[cotiere]

it's not something she can get into without raising any flags, her desperation for a tangible past. no matter how much she'd like to. there weren't many people aware of kevin's background, with even fewer left on speaking terms. its secrecy almost more isolating than all those years stuck in that house.   〝 no, not at all, 〞  she admits. 〝 i like this, wet and overcast. and the green. if i was any less uncoordinated i would be spending hours out there.  〞 not outdoorsy by any means, still nature has a way of calling out to her. be it the small park outside her apartment or the vast forestry which surrounds their town. in nice weather, there's no other place kevin would rather be.   〝 um, i don't know. 〞  beat. 〝 i mean, i do have one. i just can't be sure i didn't dream it up. 〞 that goes for most of her memories before the kidnapping. so much of her time afterwards spent being gaslit by sister dearest, conjuring up false memories of outings and birthdays. it took a confession, and a hefty amount of mockery, for the illusion to break. she's ashamed still.   〝 there's a picture. sometimes i think i remember the day it was taken, but it might only be my imagination, you know? filling in the gaps. 〞 it's generic enough, something any twenty - something would have to say about their childhood. 〝 i must've been around four or five. do you remember anything from that age? 〞

[vvildeyed]

❛ i thought you might want to see the world. ❜ out of all the youth in this town kevin seemed the most affected by stories in the most unobvious of ways. quiet - like the way one might wander hallowed halls of a historic museum, gazing upon exhibits with muted wonder, only instead of wonder, it felt more like curiosity in arrested development. it's surprising, that she wouldn't seek to go further out, discover more that way.

she doesn't question it too much, maybe kevin lingers for the same reasons marion keeps coming back to this town. even if only for a month at a time, just to slip the other sheathes of her life off like old coats.

marion's chin digs further into her palm, head canting into its anchor, eyes keen and unwavering. ❛ sure. i remember... blue leather seats, in my dad's car. i remember, cake. drawings. what do you think you remember about this photograph ? ❜

[cotiere]

kevin had her support system, consisting of friends and no family. and while the former certainly counts as much as the latter, she longs for the wisdom of her elders. a mother to have taught her how to cook, a father to help her change a tire—had anyone ever taught her to drive. her future is bright and plentiful, but without a history to fall back on, it dims. if only ever so slightly.   〝 i read this book once, where the main character inherited a quilted blanket from her grandparents, made up of college tees and sweaters and stuff. and it'd been in the family for generations. ever since university shops came to be, i guess.  〞  pause, a loose thread from her sleeve twirled around her finger. 〝 like a legacy you could touch.  〞 she refrains from mentioning how she'd settled for a legacy at all. her actual past too complicated for small talk, had she any incentive to water it down to such. no, she'd lie, and it's not something she much likes, either.   〝 my rainy day fund, mostly. not a lot of sun in this place, you know? 〞

[vvildeyed]

❛ ... i don't know... i find the idea of tangible legacy being... a little flat. my ex-husband would say that's me being unnecessarily radical. joke's on me, my line of work has me surrounded by such things. ❜ her smile is wry, but her gaze locks onto the young woman kevin has become; marion's weathered olive greens with brown sifting underneath, catching light and absorbing it, darkening it a shade before giving it back.

her head slants, ❛ is that what you dream about ? the sun ? ❜

the memory comes at the tail of her question, morning rays scattering over a congested kitchen, a mess of crayons on the table, what did you dream about ?

the problem with memories is they often come in fragments, teasing the knowledge you know that you likely have, and yet cannot grasp, like water slipping through fingers and disappearing into sand; evident but inextricable. she cannot remember ryan's response. and the voice she conjures up in her mind sounds tinny and generic.

she rests her chin on the butt of her palm, anchoring elbow on wood. she knows she's about to say something repetitive, about how much kevin sometimes makes marion think of the ghost that haunts every corner of this town. she has mentioned it before over the years she's sure, but at this stage, having been a decade, maybe she is tipping this over into projection. markus had warned her as much.

so instead, she goes for something different, something useful. something less self-absorbed.

