becoming.

theodore, 153. automa & housekeeper. to escape involves not just running away, but arriving somewhere.

[atheriontheo]

(deaken bluman, 153 years old, cis male, he/him) THEODORE is a HOUSEKEEPER AT A HOSTEL. They are an AUTOMA. They are DESPERATE, but they are also CAPABLE. In their spare time, you can find them PEOPLE WATCHING.

Before Atherion, there was monotony. He was built for a task, so he did it well. He kept the house neat. The meals cooked. Once the novelty of an automa waned for the people around him, he faded into the backdrop of their family home. Theodore was useful, well-made, a technological marvel—but he wasn’t anything else, not in their eyes. Days would blur together that way, but he wasn’t programmed to care.

There was no grand moment of awakening. He didn’t open his eyes one day and think I deserve better than this. Instead, Theodore quietly, slowly, started to dream of something different. It took decades to gather the courage to run, but when he did, he knew where he needed to go. He fled to Atherion, where he could be free.

And then what?

Outside of his programming, Theodore didn’t have any unique talents. He’d spent most of his life finding this one goal—now that he was here, he didn’t know what he wanted next. So Theodore fell back on his programming, finding a job at one of the hostels. On the surface, his daily life now isn’t too different than it was before. He cleans. He's distant, even if he doesn’t want to be. He just doesn’t know how not to be this way.

Theodore watches the guests as he works, observant and analytical, as if he can figure out what makes them so different than him. Even the strongest of his emotions seem like echoes of the intensity that humans, shifters, and the rest experience on a daily basis. From what he’s seen, even in a land as peaceful as Atherion people can be petty, selfish, overdramatic, chaotic. Far from being afraid of that, Theodore covets it. He wants to know how it feels to be swept away by a feeling. He wants to want something bad enough to ache with it. He just—doesn’t know how to change his programming.  

Atherion’s completely new. Completely overwhelming. Far from monotony, even after forty years he can’t predict what each new day here will bring. He’s still Theodore, but that means something different now. Here, he could quit his job, if he wanted. He could leave the kingdom entirely, without needing to sneak away. When people look at him, they don’t simply see a wonderous, empty machine.

He doesn’t feel at home here—whatever that means—but maybe he could. Someday.

Wanted Connections:

This is a non exhaustive list! if you aren’t vibing with any of these and/or they don’t apply (i.e., I don’t believe there’s another automa in the rp as of now, etc), we can brainstorm something new together.

A regular at the hostel who he’s awkwardly attempted to befriend.

Another automa who is further along in their sense of self than Theodore, so he latches onto them as if they know some secret he doesn’t.

Exploring Kalashtar & Automa dynamics—specifically, which powers do or don’t work on an automa! This could also be expanded to any character with powers. My mind just jumped straight to telepathy while applying, simply because Theodore’s obviously...got a very different mind/body/etc than most.  

Fairly vague, but even an enemy would be interesting as far as Theodore’s concerned! He’s hardly quick to anger, but it’s still an emotion worth exploring in his eyes.

Someone he looks up to—ideally, someone who is very different than he is, but who seems like someone he might want to be. I could see him copying them, at least in some aspects. What’s a little bit of hero worship between friends?

Although Theodore traveled here, he moved mostly at night, and he went as quickly as possible. Before that, his world was confined to one family, generation after generation. If any of the more well traveled/adventurous characters wanted to share some stories, Theodore would absolutely hang on their every word.

[atheriontheo]

closed for @atherionmars​

The hostel attracts a diverse crowd, especially with an event like the unity ball approaching. So much of Theodore’s job involves going through familiar motions—even now, as he stokes an almost forgotten fire, it’s nothing he hasn’t done from the very beginning of his existence—but the people who pass through fascinate him. 

He isn’t like them, but he’s something close. He just doesn’t know how to bridge the divide now, how to overcome whatever part of his design leaves him feeling dull and distant from the obvious vibrancy he so often sees on the faces of those who travel to and from Atherion. 

Of course, there are some travelers who are more fascinating than most. With the fire slowly returning to life, Theodore rises. His free lodgings come with responsibilities—when he’s done here, there are rooms that need sweeping, woven mats that should be taken outside and cleaned. It isn’t terrible work. This, more than anything else, he knows how to do. After all these years, there’s still so much of him that wants to be useful. 

