To Become Art (Open)

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Natalie Cooper
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To Become Art (Open)


Cylus 29, 720

Abigail's heart was pounding in her chest as she stood outside the door to one of the university's many auditoriums. She was excited for what was about to come, biting her lip, as she waited. She could hear the professors inside explaining to multiple classes what was about to happen. It was a shared class, between various art classes, as well as an anatomy class from the medical department. Drawing students, painting students, sculpting students with their clay ready, anatomy students (which was also drawing), all were filled around the circular auditorium, mixed in with one another. The various professors had encouraged them to mingle, to be prepared to move around. For this was a long class today, several hours long, to examine a single subject.

Abigail.

Abigail had heard that her painting professor was looking for a new model for the class, one that Abigail herself would normally attend. The professor said it would pay well, and would count as a lesson for the volunteer if they were a student as well. And so, of course, Abigail had volunteered herself. She did enjoy the attention from others, enormously so, she loved participating in her artwork in a new way. And it was something she'd never done before. That alone was more than enough to push her to take up the offer.

Finally, her painting professor spoke a bit louder. "Please give a warm welcome to this morning's model, one of our own, Abigail Cooper." Abigail turned the knob on the door, walking out into the center of the auditorium. She was clothed in a simple, black robe, tied at the waist. Her feet were bare, her face unadorned by makeup. Her hair was left messy and long, not at all tied up, painted, with no accessories, hanging down her back to her waist. She walked across the cold marble, to the absolute center, kept well lit by braziers on the ground and some hanging from the ceiling. It was not as ideal as natural light, but such was the way of Cylus.

Abigail turned, facing west toward many students, some of whom she recognized, most of whom she did not. Then she untied her cloth belt, her fingers moving up to the cloth above her cleavage. She slid it off her shoulders and let the entire robe fall to the ground, standing there nude before hundreds of students. She took a deep breath, remembering the rules given by the professor. No facial expressions. She needed to hold a face impassive. But she would be smiling if she were allowed, feeling the eyes of many on her.

Her painting professor spoke first, "Pose one please, Abigail."

Her professor had helped her to come up with the many various poses she would perform today, based upon her body type, musculature, and ability to hold it. And so, Abigail entered pose one. She raised herself up on the balls of her feet, close together, reaching up with a single hand, as if to be reaching for an apple in a tree, her other hand open and behind her to help keep her balance. This pose emphasized the muscles in her legs, which were not so prominent as she was not a woman to work out so much, so there was a layer of jiggle in her womanly curves. The soft lines of her arms were visible as she reached, her breasts dangling down in the grips of gravity as she was leaned forward ever so slightly, her nipples erect, both from the chill in the room and her own excitement. Her entire body was devoid of hair, having cleaned herself prior to this.

And so, Abigail began to focus on holding the pose, maintain a low and even breath, so as to not be so disturbing. The art students quickly began to draw, paint, and mold clay. Meanwhile, the anatomy students were drawing while their professor spoke about the various muscle groups and parts of Abigail's anatomy and how they related to one another. Her eyes were locked upward, so she could not see the eyes upon her nubile form, but she could most certainly feel them, and she tried to fight down the arousal she was feeling, to take this role seriously.
word count: 719
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Yeva
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Re: To Become Art (Open)

28 Cylus 720


"Where is everyone?"

Yeva sat anxiously in her seat, looking over at the door every other trill. The young medic was used to being punctual, but not even the professor had shown up, nor any of her classmates. Wasn't class supposed to be starting? She fussed with the book on her desk, borrowed from the library, it was a newer edition with fresh pressed pages and a supple leather cover that suggested limited public exposure. On the cover was no title, but the words "The Science of Lying" were embossed elegantly upon the spine, and so she began to read in effort to distract herself:
We hear anywhere between ten and two hundred lies per trial and throughout history, humans have made quite the effort to deception through tests, visual tracking, truth serums and torture devices, none of which boast of infallibility, as each of these methods can be duped with proper preparation. It should also be noted that none of these aforementioned methods are seen as reliable enough to become admissible in respectable court. But what if the problem is not with the techniques? But the underlying assumption that lying spurs physiological changes? What if we took a more direct approach using communication science to analyze the lies themselves?

On the psychological level we lie partly to paint a better picture of ourselves, connecting our fantasies to the person we wish we were, rather than the person we are. But while our brain is busy dreaming, it is letting plenty of signals slip by. It is theorized that only a portion of the brain is used by our consciousness, including communication. Imagined experiences are qualitatively different from those based on real experiences, which suggests that creating a false story about a personal topic takes work and results in a different pattern of language use...
A shadow passed by the door and Yeva looked up, noticing another student poke their head in and then rush out, "Hey!" Yeva jumped up, the legs of her chair scrapping against the tiled floor, "Where are you going!"

For a moment, she thought they didn't hear her, but then their face returned in the doorway, "We're in the wrong room. I have to go!" And then they were gone.