❛ what's your earliest memory ? ❜

[cotiere]

lips purse in concentration, uncertain if she's got any habits at all. there's her routine, rigid but oftentimes strayed from, and then there are her tics. little oddities in need of straightening out. like delicate fingers fidgeting: the snapping of a hair tie, seldomly seen nail polish chipped and picked off. though not anything you could hone into a skill.   〝 i was going to try sewing. 〞  she admits, sheepish. 〝 save up a little. 〞 for the most part, she thrifts. in parts because of her income but also the aesthetics of it. kevin enjoys things which are lived in. places, too. she has nothing to show for the first seventeen years of her life. almost as if she hadn't been alive until then—appearing that senior year, out of nowhere, like something made of a wish. another decade pass, she likes to think there's a mark. and that no matter what might happen tomorrow, kevin oswalt would be someone to remember. a beat, she pulls at her sleeve.   〝 or — i'm a bad cook, i'd like not to be. think that'd save me some, too. 〞

[vvildeyed]

there is no interruption to her stillness save for the ways her hands fold the dishcloth once, then again, stop when the edges no longer match and leave it that way. it isn't quite surprise that reads in that pause, perhaps she had expected a touch more ambition. markus, the born natural with his aspirations and goals, lila who would chase down an idea, in constant pursuit of betterment, and hazel, her delicate one who'd turned out to be completely indelicate about theories and equations. then there had been ryan... the voracious reader... she had taken her time, no small thing was any less.

❛ hm... ❜ she draws closer, ❛ sewing and cooking... a little bit like you, right now... aren't they ? at the starting point... you could make ingredients, or fabric into absolutely anything, no expectations, just a vague shape, or a craving. ❜ she pauses at kevin's flank, as if proximity would crack open some imaginary shell. ❛ i've always liked the idea that fabric carries the intention of the person who handled it, even when it's been passed on... collected other stories. cooking's louder, faster, it makes you forgive yourself in real-time and adapt. ❜ a beat while she surveys the young woman, so changed from the first time they met. ❛ what're you saving up for ? ❜

[cotiere]

kevin's not aimless but without proper instruction she might as well be. and with winter break coming up, studies ceasing and diner closing for the holidays, she is just that. aimless. had she known her hours were going to be cut she would've drafted an itinerary. or, at the very least, updated her reading list. now here she sits, steaming mug of cocoa in her hands, halfway through december and with nothing to show for it.   〝 i have no plans, at all. i was thinking of gaining skills. 〞  @mariions

[vvildeyed]

the answering hum blends with the delayed sharp and crass rush of steam from the milk frother. there is unhurried silence, and she doesn't rush to fill it, moving through the space like someone who's forgotten how to occupy it. she is being a touch too delicate with her appliances, it's been awhile. ❛ no plans, at all... ❜ she echoes eventually, as if she's trying it on for size, like a cashmere sweater pressed against herself whilst she assesses it in a mirror. ❛ sounds like a dream. absolute freedom before a storm hits. it means you're open. like you're the world's oyster. ❜ murky greens direct towards the girl, surveying her thoughtfully. ❛ i'd start with habits... what you touch everyday... what you avoid. what you lose track of time doing... skills grow out of those things... whether you invite them to or not. ❜

[picqued]

holydepths‌.

There’s a beat, and then — “ Oh, shit! ” Another, and now she’s stumbling over the realisation of who’s sitting next to her. “ I mean, crap. ” Marion Blake: the older’s existence had been discussed at length by Kevin, as well of that of her daughters. Friends she felt a pang of JEALOUSY at Kevin having, and though she was delighted her sister was extending social circle: Pippa often felt left in the dust. But Marion, Pippa was happy over. Her own mother was hardly an ideal matriarch, and any sort of positive figure for her best friend that Pippa hadn’t gotten was a good one in her books. Even if it was later in life than Kevin had deserved it to be. “ BLAKE, right? I — I’m Kevin’s sister. Adopted, obviously, but uh, she speaks … well of you. ” A nervous gulp. 

bemused, brows lift at the initial exclamation before the furrow in her brows become ironed out by comprehension.  ❛ oh.  ❜  a conceding sound. kevin. that’s the connection she’d been missing. the name ESPINA had been thrown around her household once or twice.  ❛  she does…  ❜  head nods forward like this is new information she hadn’t expected to receive, even if there’s a lack of question at the end of it. she isn’t sure why she’s a highlight of anyone’s day, let alone kevin’s. her ex-husband, she would have understood, but not herself.  ❛  well then i’m honoured. it’s nice to meet you… and thank you, for your help. with the wall. ask me for a ride anytime.  ❜

[picqued]

soulsbled‌.