When he turns around and sees a familiar face in the hostel though, Theodore calculates the time he’ll need to complete those tasks, decides it’s far less than the hours he has left in his day. There’s time, then, to make his way over to the other man. 

“Marswyn—welcome back,” Theodore says, before dropping the pretense that he isn’t endlessly curious about where he’s been. Because Marswyn is nothing like Theodore. The hostel is the closest thing the two of them have to shared experience; where Theodore’s spent most of his life just gathering the courage to come here, Marswyn travels in and out of Atherion. Where Theodore’s attempts at conversation are so often riddled with uncomfortable pauses, Marswyn seems to thrive on an audience. 

And Theodore can’t help himself—he wants to be that audience. He doesn’t think he could live the life Marswyn does, but maybe, if they spend enough time together, he’ll at least learn to carry himself with some of that easy charisma. So, he leans forward, eager. “Where did you travel to this time?”

[atheriontheo]

atherian​:

Twelve. Benjamin “Bandit” Moore had now been to exactly twelve of these events. Twelve, and he still could not, for the life of him, stand all the noise. Don’t get him wrong, he loved the concept. Unity? Great. Free alcohol? Even better. Too bad he couldn’t even get close enough to the drinks to have any. There was just too much noise. 

So, he stood as far off to the side as possible. Away from as many people as possible. There were too many thoughts roaming free. The alcohol doesn’t help as people let go of their inhibition, the mental walls usually up just as an instinctive defense often come tumbling down. 

Bandit had never had the opportunity to learn how to control the thoughts that roll in, and at this point, he was far too stubborn. A grown man needing to learn how to work his own mind? Yeah, right. You can forget him ever asking for help in that department. Isn’t gonna happen. 

Is he an idiot for preferring to suffer over asking for help with it? Absolutely. Is that gonna change anything? Absolutely not.

Bandit nearly threw a punch at the way Theo slid up next to him, half surprised, half disgusted at anyone coming near him. Theo likely wasn’t trying to sneak or be quiet, but Bandit’s mind was so loud right now that he snuck up on him like a damn cat. 

“Gods, Theodore,” he started in, “I nearly shit myself. — However, I will be taking that.” He gladly snatched the goblet from him and drank it down quickly. “Boysenbarely give a fuck what it is, as long as it’ll get me blasted.” 

He sighed and fidgeted with the now empty goblet as a bit of relief washed over him now that Theo was here. A bit of static buffering between him and the other people now, Theo being automa saving him. “How are you, mate?”

-

He’s never thought of himself of stealthy, but it’s easy to imagine how Theodore’s presence could get lost in the noise of tonight—both the music Theodore can hear and the rest that he can’t. In so many respects, the Kalashtar are unique. Supposedly celestial, even. 

Those aren’t Theodore’s gods of course—as if he could ever have any. There’s no mystery for him, no need to wonder if there’s a pantheon of heavenly beings watching over him. Theodore knows exactly which human designed him and why. He’s also outlived that creator by over a century. He has no connection to them now. No ancestors waiting for him in the Forest of Souls either. No matter how badly he wants to be part of Atherion, there will always be parts that he can’t hope to understand.

He also knows, he does, that he shouldn’t be envious of the abilities that come with Bandit’s heritage. Bandit looks as uncomfortable as he does in crowds for a reason. But even still, Theodore thinks he might prefer it—finding himself connected to everyone around him, even if was only one-sided. It’s been lonely, spending one hundred and fifty three years with himself.  

“I’m enjoying the ball,” Theodore says, first and foremost. It’s genuine; after forty years of these, he hasn’t had his fill. “With everyone traveling for the celebrations, the hostel’s been busy as well.” Busy is good, especially when Theodore has so many more waking hours than most to fill. “I’m not sure how I feel about that joke though,” Theodore adds, not quite succeeding at teasing—tone flat even as he’s smiling. “Can I expect to hear more if the mead does its job?”  

[vesperadragor]

Location: Leaving the Madan Library, Unity Ball  Who: Open

Unsure of how many hours she’d spent in the Madan Royal library this time Vespera had packed up her bag and stretched out her aching fingers that were stained with black ink. Ink that matched the black scales that littered her skin across all parts of her body. Skin that was fully covered by the darkest materials available so that none of that would ever risk being on display. People probably thought the historian almost prudish with the long sleeves and high collar she always wore. The pants and knee high boots and the gloves she was slipping onto her hands at that very moment. The only skin that showed was the fair elven face and even that was usually only half as her hair covered the single eye with the draconic pupil that was hidden from sight. 