Yeva stood for a moment and then he stomach dropped as memory garnered realization, "Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no no, noooo," The red head raced for her bag and began throwing her papers into the backpack, parchments getting crushed and ink spilling like Naer blood across her desk. It quickly coated her hands and she panicked more, wiping at it with frantic papers as it began to stain her fingertips, "Noooo nooo nooo," She was going to be late!

She was never late!

Her blouse became a splotch test and she raced out the door, as her heart rose to her throat. Running down the hall, she jumped between students meandering as adrenaline pushed her faster. How was she going to find a seat? Would her professor dock points off? She needed this class for the exam coming up! Would this ruin her reputation in the Order? Someone to her right laughed in conversation and stepped out in front of her to cross the hallway without looking. Yeva's shoulder slammed into them and the red head ricocheted off balance and was launched towards the ground. Pain shot up her arm and knees. Flashcards and pressed wildflowers exploded around her.

"What the fak! Watch where you're going!"

"S-sorry," she whimpered from the ground, her pride leaking in the first few budding tears. Yeva sniffled and tried to scoop her things back into her bag with black coated hands and suddenly everything felt too overwhelming and all so fast. Turning her face down, a cascade of curls shielded half of her face, but fat tears rolled unhindered down her cheeks.

"Woah, woah, woah - Are you okay?"

Yeva looked up through blurry vision at a young man, perhaps only a few arcs older than herself, grabbing some of her scattered belongings and she shrugged helplessly. He held out a stack of papers and rubbed her shoulder, "Are you stressed from class?"

She tried to wipe at her nose, nodding, "I'm late, and there's an exam I have coming up and, and-" she took a inhale which seemed to catch three times.

He offered generic condolences and then -in an effort to make her smile (or so she assumed; it was the only way it made any sense), he said, "It'll be alright. Try to take some deep breaths for me. You know, pretty girls aren't supposed to cry, right?” The man held out a kerchief, but the reminder of her physical appearance - how she must look a crumpled disaster in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone, made her chest seize and Yeva began to sob harder. Pretty, indeed!

Wiping at her face, she grabbed her things and rose back to her feet. She just wanted to leave this spot! "I really have to go." Yeva didn't offer anything else, she was humiliated and didn't care, scrapped hands and knees, red eyes and covered in dried ink.

Limping down the hall, slower this time, she found the art department and studio room. It was quiet inside, class had no doubt begun, and she contemplated turning around. But after all that? She could hear her brother's voice in the recesses of her memory,

"We're Rharnian, Yeva! We take a hit, we get back up. We take another, we get back up. Stop crying already and fight back."

She missed him. Without a doubt, she was a disheveled mess, but with shoulder back, she pulled the door open and walked inside.

Dozens turned - the class so much larger than she had anticipated. Students from both all sorts of departments had come today and her face flamed. Shoulder rising over her pink ears, Yeva whispered apologies and noticed Professor Hamilton-Smith frowning across the room. Yeva kept her eyes down and scurried through the other artists to an open drawing horse. A drawing board and a piece of charcoal had already been set up, along with a handout of anatomical structures they were to locate, memorize, and for extra credit, draw.

Yeva listened to a few snickers but grabbed the pencil. The one saving grace of the whole ordeal was that when she looked up, it wasn't a stranger she saw, but a friend.

Abigail.

In all her glory.

Yeva's mouth dropped and she threw her face back behind her drawing board to hide it. The trial would never end.
Last edited by Yeva on Tue Jun 30, 2020 4:01 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1125
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Yeva
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Re: To Become Art (Open)

28 Cylus 720

OOC Note: Sadly, this thread has not been posted to since March 2020 and with the PC not having logged in since April, and I have decided to call it. No hard feelings, I'm just needing to wrap up some old stuff and make room for threads in the hot-cycle. Thank you!
Yeva squirmed in her seat, muttering profuse apologies when the ever dapper Hamilton-Smith scolded her, not only for tardiness, but also state of dress. His whispers were quick, hinted with disappointment. This behavior was unlike her - what was wrong? - and seeing her fresh tears and discomfort, the academic seemed conflicted, offering her permission to leave if she needed to collect herself. But of course, the young medic denied the proposition. Arriving had been painful enough, to get up and slink out with her tail between her legs? Yeva simply shook her head and kept her eyes down, even after her professor pulled back to rejoin the side of an instructor within the arts program.

Before her were layers of thin newsprint, colored like honey, and a tray of charcoals and chalk pastels. The pigments were rich and she was tempted by them almost immediately. Yeva took it in her hand, struggling to hold it like a pencil and, glancing at the student beside her, realized it was vital that she actually look at her subject.

Easy enough.

