sir-fabian-bishop

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker​:

“Like that night…or what I recall of it, I still believe that a camera lens is just as powerful as a hand. Is what you see not unique to you, Mr. Bishop?” she inquired, still rather adamant to prove her point that he seemed to not wrap his own head around. Moving to his true question she had to think for a minute. 

Asking what subject matter she holds was almost an unfair question. She liked to switch up her art. To paint the same thing would be far too repetitive to her. While most of her paintings captured a lighter feel, the pieces she was currently working on were rather dramatic in color scheme and emotional response. “I really just paint whatever comes to my fancy. My creative process isn’t as complex as you’d might believe. To have such a hard definition of your own art I think can muddle room from growth or experimentation” she replied taking a sip of the water in front of her as he spoke. 

His work seemed important. Far more than hers. She could commend him for that. Aspen kept out of the political sphere for the most part. Sure, there were particular things she felt strongly about - but being a woman who constantly seemed to question herself, she never spoke on any of the matters. “That’s a fancy title, it fits your fancy name” Aspen tried to make light of that serious position he seemed to have. “Dealing with the meddling of our politicians cannot be light work” 

She presented a curious question to him, one that was able to wade through the thicket of the past and the present knowledge that those memories were shared, at least in part. He presumed to believe her recollection of the night would be incomplete in comparison to his. A bottle of champagne could cause damage, a haze to intervene and the like, as far as he had been told, anyhow. It left the argument posed untouched still, presented to him to be batted back with a refocused mind. "As far as vision is concerned, to those that are fortunate enough to have it, we are all capable of viewing the same subject in the same manner. Your coffee, for example, we both see that it is black, do we not? A stroke of a brush, however, would offer subtle distinction to it that is not seen, and therefore becomes uniquely tied to the artist's skill versus the mechanical tools one has bought."

His own drink of choice was tipped in, tea washing in, listening to her answer with a contemplative gaze. "Surely it cannot be that prone to whimsy," he spoke, as if the idea of spontanuity was parallel to cardinal sin. This was, however, her world. He was only a visitor to it, as much as he could desire to be the one looking out instead of in. "I suppose that is part of the myth of the muses, to ultimately surrender to their directions," he compromised with another glance thrown in her direction and another sip to mirror her own, as if easily persuaded by her actions.

It was unfamiliar territory to be pulled in opposing directions by her comment. One half tugged towards confusion while the other tripped into being unmistakably flustered, causing a mixture of a scoff and quiet laugh to fall from him. It was smoothed out by his hand, imaginary wrinkles ironed out against the tie around his neck as he reviewed the words in a clearer mindset. "The role is of great importance, but if you insist that the name is on par with it, I have no other option but to concede." The thinnest of smiles was offered, lest it grow before he straightened in his chair. "Needless to say, going to exhibitions such as yours provides a much needed escape at times."

[sir-fabian-bishop]

birdiedrke​:

“fine, fine!” she waived off his speech with ease. talent she found, was a good word for luck. there was nothing to it. she stumbled into painting just as easily as she might have any other hobby. and for her learning, maybe it was just practice. “you’re right anyways.” she grabbed a spare canvas from where it was leaned in the corner, angling it against her hip as though she made a particularly sturdy easel. she did not, but she’d had more practice than her boss. pencil swiftly in hand to sketch what she could remember of the work. “we can make it a competition instead.” she never took either of them to be competitive, it was in her nature to tease not to actually try. besides, it was the furthest thing from ease she could think of.

“worse vasari has to log payroll tomorrow.” as though he wasn’t her boss, couldn’t just make her do it anyways. but he always complained about how she did it anyways. so if he lost, he could do it his way. she couldn’t have cared less. it was more about watching him do something that wasn’t paperwork. what were fabian bishop’s hobbies, what was he passionate about. he didn’t leave much of an internet footprint, despite her best efforts to track him. which just left these moments. “when life gives you lemons right!”

She was telling him he was right, and yet it sank to the bottom of his stomach like a stone. He was not foolish enough to fall under the spell of her empty words, but in spite of it, he could not justify saying anything more that would not provide them with more power. The leverage was never on his side, leaving him to remain ruffled in his seat, watching her with an aghast expression as she handled the canvas. In comparison, he had lined it up so particularly against the easel, one he had worked terribly hard at getting even against the floor. Here she was using her knees! "I have no interest in partaking in any game of yours." That was exactly what it was, too. It would not be a competition, more so a pastime of hers to stir the overflowing chaos that swaddled her entire existence, taking him into it with every chance that served her. "More so, it would hardly be a fair trial." Less confident by that statement, but he would not be bullied into speaking anything less, anything that would expose himself any more than what already had been.

