Work Text:
Clary’s life had already been stressful. She didn’t need her mother to loom over her head, and remind her every day that when she had been in her second year or art college, she had already had an art exhibition. Or that those exhibitions were crucial, when it came to selling work (Clary didn’t quite believe that one - she was a true millennial, and knew that the Internet could make everybody famous - but it was still painful to hear.). She didn’t need her concerned looks, her pity, or her harsh words to just ‘stop feeling sorry for herself’ and ‘produce some quality work’.
Ever since she could remember she had lived in Jocelyn’s shadow. She didn’t remember the time before drawing classes - years, when she could paint a swan just for fun. No, it had needed to be anatomically correct. And have shading. And pink crowns on birds had been allowed only when Jocelyn had had a good day, and had played it down as ‘being creative’.
And everywhere she went she was ‘Jocelyn’s daughter’. She had never been ‘Clary’, or even ‘Miss Fairchild’. No. Wherever she went, people already had expectations of her, and compared her to her mother. ‘You have a good eye for details, just like her.’ ‘You always have a smude on the right side of your works. Your mother used to do the same thing - ask her and she will help you with it.’ Even her eyes were never just green . They were Jocelyn’s green.
She was sick of it.
She pulled the cafe door open, with more force than necessary. No one turned around, though, to look at yet another caffeine-addicted, hoodie-wearing college student, that had decided that Starbucks had been too mainstream for them, and had chosen instead to procrastinate in a hole-in-the-world cafe. But even those hipster places had caramel lattes, for which Clary was grateful. At least she could drown her sorrows in sweet madness before her next class. She was in college. She should have fun. Everyone kept telling her that she was now living the best years of her life, yet the constant pressure had her doubt it.
The chair made too much noise as she pulled it out, but she was too tired to give a damn. Clary dumped her bag onto the next seat, then finally sat down herself. Her phone buzzed with a new notification, as she was taking out her notes for the next class. Who would have thought that art college would consist of so many pop quizzes?
She silently hoped that someone had sent another dinosaur video to the group chat, but it wasn’t her lucky day. The message came from Jocelyn. Her mother had sent her yet another article on ‘How to deal with artist’s block’. She probably thought she was being so helpful .
Clary just shoved her phone into her bag, not caring what might happen to it. All she wanted was to have one moment to herself, without a constant worry that she wasn’t good enough.
A decision was made quickly - she wouldn’t think about art at all, for the next 40 minutes. Clary would just relax, and enjoy her coffee. She just abandoned her notebook, and leaned back in her chair. The angle was slightly awkward, but she was too stubborn to admit it.
No phone to look at and no notes to read, meant she had to fill her time somehow. There was oddly no music in the place, so the only thing she could do was people-watch. The place was packed, and no one was paying any attention to her. A perfect opportunity to stare at people, and wonder what was their life like.
Her gaze fell first on the young women sitting in the opposite corner. Two huge windows met behind her, creating an illusion of glass walls, so her figure was surrounded by natural light. She had dark skin, dark curly hair...Clary was almost positive that she had glasses, but the rims were either very thin, or made out of see-through plastic, so it was hard to tell for sure. She was wearing a striped black and white shirt, and light blue overalls, and was hunched over a huge book.
She was taking all the available space, with her book, laptop, notebook and coffee. Every now and then she would mouth something - Clary had no idea what, she couldn’t read lips - then reach for a block of yellow sticky notes, and write something down. The note would then end up either in her notebook, or in the book.
Clary forgot to look at the other people in the cafe, and instead focused on the girl. She would constantly brush her curls from her face, tucking the strands behind her ears, but they always got free. After it had happened for the uptenth time, she rolled her eyes - actually rolled her eyes, with noone there to see it! - and took two hairbands off her wrist. She then split her hair into two sections, and began to braid them. Clary had to remind herself she was in the public space, to keep herself from actually cooing. Doing that while staring at a strange, was surely going to draw attention to her.
Soon, she began to wonder. What was that girl like? What were her dreams? Why did she decide to sit in that cafe, at 1 pm on Thursday? Who showed her that place? What was she studying? Maybe she was a goddess that descended to Earth, wanting to live a mortal life? Blend in with the humans, experience joy and sorrow with them? Maybe her residence was in another dimension. Maybe she had sat at her huge window, every night, and gazed longingly at the little creatures that walked the Earth. She would wish to lead a life like they had. And one night, she would put on her coat, and escape her home, leaving her old life behind.
Clary didn’t even realise when she reached for her pen, and began to sketch.
---------------
“Come on, Roberts! It will be fun!” Simon said, as he dragged his best friend towards the art gallery.
“It’s already fun. You look ridiculous in that shirt.” He glanced down at the aforementioned piece of clothing, and frowned. Sure, the blue and green dots on gray shirt were unusual, blue he himself would describe the outfit as ‘quirky’. “You know you love it.”
“I do.” Maia admitted, then smiled widely. “I can’t believe I actually agreed to do this. How did you even get us the tickets?” Two college students, attending the opening night of some famous painter. Not exactly a regular Friday evening.
“I told you already - I booked them online. Apparently, she is a student, just like us, and it’s her first exhibition. But the tickets sold out fast , so it has to be good. I have planned on googling more about her and the event, but it just never happened.” Simon admitted, with a sheepish expression. “But I still think we can blend in with the crowd. Like, we are fancy enough.”
They gave their names at the entrance, then walked inside. Simon was still happily chatting next to Maia, but suddenly, he stopped.