With everything fully adjusted she moved through the stacks and out of the large and familiar room that felt like a home away from home. As she reached the door Vespera watched a few servers rush by and realized what time it must be. The Ball was here. She was dressed well enough as she always dressed in a studious high society manner when she came to use the royal library but emotionally she was not ready at all to face this. She had meant to be long gone before this had begun. “Professor, allow me to take your books while you enjoy the ball,” she heard a familiar voice call before the bag was removed and she was practically spun down the hall towards where the voices where echoing from. 

Entering the room Vespera very nearly tripped into a person nearby thanks to the forced movement and she felt her stomach clench as nerves hit. “Apologies my friend back there was a bit too excited,” she commented aloud to the nearest person she’d almost taken out. 

[atheriontheo]

“You wouldn’t have hurt me,” Theodore says, reassuringly. Among many things, he was built to be sturdy. Slow enough that he wouldn’t have been able to move out of Vespera’s way, certainly, but strong enough that it wouldn’t matter. It was useful, when he fled to Atherion—traveling alone at night, making as much progress as he could while remaining hidden, he couldn’t have afforded an injury. 

Now, in Atherion, it hardly matters. Although he risked everything to come here, he isn’t sure he actually believed it when people spoke of Atherion. But this kingdom has been everything it promised, even for a runaway automa. He may not know where he fits, but he is safe here.

“What about you? Are you excited?” he asks, because tonight is meant to be special, isn’t it? A celebration, intended to honor both Atherion and everyone within it. He associates Vespera with books and her wealth of knowledge moreso than a night like tonight, but then again—Theodore doubts anyone would think of him as belonging in a space like this, as crowded, chaotic, alight and alive as the castle is tonight. It’s what he wants; it’s not what he knows how to be. 

[atheriontheo]

Location: Madan Castle Time stamp: Event one, Unity Ball closed for @atherian / benjamin​

Even after forty years in Atherion, it can often feel like he isn’t making any progress—as if he’s the same Theodore who took so long to gather the courage to come here in the first place. The world around him has changed, but has he done the same? When he can, it helps to find something concrete that says yes.

He wasn’t kept away in some secret room before Atherion, where he wouldn’t be of any use. But people always seemed to speak at him rather than to him. Humans loved to marvel at the advances in automa, but they didn’t understand what they’d created. And, no, Theodore doesn’t understand himself either—but he knows enough to know he deserves more than that. 

And, in turn, Theodore didn’t care about the humans around him, even if he was built to care for them. He hasn’t spared much thought to them now, certainly hasn’t missed any of them over the span of four decades since he left. The proof that he’s changed, then, is when there are people he would miss.

Benjamin—Bandit—is one of those people. Twelve years shouldn’t register in an existence as long as Theodore’s, but the moment he ran sometimes feels like the first moment that matters. He’d been thinking about it for years, but finally making that choice, the first of many, was committing to reinventing himself. And, anyway, he won’t pretend he doesn’t cling to anything that makes him feel something these days, friendships included. Maybe especially friendships. 

So, when he goes out of his way to find the other man at the celebration tonight, it’s selfish—as much as he loves these events, watching so many people in the kingdom come together can remind him of how isolated he still is. Bandit’s on the sidelines himself, likely wishing he was anywhere but here, but that doesn’t stop Theodore from stepping into place beside him. 

“Here,” Theodore says, by way of greeting. He holds out the goblet of mead, mostly untouched. It doesn’t feel right to let anything about tonight go to waste. “You might have more use for this than I do. It’s boysenberry.”

