Chapter Text
A click. A quiet little jazzy tune faded to silence. The screen shifted with a transition of colour — blues and blacks and golds sweeping across the screen to shift to the next scene.
An old woman's face came immediately into view, staring directly as if she could see the other side. Her brows furrowed with soft confusion, lips pinched downward as she straightened up her frail form. Her greyed hair fell over her shoulders in waves, the light hitting it just so to reveal faded shades of what once must have been auburn.
"Is this... on?" she asked suddenly, too loud and entirely too close to whatever microphone had likely been planted. A faint chuckle echoed from the background, silky smooth and a little distant.
"It's on, Maman," a male's voice reassured, a hint of a rasp to his playful tone. "You're too close to the camera: the viewers won't be able to see Papa."
"I'm not the star," came another male voice, old and gruff, and the woman stepped back and turned to the old man seated on a stool in the background, an easel and canvas set behind him. The old man had his hands curled over the top of his cane.
"Nonsense, Renoir," the woman huffed, wandering to the man. She plucked a paintbrush from the table set nearby, smiling down at the old man — Renoir. "According to Alicia, these 'chatters' are just as excited to see you as they are me."
Renoir snorted softly in disbelief, but he moved to stand, leaning against his cane once he'd stepped aside. "They are more excited to see Aline Dessendre, the most talented artist of the century."
She — Aline — huffed as she gently smacked her paintbrush against Renoir's chest. "Agree to disagree."
"Ten minutes into your first stream, and you're already fighting," that second voice chuckled. "That's one way to attract viewers."
"This isn't a fight," Aline corrected immediately, pointing her paintbrush directly at the camera now — or, more likely, the man on the other side. "This is a creative discussion."
"Perhaps we could creatively discuss what it was people came to watch us for?" Renoir suggested, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. "Everyone's rather curious to see the way your mind works when you create."
Aline wrinkled her nose at Renoir in a petulant way, suggesting this conversation may not be fully over. Yet she turned to the camera once more, plucking up her supplies and setting ip her paints. "Then let's begin with the first lesson."