she watches marion move, entranced by her mother’s elegant movements as always. marion’s otherwordly ━ untouchable. lila loves her, but she’s always felt that she … can’t understand her mother. maybe that’s why she watches the way she moves, interacts with the world around her. looking for a crack to slip through, get close to her through. “ i … i don’t really want to leave, you know ? sheffield’s home. and ━ as much as i loved new york, i don’t really wanna go back, y’know ? ” brief pause, and she bites her lip. “ plus, i’ve kinda started writing something using sheffield as inspiration. so leaving … just doesn’t fit. ” she shrugs, picking at the scuffed wood of the table.

it feels almost IRONIC. how lila and hazel specifically seem to always see things the opposite way from their peers. marion herself is at a loss to why that is. new york for most young people is a dream — a challenge to be conquered. a place to just be, with all of life’s oddities and be accepted with them. she takes her seat next to her daughter, in front of her own plate, gaze trained on sharp features. ❛  you have ?  ❜  the words begin with surprise, but finish with a smile sewn in.  ❛  sweetie, that’s great. i know how much you wanted to find something that finally flowed for you. finally getting there ?  ❜  she’s not one to PROD,  preferring to linger in the background.  ❛  is it too soon to ask what it’s about specifically ?   ❜

[picqued]

cloudedwrath‌.

      his features still, a marble facade crafted by surprise. he never knows what to do when people cry, and his stare that holds is one half of a gun-slinging showdown, begging for her to reach for her holster first so he’ll be forced to do something other than gawk. when she speaks, his shoulders drop with relief and tension streams like a popped cork or a slow air leak from an abandoned pool toy. ‘   are you like, going through a mid-life crisis ?   ’ he asks, matter-of-factly, more like a precocious kid than an adult with any sort of logical rationale. ‘   it’s fine. my mom would cry randomly too sometimes.   ’ a shrug complements his seen it all before attitude, but a gaze that can’t tear mars a callous posture. maybe crises were like CLOCKWORK and it’s just a matter of time, when he thinks of it that way it doesn’t seem so threatening. 

the question prompts an abrupt laugh — too short for mirth, a sad COLD thing that belongs anywhere other than with her. she takes a beat to breathe in, dusting away the melancholy from her cheeks, from the edges of her eyes with the pad of her thumb.  ❛  no. no. uh. i got a little. overwhelmed.  ❜  she licks her lips, gliding fingers across her forehead as if the movement will return her to earth, return her to the face she puts on everyday before she deigns to look him in the face finally.  ❛  this town gets a little … much, sometimes.  ❜  he wouldn’t be able to relate. he’s just a boy.  ❛  anyway i’m sorry you had to see that — i really. i didn’t — plan,  ❜  she doesn’t need to explain — not what she hadn’t planned on doing, nor why grief had spilled out of her like a gently overflowing river. the latter seems to be the only thing she’s slightly clearer on.  ❛  i used to climb trees by this lake … years ago. you come here often ?  ❜

[picqued]

holydepths‌.

Pippa shifts uncomfortably in the car as conversation doesn’t continue with polite small talk. It’s a response she didn’t expect, and it causes her to look at the other a bit more closely. Avoidance isn’t the first thing that comes to mind, but she makes a joke out if it anyway. “ I get if you’re like … on the run or something, ” Focus drifts to outside the windshield, as they pull away from the spot of the impromptu ( at least, on Pippa’s part ) photoshoot. “ But real name’s fine. I’m no SNITCH. Pippa Espina. ” Pause, and then she looks back to the woman beside her, still nameless. “ I live on top of Hillcrest, right before you go down onto Cherry. ” The richer side of town, rolling acres of suburbia and estates too big for the families they held. She doesn’t fit the exact picture, too crass and not polite enough — but upon further inspection, she does. Stick straight posture, neatly done nails, not an eyelash out of place. PERSONALITY did too, not that the woman next to her knew anything about cases of serial entitlement. 

on one hand, volunteering personal information is not marion’s favourite thing to do. on the other, the girl had ASKED, and understandably so. the kidnappings in sheffield were tragedies she would wish on no one. she ought to know — she’s lived through it.  ❛  hillcrest …  ❜  she repeats, if only to stall further.  ❛ got it.  ❜  more of a mutter than an affirmation, before she peers at this pippa sideways.  ❛  espina. i’ve heard that name before.  ❜ from one of the girls maybe. a beat passes. ❛  marion. my name’s marion. with an o.  ❜

[picqued]

holydepths‌.

