Paint by Numbers (Heroes/Lost)
Apr. 22nd, 2007 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alenxa_classicTitle: Paint by Numbers
Characters: Isaac, Simone, Mr. Deveaux, and guest stars
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of language
Summary: Heroes/Lost crossover. What if "Isaac's First Time" wasn't, but he had no way of ever knowing it?
Spoilers: for Lost through episode 3.12 "Par Avion." All the Heroes info is really from episode 1.
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters, plot, or other elements of any copyrighted material is being claimed.
A/N: I swear I had this finished before Lost 3.17 "Catch-22" aired in the US. Watching it gave me the crawlies. And oh yeah, first fic post ever. Don't feel compelled to review; I won't get pouty.
"Those?" asked Isaac, in disbelief. Of all the paintings that could have sold first, that set would have been somewhere pretty far down on his list of suspects.
"Yes, those. All four." Simone's smile was entirely too self-satisfied. "You better watch out or you're going to get known for bizarre polyptychs."
"Yeah. Well." The only bizarre part about it that he could see, aside from the subject matter, was that these were the only pieces in this batch that weren't entirely new. A day spent trying to clean out clutter, with the incidental effect of unearthing some possessions to sell, had yielded a couple of sketchbooks of indeterminate age, filled with drawings he didn't remember making. As if to confirm that they predated his latest bout with rehab, most were just crap. The preliminaries for the paintings in question, and a few pages to either side, were the lone bright spots in the trawl. He'd let himself be nudged into exhibiting the final pieces just to make Simone smile. "I seem to be getting known for it anyway."
"You get known for what you do a lot of, not necessarily what you do well," said Mr. Deveaux, approaching with a well-dressed blonde in tow. Was that a too-knowing expression he wore, or a trick of the gallery lighting? "The buyer wanted to meet you, Mr. Mendez."
"Oh!" Caught between the strange woman's smile and a skewering glare from Simone, Isaac located the presence of mind to shake the buyer's hand. "Of course. Isaac Mendez. But you knew that. Good to meet you, Mrs. . . . ?"
"Call me Penny," she said, beaming. British. Vacationing, probably, looking for souvenirs. "My father's been watching your work since your summer 2003 exhibition. He sent me here to look it over."
A fan. Rather an odd one, but still not something he was used to. And if he had it right, it was entirely fitting that she liked the druggie work, if she'd come on board a year ago, at the show she'd mentioned. "I'm flattered."
"I sent him a preview," Penny went on, waggling a tricked-out cell phone. "That set was what he wanted."
"Does he usually collect the macabre?" Simone cut in. She looked . . . not possessive, but incisively curious, like a hard-boiled detective. "Because we here at the gallery have been noticing—"
"Now, Simone, don't start brokering art futures," Mr. Deveaux chuckled. He sounded perfectly neutral, but Isaac knew a save when he heard one. "We've already signed her up for advance updates."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," the woman protested. "I enjoy visiting, seeing it in person." She turned back to Isaac, her expression becoming, for lack of a better word, sparkly. "It's fascinating how you make the man in the paintings be there and not there. How do you do that, get that effect?"
Isaac could feel two sets of Deveaux eyes on him, and wished he could come up with an answer that would satisfy both of them. "I . . . paint it as I see it," he said, knowing it was lame but hoping everyone would just take it. Though explaining how he could see four death scenes for what was obviously the same person wasn't something he wanted to try.
Penny seemed to accept it, on some level at least. "I do admire your lightning effect," she went on, her gaze traveling to the second painting in the series. One of the gallery staff was placing a "SOLD" sign over the base of a tent pole in the corner of the canvas. Isaac was sort of proud of that piece too; it was the most complex, with the ghostly image of a smoking and twisted corpse overlying the comparative bucolic of frightened people huddling under a rain canopy. The others were plain by comparison: the same man, spiraling in a hangman's noose while also sitting up gasping in the foreground; then seeming to survey his drowned self on a beach; and finally holding a bird while his body lolled at unnatural angles on a rock behind him. Crazy shit, Isaac thought. At least it was crazy in a way that someone thought well of.
"Well, thank you so much for your interest," said Simone, bringing him back to the here and now.
"No, thank you for your exhibition," said Penny, in the middle of another round of handshakes. "Perhaps our paths might cross again soon."
"Maybe," Isaac agreed, and then Penny was off again, toward the exit.
"Very odd," Mr. Deveaux remarked. "That's the first time someone's outbid the Linderman group for anything we've shown here."
"Well, Widmore is very well known in the UK," Simone reasoned. "If anyone's going to ace Linderman out, they'd be a good candidate."
"If Linderman wanted it, he'd have it," said Mr. Deveaux, in a tone that said he knew more than he was speaking. "And if he's shill bidding, I'm not about to ask why."
"Not when it benefits our latest star," said Simone, with a grin for Isaac's benefit. He wanted to kiss her, right there, but he had the feeling she wouldn't be too pleased with that. Instead, he watched her and her father go back to the meet and greet, and thought about how they were going to ship the paintings. He had the sudden idea that plane was a bad way to go, but he couldn't have said why. Anyone willing to shell out $1,516 for each panel could certainly afford insurance. Definitely crazy shit. But all in all, not a bad night.
