*cut to me holding on to this ship with bleeding splintered fingertips* 35 with lib sanck plz :)
35: “Here, let me see.”
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Franck stretches in front of the canvas and smiles lazily. Spring is here and it is time for the yearly ritual, ongoing for a decade now, the creation of a new Presidential portrait to hang over the main hall. The subject is the same every time, but every year he changes in subtle ways. Franck delights in searching for the differences, and after finding them, they delight even more in immortalizing them for all time.
“What has amused you so, Franck?”
Yes, that’s how they actually describe it. It’s been ten years. They’re allowed to explain their work as dramatically as they like.
It’s just one of many perks for this job.
“Not so much amusement, just pleased.” Franck nods to their model, sitting a few feet away from them, and directs a fuller smile at him. “I was just thinking I’ve done this for a long time now, but it never gets old - just like you.”
“How flattering.” Sebastian covers his mouth with one gloved hand as he laughs, coy as always. Since he mellowed out greatly and turned to wearing glasses full time, there’s been a persistent air of a cheeky student about him; it strengthens ever more whenever he laughs, Franck has been dying to portray it for some time. “But please, do not shy away from the realism. It has been a decade. I should be able to see myself age as I walk by the years.”
“As my President wishes.”
It’s an easy promise to make, as Sebastian is not a fast-aging man. Franck has genuinely been true to form all those years, he just genuinely doesn’t show much of that flow of time.
Franck is quiet for some time as they finish the sketch, the sound of birdsong rich around their atelier. When at long last it is done, they put down their pencil and stretch again, nodding at Sebastian to indicate he may break his pose - which the man does so, only too gladly. “There we are. I’m sorry I have to put you through this for days at a time, every year.”
Sebastian smiles graciously, relaxing into the chair. “I'd do it the entire year through if I had the time, the art is worth it. Has the sketch been finished, then?”
“Yes, good Monsieur. I’ll start putting the oils on it tomorrow.”
He extends his hand. “Here, let me see.”
Franck accepts. Instead of turning the easel around, they take Sebastian by the hand and lead him to where they are, so they may sit and observe together. Sebastian pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and leans in to survey the sketch. His brows furrow slightly in mock-severity, which Franck recognizes for what it is (though they do get a little nervous every time). “Splendid,” is his eventual judgement; he turns to face Franck then, his eyes bright with laughter. “You have a most excellent knowledge of the subject, Mx. Rivoire. I wonder how you learned so fast.”
“Mere courtesy, Monsieur. It’s the least I can provide for a muse of one year, let alone ten. Nothing less is acceptable, don’t you think?”
Sebastian smiles most lovingly. “Indeed. And now I’m curious to see how your treatment will be after another ten years; pray let us hope you’d have kept me, even by that point.”
“Of course.” Franck pecks his cheek. “Who else could grant me that honour?”