A Painter's Thief [Private +18 with Coffee-Tastic and Noise Prince]

[Noise Prince]

Please Register/ Sign In, in order to see the links.

 

The floor was cold but Reed barely noticed, his bare feet numb from the cold outside. He did own shoes, a pitiful, barren pair, but the soles were thick with sloppy repair, and fell heavily where he stepped. So when he needed to be quiet, he hid them a good distance away from where he intended to creep. And tonight he intended to creep into a master artist's home.

 

Breaking into homes was very risky, but not too entirely difficult. The problem was how long it took, and the consequences of being caught were much higher than typical thieving done on the streets. Picking pockets or wares on display wasn't too big a challenge so long as you were practiced and never cocky, and just as importantly, you needed to be quick. But when slinking into a home, the rules were different. Practice and level-headedness were needed, but to be quick was a detriment. Such a project required care and time. But the longer it took, the more likely a mistake was to occur. And the more likely to be caught.

 

But sometimes it was necessary, a difficult risk to take upon, but necessary. Food scavenged from markets could keep you alive, but not always healthy. Farmers coming into the city tended not to open their fresh produce for sale in the open markets, using such only for their preserves or jams on occasion, instead selling them to stores, which were a greater deal more hostile for thieves. And medicine that actually worked was never going to find itself in markets.

 

And sometimes it was for a less than noble cause. Tonight, Reed wasn't here to steal a bottle of alcohol to disinfect a wound, or some left over cooked meat, or the rare morsel of fresh fruit. He was here for something selfish.

 

Charcoal, and a blank sketchbook, if he could find one.

 

Reed had always fancied himself an artist, or at least would like to. He spent more time away from scavenging and surviving than he should to watch vendors sketching in the open streets to the awe of the crowd. Or the occasional apprentice, lucky bastards, carefully painting over their sketches of landscapes with the guidance of their master. Reed couldn't replicate their colors, but he frequently gave his hand at depicting the world around him by using a dirty stick on paper or his finger in dust. Impermanent art, as long-lasting as his security.

 

But he saw a man today, a strikingly handsome man with dark hair and beautiful clothes, buying art supplies, boasting of his art and status. Even without the talk, Reed could tell he was a fine, respected artist. It radiated from him. He bought himself a quantity of charcoal, and amount large enough that he wouldn't care if a portion were to suddenly go missing, Reed was sure.

 

The problem now, was finding it in this great house. It would not be a good idea to move about a strange house with little knowledge of what was inside, for a small box of burnt wood at that! But Reed's body still moved forward, like a man possessed, until he found what could only be an art studio. The first one he'd ever laid eyes on. The first he'd ever walked in…

[Coffee-Tastic]

One might believe a quiet thief entering a home wouldn't be noticed, not with their silent steps and quick intentions, but for someone who has lived alone for such a long time, Prince most certainly could. This house was like an extension of his own body and he was able to sense things from a breeze passing through the window all the way to one of his cats jumping onto his couch all the way in his living room. However, the actual reason was because his home was always so quiet and the littlest creak, as quiet as it might be, he could hear it.

 

Even with it being very late at night, Prince was not asleep one bit. There might have been exhaustion in his eyes, though he didn't have rest in mind. Why would he enjoy sleeping when there always something to do? The activities one could do in this house were very limited. For Prince, it only took one canvas to express an infinite amount of things, and it only took one canvas to keep him awake unreasonably long.

 

When the thief had entered his private home, he had taken a break to refill his large mug of black tea. On his usual errand trip, he happened to pass by a shop that claimed to have the best tasting tea... With a claim like that, Florence literally couldn't pass up on buying it since he loved his black tea and he only liked having the best of things. When he tried it, he really could see where the claim had come from. Usually, he didn't take breaks at all, especially for something like a drink. Prince was just about to start stirring the honey in his cup, thankfully he didn't or else that would make noise.

