will y o u be my inspiration? -- [alisander]

[LISA SARAH GRACE]

Okay. So it wasn’t like Lisa didn’t have any common sense. It was more like she chose to ignore it because whatever idea she has at the time seems much more enticing than following anything sensible.

Because she wasn’t sensible at all, quite frankly.

So here she was sitting on the bench near the bus terminal, though she really had no intention of actually taking the bus. It was apparently odd, because every time the bus would arrive and open its doors, Lisa would stay where she was, staring blankly back at the bus driver and passengers. It’d take a few moments for them to take the hint and leave with its roaring engine, but she didn’t mind. Or rather, she didn’t really notice. Lisa was more preoccupied by the fact that her sketch pad was currently blank with little marks of grey where her hand, slightly shaking from the cold, would connect with the margins of the page. It was strange—normally she’d be blazing away on her sketch pad, pieces of eraser clinging to her skirt for dear life as she drew, made mistakes, and drew again. But now, her mind was blank and so was the paper. It irritated her.

She needed inspiration. People were her inspiration. And since it was cold as a mofo outside, she had no inspiration. Everyone was probably inside somewhere warm, somewhere sensible, but Lisa couldn’t work inside. It was like boxing in her creativity into four walls, suffocating and restricting it. Outside, however, was a whole different story. Her creativity soared and stretched its wings and… doing things it currently wasn’t doing. What it should be doing. She sighed and tore her gaze away from blank page, staring upwards at the sky. It was cloudy, like most days of winter. Dull. Grey. Normally Lisa wouldn’t mind this sort of weather, but she couldn’t help but put the blame of her lack of creativity on the clouds. Lisa never was in a slump before. This was ridiculous.

She nudged her backpack with her foot slightly and reached down, feeling around inside for her paint brushes. Maybe it’d be better to paint than to sketch—she concluded that she needed colors in order for her creativity to flow. If there was any left, anyways. Lisa brushed her thumb over the soft hairs at that thought, humming slightly as she did so. How hard was it to think of something to paint, especially when she's already done it loads of times? Her room had piles of them and not to mention she had her own little area in the backyard and in the garage to keep her paintings. What exactly was so hard now?

Oh, right. Inspiration.

She plopped her whole body onto the bench, propping her feet up as she stared upwards. C'mon, muse was bound to pop up somewhere. Lisa just needed... a face. That's it.

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[demos]

the bible didn't mention us

Alisander stared out the window. It was frosted over slightly, clouded by his warm breath upon the glass. He had a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, gloves covering his fingers. He was bundled from head to toe, all but his mess of brown curls. Those were uncovered, just barely short enough so as not to fall in his eyes. The seat beside him was empty, as were most of the seats. He’d chosen a strange time to venture into town. He’d lived on campus, though most of the university students had homes or apartments or something. He didn’t like change. So he stuck with his dorm room. Plus, he liked the access to the library, to somewhere quiet. It was home to him, in its own way. It wasn’t the home he had left, or the new home he might find. It was current, but comforting and safe. He slouched in the chair, his bag pressing into his ribs. It was full of books – books of all kinds. Some were crime novels, he loved those best. But he’d picked up an assortment. He went through them like fire, burning through the pages. He’d consumed hundreds of stories, methodically working through the shelves.

But it was what gave him peace. Everyone was calmed by something. His was reading. He smiled, a soft smile. Nell teased him, sometimes. She said he had more friends within the pages, then out. It was true, almost pathetically so. But she didn’t mean it in an unkind way. She would never say an unkind word, this he knew. She was…perfect that way. He smiled again, thinking of her hair that fell into her eyes, her lips spreading into a grin, that way she looked up at you from under her lashes. It was easy to see why Joshua loved her, why he’d married her and whisked her to France. Nell had become a princess overnight, patroness of the castle known as the Dale mansion. She’d gotten everything any girl would dream of. The only disappointment was – she hadn’t gotten it from Alisander. He’d never had any realistic dreams of loving her, or of her loving him. But he’d cared for her, a deep affection he held still in the pit of his stomach. It was an unspoken thing, a private thing, one he’d locked away forever when she said “I do”. Now he rode the bus, alone with his books.

