White Rock Lake
A reservoir, White Rock Lake covers 1,254 acres and was once used for a portion of Dallas' drinking water supply. Now that it's use as a water source has been supplanted, the area has become one of the favored recreational locations in the city. The forested shoreline is dotted with numerous small cabins, fishing piers, and sailboat docks.
The lake is surrounded by White Rock Lake Park, which is home to the Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Garden. Running through the park is a 9 mile trail designed for hiking, running or cycling.
Though swimming was banned here back in the '50's, it is still a popular location for area teens who generally enjoy the more deserted areas, using the beautiful backdrop as a makeout spot.
It's taken quite a few sessions, not to mention some rooting around in her brain, so to speak, but it seems the lawyer has finally started going back out towards the lake, and more importantly, the gardens, always one of her favourite spots in the early hours of the evening, when the sun has set, but the air is still smooth and warm with the remaining heat of the day. And so…her favourite bench, set under one of the lamps illuminating the walking path that runs through the outer ring of the gardens. Mignonette has set up shop, as she likes to do, sitting cross-legged on the polished wood, a pad of blank paper resting in her lap, charcoal pencils laid out beside her, save for one, which she's skimming across the pristine white surface of the drawing pad.
—-
With his charge safely in the room of the Whip's, or not so safe the more he thinks about it as the vampire makes his way through the city. Taking his free time, the only time he may have to the best advantage he can think of, Clarence decides to explore this new home of his, he'd been couped up in the Estate so long, he felt it was only right. And what a night, his dark brown orbs moving over the colors of the early evening, as he feels the reamining heat upon his body, yet he is not warmed by it. Having entered the gardens, he allowed his sense to be taken in by the aroma of the garden, such a bland smell compared to that of blood, but it was something different, as he slips his hands into his pockets, slowly heading down one of the paths along the outer ring of the gardens, he slowly starts to wander, eyes flicking over the area illuminated by the lamps, and among the shadows that they help form on the outside of the lights ring.
—-
Perhaps for a vampire, the scent of the gardens is a pale thing, but for a simple human, it's sweet and rich, an amalgam of the night-blooming flowers that make the gardens so popular, regardless of the time of day, and the pine-laden, almost wintery scent of the forest that stretched out around the lake. Coupled with the gentle sounds of the lake drifting with the wind, it's an ideal place to winnow away the time, and Mignonette seems to be using it to her advantage, starting, as she usually does, with a sketch of whatever angle of the gardens she happens to be able to see from her chosen seat. It does tend to change every time she visits.
—-
Clarence continues to wind his way down that path, his brown orbs slowly taking in the night-blooming flowers, his face could easyily be mistaken for that of a statue, except for the constant flutter of a smile that runs across his lips, as he takes in another new flower or a new smell. And its a new smell that makes him pause for a second, having reached a bend in the path, and with the breeze blowing towards him, that pale garden scent, is now mixed with the warm scent of a breather. His smile now a permant fixture on his face, as he restarts his walk, slowly turning the corner as he takes in the sight of the back of the human seated upon that bench. If he had won't too, he'd be upon the woman silently, but he starts to allow his feet to hit the ground a bit firmer, ensuring that the sound of his foot steps approaching is head. "Good Evening," He offers out to the woman, as he moves closer towards the bench and her, "What a wonderful evening to be out and about…" His eyes flicking to the womans lap, as he drops his voice into a whisper, "Hope I'm not disturbing…" He asks as he pauses just slightly back from the bench, that smile still on his lips, he knew humans trusted smiles.
—-
It does take Clarence's added effort with his footsteps, for Mignonette to be able to hear him approaching. But one she does, the pencil pauses, in the middle of shading a dropping willow, as she looks away from the brightness of the paper towards the approaching man and the voice that seems to go with him. Not unlike the way in which looking into a bright light and then away can leave an after image, so too looking at the paper, and it takes a few seconds, for the woman's eyes to adjust to the change in light and colour, or, in his case, the lack there of, but she soon returns to work, flipping the page, ignoring the fact that she's likely smudging her first drawing, no longer looking at the paper now, as she begins a gesture drawing of the man now standing within sight of her bench, "It is a wonderful evening. The garden seems to be at its peak, just before the summer becomes too warm to enjoy the flowers. And no, you're not interrupting."
—-
Clarence remains rooted to his spot, as he watches the woman flip the page of the book, as he allows his gaze to linger across her face, watching as those eyes adjust to him, yet the smile faults for a second but is quickly returned, as the woman shows no fear, or hesitation for being approached by a male stranger, let alone a pale easily vampric looking stranger. His eyes flicking from her face, down to that page in her lap, as he hears the scrapping of pencil against it, as the woman he only assumes is busy drawing him now. "I was hoping I hadn't." A chuckle escaping from his lips, as he pulls his hands from his pockets, bring them together as he rubs them slightly. "It is a good temperture for the flowers it seems, and a good time to be about, alot of beauty to be found." Allowing his hands to drop to his side, as he glanes once more at the female busy drawing, "So do I make a good model?" He asks, the smile slowly disappearing into just a line of his lips pressed together on his face.
