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Friday nights were my favourite, and it had nothing to do with the upcoming weekend. When you were a farmer, there wasn’t really any such thing as a weekend anyway. If it weren’t for the different events going on around Mistria I would struggle to keep track of the days at all. As it was, I’d taken to crossing the days off on my calendar as they came around, in an attempt to not feel like they were all melding into one.
That morning, when I’d put a big red X in the next empty square, I’d smiled at the fact it was Friday, simply because that was the night everyone gathered at the Sleeping Dragon Inn and hung out together.
I got dressed and then headed out onto my farm to begin the day’s work, though my mind was on the upcoming events of the evening. As I harvested some crops and watered others, I thought about the notebook that was waiting for me in my backpack, ready to take to the inn for our drawing club. Whenever I had a free moment I tried to get some sketching done but the majority happened on Friday nights themselves, when one of us acted as a model and the rest of us tried to draw from life. I wasn’t any good but it was still enjoyable, and my book was filled with an amalgamation of portraits, some more successful than others. My likeness wasn’t the best but there was a certain charm to the sketches that I could appreciate, even the ones drawn with a looser hand as the night went on and the wine set in.
Once I was finished with my jobs I headed to the beach to try my hand at fishing before finally, once the sun had begun to set, I made my way to the inn, notebook in tow.
Everyone was already there. A few people greeted me with smiles and gestures with their drinks but most were preoccupied chatting and laughing. I smiled, the warm atmosphere enveloping me already like a comforting blanket. The participants of the drawing club were gathered at the table at the back, nearest the soup pot that always smelled delicious. How I resisted a bowl some days I had no idea. Today, only my extensive work on the farm and the thought that I would be coming to the Inn in the evening kept me away but usually I’d stop in on my way past, taking full advantage of the owners’ generosity. Landen and Hayden were chatting away with Elsie, who was laughing demurely into her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Olric and Valen were at the bar, though from the amount of drink already gone from their glasses it seemed as though they had been waylaid there a while chatting with Hemlock. Which just left March, setting out his drawing equipment, sat beside Hayden but apparently not part of the raucous conversation taking place around him.
“Hey guys,” I greeted, taking the empty space on the other side of March. The others replied in good spirits but March only mumbled. Clearly he hadn’t had enough to drink yet since usually once he was tipsy he became a lot more open. He was the kind of drunk who let down his walls when he was inebriated, his terse, closed off demeanour evaporating with the addition of alcohol, and as the weeks went on I was finding it more and more interesting to see how he acted when he cared less. I was finding him more and more interesting, and not only on Friday nights. I’d never visited a forge more, and I was beginning to run out of space for all the ingots I was smelting. Thank the gods no one ever came to visit me on my farm or they’d think I was obsessed- with iron or the man forging it, I wasn’t sure which they’d go with.
I set out my sketchbook and pencils, grabbed a drink at the bar (only getting caught up in conversation for the short, short time of ten minutes this time- a new record) and then, when everyone was finally corralled back to the table, it was time for us to begin.
But first, to pick a subject.
So far we had drawn Valen, Hayden, Elsie and even Henrietta, and all had been perfect sitters. I opened my sketchbook to look over the drawings I’d done, and though the work was rudimentary, I could see familiarities in the lines, features I could recognise as the people I’d come to be friends with over the weeks. So who would be next? I glanced at the man sitting besides me, just a passing observation lest it be noticed by anyone else, and prayed to all the gods that it wouldn’t be March. It wasn’t that I thought he might be hard to draw- and heavens knew he wasn’t hard to look at- but I knew that there was no way I would be able to keep the slow affection that had crept up on me from spilling out on the page, visible to all in attendance.
And so I took matters into my own hands. When the discussion turned to who we could draw this time, I thrust my hand up like I was trying to win the prized pig in an auction, and volunteered. And who was to tell me no? I got up to encouragement, pausing only to down the rest of my drink. However, as I was slipping past March I stumbled slightly, knocking into his arm. And because he had chosen that moment to sort through his papers, one jolt from me sent his collection of loose sketches flying.
“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, resting my hand on his arm and feeling the muscles contract beneath my touch. The hit hadn’t been hard- he wouldn’t have been hurt- but the dramatics that the paper caused by fanning out all over the floor (as paper is oft to do) made the situation feel far more dire. I felt a flicker of irritation at myself for being so clumsy, especially in front of March of all people, before it was swiftly replaced by a different emotion altogether.
Because there were far more drawings on the floor than anyone could’ve created one night a week at drawing club. And apart from the few that were of all of our previous sitters, they were all of me.
I froze, taking in all the iterations of my own face. He had drawn me over and over, the lines delicate and careful. Studied. Then I saw Valen reach for them to try and help pick them up and I rushed into motion, trying to collect them all with March before she could see what they were, knowing he would be mortified. Alas, she got to one and handed it back to March with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile, but didn’t say a word.
I handed over the stack I’d collected, not letting go of the papers until March begrudgingly met my eye, red all over and frowning. When I smiled his eyes darted straight to my lips, his throat bobbing.
Then Elsie coughed delicately and the spell broke. “Are we drawing anytime tonight? Or are we all going to have a staring contest instead?” she asked, looking around innocently. Or at least, she tried to, but when she looked at me she was positively grinning.
I hurried to the front, perching on the stool we had set up for the sitter and hoped that I wasn’t too flushed. Then I tried to clear my mind and think of nothing but sitting still and being a good subject, settling my eyes just over the heads of my fellow townsfolk.
But like a magnet I was soon snapped back to March, my eyes settling on him like a compass to true north. When he glanced up from his page and our gazes met, I couldn’t help the small smile that came to my face, though I ducked my head quickly and tried to hide it under the guise of fixing my hair.
Get your act together, I admonished myself, trying to settle my racing heart. Then I was a good sitter and stayed still and neutral while everyone sketched, blocking out all other thoughts that might taint my expression. And when the night came to an end and the sketches were passed around to compare and admire, it was clear that my hard work had paid off. In all but one, I had a relaxed expression- the sort that is easy to draw, especially for beginners. In the last, hidden at the bottom of the pile but by far the one I most wanted to see, was the secret smile I had tried to hide, caught by no one but the recipient.