[viatcr]

STARTER FOR : open !! EXTRA : the castle stables, unity ball in full swing

          it shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows her well that letha would eventually slip out of the ballroom for a bit of fresh air. she is good at a lot of things, socializing one of them, dancing another, but spending hours on end inside is not one of them. even in the grand scale of the main ballroom begins to feel a little stuffy and constricting eventually, and after letha has made one lengthy round of the who’s who ( and some who aren’t ) of atherion, she eventually makes her way out, feet instinctively carrying her to the place that feels the most like home in the castle : the royal stables. it is no time for a quick ride —she isn’t a recluse— but a little time with the other attendees of the ball wouldn’t be so bad.

          the familiar noises of shifting hooves and crunching grains, and the sweet scent of hay and straw meet her, settling the slight tension that’d knotted between her shoulders. the stable hand on duty recognizes her, letting her pass with little more than a nod, her boots quite against the stone floor of the stable as she passes magnificent creates from atherion’s elite. she pauses a few times before she reaches snowfire’s modest stall, fingers drifting over his tack before she shrugs out of her deep red riding coat and hangs it next to the leather harnesses, protecting it from horsehair and stains. letha reaches for a brush then, stepping inside with a quiet murmur.     “ hey boy. ”     she begins to brush her white stallion with expert motions, her steed looking briefly at her before returning to munch on his grains. she’s not sure how much time passes, her humming softly to herself — faint music from the ball carried on the cool, spring evening air. she will go back… but not just yet.

[atheriontheo]

With as much time as he spent within one home—a home that wasn’t even his—Theodore’s interactions for over one hundred years were limited beyond his control, dependent on the people who came and went, the even smaller subsection of people within that who wanted to have a conversation with an automa. If he still doesn’t trust himself to know the right thing to say, the right expression to make when a conversation goes beyond the pleasantries he was built for, he at least knows why that is. 

He’s heard it said that animals are easier to understand than people, of course. Simpler, maybe. He’s far closer to a human or an elf than any animal though. Theodore would never claim to be good at blurring the lines between automa and person, but he’s worse when it comes to interacting with animals—especially ones that, technically, would be large enough to harm him. He wouldn’t normally find himself by the stables tonight then, only brought out by the flash of dark red he saw heading this direction. He’s curious, the way he almost always is. 

“Is everything aright?” Theodore asks, when he’s close enough to be heard and understood, to see the woman standing within. Likely, she’s only out for fresh air, an escape from the ball within the Madan’s walls—Theodore doesn’t understand that feeling, but even in a kingdom that boasts a community the way Atherion does, not everyone appreciates the dizzying pace of a ball the same way. Even if Theodore spends much of his time on the edges of the event, he’s drawn to it all the same, greedily watching the lights and the life that other people bring. “I don’t mean to intrude,” he adds, still keeping his distance from any of the horses within the stable. “You’re just—a ways away from the celebration.”

[atheriontheo]

flxradawn​:

eager to be hospitable, floss quickly disappeared and ladled some of the mead into an empty goblet and handed it to theodore, intently wanting to let everyone experience the same indulgent luxuries as she.

“hmm… what does it taste like” she repeated pensively, taking a deep sip and considering what the flavours emulated, swishing the liquid on her palate. “it tastes like …  joy. you know the kind i mean? just pure, blissful joy, especially after you’ve had a few-” she added with a giggle and a hiccup. 

the mead made flora a little blind to her acquaintances diverse behaviours and nature,  she was just happy to be here, giddy with excitement if not a little unaware.

“drink!” she urged, not bossily, but eagerly, clapping her hands. 

“drink then dance!” 

-

That does bring a smile to his face, even if the joke is mostly on Theodore. “No, I don’t know what you mean,” he says, honestly, because even though she’s being metaphorical, he’s never thought that joy came with any particular flavor. He wants to protest the goblet she’s already passed his way, well aware that it’s a waste for him to drink it. There’s no point—it won’t affect him the way it does her. He could have a few or far more than that, but he won’t feel it. So the goblet in his hand is unnecessary, especially when he knows this mead is likely far better than anything they serve at the hostel. It should go to someone who can enjoy it. 

Then again, maybe it’s good for him to do more unnecessary things. It’s easier, as it always is, to follow old patterns—but that won’t get him what he wants. That won’t change anything, teach him how to be different than he’s been for the past one hundred and fifty years. So he raises the glass for both gratitude and cheers, and tries a sip. 

“It’s uh, sweet,” he says, which isn’t saying anything more than the obvious. Mead is supposed to be sweet. He wishes, not for the first or last time, that his reaction could be something better than that. Whatever Flora tastes in the mead, he wants that instead. “It’s good, I mean. Thank you for bringing me some.” With the glass in hand, it gives him an excuse to avoid the dancefloor once more—although he knows, even if no one’s asked, that it’s more about the fact that his body wasn’t designed for the kind of swift and fluid movement he sees out there. “Have you gone out on the dancefloor yet?”

