xp_logs | Gabriel and Marie-Ange

After recovering from his trip to Limbo, Gabriel approaches Marie-Ange to finally say yes to a longtime request.

It was weird that Gabriel was nervous, and he knew that. This had been his idea; he'd asked Marie-Ange for this nude sketch session shortly after he'd returned from Limbo. And the request had been unprompted, no less. (Unless previous conversations about naked figure drawing counted.)

But Gabriel wasn't used to inviting this kind of scrutiny into his life, not in this way. And while he knew that had been part of the point, it still made him uneasy. Which is why, when he finally showed up late to meet Marie-Ange, a half-smoked joint was clamped in one corner of his mouth. He withdrew it now and held it out to her with a smile. "Hi. Creative inspiration?"

It would be so rude to not accept. Marie-Ange accepted the joint carefully - it would also be so rude to get the charcoal on her fingers all over it - took a single drag, and then handed it back just as carefully. "Merci. I have crackers and cheese and fruit in the cooler if you are prone to the munchies." She waved a hand - and a twisty charcoal stick - at the mini fridge that was under a messy pile of papers and canvases. "And I restocked after I drew Quentin last, so I know he has not stolen all my good biscuits."

The mention of Quentin caused Gabriel's lips to twitch ever so slightly, and his smile softened a bit. He recovered by taking another hit. "I'll probably take you up on that," he said after he'd exhaled. "I mean, I'm already basically, like, always hungry. Some weird metabolism-meets-powers thing, I guess." He offered her a shrug. "Though I'm sure," he added after a second, "the pot doesn't help."

"Anyway." He stubbed the joint out and tucked it behind his ear and fiddled with the drawstring on his hoodie as he scanned her space. "Here we are."

Marie-Ange watched the awkward fidgeting for as long as it took to pull a new sheet of drawing paper up, and then waved the charcoal holding-and-stained hand at Gabriel. "If this is very awkward, you could do what Quentin has done and send four thousand Snapchat selfies. I like to make everyone uncomfortable in the office, not in the art studio. Blushing ruins my color matching."

"Oh, no, I'm not—" He shook his head and started to remove his hoodie. "Just tell me what to do," he finally said after a second. "Do I just throw my clothes off and strike a pose? Or do we do foreplay? What's the practice here? I've never had anyone try to draw me before." He tossed his hoodie on the nearest chair.

"Ah! No, no foreplay, unless you and Quentin want a drawing together." Marie-Ange could not help but tease a little. "Yes, clothes off, and find a comfortable pose. Something you can sit or stand in for a few minutes without fidgeting." She held up a finger, and then dug in one of her boxes for a sketchpad with pink and silver marker on the cover and handed it to Gabriel "Quentin has sent me four thousand Snapchats, I nearly have an entire pose example book of just him. Most of these are just warm up sketches, but it should give you an idea of something comfortable."

Gabriel stared at the sketchpad for a second or two, before using his powers to scan it through a flip book. The drawings of Quentin weren't a gut punch, exactly — enough time had passed — but it was vaguely uncomfortable enough that he sort of tossed the book back to Marie-Ange unceremoniously. "If you want to make this easier," he finally said, his voice weary, "you could maybe stop mentioning Quentin." He tossed his shirt on the chair as well and started kicking off his shoes. "We're not fucking anymore. Not post-resurrection."

It was rare that Marie-Ange was surprised, and not even due to the nature of her powers. "Oh. My apologies, I quite missed that." She tucked the book back in the box, and put it away. "How you pose really depends on what you want to show, or to hide. If it is sexuality, or vulnerability, or strength, or something else altogether. I can make suggestions, we can try a few poses to see what works." She laughed, and her nose wrinkled up in genuine amusement. "It is not unlike sex in that way. Find out what works, and keep at it."

Gabriel made a vague noise of assent as he kicked his pants off. "Well then." He crossed his arms as he considered that. "You know enough about me at this point to know that I don't like this kind of thing, right? I mean, that seems like it'd be pretty obvious. So..." He withdrew the joint and knelt down to grab his lighter. "I'm not really sure what I'm going for, I just... I dunno, I..."

He stood and re-lit the joint. "I spent a few days in a hell dimension, and it felt like a lot longer. And all that happening, and being there, it was just..." He took a puff, perhaps inhaling a little too sharply. "I dunno," he said after an exhale. "Draw me how old I am. Not how old I look."

The squinty-eyed expression Marie-Ange made was assessment, it was the same expression she made during meetings, and on stake-outs and when one of her co-workers said something that sent her down a path of obsessively shuffling decks of cards. She made a mental reminder to obsessively shuffle a few decks of cards later in the day. "I can ... I can draw that. Not quickly, for a finished drawing but yes, that is a thing I can draw."

"Great," Gabriel said, unsure how to respond after trying to read Marie-Ange's face and failing. "Also," he added, because he'd already gotten this far, "can't believe this is a thing that feels like it needs to be said, but maybe don't use it to bring me back from the dead. Cheating death once fucked me up enough."

"I am not sure I could even do that." Marie-Ange said, too quickly. "I was not sure I could do it the first time, and I think it only works on people with telepathy. And with their consent." Bringing someone back from the dead without their consent seemed like a very poor idea besides. "You know if I have to keep talking about this I have to bring up the person you asked me not to, and that is going to wreck the art."

"Fair," he responded after another toke. "What would you like to talk about instead? How does this usually go?" He held the joint between his lips, freeing his hands so he could remove his underwear and socks.