"Please, do not refer to me by anything less than Mr. Bishop, Ms. Drake. We have discussed this on numerous occasions. It does not bear repeating." This was not the time to be humored, as if there was ever a suitable time for such trifling things. The latex gloves were neatly placed to the side, eyes still drifting over to see her work, a curiosity that could not be helped, a tinge of jealousy prickling his soul as much as his eyes. "Where did you study these techniques?" he asked with another shift of his head to get a better look, as casual as he could; the manner translated as stiff and transparent, a putrid mask worn. "This is not precisely in the same spirit as Vasari, but the alluded elements are there."

[sir-fabian-bishop]

[sir-fabian-bishop]

birdiedrke​:

“don’t be upset!” she chided, the veneer of civility still in tact. she was only curious, she was only ever curious. of course he would get all riled up over a smeared canvas being compared to one of the only artists that was still recognized by name nowadays. it was easy to see though, how he went from flushed to the same old fab she’d come to know. “practice makes perfect i hear.” and while the words are common, her smile betrays something of a more patronizing turn. how could it not. she’d never known her boss to be anything expect a master of paper work. artist did not often have the same feeling.

“old master!” she grabbed the canvas that he was trying to put away, putting it back on the easel so that she could take a look. “if you’re going for vasari, your orange is too bright.” she had no reason to believe that he would take her advice, or do anything other than try to shutter her out of the room. she was so often a child underfoot when it came to his work. but lucky for him, she didn’t stay at the job to be well liked. she did it for these odd little moments. where people revealed themselves without meaning to. “do you have a pencil? i’ll sketch you an outline to follow.” who was she if she wasn’t overbearing, pressing into his space and ruining whatever he had planned. it didn’t have to just be about the daily paperwork! “come on, it’ll be fun.”

"I am not upset," he snapped before reining in the very emotion he had denied, busying the attention of his gaze to his gloves as he began to roll them off his wrists. "You have caught me at a most inopportune time, and nothing more. The two circumstances have no bearing on each other." Always a being of tension, another screw tightened at her comment, one that cut from any other voice would have been encouraging; from her, it could be anything but from his point of view. Practice! What on earth was she trying to insinuate? "Thank you, Ms. Jennings. If your feedback ends there, you are free to take your leave--"

Naturally, a departure from his domain could not be attained so easily, leaving him to suck in his lips in the most sour expression that could temporarily transgress until professionalism dictated otherwise. "It is this execrable lighting that is giving you that impression," he defended as if he was trying to desperately keep her away from shredding the painting she was holding, the very one he was reaching out for, only to snatch it back up from the easel and hold to. "I hardly find that that will be necessary, Ms. Jennings. I am not in the mood to be given some juvenile measure of expression in the way of a paint-by-numbers activity. There is no shortcut when it comes to talent, nor is it born from the hands of those that believe it can be done with ease."

[sir-fabian-bishop]

birdiedrke​:

“oh no—off the clock i promise!” she held up her hands as though she was being interrogated, which to some extent she was. but she learned to endure the questions, find the room around them to joking. to a lighter situation, after all he was treating her as though she’d stumbled into something far more embarrassing than it was. painting as a hobby was nothing out of the ordinary for the community they found themselves in. “it’s a professional curiosity, nothing more.” she stepped in, shutting the door behind her. if he’d asked her to leave in so many words, she still would have found a reason to stay. “what are you doing?”

canvas, gloves, a strangely mixed shade of orange. “are you a muse mr. bishop?” she loved the rumors of what lurked, knew even if the idea was close to true, it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing that her boss believed in. there were no rules for immortals, no paperwork for them to file, it must have been so frustrating. “hiding your talents from the world?” she got closer, saw that the canvas had a single orange splotch. “no reference, that’s bold.” maybe it was the only way she knew, to trace original works and mimic their brush strokes. no piece of hers came from the kind of pure original inspiration there was supposed to be. maybe michaelangelo had done the sistine chapel without a second thought. she doubted it. “you going for pollock?”

Fabian had the type of anger that resided in a vexed rodent: utterly ineffective with a nose twitching and eyes simply staring in irritation, unable to meet ferality. "What I do in my time of leisure is nothing to concern you," he told her, as if the mostly blank canvas was not still hanging against the easel behind him, betraying him in every way but screaming at her. She had terrible timing! At any other given moment that he needed her, she was nowhere to be seen, and at the most inopportune times, she was lurking within an inch of his life, ready to drag him to meet his maker.