“Si?” Maia, asked concerned, and followed his gaze.
It was her. The woman on the painting. Even with a golden crown decorating woman’s head, Maia could still tell with 100% certainty, that she was looking at her own face, displayed on huge canvas. Her dark curls were blending with the background, and stars seemed to adore her forehead, and clavicle. It was surreal.
She looked at another painting. This time the figure was turned away from the audience, sitting on a huge, stone windowsill. It looked like a part of the palace. But even at that angle, with only half of woman’s face visible, it was still unmistakably, her. She looked like a princess. Like a true goddess. Staring at something with longing.
Maia only realised that she was standing still, when someone bumped into her.
“My apologies…” the man started, but stopped once he looked at her face. “Ah! Miss Fairchild didn’t tell us her muse would be here.” Before Maia could process everything, and answer, the man tangled his arm with hers, and began to lead her somewhere. “We were all thrilled to hear that the daughter of the famous Jocelyn was looking for a place to display her paintings. I want to admit, that I, personally, was slightly worried. You know, she had a famous last name, but we haven’t heard about her work before. ” He leaned close, as if he was letting Maia in on a huge secret. “But she has outdone her mother. The way she captured the yearning of a goddess? A woman that had it all, but wanted to fall for mortals? I don’t even have words to describe it.” He placed his free hand on her arm, to squeeze it. “But I’m sure you already know it all. Aghhh, the greatest love story ever told. And artist falls for her muse.” The man sighed dreamily.
“...love?” It was the only word that Maia managed to utter. Every moment was more confusing than the last. She actually expected to wake up in her bed any second now.
Her companion winked. “It’s obvious. Everyone in this room can tell the story of how young miss Clary Fairchild fell in love with another woman, while painting her portraits. It’s so obvious when you look at those paintings. And I can’t blame her - you are gorgeous. Those paintings really do you justice.” Maia felt the strong urge to free her arm, but man’s enthusiastic grasp was too strong. “An artist-muse relationship is always so intense. And Clary is such a romantic at heart. She should have added a painting of you two at the end. Some might say it would be ‘too much’, but no such thing. I honestly hope she will consider that for her next exhibition.” He stopped for a moment to look at something. “Ahhh, there she is!” He finally let go of Maia, and walked up to a short woman with ginger hair. She greeted him with kisses to his cheeks, then he made her twirl in her black dress. Maia couldn’t help but admire how the tiny gold dots on her tulle skirt shone like stars - focusing on that detail was easier than trying to understand what was happening.
“Look who I found!” The man exclaimed, then gestured towards Maia.
Ginger’s face fell.
“Ohhh, I see.” Their companion said. “Lovers’ quarrel. I will leave you two alone. Just don’t take too long - everybody wants to talk to you.”
Neither of the girls realised when he disappeared.
“Well, this is awkward.” Maia said, while straightening her own skirt. Those words seemed to finally wake up her companion.
“I’m so, soooo sorry. I wanted to reach out to you, but you never came back to the cafe.”
“What cafe?” Maia was even more confused. “Do I know you?”
The redhead blushed furiously, then walked up to stand in front of Maia. “No. I’m Clary.” She raised her hand and waved, then lowered it back, embarrassed. “I saw you once in a cafe - Berko’s - and...” She gestured around, which almost made Maia smile. “I swear, I wanted to change the paintings. To do something less creepy. But I kept coming back to those works, and to you. You, in my head. Obviously.” She shifted her weight from one leg to another, then started to play with her fingers. “I will pay for all the damage?”
“Wow.” Maia replied. “So you saw me somewhere once, then decided to paint me?” Clary clearly wanted to add something, but decided not to, and just nodded with resignation. “Then you turned me into some intergalactic goddess, and hung the paintings for all of New York City to see?” Clary only averted her eyes. “And, apparently, all those folks are talking about how we fell in love.” Maia finished.
“What? No!” Clary said loudly, which attracted some attention. “I told Roberto not to mistake his crazy theories for gossip. I am so, sooooo sorry.” She covered her face with her hands, petrified.
Maia looked at the other girl. She still felt slightly uncomfortable with her own face on display, but it was clear that the whole situation was even more stressful for Clary. Simon had mentioned that it was her first exhibition - she probably was under a lot of pressure already. And now a woman who was her muse - Maia still found it hard to wrap her head around it - was standing in front of her, in a place where Clary had least expected it.
“Hey.” Maia placed her hand on Clary’s shoulder. “I’m not angry. You have nothing to worry about.” The whole situation was bizarre, but Maia truly wasn’t going to make a scene, or sue the other girl.
“You’re not?” Clary lowered her hands, and Maia could see that her sharp purple eyeliner got smudged slightly.
“Well, this situation is unusual. But I’m not angry. Those paintings are very beautiful. Gimme a moment to process, and I will say I’m honoured to have my face here.”
Clary nodded, a small smile finally gracing her lips. ‘She looks so pretty up close.’, Maia thought to herself.
“Thank you. I’m really so…” Clary had started again, but Maia silenced her.
“Stop apologising!” She said, amused. Come to think of it, the whole thing was actually funny and adorable. Like something out of a movie. “If you are still feeling bad, buy me a coffee.”
“It’s a date!” Clary agreed quickly. It didn’t take long for her eyes to widen in realisation, of what she had just said.
Before she could correct herself, Maia chimed in. “It’s a date.” Maia smiled warmly, and Clary had no other choice, but to smile as well.
Becoming a muse wasn’t so bad, if you could a date with a cute girl out of it.