The art gallery was unexceptional in every conceivable manner save for the people that waltzed came in and out through the very modern glass and steel revolving door. The artistic community was hardly the most normal, and on that particular day they didn't disappoint. People in hats worthy of Ascot, people with vibrantly pink mohawks. Occasionally, you'd get someone with a hat and a mohawk. Then was the type that wore waistcoats and wouldn't have looked out of place sitting across from Sherlock Holmes, and equally, there was the type that were so wrapped up in their vintage handmade woollen scarves, they wouldn't have looked out of place playing the title role in The Mummy.Because of this, no one particularly noticed the handsome, but plainly dressed figure slip through that ultra-modern door, suppress a shudder, and slip into the gallery. Once inside, people instinctively moved out of his way. Most had little idea who he was, which he preferred, but there was something about that wiry frame and eyes that seemed to be constantly changing shades that unnerved people. It was a subtle change, sometimes from grey his eyes would suddenly take on a green tint, or a brown. It was easy enough to blame the lighting in this building, not that anyone had the nerve to ask him. Not that anyone really cared, either.
There was something distinctly earthy about Jesper Wells. He was as brown as a nut and mottled with even darker freckles. His dark blond hair was straggly and gave the impression that he'd just walked inside from a gale force wind, this being despite the fact there hadn't been so much as a breath of wind since last month. He was an odd figure, so as it was, it was little surprise that he was an artist. Unknown to most, but with popularity on the rise. When he'd been a child, most people had considered him a prodigy. Portraits had always been his speciality, capturing expressions. Sometimes it seemed like a little piece of the person he'd painted had somehow been transferred onto the canvas.
He walked quickly, reaching the stairs that coiled around inside the glass building like an industrial steel intestine. More steel. Just what he needed. Part of him wished he'd paid more attention to Ingrid's warnings. His sister did have a nasty habit of being right about the practical things. It was the only thing she was ever right about, but it was irritating none the less.
He found the art gallery director rather quickly, he being the stressed one that was trying to order the staff around without alerting the people who visited the gallery to the fact that everything was in utter chaos. How quaint. "Hello?"
The director's head snapped towards him. "Sorry, but I'm rath-"
"Is the building on fire?"
"Excuse me?"
Jesper sighed. "Is the building on fire?"
"No..." From his expression and tone of voice it was clear that the director had no idea where this was going.
"In which case you're not too busy to talk to me. I need to speak to you about the 18th-"
"No. I don't care who you are but if you want to display once we reveal the new painting then you're-"
He'd been anticipating this, of course, but no matter. "Well, perhaps you'd like to take a look at my portfolio anyway? Since I came all the way out here."
With a resigned look, the director took the folder and opened it. His whole face turned a strange sort of puce colour and he looked from the portfolio to Jesper and back again. "Are you being funny?"
"What about the exhibit surrounding the painting that's been discovered?"
"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Wells."
The smug smile he wore didn't suit him, it made him appear... less human somehow. Funny really, considering that he wasn't. Most people didn't believe in changelings, it wasn't many that had heard of them, werewolves, vampires and zombies being the creatures in vogue.
Sat outside on the gallery's wide steps he was given many glares, but ignored them completely. He often came here, in spite of how much he disliked it. The whole gallery was a good thinking spot, some of his first work had been displayed there, a few directors ago. Wild, vicious sketches that only succeeded in making the subject look strange and animal-like. He guessed that was why people liked those so much, even in a world where people disliked traditional portraits, there was something about them. As egotistical as he was, he didn't blame destiny or practise for his abilities, though the latter had helped. Changelings were unpredictable as a species, they were liable to brilliance and madness in equal quantities. Everyone who'd met the vicious young man knew that all too well.
It wasn't only his early work that had been displayed there. There was more money to be made in the work of dead artists, but it wasn't really about the money, he couldn't care less about the money, really. It was the challenge. Many paintings were being rediscovered... People were more informed about antiques than they'd ever been, they looked around in their lofts and attics and sought things out at antique shops and markets. Sometimes, there wasn't any need for the paintings to be discovered at all. Jesper's various artistic pursuits seemed almost trifling in comparison to his latest forgery. It had been difficult, no doubt, and the flaws that were invisible to everyone else seemed to scream at him, but everyone thought the painting was real, so it didn't really matter. Forgeries were such a cliche now, he supposed that was why no one really expected them. After awhile things just got accepted and any questions that were raised simply glossed over by general belief. All in all, humans made very good sheep.
((So much rambling. ;w; Trying to get used to Jesper's character, he works best when there's someone else around he can be horribly rude to, but anywayyy, expect my other posts to be way shorter than this.))
