Carolina takes the book. It feels small in her hand. Precious. Months of careful labor brought together and bound by twine. Pages made from handmade stock. She can feel the pulp, rough against her thumb. Flip. A stag with black eyes. Flip. Creatures she's seen only in passing, too odd and too cute for her to hunt guiltlessly. Flip. People captured in intricate, inky detail. Line-work joined by subdued, colored washes. Some conventionally human, others not. All of them drawn with care.
And at the end, a side profile. The figure's eyes are trained on the center fold. Her lips are pulled taut, her nose scrunched. Not quite as intricate as the others, as if its artist was pulling from very few memories.
She looks pretty here.
Carolina frowns.
Gerry's voice is bogged by water, like he's dunked his head into the dying barrel and in a sudden panic she realizes she has no clue how long she's been quiet.
"What? Yeah— yeah, not my style. You'd look better in it, probably."
no subject
Carolina takes the book. It feels small in her hand. Precious. Months of careful labor brought together and bound by twine. Pages made from handmade stock. She can feel the pulp, rough against her thumb. Flip. A stag with black eyes. Flip. Creatures she's seen only in passing, too odd and too cute for her to hunt guiltlessly. Flip. People captured in intricate, inky detail. Line-work joined by subdued, colored washes. Some conventionally human, others not. All of them drawn with care.
And at the end, a side profile. The figure's eyes are trained on the center fold. Her lips are pulled taut, her nose scrunched. Not quite as intricate as the others, as if its artist was pulling from very few memories.
She looks pretty here.
Carolina frowns.
Gerry's voice is bogged by water, like he's dunked his head into the dying barrel and in a sudden panic she realizes she has no clue how long she's been quiet.
"What? Yeah— yeah, not my style. You'd look better in it, probably."
She hands the book back to him.
"You're talented."