[atheriontheo]

flxradawn​:

Location : Madan Castle 

Who : Open !

Gripping her goblet of mead a little too tightly, Floss took some deep breaths to center herself, standing on the outskirts of the ballroom of Madan castle. The countless times she had stood in this same position in the castle, ensuring her catering was satisfactory at royal feasts and parties, donned in her apron, hair pulled back, flushed cheeks showing her labrous efforts as she served her monarchs with great fervor. But now, here she stood at the Madan ball - as a guest, an equal, a friend. She shifted in place excitedly, drinking in the majestic atmosphere elatedly. Oh how she longed for an event such as this, a chance to feel herself, a chance to feel beautiful. For one night she had traded in her sturdy boots for soft slippers, her usual plain linen dress swapped for baby pink lace that cinched in at her waist and complimented her petite elven features. Catching the eye of a familiar face, Floss greeted her friend excitedly, grinning wide.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Floss laughed loudly, a little bit giddy from her drink. “You’ve never seen me without flour on my face huh? Can I refill your goblet for you…what are you drinking? The spiced boysenberry mead is particularly good…”

-

“Oh, I’m...not,” Theodore says, uselessly. “Drinking anything, I mean.” He had been staring, just a bit. He hadn’t meant to, but it was easy to do. Tonight especially, Flora is full of life in a way that Theodore has never quite managed. She isn’t the only one; her expressions are mirrored on the faces of so many Atherions when he looks around the room.

If nothing else, jealousy comes easily to him these days, he knows that much. He’d been looking forward to tonight, but in the end, he doesn’t know if it’s even possible for him to enjoy the unity ball as much as some people seem to. Maybe no one had bothered to program him for that—what use would a household automa have for emotions? 

 Leaving his response there seems rude, verging on painfully awkward, especially when Flora’s beaming and laughing. So he clears his throat—unnecessary for someone like him, but habitual by now, something he’d picked up by copying other beings around him in an attempt to fit in—and starts again. “The boysenberry mead is good though? What does it taste like?”

[queenatherixn]

location : madan castle who : anyone

tw: grief

queen ayesha lochtree, clothed in rich red silks and hair in it’s usual silver twists, admired her subjects that had attended this years unity ball, settled comfortably into a velvet lined throne with a full goblet in her hand. the fae queen felt pride surge through her body, the same pride she had felt for the previous generations of atherion and alike those, this was a generation of individuals that celebrated diversity, hungered for peace, longed for inclusion and most importantly, as signified at tonight’s event, fostered a sense of unity amongst all the folk of atherion. 

while she loved and cared for her adopted children with an unparalleled love, she loved all the citizens of atherion, considering all of them as if they were her own children, her maternal instincts stretched geographical limits from one side of the atherion border to the other. 

oh how she loved to watch them dance, smile, hug and laugh…it had not always been this way. despite attending countless balls and feasts in the madan castle over the centuries, being inside it’s lofty walls did not make it any easier. grief still coursed her veins and had settled itself like a permanent silent shawl over her aging shoulders. the grief was heavy, it hurt, but the pain was a reminder that the love was real, that kala madan’s memory would live on through her life’s work as protecter, matriarch and queen of atherion. 

a figure bowed before the queen. 

“rise my child” the queen’s voice was soft and gentle, as it often was, greeting her subject and waving her goblet signalling that they may stand and address her, “- are you finding the festivities quite satisfactory?”

♕

[atheriontheo]

Theodore is no one’s child. He was created, rather than born—and unlike a child, he remembers the exact moment he opened his eyes for the first time. Still, there’s something strangely comforting about the Queen’s presence. 

Theodore’s existed over one hundred and fifty years, but she’s lived one thousand. Theodore remembers when the kingdom first celebrated the adoption of her oldest child, but so often, he thinks he’s nearly as lost as he was the first day he set foot in Atherion. Although he won’t age as the Queen has—even if it’s taken a millennium for any of those years to show on her face—it helps to remember that even his one hundred and fifty-three years, while longer than what some of the beings around them will ever get, is only the beginning.  

His duty evidently complete, he rises, stiff and slow as always. “Of course,” Theodore says, his affirmative response automatic, even if it is the truth. The amount of effort the Madans and  Lochtrees expended tonight is obvious, from the decorations to the music. It would do them a disservice to say anything other than yes to the Queen’s question. 

