fandomhigh | Creative Art, Monday Period 2, Week 3

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Creative Art, Monday Period 2, Week 3

"I hope everyone enjoyed their Labor Day last week," Steve said at the beginning of today's class, "and that the weekend wasn't too...much." Steve had had a cameo as a lawyer, so he was pretty much fine. "So we're not going to do anything too complicated this week. I understand that your brains may need a recovery period. We have colored pencils, we have crayons, we have drawing paper. Your assigned theme is to draw something from this weekend, but should you choose to deviate from that theme that's fine, so long as you keep it clean. So, go ahead and work, and talk quietly among yourselves if you want to--especially if it's about your art--and I'll be here if anyone needs me."

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Draw. Color. Process.

Scully was drawing pink pony heaven. Because that was a lot more friendly than "killing your bigamous husband."

After a while, she started drawing a baby, a little sadly.

Bod didn't want to think about this weekend anymore but he did manage to draw a tombstone from his time spent yelling at Kate (that whole memory was embarrassing) in the graveyard. It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Quinn was drawing the cruelest caricature she could manage of Kenzi in her bridesmaid's dress. The hair was stringy and the skin was warty, but it was hard to make her look bucktoothed.

When she felt like she'd slandered Kenzi almost enough, she went on, a little wistfully, to draw a beautiful white horse with ribbons in its mane and tail. That bit had been nice.

Butters' weekend had been ~~handwavey~~ interesting, as it seemed to involve a great big party off island with all of his secret identities, and he woke up all alone and wondering if he'd get back to school in time for class. He had, and there was one fact about the whole event that made him as happy as a clam.

"It was my birthday yesterday," he would announce proudly, happily, to almost anyone who might listen or just be sitting near him as he hummed a little and colored up some pictures of dinner at Bennigan's and the dance party in the hotel with all of his....er...friends.

"Happy birthday," Annie told him, managing a smile.

"Aww, gee, thanks, Annie!" Butters couldn't help but beaming. "I'm fifteen now!" Surely, she would be super-impressed by his maturity. "It sure was a good one; I went to Bennigan's and everything, see?" He held up the picture he was working on, which had him at a table with four other people and all the servers were around the table with music notes drifting over their head. "It's a tradition, so I'm glad I found one off-island, even if there aren't none here."

"Aww, that's nice. I'm glad you got to enjoy it," she said sincerely. And that he didn't have to spend it, you know, dying in a common room or whatever.

"Me, too!" Butters chirped, especially since, really, traditionally, really weird stuff happened on his birthday, weirder than him thinking he was all of his separate alter-egos all at once, so it was actually one of his best birthdays in recent memories. "I wish I'd've thought to ask some other people to come along, too, though, but I guess I just kinda got all caught up in myself, y'know? What'd you do this weekend, Annie? Anythin' interestin'?"

"Oh, you know, things," Annie said vaguely. "Went for a walk, got some coffee, hung out in a common room... Stuff."

Ugh she hated this weekend. Ugh.

"Well, happy birthday, Butters," Steve said, smiling at him.

So... what of Annie's weekend could she actually draw? Bottles of alcohol? Yeah, that'd go over well. And how did one draw making out with someone she'd never met before?

She was drawing several cups of coffee, but trying to make it artistic. She'd apparently died from it and it was easy to draw, so there.

"So how bad was your weekend?" Quinn asked, muted. After being Bruce's ex-wife and Peter's minion, then running away from a wedding with the groom to wake up next to a boy she hardly knew, student council rivalries were somehow slightly less important.

Slightly.

She'd get back to fighting strength soon enough. But right then, she was hoping for a truce for a few days.

While a little wary, Annie didn't really have it in her to be nearly as competitive today. This took a little more processing than say, when she had 80's hair for a weekend.

"Well," she said slowly, "I think I died from caffeine and then someone shoved me into a supply closet. So there's that. You?"

"The usual. Torn between two guys, rode away from a wedding with the groom on a white horse while Taylor Swift sang," Quinn answered. It hurt less if she made a joke of it. "You got caffeine?"

"Dave sort of... threw a rave?" she admitted.

"Taylor Swift? Really?"

"Just the song. You know, 'I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale...'" Quinn shrugged and stopped singing. "I swear it all made sense at the time."

"Why didn't I get music?" Annie wondered.

Because the thumpa thumpa music at the rave was the soundtrack to your death, Annie, that's why.

Quinn shrugged. "Don't know. I didn't get to die."

Which would sound awful, but when the alternatives were temporary death or waking up next to someone you didn't really know ...

"I think you got the better deal this weekend," Annie told her. "I repeat: supply closet."

Quinn squinted, trying to imagine it. "... did you wake up in there?" she finally asked. "Okay. That would suck a lot."

Her weekend had been bad, she decided, but at least it hadn't been bad in a pathetic way.

Re: Assignment Time

annieadderall.livejournal.com - 2011-09-12 19:31 (UTC) - Expand

Surreal still thought colored pencils were fascinating, and did her best to recreate the colored lights pointed down at the concert stage. It was hardly fine art, but it was the only thing from the weekend that she was willing to draw.

Freddie stared, pouting at his blank piece of paper.

He was too horrified about this weekend to try and draw anything.

Rapunzel was mostly trying to process. And failing at it.

She was mostly just staring blankly as she tried to come to grips with the horrifying fact that sometimes people just had their personalities changed in terrible ways. And the fact that no one seemed to care.

How was she supposed to deal with either of those, much less both of them at once?

George was drawing herself with a video camera. And herself making tapes, and herself selling the tapes, and herself laughing, laughing, laughing.

What she lacked in artistic ability, she made up for in spirit.

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