"Well, everyone else in the office has funny stories about tattoos and scars." Marie-Ange offered. "But really it is up to you. Which I know is not at all helpful, but this is art, not therapy? At least for you. It could be art therapy for me, I suppose." She flipped to an empty page in her drawing pad and then rolled her shoulders before sketching a few loose lines in charcoal, gestures really, Gabriel's hands at his hips, and the set of his neck and chin and lips - and a messy smudge that was the joint floating somewhere above that. "But if you want to talk about how I am going to have to draw you at twenty-something not late-twenty-something, because that seems relevant."

"Ah, well." He tossed the rest of his garments aside before looking up at her. "That." Gabriel stubbed the joint, now essentially a roach out. He flicked what was left of it in a nearby trashcan, then faced her.

He wasn't entirely sure where to stand or how, so he kept his hands at his side, his chest fairly proud, not bothering to cover up as he considered how to phrase what he was thinking. "After I got back from Limbo — I know, honestly, as far as names go, it's ridiculous, even for our lives, but there we are — a few hours after I got back, once my feelings returned to me from wherever Topaz sucked them, I just... I dunno." He offered her a shrug. "I'm 22 now, which you know, and Wade knows, and maybe a handful of other people know. And I look — well, you said late twenties, so okay." He gave her another shrug and stared at his feet, trying to figure out how to articulate the thing that had felt so clear when his emotions had started to hit him.

"I feel like I'm in a place now," he finally said, more quiet now. "A very specific place, physically and mentally and emotionally, and I don't know what it is or what it means, but I want to preserve it before some other crazy bullshit happens, and I'm, I dunno..." He looked up at her, his eyes almost pleading with her to get it. "Different."

"Before the space between here and there is too deep to cross?" Marie-Ange made a gesture at her sketchpad and then at Gabriel. "My mentor used to say, the job changes us, but for you it is a little more acute, no?"

"Something like that," he agreed. "I mean, we keep getting into these situations where time gets all wonky, and you know, it's just... kinda... fucked up?" Gabriel shifted his weight and ran his hands through his hair a bit. "I mean, God, for a while, my hold on reality was... weak, let's say. And now it's not." He let out a small sigh. "Or, at least, you know, it's less that way. I feel more like myself, I guess, whatever that really means. But then, what, one day I look in the mirror, and... I dunno."

"It probably does not help that you spend so much time with Kevin and Wade. A shapeshifter, and a man who does not age..." Marie-Ange pointed out, though her eyes did not leave her paper. "That does not seem like a combination meant to help reconcile your quarter life crisis."

"Quarter-life crisis makes it sound so trite." Gabriel frowned. "But you're probably right. The company I keep doesn't help. I'm speeding toward old age. They're avoiding it. Another one of life's little ironies."

"My apologies, I was trying for clever quip, rather than mocking." Marie-Ange's focus was split between her paper and Gabriel, though the latter seemed more on calculating shapes and angles and shadows than actually looking at him as a person. "I wish I had advice, on top of art studio time, but my relationship with present and future is, ah, questionable, yes?"

"How do you deal with it?" Gabriel was legitimately curious, especially since it took the focus off him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched his balls. "Should I be standing any kind of way?" It finally occurred to him to ask. "Or..."

"How do you want me to draw you? Normally I ask people to sit, or lounge, because it is more comfortable." She pointed to the fold-up cot tucked into a corner. "But maybe for this picture, that is too restful?" The art question was certainly easier to answer, even without giving a definite answer. "My coping strategy for precognition is, ah, I try to consider the practical side of things. Precognition is a nuisance but it does afford me the chance to win at the stock market game and sometimes prevent people from dying." Marie-Ange said, after some thought. "Or not restful enough, perhaps. Perhaps lying down would be a good art choice."

"I'm not a restful person by nature," Gabriel responded. He knew she knew that. "I mean, not that I can't relax, I just — I mean, restful feels a little... dishonest, you know? Although," he quirked an eyebrow, "if it makes me look long and lean, I'm all for it."

"If the picture is you as you are now, then it should be representative of who you are now." The charcoal was very carefully set down before Marie-Ange got any more thoughtful. Holding it led inevitably to chewing on it and no number of BuzzFeed videos about charcoal tooth whitening made eating art sticks any more palatable. "I always try to do these pictures, when people are naked, as who they are when they are not hiding who they are, which is not even the most pretentious thing I have ever said." She frowned, and flipped through the handful of warm-up sketches. "What part of running makes you feel the most like yourself?"

That was a weird question, and an unexpected one. Gabriel scrunched his forehead and drew his brows together as he considered it. "I dunno," he said after a few seconds. He wasn't used to being this introspective, and certainly not on command. "I guess, it's, like, it's a kind of peace. Like, it makes me focus. And it's... like, I'm alone, but it's all very grounded. Even the side splits, when I get 'em, they're — it's human?" He reddened a bit. "I'm not explaining it very well," he admitted.

"Close enough, I think? It puts you inside your body and outside your own head." Marie-Ange did not have anything quite like that, but she could think her way around the idea. "Perhaps we should draw you in one of the poses of.. bother, I do not know the name, the Greek soldier who did all the running in the myth about the Battle of Marathon?"

"Sure," Gabriel said to be agreeable, because he was only vaguely sure what she meant. "Something like... I dunno, a runner's thing?" He assumed what he supposed was a static version of a runner's stride, one leg in front of the other, his torso turned slightly out, his muscles taut. Then he looked at her for approval.

"Yes, I think that will work nicely." And looked like it would be difficult to stay still in, so she sketched quickly and messily, just to capture the pose. "It is very you, to be running, and I think trying to capture you being still is not who you are right now?"

"No," Gabriel said quietly in agreement after thinking her words over. "Definitely haven't been still for a while."