 

The intruder wasn't the only one to have quiet feet. Walking down his dark halls to find the source of the tingling sensation of another human's presence, his steps were like one's of a lone feline. So when he came to his no, longer empty, art studio, Prince was not known just yet. It helped to be in the dark hallway, his form acting as a shadow in itself with his dark clothes and his lack of human aura.

 

Obviously this person had broken into his house. Clearly, he was a theif. Yes, he understood that much. He watched anyways. After all, he didn't intend on letting him leave this place, and if this boy had a problem with that, he'd have to answer the spoon he was still holding in his hand.

[Noise Prince]

Reed was still cautious, moving through the studio. There was a half-finished painting on display, Reed had to take a moment to admire it, despite the risk. But he did have to go back to what he was here for. His own art. He leered over the shelves and stocks until he found the charcoal he was after.

 

They were all so smooth, so uniform. He had never been so close to something so fine in quality. He almost didn't want to take it, he knew they wouldn't remain so pristine in his possession. But why else would he be here risking his well being if not for these? He hesitated not a moment longer before taking a small box of several stalks from his large store.

 

He didn't want to spend much more time here, but he did want a sketchbook. Real paper... Reed had to look. But the painting caught his eye again.

 

He rarely got such a close look at a work in progress, and it was so perfect. Even unfinished it looked stunning. The painter was a true master. The paint wasn't even dry and the work still showed his talent.

 

Reed's skin went cold. The paint, the paint was wet! It was still wet! The painter was here not long ago!

He had to leave, the painter was likely still awake! He took a few breaths to keep from passing out, to stay focused. It was far too risky, why didn't he think of this?! Of course a devoted artist would work this late at night! He should have considered this as a risk!

 

Reed held the charcoal to his chest and stepped quickly and quietly towards the hall. A dark figure stopped him, and the thief dropped the stolen charcoal to the floor.

[Coffee-Tastic]

Prince had not made any effort to move, not even when the thief had, he just wanted to know how long it would take for him to notice he was there. It was a shame that when he had, the boy dropped his charcoal clean on the ground, and most definitely, the delicate tools must have snapped in at least two pieces each. "Oh. You dropped them." He said lifelessly and with disinterest. Charcoal wasn't all too interesting, that and he already had some more and he can just buy more.

 

At this point, the man did not even see this human being as a human being. A thief was twice as low as an average person, thus being so low to him, this boy might as well be dust behind his mental hierarchy of people. But still, this was something interesting happening, wasn't it? Prince grabbed the boys shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall, his eyes staring at him and nothing about the red orbs should make it seem that he was looking at a person. Then again, he didn't look at others much differently either. "You're the first thief I've had... Not a smart one either." This boy grabbed charcoal and not his expensive decorations, not a single sketch, not a single thing valuable. Stupid.

 

He held up the spoon right to the boys face, right by his left eyeball, "Why are you stealing charcoal. It's not like I care that you're trying to steal it, I'm just curious whether you have a reason of it you're just honestly an idiot." The artist hadn't changed his tone a bit, even while insulting him, "If you don't want to answer, then that's okay. I understand you must have private desires even if you are just a petty street rodent, am I right?" Despite saying that, Prince only brought the spoon closer to his eye, suggesting that if he chose not to answer, he was also choosing to lose an eye.

 

Being so close to this rat, he really could smell how much dirt was on him. Prince wasn't a clean freak, but there was something about the boys lively eyes that made him wish there was a clean face to present them with.

 

"Well...?" His head cocked slightly to the side, finally blinking.

[Noise Prince]

Reed wanted to run down the hallway, find a new exit. He wanted to grovel for forgiveness. But before he could decide, the still, cold figure grabbed him by his thin shirt and pushed him against the wall, his back and head connecting with a sharp thud. It was enough to make Reed feel dizzy. This was bad. This particular man was of noble standing, anything he chose to do to a thief in his home wouldn't be viewed as object-able by law. The charcoal laid abandoned on the floor, Reed could almost still hear the echo of the brittle black rods snapping. They most likely would never be used now.

