Work Text:
“If you make one more Sherrie Levine-inspired piece I’m going to set your workstation on fire.”
“Good morning, Elvira, Mistress of the Snark. And what are you working on this gorgeous, sunny day? Yet another angrily painted black canvas titled ‘Stars’?”
“Actually, I was going to melt some candles in the shape of your face and title it ‘Desolation’.”
-
“Go back to staring at the ceiling like someone hid the bottle of truffle oil you want for your ‘House-Smelling’ piece, but pout a bit like you can’t figure out how to take the ceiling apart without the bottle falling to the ground and smashing everywhere.”
“You’re a terrible director.”
“Stop talking, I can’t paint your lips while they’re moving.”
Danny hums discontentedly in her throat and rolls her eyes.
“Shhh, your nostrils are twitching. Y’know, Knuckles, for a face that’s sharp enough to have been carved out of marble by the ancients, you talk a whole lot more than a bust, which is unfortunate.”
Danny growls a little more in her throat, but keeps her head slightly tilted and her lips relaxed.
For about fourteen and a half minutes.
“Karnstein, I’m bored, hurry up.”
“I’m nearly done, relax your eyelids.” Carmilla’s voice is suddenly softer, takes on that hushed, rough quality she gets when they visit museums and get to where the Pollock is. Danny feels herself blush slightly and resists the urge to bit down on her lip.
“Okay, you big puppy, you can move now. Christ, I ask for one sitting and it’s like I’ve asked you to hold the world up or something.”
“That was over an hour, douche-face. I get bored!”
“Yeah yeah yeah. You didn’t go for your run this morning, did you?”
“… No. I had to reschedule my tutorial this week because of work, so I didn’t have time.”
“Well, that explains the fidgeting and my eternal difficulties.”
Danny’s about to interrupt as Carmilla carries her easel over to the side of her room, but then Carmilla shoots her a look and says, “Hey, since you didn’t get to do any running this morning, wanna come out with me tonight?”
“What’re your plans?”
“Art.” The grin on Carmilla’s face is bright and dangerous and beautiful as she pulls out a can of spray paint from her leather satchel and retrieves some stencils from under her dining table.
Danny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll come, you delinquent. But if we get arrested, I’m going to spray paint ‘dumbass’ on your face.”
-
“Seriously? Embroidery?”
Danny doesn’t look up from what she’s doing, but she can feel Carmilla hovering over her shoulder.
“It’s a statement about oppression of women; by using a traditionally fem-”
“I know why you’re embroidering, BFG, I just meant I didn’t think your huge fingers could actually do it.”
“You’re in early today, Oscar. Back to your trashcan to do more work on your tiny, tiny nudes that can only be seen through a magnifying glass, huh?”
“It’s about having to search for beauty, even when sometimes you don’t see it at first.”
“Uh huh. Sure, Jan.”
“Oh, shut up. You don’t know shit, Ygritte.”
“Personally, I think I’m more Jon Snow, but that’s just because having a giant pet wolf would be cool as fuck.”
“You are the giant pet wolf, you wet dog.”
This time, Danny looks up at Carmilla, eyes narrowed. “I took a shower this morning, unlike you, you stinking hobo.”
“Wait, wait, hold that facial expression – I’m gonna draw it and title it ‘MoonMoon’.”
-
When Danny walks into the art room, Carmilla’s lying down on top of her table, arms limp and hanging off the sides, and she’s staring up at the ceiling blankly. Carmilla turns to morosely watch Danny as she crosses the room to sit at her usual spot, pulling out a few rolls of cling film and a box of red clay from her backpack.
Carmilla watches Danny for a few long moments, then clatters her boot against the tabletop noisily. When Danny continues to ignore her, she groans and announces, “Life is meaningless and we are all just trying to find our own bits of driftwood to hold onto.”
Danny sighs loudly. “Has Elsie left you again?”
Carmilla lets out a sigh, long and slow. “Yes. My model has abandoned me once more.”
“Y’know, maybe if you didn’t spend hours trying to make her balance a fucking rose petal on her cheek while she was naked, she’d get less annoyed at you.”
“I pay her! Hourly!”
“You make her hold her toes apart at weird angles.”
“Toes are important, Bree Van de Kamp. And hard to draw. It’s not my fault she doesn’t have perfect toes.”
“No one has perfect toes, you little shit.”
“You do.” Carmilla says flatly.
Danny smirks. “Didn’t know you had a thi-”
“It’s art, okay? Lemme ‘lone. The exhibition’s next week and I’m fucked for my final piece.”
Danny goes back to poking her clay into resembling a liver, but Carmilla keeps letting out these loud, distracting sighs.
“Seriously, can’t you just find another model?”
“All the fucking second-years have our nude models booked out because they’re doing this week on it, so no, I can’t.”
“Except…” Carmilla sits up with a slight gleam in her eye and stares at Danny, hard.
Danny looks up briefly. “What?”
“You know, Jessica Rabbit, you have a bone structure that would’ve gotten you cast out of heaven because of how sinful they are. And you have nice toes.”
Danny puts her clay liver down and raises her eyebrows at Carmilla. “You know, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”
“Is that a yes?”
Danny doesn’t mention that she’s been waiting for Carmilla to ask since she found Carmilla’s small black sketchbook last week full of unfinished sketches of herself. In all of them, she’s working – hunched over a series of world maps with a bunch of post-its; sticking needles into a pear; knitting a pink machine gun – and they’re kind of gorgeous and intense.
“Sure. So do you take my clothes off for me or do I do that bit myself?”
“We have to go pick up some stuff first. LaFontaine grabbed me some latex gloves from the lab, and I also need to pick up one,” Carmilla glances at Danny, “maybe two bottles of milk.”
“I’m lactose intolerant, you know that, right?”
“Don’t worry, Ariel. You won’t be drinking it.”
“… You know this is why Elsie quit, right?”