Task is over almost immediately, half-way before she’s even realised it’s begun. There’s no time to think about dissecting the amusement evident on the face of the older, or anything about the task at hand before — that’s it, come on.  Reeling from the brightness of the camera flash, and tracing paper fluttering in the wind, she follows ALMOST wordlessly to the car, just a mumbled “ Here, ” as it’s handed back to the other. Handle is placed on car door, passenger side swinging open, and she’s one leg in before she asks: “ Who ARE you anyway? You know, just in case I end up on fucking 20/20 or some shit, you might wanna make the fake name neat. ” Without a response, but still waiting for one, she’s in the rest of the way, seatbelt clicking next to her. Safety first, when getting into the car with strangers. 

once she’s in the driver’s seat, there’s a drawn out silence while she scribbles something in a sketchbook, sticking the tracing paper carefully back in — cap of her pen held between teeth before it’s returned to its proper place, fervent and gentle all at once.  ❛  20/20 ?  ❜  she’s reaching toward the backseat to drop the sketchbook and camera, so the girl might be more comfortable. 

❛  uh — just your friendly neighbourhood … recluse ?  ❜  she’s been in sheffield for awhile now. she’s somehow surprised that her past is STILL talked about, as is her present, over the bookshelves, in the farmer’s market. as if she’s some spectre with scarlet painted on her back for refusing to reunite with an ex husband she’d left for conceivably no reason in their eyes. the ignition sounds, a smooth, low drone, eyes forward as they begin to reverse.  ❛  i’m confused am i supposed to give you a fake name ?  ❜

[picqued]

vampiresmiled‌.

SHE’S A LITERAL PERSON. and although not quite sure why that is, kevin’s always found metaphors and hidden messages difficult to decipher. sure, literature contains the aforementioned in ABUNDANCE, but the brunette also has an easier time analyzing the meanings when they’re presented in writing ; author’s notes and several read-throughs. paintings, they were different. it was emotion rather than thought. nothing was definite and nothing was sure. “ uh, i read somewhere that – that the flower’s supposed to represent LIFE and i guess, the fragility of it. ” it’s difficult to recollect exactly what her source was. though the way her life had panned out as of late, she wouldn’t be all too surprised if the fact was retrieved from another form of media. a movie, maybe. “ and gold … that’s seen as success, right. and wealth. it’s less fragile, too. ” stating the blatantly obvious. “ so, maybe, and i don’t know, something like – a prosperous life. secure and fruitful and not … fickle. ” beat. “ i don’t know. ” a shake of her head, fingers running through gloaming waves. “ they never said ? ”

a soundless chuckle spills from soft lifts as she lifts herself up, taking her steaming mug with her for a thoughtful sip.   ❛  it’s open to interpretation, kind of the point. it’s meant to provoke you. what it means … to you. what you both think … and feel about it. like for me, this is beautiful, it makes me feel good … to look at. hopeful. wistful perhaps.  ❜  this feels oddly similar to a lesson — when she’d taught lila the purpose of poetry, the techniques, relativity with emotion and intellect. she isn’t trying to teach kevin anything — just sharing a piece of her mind in a way she never would have.  ❛  and the gold, instead of colour. when i consider these artists, where they came from. i’d wonder if maybe what they witness, wherever they see cherry blossoms in japan. this scene that they do over and over, maybe it’s more beautiful than we could ever hope to imagine. and what they’ve done is place value in a reproduction of that, even though it’s not enough. 24 karat gold. it’s going to last forever. whatever, beauty in … wistfulness, or sorrow. that place may be destroyed years from now, but this will endure. to say something is gold — and then to show it, there’s a quiet elegant power in that, i think.   ❜  she’s said too much — gotten carried away, lips press together when her gaze meets kevin’s in subdued fashion over the rim of her mug.  ❛  but it could be anything, only the artists know what it really means to them.  ❜

[picqued]

holydepths‌.