The wheels creaked, their movement slowing to a jarring stop. He snapped out of his reverie, glancing around. The little lines of shops could be seen through the frost and snow. He gathered his bag, standing and waiting behind the line of people eager to get from one warm place to another. He’d planned to hole up in Tim Horton’s, or perhaps visit a bookstore. He didn’t really have extra cash to burn, but it was just too tempting. The line thinned and he stepped down. He stood there, for a minute or two, simply silhouetted against the bus. After all, he didn’t really know where he was going – did he?

[LISA SARAH GRACE]

Lisa impatiently tapped her feet, staring up at the cloudy sky that now fogged her inner creativity. Right now she felt like melting into a small puddle and evaporate with the hidden sun, just so she hang out with the clouds and ask them why they rolled by so often. Maybe there was something up there that would inspire her—looking down at people, getting an aerial view of the world below her. If only she had wings… and if she weren’t scared of heights.

Her lips formed into a thin line as she tried concentrating again, but she quickly got distracted by the sound of the bus coming to a stop again. The engine that needed a desperate repair shattered any thoughts she had and she sat up again, her hair in disarray from the way she was laying down at the bench. Lisa was prepared. Sit still, don’t make anymore eye contact. She’s seen the same bus driver over three times that day; the bus driver probably thought Lisa was some crazy lunatic just waiting for the right moment to leap into the bus and slice his throat. But she was as harmless as a hamster—probably looked harmless, too. She was only 5’2” after all, and at this moment she looked like a marshmallow with all the layers she was wearing to keep warm. Now that she thought about it, it was really cold. Lisa breathed out, blinking at the small cloud of steam that resulted. Maybe it was a good idea to get inside somewhere warm—it wasn’t like she was going to get any inspiration soon by sitting out in the cold and potentially getting pneumonia.

And so Lisa started gathering her things, contemplating on going to Timmie’s, until she heard the bustling of footsteps and she glanced up. She didn’t see anyone but strangers, until the last person stepped down. She tilted her head. His face was familiar, what was his name? Her brother, Gelo, often told her about him, though he really didn’t go into much detail. All Lisa knew was that Gelo quite liked him. But what was his name again? It was literally on the tip of her tongue. Zander? No… Alexander? Sounded quite familiar, but she knew that wasn’t his name. He looked around and Lisa wondered if he had any sense of direction—did he know where he was going? That sounded something like Lisa would do; get on a bus without knowing her destination. Discovering new places, thinking on her feet and making impulse choices. That was fun, right? Maple Hollow was also a relatively small town so there wasn’t much to discover, but at least the journey was fun. At least, when bus drivers weren’t looking at you weirdly.

Lisa’s hand began to itch for something to paint with. His blue eyes were just what she needed to see—color! Radiance! Something that wasn’t dull. She hopped up to greet him (hopefully he knew who she was, but if he didn’t, she’d introduce herself and that would be that, right?), though as she did so, her leg kicked over her bag, its contents spilling over onto the sidewalk. Her pencils began rolling; her small tins of paint rolling alongside and the pages of her sketch book began to tear off from the sudden burst of wind. “Oh, fiddlesticks,” Lisa muttered under her breath, desperately rushing to get her art supplies before they rolled into the street and be crushed under a car or something. Her supplies were in such a mess that she didn’t pay attention to where she was crawling anymore—just get them, stick them back into the bag, and be done with it. Lisa could feel the fabric of her tights begin ripping at her knees and she hissed as she scraped them. She could worry about that later, though, and she continued scrambling for her supplies. After a moment, she was left with one last tin of paint, which had rolled far off from the others. Crawling hurriedly, she hadn’t noticed it had landed right between a pair of feet and grabbed at it, smiling in triumph. It took her a few seconds, her peripheral vision finally working its magic and she slowly looked up. His name… what was his name… “Why, hello there.” Lisa grinned up at him, casually getting off her knees as she clapped the dirt off her hands. Her tights were indeed ripped, but she nonetheless satisfied that she had gotten all her supplies, though a few of her drawings were still strewn about. “You have really pretty eyes!” She went on her tip-toes, peering slightly closer before rolled back onto her heels of her feet. Lisa then glanced at the tin of paint in her hands and she grinned widely again, holding it against his face. “Look! It’s the exact same shade.”