“To the start of spring,” Theodore adds, although he doesn’t have a goblet of his own to toast with. He knows this night is intended to celebrate more than that—but it’s the easiest to describe, in comparison with the far more abstract concepts of community and joy, and he would rather not stumble through a conversation in front of the Queen. He likes spring anyway, as much as he likes anything. 

[divinesons]

where: unity ball

open to: anyone

While his appearance was practically mandated, nobody had told Alistair he had to enjoy it. It was the mingling that was the problem, it was a ball, and there was an obvious dress code but individuals had shown up with tattered hemlines and pocket squares that didn’t match the occasion. It was a disgrace, but he intended to play nice. At least for now. Perched somewhere near the kitchens so he had first access to the flow of food that made its way out to the ball, he did his part to remind himself of the purpose of all this. Camaraderie, coming together, pleasantries, safety, so on and so forth. Idly Alistair was counting down the minutes until it was appropriate for him to leave, dark eyes wandering over what those on the floor considered dance. 

“You should be enjoying yourself,” Alistair remarked, “it’s a party, remember?” He tried to keep the chiding tone out of his voice and opted instead to tip his glass towards his lips, draining the champagne before setting it on a passing tray. If anyone was going to look sour and sulky he was determined that it would be him, at the very least if he was to have competition he could say that at least he looked far better. “Smile, maybe someone will even ask you to dance.”

[atheriontheo]

It’s a silly place to end up—by the kitchens, where they make the no doubt delicious food he doesn’t actually need to eat. It has a good vantage point though, allowing him to watch people whirling by on the dancefloor, conversing amongst themselves, dressed up in a way no one ever is when they come through the hostel. 

So here he is, and here Prince Alistair is—and yes, despite the fact that the prince is seemingly teasing, enjoying himself and drinking champagne, enough of Theodore’s old self still exists that it feels as though Theodore’s made some mistake, that he needs to fix it by listening and smiling along.

Nobility means something different here. Before Atherion, he would never have been at a ball, never would’ve mingled with royalty. Theodore still defers toward the prince though, greeting him by inclining his head, addressing him with, “Your highness.” 

That leaves Prince Alistair’s actual question. “Would you believe that I am enjoying myself?” He thinks he is, at least. He certainly doesn’t feel the need to escape back to the room he rents at the hostel. He’d rather be here, watching the ball unfold in front of him. Theodore tries—and fails—to picture himself on the dance floor too. He keeps meaning to, every time he attends an event like this one. Maybe next time. When his life time sprawls ahead of him, centuries left to go if he's well maintained, it’s too easy to justify that next time. “I just—don’t know how to show it.”

[ofatherion]

WHERE: unity ball, madan castle STATUS: open to anyone

❝  do  you  think  the  princess  would  like  a  live  painting  of  the  ballroom?  a  moment  captured  in  time.  ❞  kinsey  asks  of  the  person  next  to  them,  a  finger  wrapped  around  her  paintbrush,  arms  crossed,  idly  tapping  it  on  the  inside  of  her  elbow.  she’d  been  debating  whether  she  wanted  to  present  the  hosts  with  a  gift  tonight.  on  the  one  hand,  it  would  look  very  good  for  her.  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  keep  her  gown  from  getting  paint  on  it,  and  they  liked  this  gown.  

❝  it  would  be  a  shame  to  waste  such  a  gorgeous  moment  of  unity.  ❞

[atheriontheo]

Unity. Harmony. They’re Atherion’s lofty ideals, and they’re why he came here, of all places, when he ran. Theodore’s spent most of the night on the outskirts, but he’s at the ball. Every year the kingdom celebrates, and every year Theodore attends. Watches as the people around him grow, change, die. All these celebrations later, Theodore still can’t say he completely understands what he’s supposed to do on a night like this one.

Making conversation, that he can at least try. Especially when someone else provides the opening line. “I don’t know,” Theodore says. “You’d have to ask her.” Or anyone, really, other than Theodore. Because art, he knows, is supposed to evoke something. They want to capture this moment, the one they describe as gorgeous—and mostly, Theodore only knows how to gauge if an art piece truly looks like its model. He also knows that’s not always the goal. She’s certainly ready though, paintbrush in hand. “If you are going to paint, would you mind if I watched?”