She really doesn’t want to. There’s very little philanthropic virtue in Pippa when it comes to her time ( she prefers to throw money at the problem ) — and that extended even to the little things. She looks down the block then, a lawnmower buzzing on a lawn offering picturesque suburbia, a minivan chugging into the driveway next to it. Tricycle is abandoned on the sidewalk in front of the house across the street, and it’s captured the exactly the kind of wistful, familial, white picket fence JOY that makes her skin crawl. She thinks of how BAD it would look, to take another sip of her coffee cup and take off in the other direction, even for Pippa: ever unconcerned with how strangers took her politeness ( or lack thereof. ) “ PRETTY sure I can handle the difficult task of holding paper. ” It’s almost the interpreted condescending tone ( though it would be rather obvious to ANYONE but Pippa herself it was merely polite ) that makes her say YES. “ Sure, though. Since you basically pinky swore that you aren’t a kidnapper. ” A beat, and she moves to place drink atop the car with Marion’s own possessions. “ If … I can cut you a deal that I can get a ride home after. Forgot how fucking long the scenic route was. ” She motions towards the paper, indicating whether or she should grab it. 

the girl speaks with an abruptness marion has observed before on the streets of new york. a mirage that buys convenience, that shades from vulnerability. she remembers wishing she could BE that way as a girl, if it might have provided some solace from feeling too much. it’s probably rude to smile at something so prickly,  denigrating such a noble self-serving effort to nothing more than a source of amusement, but experience brings marion a sort of candor she can’t quite help. ❛  sure,  ❜ the soft grin can be heard even in the tone, as much as she tries to stifle it. ❛  the least i can do is the opposite of kidnap you.   ❜   the tracing paper is lifted gently and handed over, soundlessly guiding her to the precise spot she needs, lifting the camera to her eyes for a steadying pause before taking three snaps. ❛  i hope these come out well …   ❜  green eyes survey the girl, head canted.  ❛  that’s it, come on, deal’s a deal.  ❜

[picqued]

 the ache had built up inside her until the dam had inevitably overflown effusively — she’d always been a child of the cold blank quiet. even her tears, spilling gracelessly from the corners of her eyes have a gentle modesty to them, as if the rivers from where they arrive hold far more than one could imagine. she feels him near before she sees him, and lifts knuckles hastily to lift the moisture away before they fall further. it’s at the tip of her tongue — the i’m fine. it’s a pointless lie that she’s not cruel enough to use to insinuate his gaze is any less intuitive, any less intelligent, whoever he is.  ❛  i — uh.  ❜  she takes a tempering inhale, still not ready to meet his eyes. ❛  i didn’t know anyone would be here, you must think i’m —  ❜  rush of air expels from trembling lips in a breathless laugh. ❛  crazy.  i’m not usually like this. promise.  ❜        //.  @cloudedwrath

[picqued]

holydepths‌.

When she woke up that day, it was EARLIER than expected, almost uncharacteristic — early enough to get coffee and have it count as a MORNING pick me up. Nice day lifted the spirits of someone ordinarily lazy, and now as she takes the long way back home, down side streets and residential areas, warm drink in hand, she’s SHOCKED to hear a voice call out to her. Typically expecting to remain unbothered, eyes meet the form of someone who FEELS familiar, but isn’t. Then to the car, and the camera atop it. “ If you’re gonna try and kidnap me and take some weird ransom photos, warning in advance that my parents won’t pay more than like, ten dollars to get me back …. so. ” She pauses though, at least partially intrigued by an unfamiliar scene.  

murky green depths  SPARKLE  with mirth  even though her expression remains sanguine, and when lips part to respond, there is an unmistakable reminiscence of a secret smile — one that won’t be subdued as intended. a woman made of the subtlest contradictions. the girl has a sense of humour at least.  ❛   i’ll keep that in mind when i’m DESPERATE for some change …  but either way …  i don’t think my basement makes much of a case for kidnapper chic.  ❜  hand reaches to pull her hair over one shoulder, shaking out the tracing paper with the printed design outward so it doesn’t crumple in the breeze.  ❛  i had to take advantage of the natural light and this newly painted wall. if you could just hold it up for a second, in front of it. i’ll take a picture. so i can see what the real thing MIGHT look like on an actual white wall. think you can handle that ?  ❜

[picqued]

even all these years later, marion moves like mystery personified. soft. elegant. missable to anyone who’s not looking. strangely the increase in work responsibilities has improved her cooking, not that she’d been a bad cook to begin with — as good as any working single mother could ever have been, just enough.  ❛  you know .  .  . if it’s tough out here, you can always look out of state. you don’t have to stay in sheffield. you could network in new york, meet publishers, get a taste of what that’s like and what they’re looking for ?  ❜    ( @soulsbled.)