His face grew pigment, easy to spot with clean-shaven cheeks and raven-black hair to frame them. They were surely not meant to be complimentary, treacherously mocking in probability, but it hit him all the same. "No, I am most certainly not a Muse, Ms. Drake, as you should already be well-informed of," he mumbled as he turned away, aware of the heat that skidded along his face, only fueling his own discomfort with the situation. "/Jackson/ Pollock?" he repeated, mouth acting as though it had swallowed a lemon, flattery quickly replaced by offense. "Of course not! How on Earth would you ever get the impression that I would ever be inspired by that blunderbuss? Do you not see the influence of the old master's at work?" He looked back at the touched canvas, the splotch of putrid persimmon. With gloved hands, he took it off of the easel, hiding it from view as he lowered it. "It was only a means to practice, if you must know, and your input has been keenly noted."

[sir-fabian-bishop]

Fabian C. Bishop. Registrar. His office was a gleaming example of fastidiousness and antiquity. Meticulous records kept on every piece within the museum, filed away and categorized alphabetically by year and artist. Giorgio Vasari's folder had been opened earlier in the day, browsed through upon seeing the tiniest sign of crackling to one of the paintings that were hung up. The blunderbusses within the maintenance department had to fiddle with the humidity to cause such a disaster, but it would be rectified. He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had he somehow needed to take time away from his job, worsening its condition.

Carefully, the paints were squeezed out on the palette with Vasari's works still fresh in his minds, inspiration taking hold as the hours for the museum were done and all the work was completed as scheduled. The brush dipped into the mellow tone of orange that had been mixed before drawing closer towards the untouched canvas, only to have a mangled brush stroke thanks to the intruder at fault.

"Blasted!" he cursed, mild fashion always at the root but the sentiment as high as ever as his eyes snapped to her in a mixture of fluster and indignation. The palette was put aside, a sad attempt to try to cover its existence, but trapped by his own need not for it to spill and ruin his office. She was utterly incorrigible. "Ms. Drake," he went on, strained, "I am not accustomed to being accosted in this manner, particularly when my pastimes do not concern you. We are unable to approve of overtime as of late, as well." He started to undo the gloves on his hands, adding under his breath, "Although, I fail to see how you would qualify for such."

@sir-fabian-bishop​

she took the office job because it was always the best way to claim some sort of legitimate income. just on the radar enough, though if hard pressed she wasn’t even sure what contracting they did. she sent generic emails and took two hour lunch breaks, and she didn’t look for another job despite the uptight nature of her boss because she was simply too amused. she always knew where he was lurking in the building because despite his want for everything so meticulous, he was still just a fly caught in the web she spun. a completely harmless web, in which he was safe at all time, merely to be looked upon.

she opened door number one, actually surprised to see a paint tray out. though it was past five, maybe this was his hobby. “you always say no locked doors!” she greeted, as though it applied to every single door in the world, and not simply the door to her office. “what are you doing in here! don’t you know it’s quittin’ time?” she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but who was she to turn down the sight of what looked to be her boss attempting to paint. “this doesn’t seem like paper work.”

[sir-fabian-bishop]

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker‌:

Looking at the man across from her didn’t make her nervous until his normal straight expression had been momentarily replaced with what she took as a smile. A waiter came by offering beverages and she quickly spoke, anxious to have something to hold in her hands. “Just a black coffee please” she said before the waiter walked off once more.

She didn’t know how to honestly deal with his judgements regarding the irritated host. While she agreed his attitude wasn’t the most professional, you never knew what people were going through. She tried not to judge people too harshly. Aspen decide to gloss over the comment all together.

“I’ve been okay. Just working on some new pieces. I’m back in my studio for the time so I’m currently working on a piece there to your enjoyment - instead of photos. Though I’ll be doing more photography in the near future” she said alluding to the conversation she somehow remembered from the night they had met. His schedule being full didn’t surprise her, but she was curious. “What do you do Mr. Bishop, if you don’t mind me asking”

It was often when Fabian yearned to have the creative talent of an artist. The idea of their lifestyle was veiled in a romanticism that was probably far removed from the pitfalls that came with reality. The finances of it all was enough to dissuade most, but the expression and freedom of it all still held a special place in his heart. He listened to Aspen's reply with an attentive ear, interest piqued and willing to delve into the details of her projects. Her allusion did not escape him, but he did not shy away from it either.

