by 
THE ARTIST
B-rank || Errings Rising || 500 words || 500 total
"Nice place, right?" said an overenthusiastic realtor.
"It sure is!" replied Fane, but he was beginning to second guess himself. What he and the realtor were gawking over was a building Fane was looking to buy in Honsenka, and he was determined to not only live there but to start his tattoo shop as well. Unfortunately, the building was not as glamorous as the realtor claimed and Fane agreed. Its location was on the less desirable part of this oriental-style, exotic town, and it looked closer to an abandoned sweatshop than a sellable property. And as if to add sugar to the icing, it was smudged in between two large buildings owned by other privately owned businesses that were so enormous relative to his own that they cast shadows over his building entirely!
Well, we can't have it all, can we? Because the property was so unattractive and undesired by people who could afford anything else at all, it was so terribly cheap that even Fane—whose monetary wealth consisted only of jewels he's hoarded along the way to town—could afford it, and that was all he needed to get started.
After he bought it, what was any person's nightmare was now manageable considering Fane compensated for its ugly appearance with his own creativity. By the end of the week, he had transformed the dusty sweatshop into a colorful, vibrant tattoo joint. It was small, but with the donations from locals and his good eye for junk and even better knowledge on how to clean them, he had fully furnished the shop and decorated it with murals and paintings of his own ability. It was nothing to write home about, but if anyone had seen the before and after as Fane had, he was certain that he would have been praised! Well, he wasn't impressed with his work anyhow. He was more excited to get started with his true craft.
Sitting there on a stool was none other than Fane Howler—shirtless and plucking steamed edamame beans from a white ceramic bowl. Every part of his body except for his hands, feet, and head were covered in various tattoos. Not only that, he was a particularly built man with a refined, toned shape. His black hair was so incredibly long that he felt the tips of it kiss his ankles when he walked. In front of him was a large canvas, incompletely scribbled over with various red flowers. The most noticeable of them all was a bundle of large Haemanthus in the center, but they were otherwise known as Blood Lillies in Desierto. Fane carefully dipped his brush into his paints, letting the rough threads slide over the canvas with a look of captivation in his green eyes. It was as if he were lost in his own world.
Suddenly, he stopped, looking at the canvas with a sudden expression of dissatisfaction. He looked... frustrated. "Flowers die when they're not watered. What good are you on a canvas? You deserve something better."
"It sure is!" replied Fane, but he was beginning to second guess himself. What he and the realtor were gawking over was a building Fane was looking to buy in Honsenka, and he was determined to not only live there but to start his tattoo shop as well. Unfortunately, the building was not as glamorous as the realtor claimed and Fane agreed. Its location was on the less desirable part of this oriental-style, exotic town, and it looked closer to an abandoned sweatshop than a sellable property. And as if to add sugar to the icing, it was smudged in between two large buildings owned by other privately owned businesses that were so enormous relative to his own that they cast shadows over his building entirely!
Well, we can't have it all, can we? Because the property was so unattractive and undesired by people who could afford anything else at all, it was so terribly cheap that even Fane—whose monetary wealth consisted only of jewels he's hoarded along the way to town—could afford it, and that was all he needed to get started.
After he bought it, what was any person's nightmare was now manageable considering Fane compensated for its ugly appearance with his own creativity. By the end of the week, he had transformed the dusty sweatshop into a colorful, vibrant tattoo joint. It was small, but with the donations from locals and his good eye for junk and even better knowledge on how to clean them, he had fully furnished the shop and decorated it with murals and paintings of his own ability. It was nothing to write home about, but if anyone had seen the before and after as Fane had, he was certain that he would have been praised! Well, he wasn't impressed with his work anyhow. He was more excited to get started with his true craft.
Sitting there on a stool was none other than Fane Howler—shirtless and plucking steamed edamame beans from a white ceramic bowl. Every part of his body except for his hands, feet, and head were covered in various tattoos. Not only that, he was a particularly built man with a refined, toned shape. His black hair was so incredibly long that he felt the tips of it kiss his ankles when he walked. In front of him was a large canvas, incompletely scribbled over with various red flowers. The most noticeable of them all was a bundle of large Haemanthus in the center, but they were otherwise known as Blood Lillies in Desierto. Fane carefully dipped his brush into his paints, letting the rough threads slide over the canvas with a look of captivation in his green eyes. It was as if he were lost in his own world.
Suddenly, he stopped, looking at the canvas with a sudden expression of dissatisfaction. He looked... frustrated. "Flowers die when they're not watered. What good are you on a canvas? You deserve something better."
NOTES
NOTES HERE