Tossing the tin back and forth between her hands, she stared at his face curiously, slowly circling around him before she hopped back in front of him, the grin ever so present on her lips. “May I paint you?” Lisa asked, staring at the tin of paint again. “… Alisander.”

Ah, there we go. Alisander. That was his name.

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[demos]

the bible didn't mention us

Alisander stuck his hands deep in his pockets, sinking deep into his coat. The winter wind snuck through the cracks, tickling his skin with chills and shivers. He pursed his lips slightly, glancing around the slowly emptying bus station. It was strange, he reflected, how quickly people scattered. It was as if they were pushed away forcefully, fleeing each other’s presence. People never seemed to linger anymore, never seemed to simply meander on their way. There was always somewhere they needed to be, something urgent that needed to be done. He’d never truly been able to understand it, not the way some did. What was so important? Or, rather, what had ceased to be important? People used to take their time, used to savor their actions – their relationships. You could meet someone one day, bump into them, and end up marrying them. But that had been years ago. Nowadays, people moved too fast to bump. And if they did, they muttered quiet apologies and went on their ways. There were no shy smiles, no blushing apple-red cheeks. Perhaps he was a romantic, lost in clichés and tales of the 1950’s. But it certainly was idealistic, beautiful in its own way. And he wasn’t ashamed of being idealistic, not in the least. He smiled at the thought, looking to the ground. Yes, he was an idealist. He was the kind of man who waited for the odd occasion. He didn’t go searching. He wasn’t outgoing, wasn’t social that way. He was quiet, withdrawn inside himself. And to an extent, yes it was his choice. But to an extent it was also simply the way of the world. Perhaps, given a chance, he would have made something different of himself – created an entirely new future, new outlook for himself. But it was the butterfly effect, always the butterfly effect. If he changed one aspect, what else would be altered?

He was startled from his thoughts by a surprised yelp and the scattering of art supplies. He bent on impulse, crouching low and snagging pencils and paint bottles as they rolled about. He looked up, a small quiet smile on his lips. A young woman was crouched in front of him, stumbling through bright apologies. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, encased in silence as he gathered her materials. He dropped them back into her bag, straightening to his full height. She was a small thing, at least small compared to him. There was something familiar about her. He couldn’t place her name, didn’t actually think they had met. But still there was that familiarity, something that made him wonder just who she was. He returned his hands to his pockets, shifting his feet awkwardly. He ran his hands through his hair, blushing slightly. He’d never done well with compliments, never knew just what to say. She ran through her words, a hundred miles a minute. He was having trouble following, much less building up the courage to make a response. He’d never been a particularly talented conversationalist. “ I-I-“ He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. His accent was thick, as it always was when he was nervous or flustered. He shifted his own bag on his shoulder, gesturing with his hands. He was never quite sure what to do with them in conversation, especially since he had nothing to conveniently hold. “Thank you, Miss…?” He trailed off, looking her up and down, though her gaze lingered mostly on her face. By her speech, by the way she smiled and said his name, it was quite evident she knew him – even if he did not know her.

His gaze widened with some surprise as she held up a paint, comparing the shades. Eventually he nodded. But she was already gone, already off on new words. His eyes widened any further. He wasn’t sure how to refuse her, wasn’t sure how to answer at all. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before slamming his lips shut. In the end he settled for a nod. “I guess, yes, if you want.” The words were slow, a slight stutter to them. He held onto his bag now with both hands, having finally found a place to put them. He shifted his feet, looking about. The bus terminal had now emptied of people, emptied of all but himself and the girl who smiled like they were old friends – like no matter what he said, she was glad to see him. Tentatively, he smiled back. It had been a long time since he’d been smiled at like that, so readily and easily. He glanced about. “Where should we go?” He hadn’t a drop of artistic nature in him, but was warming to the prospect – slowly but surely.