 

It seemed like a silly thing to die over, now that he was in the arms of death.

 

He'd never seen eyes so red. The bore into him, almost like they weren't looking at him at all, almost as if he was staring at something that wasn't there. He wasn't looking at him the way someone would look at a person or even most objects.

 

Reed was so motionless you might think he was dead. But his mouth was slightly open, softly panting, but his chest didn't rise or fall. His eyes were the only part of his body truly moving, each shift of direction seemed exaggerated in the stillness of his face. He hadn't considered that his choice of charcoal must seemed bizarre to an artist who always had access to fine art supplies. And he found himself so easily caught. He really wasn't a smart thief…

 

With the spoon against his eye, Reed could finally blink, flinching as much as one could when paralyzed. Such a terrible, gruesome way to die, being torn apart. That's all he could think, with the spoon poised so ominously to his socket. The lack of emotion in his captor's voice only made it all the more cruel, he wouldn't flinch to watch a rodent like himself bleed out on the floor, Reed could only imagine.

 

The pressure of the thin edge of the spoon against his eye made him audibly whimper, and tears brimmed his terror-stricken eyes.

 

"P-please… please, Sir, I have no sympathetic reason for it… I-I just wanted to draw… please, I am so, so sorry, please… won't you forgive me…"

 

His voice meek and pathetic, he knew it was worthless. Those eyes, his voice, his spoon, this was not a man who forgave easily, Reed was sure. Even if he spared him, he'd likely still turn him into the authorities, and for a crime like this, he'd no doubt be sentenced to a public whipping. And men sturdier than Reed didn't survive the leather more than a few times. Reed doubted he would his second.

[Coffee-Tastic]

It never crossed his mind that a thief would steal something from him to satisfy an art itch. It still was a stupid idea, but it was more interesting than hearing the kid say 'I stole it because I thought it had good worth', that was for sure. Giving in the boy to the authorities for charcoal seemed like a waste of time and Prince didn't actually find himself or his tools threatened to be stolen again if he were to let the boy go. Just because that was the case though, that didn't mean he would let him believe he'd get away easily.

 

"Forgive you? No, that will just be too easy? Who do you think I am?" He hit the cold spoon on the corner of the boy's head hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to hurt too much, "No, I have a better idea. Follow me," Prince didn't give the boy a chance to do anything else but follow him, for he grabbed the thief's wrist and walked into the studio, stepping right over the charcoal that might be left there forever.

 

He didn't feel the need to explain anything, he merely dragged the thief from one place to another while he was grabbing some things: a new blank page, a new graphite sticks and a new eraser~ a new ones because after the thief were to touch it, he was just going to throw them out. Prince put it all on the work desk and let go of the boy, looming over him from behind, "You wanted to steal my things... Prove to me you can actually do something, boy. If it's total trash, then I'm turning you in. I might just want to have justice done myself too," the man showed him the spoon again.

 

"But if it's okay, then I'll give you charcoal and you can get out of my sights and run back to the street where you belong."

[Noise Prince]

Reed winced at the dull thud of the cold hard spoon striking against his head, skin against bone. He winced more at the sound, as the pain followed after. It seemed so fast, it was stranger it hurt as much as it did, though it certainly wasn't unbearable. An embarrassing slap on the wrist, really. But still, it wasn't exactly comforting, either.

 

The street boy had no intentions of disobeying, but he was also never given a chance to, the imposing man had a good grip on his wrist, and dragged him back into the art studio. It seemed like a strange place to take him, since Reed could only imagine what the man intended to do with him. He wasn't going to forgive him, but he couldn't want something as messy and grim as murder to happen in his studio, could he? A horrid image of his blood and organs being used as paint, and his remaining skin and bones posed as a grotesque model of sorts. Could a man who painted such glorious beauty be capable of such horrible things, though? Something out of some foreign warlord's fantasy.