Characters: Isaac, Simone, Mr. Deveaux, and guest stars
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of language
Summary: Heroes/Lost crossover. What if "Isaac's First Time" wasn't, but he had no way of ever knowing it?
Spoilers: for Lost through episode 3.12 "Par Avion." All the Heroes info is really from episode 1.
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters, plot, or other elements of any copyrighted material is being claimed.
A/N: I swear I had this finished before Lost 3.17 "Catch-22" aired in the US. Watching it gave me the crawlies. And oh yeah, first fic post ever. Don't feel compelled to review; I won't get pouty.
"Those?" asked Isaac, in disbelief. Of all the paintings that could have sold first, that set would have been somewhere pretty far down on his list of suspects.
"Yes, those. All four." Simone's smile was entirely too self-satisfied. "You better watch out or you're going to get known for bizarre polyptychs."
"Yeah. Well." The only bizarre part about it that he could see, aside from the subject matter, was that these were the only pieces in this batch that weren't entirely new. A day spent trying to clean out clutter, with the incidental effect of unearthing some possessions to sell, had yielded a couple of sketchbooks of indeterminate age, filled with drawings he didn't remember making. As if to confirm that they predated his latest bout with rehab, most were just crap. The preliminaries for the paintings in question, and a few pages to either side, were the lone bright spots in the trawl. He'd let himself be nudged into exhibiting the final pieces just to make Simone smile. "I seem to be getting known for it anyway."
"You get known for what you do a lot of, not necessarily what you do well," said Mr. Deveaux, approaching with a well-dressed blonde in tow. Was that a too-knowing expression he wore, or a trick of the gallery lighting? "The buyer wanted to meet you, Mr. Mendez."
"Oh!" Caught between the strange woman's smile and a skewering glare from Simone, Isaac located the presence of mind to shake the buyer's hand. "Of course. Isaac Mendez. But you knew that. Good to meet you, Mrs. . . . ?"
"Call me Penny," she said, beaming. British. Vacationing, probably, looking for souvenirs. "My father's been watching your work since your summer 2003 exhibition. He sent me here to look it over."
A fan. Rather an odd one, but still not something he was used to. And if he had it right, it was entirely fitting that she liked the druggie work, if she'd come on board a year ago, at the show she'd mentioned. "I'm flattered."
"I sent him a preview," Penny went on, waggling a tricked-out cell phone. "That set was what he wanted."
"Does he usually collect the macabre?" Simone cut in. She looked . . . not possessive, but incisively curious, like a hard-boiled detective. "Because we here at the gallery have been noticing—"
"Now, Simone, don't start brokering art futures," Mr. Deveaux chuckled. He sounded perfectly neutral, but Isaac knew a save when he heard one. "We've already signed her up for advance updates."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," the woman protested. "I enjoy visiting, seeing it in person." She turned back to Isaac, her expression becoming, for lack of a better word, sparkly. "It's fascinating how you make the man in the paintings be there and not there. How do you do that, get that effect?"
Isaac could feel two sets of Deveaux eyes on him, and wished he could come up with an answer that would satisfy both of them. "I . . . paint it as I see it," he said, knowing it was lame but hoping everyone would just take it. Though explaining how he could see four death scenes for what was obviously the same person wasn't something he wanted to try.
Penny seemed to accept it, on some level at least. "I do admire your lightning effect," she went on, her gaze traveling to the second painting in the series. One of the gallery staff was placing a "SOLD" sign over the base of a tent pole in the corner of the canvas. Isaac was sort of proud of that piece too; it was the most complex, with the ghostly image of a smoking and twisted corpse overlying the comparative bucolic of frightened people huddling under a rain canopy. The others were plain by comparison: the same man, spiraling in a hangman's noose while also sitting up gasping in the foreground; then seeming to survey his drowned self on a beach; and finally holding a bird while his body lolled at unnatural angles on a rock behind him. Crazy shit, Isaac thought. At least it was crazy in a way that someone thought well of.
"Well, thank you so much for your interest," said Simone, bringing him back to the here and now.
"No, thank you for your exhibition," said Penny, in the middle of another round of handshakes. "Perhaps our paths might cross again soon."
"Maybe," Isaac agreed, and then Penny was off again, toward the exit.
"Very odd," Mr. Deveaux remarked. "That's the first time someone's outbid the Linderman group for anything we've shown here."
"Well, Widmore is very well known in the UK," Simone reasoned. "If anyone's going to ace Linderman out, they'd be a good candidate."
"If Linderman wanted it, he'd have it," said Mr. Deveaux, in a tone that said he knew more than he was speaking. "And if he's shill bidding, I'm not about to ask why."
"Not when it benefits our latest star," said Simone, with a grin for Isaac's benefit. He wanted to kiss her, right there, but he had the feeling she wouldn't be too pleased with that. Instead, he watched her and her father go back to the meet and greet, and thought about how they were going to ship the paintings. He had the sudden idea that plane was a bad way to go, but he couldn't have said why. Anyone willing to shell out $1,516 for each panel could certainly afford insurance. Definitely crazy shit. But all in all, not a bad night.
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Date: 2007-04-23 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-24 02:07 pm (UTC)