Yeva shifted her weight, peeking like a child around the edge of the board, and immediately disappeared again at catching sight of Abigail's naval, curving over her hip and extending downward in a waterfall of taunt flesh. In an effort to focus, her utensil hovered awkwardly over the paper and she had to clench her jaw, even as her face flamed. How unprofessional. Shame tried to grip her heart, but she managed to make the first line - a small, scratchy thing that curled into a circle. She tried again.
word count: 325
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Yeva
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Re: To Become Art (Open)

28 Cylus 720


She peeked at Abi, focusing on her friend's face, unsure the best way to capture the shape of the skull, And then there were hair, and eyes, and cheekbones and shadow. The medic struggled to choose, her embarrassment alleviating to a soft flush while the challenge of art distracted her. For how long she struggled, she was almost happy with a very rough shape of her head, and began moving down the neck. From where she sat, she could easily see some of the muscles, especially the sternocleidomastoid - her favorite - which ran like a river, connecting to the collarbone. Despite knowing this information, however, her hands didn't seem to follow her mind.

They were clumsy and in a matter of trills, all her (very poor) progress had been brought to shambles, smudged from the side of her palm.

Yeva leaned back, eyes flickering between her attempt and fingers as if she had been betrayed.

Her lack of skill was insulting! And her friend, who was so boldly displaying herself and in good health and appearance deserved better. But here Yeva sat, a bumbling mess, "Sorry," she whispered, although it was not like her friend could hear her. It was simply the only thing she could think off, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"What are you apologizing for?" a woman's voice asked from behind her, the art professor Hamilton-Smith had been talking to.

"Oh, uh..." Yeva tried to cover her work, voice small, "It's just not looking right."

The woman's hands were clasped together, "Have you learned everything you need to know for the medical program?"

Yeva's brow furrowed, "N-no."

"Then how can you expect to learn this skill in one day? Being an artist is not so easy, or else everyone would be one," she smirked and shooed Yeva's hand away, pointing to the aftermath of her line work, "You are here to observe anatomy, but you cannot solve this problem likes those in your own program. Here, like this. It will feel odd but keep practicing," she took Yeva's hand and formed it around the pencil in a way she had never held it before.
word count: 368
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Yeva
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Re: To Become Art (Open)

28 Cylus 720


"You are scratching, overthinking. Use your elbow, your forearm and not your wrist. See?" the professor took her arm and, after seemingly glancing at the young woman in the center of the room, held onto he medic and pulled her hand in a lovely and solid line, instructing with ease, "Feel the shapes, not the outline. Simplify. A circle for the head. A bean or box for the torso. Cylinders for the legs. Then, and only then - when your foundation is set - do you build a beautiful house, no? You do not like?" she tore the paper away, crumpled it and a handful of nearby students looked up at the sudden sound, "Newsprint is cheap, good for mistakes. Good for learning."

The more the woman showed her, the more her gratitude seemed to shine on her face. At once, even if she laid the wrong angle of a line, there was a faux confidence that hadn't been there before. With more attempts, what more could she achieve? "Thank you," the cartographer meant it, "I was a bit lost."

"And this is why you were late?"

Yeva's eyes widened, but the professor patted her arm affectionately, "I'm teasing. Art is about freedom, creativity! Your subject is not shy, why should you be? In the world," she waved a hand, some of it directed at Yeva's appearance, "There are times we make mistakes and are punished for it. But in studio art? Mistakes are signs of improvement. You have to push through the ugly, capture it, embrace it."

The younger woman felt her chest swell in inspiration, nodding in understanding as she laid her pencil against the page.

"Go on then, create."

And so she did. Poorly, but proud.
word count: 294
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Doran
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Re: To Become Art (Open)

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Yeva:

Knowledge:
Skill Knowledge:
Drawing
The Correct Way to Hold an Artist's Pencil
Newsprint: Cheap & Good for Practice
How to Use a Charcoal Medium
Simplify Shapes
Move Away From Outlines, Feel the Form

Detection
Observing a Subject Matter for Figure Drawing
When Using a Reference, Keep Looking Back

Discipline
Remaining Calm in the Presence of Nudity
Pushing Through Public Humiliation


Non-Skill Knowledge:
Scalvoris Town: Scalvoris University
Scalvoris University: The Art Department
Scalvoris University: The Science Department

Loot: A very poor sketch of Natalie Cooper, nude
Wealth: -
Injuries: A few scraps, a bruised ego
Renown: 5, for making a public spectacle of herself.
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.

Points: 15

Natalie:

Knowledge: -
Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: -

Points: 15

- - -
Comments: It’a s shame that Abigail/Natalie disappeared. Abigail posing nude for the students was definitely an interesting premise.

I found the excerpt from the “Language of Lying” that you included in your first post quite interesting, Yeva. Your PC subsequently realizing that she was in the wrong class and that she was going to be late and panicking was entertaining to read (I also pitied her though).

And then she saw her friend – completely naked. Oh my!

You described her embarrassment very well. The art professor gave Yeva good advice, by the way.

Enjoy your rewards!

Natalie, if you come back and want knowledges for this thread, send me a PM!
word count: 238

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