 

He was dragged around the room, he didn't make a sound, aside from his uneven breath occasionally being less than silent. The elegant artist was collecting paper, graphite, and an eraser while never releasing Reed's wrist. His hand was turning pink.

 

He stared at the desk when the man placed everything down, including the thief he had caught. The tall man loomed over him, Reed was a bit baffled, even when the man explained what he wanted from him. His blood froze before his mind could contemplate why. Maybe it was the tone of voice he used, but something about this man made him felt low. Reed was used to being lesser than virtually all those around him, so much so he wasn't aware, it didn't affect him too much. But in the presence of this man, the inferiority he felt was almost overwhelming. He hadn't felt this small and worthless since he first had to flee to the streets.

 

He looked at the spoon for a quick moment, and nearly felt sick. If he couldn't please the man, he knew he'd have to beg for the spoon over being handed to authorities. And he wasn't sure he could please him. He was a mediocre thing, he was nothing compared to even the disregarded sketches of this room, produced to only see a bin. Reed was going to lose his eye, and the terrible thing was that was the preferable outcome.

 

But still, he found his mouth too dry to even suggest he be spared the humiliation of showing his art to this man, and his body too unwilling to disobey. He picked up the graphite, the first faint line came out a little shaky. Reed withdrew his hand from the paper as if he touched something hot. He muttered a plea of forgiveness under his breath before putting his hand back to the paper. His hand flowed steadier this time.

 

It was clear he was an amateur. His sketching was deliberate and harsh, not the fluid motions of a practiced hand. Rather, this was the work of someone who concentrated on the form, trying to replicate what he could understand. His eye was more learned than his hand was, his hand had no education of how to move. But it complied with his eye the best it could. A woman, he saw a woman a few days ago. She was older, and weary, and plain. But she had a young girl in tow with her, who shared her eyes and her lips, a daughter. Her daughter giggled and whispered something in her mother's ear, and the mother smiled. In that weary face, there was such soft and somber love and happiness. Suddenly the woman had become a rare beauty.

 

Reed's captor was a man who deserved only rare beauty, though he could only hope to replicate it in a way that would portray any amount near the same charm and warmth the woman had. Her face was long, and he carefully placed a long stroke for her face's length. By the time he finished drawing the shape of her head, the desk was riddled with shavings from the eraser. He was too deliberate for a sketch, his green was showing everywhere.

 

He spent the most time on her eyes, downcast and with heavy lashes, and the wrinkles around her mouth, constantly redrawing them, trying to keep them from being too heavy, nor to light and remove her charms. He finished with a few light wisps of movement to convey her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Hair was easily the area he was the most comfortable with. He was terrified to stop working, but when he could no more he could add or take away, he set the graphite down, and almost glanced at the man behind him, but lost his nerve.

[Coffee-Tastic]

Watching the art happen over his shoulder, Prince had remained entirely quiet. He didn't mind how his paint palette for his own work might be getting harder since he had materials to spare. One thing he never quite ran out of was art supplies, except yesterday when his charcoal supply was bothering him enough to go out and fetch more. Someone on the street though, he could only guess it was hard doing anything art related. No fancy materials, no clean paper, no anything. It led a boy in his house after all. A thief. An... Amateur...

 

In his mind, he would have made different curves, made different lines smoother and he would have used his fingers more for shading. With every motion of his hand, he wanted to take the eraser and fix it himself, or at least tell the kid he was doing this, or doing that... When the young boy looked at him, Prince looked as well, raising a brow before realizing his was done. "Oh. You think you're done..." He stood next to him and held the paper, "I see you were going for a portrait. Quite a bad move for a amateur to do without his object of study nearby for better reference... But okay." He put it back down on the table and leaned down closer to the boy, pointing at parts of his drawing, giving, of course, criticism but they weren't insults. Prince told him how the less strokes you took to make something clear were better, shading gave depth and with two gentle rubs with his thumb on the page, gave her light cheekbones to help make it look a little more realistic, but he did not know what this girl really looked like. He could be wrong. But it was better this way the way that he saw it.