"I would hope that you would pursue the projects that require your particular touch. It is my personal opinion that, unlike photography, a unique point of view can come through an artist's hands rather than his or her camera lens.--What subject matters strike your muse, Ms. Tracker? Is there a certain theme you follow?"

His hand rested lightly around the curve of his tea cup, fingertips at the handle, as his head rose at her question, igniting a sense of pride. His soul was a dichotomy between the arts and the starkness of administrative work, showing the latter in his answer. "At the moment, I'm employed by the Library of Congress as a legislative attorney. I've been there for nearly two years, now, but I've become primarily the lead in most instances. Without exposing any particular cases, I believe I have single-handedly prevented our civil liberties from ruin at the hands of a few meddlesome elected officials."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

Come into my inbox and give my muse some bad advice!

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Aspen had more fun getting ready than probably anticipated. Other than her art shows she dressed down. Typically wearing some kind of overall or large T-shirt was her normal look. To meet with Fabian for their date or whatever this was - she wore a flower filled sundress. 

Upon arriving at the actual venue she was met with an exasperated sigh from the host when she dropped his name for the reservation. That was never a good sign. She hadn’t been to this place before and either they had very moody host of Mr. Bishop had some sort of aggravating reputation. Guided to the table she waved slightly as he moved to stand. “Mr. Bishop, it is nice to see you. As promised I brought your jacket. Thank you for helping me that night” she spoke as she sat down across from him, his jacket on the back of her chair. 

“I don’t think I’m having any issues. The host just seemed to be a bit…agitated?” she commented, her eyes scanning over the menu in front of her. “So, how’ve you been?”

Fabian, who was as clueless as a blind bat when it came to being sociable, somehow took in the sight of Aspen's dress with a soft smile. The fact, however, that she was holding his coat overshadowed the detail in time, especially when he could recall his roommate badgering him about this occasion being a romantic endeavor. Ridiculous prattle.

"It was the only responsible course of action to take," he replied to her thanks modestly, although he was internally boosted from it. "There is no need for your gratitude."

His fingers threaded through the handle of his teacup, drinking from it before she spoke. As he swallowed, his eyes shot a glare at the back of the imbecile that had no comprehension for why he was irritated before, looking away to avoid being noticed for it. "He is easily agitated, it appears, rudely so. I'm in the hopes that he won't continue with his role here," he agreed before moving on. "I'm doing well, thank you. As I said before, I had meant to see how you were getting on before, but my schedule has been tiresome.--How have you fared since the exhibition?"

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Her face scrunched at the annoying sound on the other end of the line. It was then she heard another mail voice and thoughts only went through her head. He didn’t seem like the type to have many friends around - though she could be wrong. Was it a roommate, friend, or lover? It would make sense if he played for the other team, or for both - she couldn’t judge. “Of course, I will see you later on then” she replied at his goodbye promptly hanging up a moment later to get on with her day.

"Yes, I see that another party is currently sitting at the table, but I made a specific reservation for that particular table. I fail to comprehend how there was anything ambiguous about what I instructed.--Where is Mrs. Fielding?"

The exasperated waiter, who obviously wasn't being paid enough to deal with Fabian's criticism, sighed before speaking. "She quit like.. two days ago?"

The news sent Fabian's skeleton to a rigid stance. "I presume that there must be a new member of management to fill in the loss. May I have a word with him or her?"

"Come on, man. It's just a table. I'll get them to comp your food. Deal?"

If only half of the words had been spoken, he would have refused to leave until speaking to the very owner, but given that the offer had been extended, it could be at the very least postponed for now. Slightly, he eased. "Given that you are attempting to make ammends for an incident that was seemingly beyond your control," he began, "I'll agree to the reparations."

Once he was settled, and his tea was placed down on the table he was dealt with, the looks towards the one he had wanted that was below the Monet print began to lessen. In time, they ceased, only for him to think of it again when Aspen arrived.

"Ms. Tracker," he greeted, standing up from his seat, "it's good to meet with you again. If the staff has given you any trouble as they have with me as of late, please allow me to know of it. They are apparently under new leadership."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Rummaging through her drawer with one hand to find the clothing she wanted proved to be a harder task than what she anticipated. She made a mental note of the cafe name. It sounded far too fancy for her typical taste. Aspen audibly laughed at his assumption before speaking. “Alright Mr. Bishop, that all sounds dandy. I’ll remember to bring your coat” 

"Please, do so," he replied, on the verge of saying good-bye until his roommate entered into his line of hearing.