—-
Mignonette pauses, once she finishes the gesture drawing, finally looking down to see her work. It's nothing more than a series of circles and swirls, as gesture drawings tend to be, but what she hasn't captured in detail, she has made up for in a fairly accurate rendering of your outline and the way in which you carry yourself. If she noticed the falter, it doesn't show on her face, her own the picture of calm, either born out of an honest lack of fear, or just long practice. But when the question is asked, she seems to give it no small amount of consideration. "Well, I would say, given how still you're standing, or were while I was sketching, that that's a point in your favour." And then, quiet, for a few long beats, as she studies the man's face, and his figure. And there's nothing lascivious in the way she looks him over. It simply is what it is, an artist studying a figure model, "Your figure is excellent. You're tall, but well-proportioned. Perfect bone structure, in your face, and your hands," which, are the only portions of the man's body she can see, the clothing covering everything else. "Classically elegant, my mother would say. And she was an accomplished figure painter."
—-
Clarence allows that smile to return to his face, as he remains still as a statue for the woman, awaiting for her to finish. His eyes dropping to follow her gaze down onto that piece of paper, as the corner of his lips turn up into a broader grin. "Why thanks," He offers, as he'd even kept still allowing for the woman to study his features, his own gaze having down that very quickly at the start, "I do try to be as elegant as possible…" He chuckles, his hand coming up to brush some unseen thing upon his coat, pressing it flat against his body. Since she'd finished drawing, Clarence takes the few steps need to get even closer to the woman and the bench, as he offers forward his cold pale well-proportioned hand to the woman, "The name is Clarence," That smile even reaching his eyes, as the dark brown seem to lighten slightly as his good humour, is now not just a mask upon his face.
—-
"You're welcome." Being that she's working with pencil, rather than pastels or oils, she actually moves rather quickly. A sketch taking quite a short amount of time, especially when you've had years of practice. But, being as the clothing is, well, while well-tailore, not really all that interesting as the actual figure, when she begins her pencil sketch again, she does two separate vignettes. The first, of the man's face, using the ads of her fingers to shade, capturing not only the contrast of dark hair and brows against pale skin, but the quality of the shadow and light from the surrounding illumination. And once the face is finished, she starts on the hands, capturing them not as they are now, but as they were when he first removed them from his pockets and rubbed them together. But as he approaches, she sets the pad aside, rising out of politeness, and accepting his hand, her own smaller and quite a bit warmer than his, "Mignonette. A pleasure to meet you, Clarence."
—-
Taking the warmer hand in his own, Clarence gives it a slow shake in greetings, his fingers holding it firmly, as he glances down at the pad, his his smile parts revealing his pearly white teeth, "Pleasure to meet you, and your pretty good…" He says as he allows his hand to gently releases her palm, reaching down as he takes hold of the pad, picking it up, as he glances across at the woman, "May I?" He asks, as he allows his brown gaze to take in the expertly drawn face, his own profile given back to him so perfectly, as he brings his free left hand up to rest upon the page, as he glances from hand to paper. "Yes…very good." He chuckles, as he wriggles the tips of his fingers, handing back the pad.
—-
"You're the first of your kind I've met who's done that." A tip of her head indicates the handshake, as she retrieves her hand, offering the pad easily enough, "It's just something quick. I think you'd look better in watercolours, but I don't have the materials for that here. Oils would be too heavy, and pastels too…no, just not right. You need a wash of colour, it suits your character. But thank you. I'm not a professional, by any means, but I try to do a little very day. And having a good model makes it easier."
—-
"Well you could easily be a professional." A nod of his head towards the pad, as he continues to allow his gaze to linger over the work, "One day I may allow you to give me that wash of colour, you so think may suit me…" Chuckling softly, as it sounds like barely a whisper coming from his chest, as he returns his gaze up to meet the womans, "And hopefully I won't be the last," His fingers continue to lightly tap against the pad, "But I don't believe in meeting with fangs, it trully does make a second meet that much harder, and unpleasant, rather have meet civilly, I prefer to give my kind a good name."
—-
Mignonette shifts the pad, folding the paper along the pre-scored crease, and tearing off the top sheet, before she offers it over, the sheet on which she's drawn you, "Please, keep it, if you like. I can always draw you again. I have a very good memory for faces. And who knows, if this whole law thing doesn't work out, I might just consider a change of profession to something less time-consuming." And then, more seriously, "But I would be honoured to paint you." As for the fangs, well, "I have to admit, I haven't the slightest desire to be greeted in such a fashion. But I never have been able to figure out why your kind seems disinclined to shaking hands. But then, you're also the first vampire I've ever touched, are you not the usual sort? I mean, are your kind's hands normally cold and clammy, or something else that would be unpleasant?"