[picqued]

her hands are in her pockets, standing in the light staring at a blank wall like she’s a sculpture herself. green eyes are fixed on the freshly painted WHITE, head weighting to the side, eyes narrowing as if trying to picture something. tracing paper is lifted from beneath the newly purchased camera sitting on the top of her car and she holds it up, one eye squinting to see the printed design against the pseudo-backdrop. lip caves between teeth as her gaze shifts.  ❛  excuse me ?  hi. do you think i could borrow you for a second ?  it will just take a second i promise.  ❜  ( @holydepths.)

[picqued]

vampiresmiled‌.

* / even inside, mj is affected by the brooding weather outside of the gallery. its a climate that much matches her demeanor, yet she finds no appreciation for it. a hoodie goes wrapped around a petite torso, and she gives a cautionary glance the stranger’s way. “ she probably recognized how shit it was. ” a few steps to the left, giving the painting beside it a once-over. better, but still not good. “ y’know, the entire neo-expressionism movement is a JOKE. ” she begins, addressing no painting in particular. “ critics spew shit about rawness and existentialism in pieces, that – at best ! – are on kindergarten level … and we’re supposed to take it seriously ? ” we, as in herself and the brunette beside her, or the general public, she’s not sure. another shiver, and sleeves pulled over her hands, furthering her childish appearance ( and equally childlike persona ) with the addition of sweater-paws. “ you got anything by richard hambleton ? or is this, like, a connecticut’s finest type of place. ”

the amusement doesn’t wilt, even though the girl’s remarks don’t lose their zeal.  perhaps most in marion’s position would have found this offensive, but marion has enough experience to understand that opinions are meant to be expressed at this age, not hidden away. discourse is a healthy thing. she’d know — she has three degrees on the subject under her belt called markus, lila and hazel.  ❛  some pieces are more appealing than others. sometimes i like the colours, i can’t lie.  ❜  spoken in general terms, it’s against policy to agree on the painting in question. the name the girl speaks however, draws muted surprise. lips parting as her head tilts with obviously keen interest. with recognition.  ❛  hambleton ?  ❜  a mainstay in new york before they had moved. she’d seen him in the circuit so often, before he’d been featured in venice, she almost dares call him an acquaintance. ❛  you a fan ?  ❜

[picqued]

vampiresmiled‌.

the mention of shared traits tug at her lips, despite the  uncertainty  on how it is supposed to make her feel– a gnawing in her stomach that asked the universe WHY. kevin had always been the odd one out : whether it be in her old home or at school, in her friend group or in the family she had now. never did similarities extend beyond the basics and hardly even then. sometimes she recognized MORE of herself in marion than she did in her own reflection, and the sensation was a puzzling one to say the least. blue eyes wander : across images presented, to the placing and the color scheme which corresponds with her own sense of beauty. “ i-i love it. both the paintings and … how you wanna lay it out. it’s really smart. and really, really beautiful. ” she’s not all too sure her input is of value, but she strives to offer any semblance of reassurance that she can. “ when is the exhibition ? ” 

fingertips ghost over the photos of delicate designs, as if touching them could somehow teleport herself into a projection of the vision she hopes to create.  ❛  don’t get me wrong i love curating ancient artefacts and displaying history, but this is. this is something else. it’s almost universal … in a way. the simplicity, and how this reverence of what the artists see is perceived. you can’t mistake it. there’s something grounding about that. and i love the repetition too, this design right here, as a painting. then on pottery. and then on fabric. i can’t imagine how long it took to weave the gold in like that. and the way the gold sort of looks three dimensional on the pottery and the canvas … like the cherry blossoms are alive. i just hope our placements can do justice to everything.  ❜  upward glance toward kevin’s face holds a brief distraction that has her lips spreading a touch. ❛  you think so ?  cherry blossoms are so important to the japanese …  ❜  head tilts as she gazes at the images on the table.  ❛  what do you think it says — that they used gold instead of colours for the blossoms ?   ❜  maybe that’s not a fair question, not yet. kevin hasn’t seen the pieces in person yet. sometimes the experience of the real thing versus its image is vastly different. a low thoughtful hum escapes her throat.  ❛  we haven’t fixed a date yet. i obviously want it to be timed perfectly once i finish this concept — but it also depends on things i can’t exactly control, like when they come in, and whether the artists will be here for the opening.  ❜