"Are you talking to the artist girl?"

Fabian's hand reached around for the receiver of the phone, knocking into a button on the blasted device as the screen lit up, making an awful tone. God, how he hated this thing ever since he was persuaded to buy it. Was he even covering the mic? It literally only had /one/ entry point for it. His lips pursed to free himself from one annoyance to focus on the other, staring down Fergus before returning hurriedly to the call.

"Ms. Tracker? I apologize; I believe there's interference in the connection," he spoke as he turned his back on the other, trying and failing to avoid giving him anything else to talk about later. "I will... be awaiting the return of the coat. Thank you."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Aspen seemed to get every mixed signal under the sun from this man. He preferred she dress up to go to a cafe? She wasn’t sure what kind of cafe required such a thing. “Okay Mr. Bishop, it’s a date then” she concluded, dragging her tired body to the bathroom. “What’s the cafe called so I can Google directions?” she asked while doing her best to strip out of what little clothes she wore to bed.

She couldn't possibly suspect that this was a romantic date, could she? Fabian's hesistation to respond, to set the record straight, was interrupted by her logical question. "Of course, directions. The name is Fluer De Vie." No, she wouldn't have assumed that. Would she? No, of course not because there was no interest on either side. "I won't keep you for long whilst there. I assume you must have prior engagements to attend to afterwards that may prevent you from extending your stay, as well."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Aspen slowly began inching towards the edge of her bed in an attempt to get up. The queen sized comforter just seemed to get larger the more she tried to escape it. Her feet swung to the floor and she held the phone with her shoulder. “I can meet you somewhere at four if that works then. Unless we’re meeting somewhere that requires me to dress up?” Aspen questioned since he spoke about her getting ready like it’d be some kind of event - almost like a date. 

Fabian seemed to have a natural face when speaking with Aspen lately--one of confusion. What on earth did she mean by 'dress up'? Was she thinking that she wouldn't have to change her clothes today? She had just woken up and was most likely wearing pajamas. However, asking such a question was unthinkable. "It would be the preference, yes," he answered. For what could have been mistaken as forwardness, Fabian merely was speaking from common sense. "I was planning to visit a cafe I frequent. It's located between my address and yours. We can rendezvous there."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

Because he cares so much about my well-being. The voice in her head said. Her automatic distrust of men was sad. Aspen did her best to give everyone the benefit of the doubt but she could never really make herself do so. His mention of the coat her eyes flickered over to it on her dresser. She’d been wearing it due to its larger size. It was father comfortable. “Oh yeah, that. Ah, today could work for me. Otherwise I need to find my calendar”

Lips pursed at the immediate answer. She had his possession and seemed to have just remember it? Fabian silently sighed. Why had he been propelled to lend it in the first place? "Today would be agreeable," he answered. "I will be available between four and six. If you require more time to ready yourself for the visit, there can be another date arranged."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

She sounded exhausted, which perplexed him. He had been awake for seven hours already in comparison. Perhaps she truly was struggling with alcohol. There was a vaguely responsive hum after she gave an equally vague answer, leaving it behind them. However, when she had cut to the core so suddenly, he was taken aback for a moment. "Yes, very well, your judgement isn't without reason. I did call for another particular matter beyond your well-being," he gathered together. "Before we had parted ways, I had lent you my coat. I had expected it to be returned at some point. If we could arrange a time, that would be much appreciated."

Coat Check

[sir-fabian-bishop]

aspentracker:

She rolled over in bed - comforter wrapped awkwardly around her legs - when she heard the chimes of her ringtone. A blind hand went out searching before she brought the phone to her ear. Before she could even speak there was a voice she couldn’t help but remember. A  silent yawn emitted as she heard his voice over the line. She wasn’t quite sure what time it was. Aspen was surprised by the question but moreso surprised he had her number. Was she drunk enough to just give her number out so wildly?

“Mr. Bishop it’s good to hear you” she began before adjusting the phone. “I’m doing well now. Nothing that a cup of coffee and advil couldn’t handle. I’m just curious as to how you have my personal phone number?”

As she was speaking, he glanced over at his clock, watching as the hand just flicked against the twelve promptly. "Not that I am evading the question by any manner of speaking," he began, "but it is one in the afternoon. Have you just woken up?" Fabian's furrowing of the brow probably could have been heard through the other side, but he digressed, moving back to answer her. "In any regard, I spoke to the gallery and requested a number to reach you at. This was the number they provided." Obviously. "Would you rather I didn't use it?"

Coat Check