shame and a sense of having betrayed Famine.
The taller man looked at the canvas; Basil felt as though he was scrutinizing the painting even though he was on the opposite side. "You shouldn't paint things like this,” he finally said, taking the bowl of fruit into his hands. Slowly, he dumped the fruit out, letting it roll to stops at various places on the table. "There," he said with a grin, placing the empty bowl back in the center. "Paint this. 'A Portrait of Malnutrition.'"
"That's terribly morbid," Basil protested, but he couldn't help a slight grin at Famine's tone and expression.
Famine shrugged in an easy, fluid motion. He picked the orange up and turned it around in his hands thoughtfully, then tossed it into the air. It spiraled upwards in almost a straight line, then fell again. Famine caught it, then turned to Basil with a grin. "What would you like to paint, then?"
Basil shrugged in turn and Famine threw the orange into the air again. The painter's eyes followed the ascent and descent of the fruit; Famine tossed it a few more times, deliberately, fully aware of Basil's gaze. He paused, then, to slowly rotate the orange, his slender hands gently moving over the rough skin of the fruit. The painter watched, unable to tear his eyes away, until the motion stopped. Flushing, he looked up to meet Famine's amused charcoal gaze. The man smiled, then turned away to toss the orange into the air again.
"You," Basil said suddenly.
Famine caught the orange, turned, and blinked. For a second, a strangely open expression crossed his face. It was one of shock, unguarded and fleeting, but underneath that, a faint undercurrent of pleasure and flattered joy. "Me?" he asked, his handsome features sliding back into their usual mask, but with a startled note lingering in his voice. Basil, smiling to hear it, nodded.
"You know," Famine remarked, pulling a stool up to the table and seating himself for the painting, "in some cultures, allowing someone to paint you is considered a sign of trust."
Basil, who had been replacing the canvas on the easel with an empty one, looked up in surprise. "Is it really?" he asked, cocking his head inquisitively and allowing a faint grin to cross his face.
Famine snorted, tossing the orange into the air again. "No," he replied, catching it and placing it back into the bowl. Basil's gaze lingered onto the fruit, feeling as though he could devour it in one bite, rind and all. He hadn't eaten in three days.
Then Famine raised his head and looked at Basil over his glasses, his dark grey eyes intense. They held a look of straightforward honesty, of respect and openness...and something else, something deeper that made the painter's knees go weak. "It's true, though," he added, and grinned.
And it was moments like this, Basil reflected through a delighted haze, that made the hunger and the loss of proper still life subjects entirely worth it.