—-
"Are vampires ever normal…" The humour in his voice evident, yet his face had returned into the customary stone like appearance, as his hand automaticly reaches for the piece of paper, taking it between his fingers, Clarence grins, breaking that stoned face of his in half with the smile. "We're all cold and clammy, we just don't like the feel of being so close to beating blood." As he slowly folds that piece of paper in half, doing so in such a manner as to not affect the draws in anyway, as he slips it into his pocket. "With my hand so close to your pulse, it was hard not to bring out the fangs, and then you'd have seen the unpleasant side of shaking a vampires hand."
—-
"Well, perhaps not to me, that is to say, to humans, a vampire will never seem normal. But among your own kind there must be some sort of standard. The way you move or act or look. The pale skin for example. That seems to be a standard. Although I never quite could figure out why you don't use makeup. A good bronzer could do wonders, because I have to say, some of your kind do NOT do well with the pale skin. I mean there's porcelain and then there's old milk. Just not attractive. I'm sorry, that was probably quite rude. Although, I suppose no different from commenting on my kind and our penchant for overtanning. Sun-kissed as opposed to old leather." A pause, a long one, as she listens to the explanation for not shaking hands, and she offers, well, as close as one can get to a curtsey, when you're only nodding your head, "Thank you for not taking advantage, Clarence."
—-
"I only take adavantage if I need to do so, and I've gained a very nice drawing without taking advantage…" Clarence says as he lightly taps his pocket with that drawing in it. Bring his hand up he turns his palm over looking at the back of his pale hand, "And what do you think I am, porcelain or old milk?" His gaze taking in his pale white skin, as he flexes his fingers watching the hand muscles working under that skin. "But I have to say that the reason we don't use bronzer, is thats hiding behind something. And why should a vampire hide anymore, we've had hundred of years of hiding, its time for us to stop our hiding." That smile fluttering from his lips, as he turns his gaze from his hand to the womans face, "And to be honest, your not old leather, I've seen old leather, and its not pretty…but like with you humans, each and everyone of you is different, and likewise with vampires. We all have similar traits, like our need for blood to survive, and our pale skin due to lack of our own blood. But each and everyone of us is different in some way or form. Much like each one of you humans are different. Generalising is never a good idea, always gives people the wrong ideas."
—-
"I'd have to go with porcelain. The pallor suits you, accentuates your features. Although it might just be the softness of the lighting, since it's colouring your skin a bit golden, but you don't seem to have that sort of…well, greyish undertone. If ever I have a chance to paint you, I will paint you as I see you. But I don't agree with the bronzer." She lifts a hand to her own features, "I don't wake up in the morning looking this good, you know." The tone of her voice is clear. She's joking, rather than being narcissistic, "The careful application of the right touches of colour can enhance what god gave you, as my mother likes to say. Which is the key. No one likes to look as though they put their makeup on like spackle."
—-
"You mother was quite the bright woman wasn't she…" Slowly nodding his head, as he allows his gaze to linger across the womans face, taking in the womans features slowly, analytically. Clarence slowly raises his own hand to his features, "Well you could say god didn't give me this…" He says with a sly smile, his lip pulling up in the corner of his mouth. "Or well he did give me most of it, the porcelain skin, and the hunger for blood, I blame another, but luckly I may have porcelain skin, but we don't break that easily."
—-
"Don't let her hear you say that. You'll never live it down." Again, that easy humour, when she speaks, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be discussing her family. Which, perhaps, for her, it is, "Well, I should hope not, the way people treat you at time, there wouldn't be enough glue to put you back together again." Still, that light smile remains, as she turns to close her sketchpad, "I had better get home. Work comes far too early in the morning. But it was truly wonderful to meet you, Clarence. Perhaps I'll see you again the next time you're out in the gardens?"
—-
Allowing a chuckle to escape between smiling lips at the mention of the womans mother, Clarence just slowly nods, "All mothers are the same then, doesn't change over time then…" His own mother hundred years dead already, as he steps back slightly, allowing the woman space to collect her things, as he slowly nods. "Prehaps, or I'll find you for that next painting you'll do of me…" Slipping his hands into his pockets, his right hand brushing across the piece of paper holding the sketch. "It was a pleasure meeting you too, and morning comes to early for all of us."
—-
"No, I don't imagine mothers change at all, regardless of when you find them or where." Once Mignonette has all of her pencils together and her sketch pad, "I'm not hard to find. My firm is in the book, Savoy and Savoy, if you call when the answering service is working, just tell them who you are and they'll put you through to me. Or if you know Michael, he always knows how to reach me." And then, a final smile, as she steps back, giving the man a final once over, "Enjoy the rest of your evening. And when sleep finds you, I hope it's pleasant." The same sort of good night she might give anyone, regardless of race. "Goodnight, Clarence." And with that, Mignonette sets off on her way, walking back along the path towards her home, and away from the lake.