 

He said more, but suddenly stopped talking and turned his face directly at the boy, staring at him. This time instead of his gaze being null, there was a slight shock in them, as if he just realized something. And he did. In every single way, he was far above this thief. He had money, he had far more talent than him and he was a bit older, adored by many. Watching the boy draw, he felt so glad of himself... When he was the boys age, he was already selling paintings for more money than he will ever make. It felt good to know that no matter how hard this kid tried to make art for his life, it still wasn't good enough for common standards of true art. Standing there, telling him what was wrong with his drawing was refreshing, to say at the very least. In the boy's eyes, he must be godlike in comparison.

 

"How old are you? What is your name?" He asked, breaking his own silence, "Are you ready to die? Or would you like another chance some other time?" Looking at his spoon out of relevance of his 'punishment', he paused again and grabbed the boys hand again, dragging him towards the kitchen, "I forgot I made my tea again, shoot.... So, what is your answer, boy? If you don't want to, that's okay. I understand that even street rats like you have private desires too, am I right?" He said, unintentionally repeating himself and just before, his tone suggested that he didn't have a choice or else something was going to happen to him.

 

It was no secret that the man's thoughts came to him in a disorganized way. He would constantly forget little things and often, he would say two different things in a short span of time. One instance of that was when he was working out details with a client. Prince said their painting would be done in a week, then he said two an a half, then it became three, then it became two and a half once again. The poor client was confused, but didn't mention it to the painter, in fear of insulting him. And how long did it take for the painting to be complete? A week. Prince complained to the client how he made him leave this painting around for so long because they hadn't come to pick it up in the time that he said. Literally, the only thing that was organized in his life were the locations of his materials, for he would never forget something as important as that.

[Noise Prince]

It was the most nerve wracking drawing Reed had ever had to produce. His heart was pounding, and keeping his hand steady was a struggle. He feared a dirty bead of sweat would drop onto the page and he'd forfeit an eye. Fortunately that didn't happen, and his dirty beads of sweat stayed on his face or down his neck. He'd never touched paper of such fine quality, or a real graphite like this. If this was to be his last night, it wasn't such a terrible one, in this way. He even created one of his best works to date, under such severe pressure, even! He couldn't help but be thankful to the man who held his life so effortlessly in his hands, and had no qualms about crushing it.

 

He flinched again, as if that cold spoon was pressed to his eye again, when the older man chided at him that he shouldn't consider himself finished. He felt so foolish, so talentless. Suddenly the work he was so proud of, almost admired of himself, seemed so dull. The woman he tried to replicate wasn't found here in the slightest. Reed could only nod, hanging his head slightly, as the artist criticized his work. But… criticism. It was terrible, it made his heart ache. But… criticism. All artists needed criticism, right? That's how artists became better at their craft! And for such a marvelous artist to give him the time to criticize his work here… Maybe he could create something of worth after all! If he was offering him this, maybe he intended to let him live!

 

But okay. But okay he said! Reed could have passed out when he said that! He could have wished to gone deaf so that was the last thing he ever heard! He was shaking again. The man leaned in close, and the boy went still. He pointed out specific details, showed him how to shade! It was so easy and effortless the way he could do it. So easy it seemed mortally impossible, his fingers glided so easily to place a gradient of grey over the paper. So easily, he breathed more life into the image. His work was a calamity of harmony of his expert touch and a street rat's deliberate and rough attempt at art. The man stopped, and Reed knew he was looking at him, he felt his intense red eyes on him. He took a deep breath, about to look up again, when again his wrist was grabbed, and he was trotted out the room as quickly as he was brought in. 20

 

"A-another chance, please!" He stammered out immediately upon being prompted in a similarly severe matter as before. If possible, Reed wouldn't ever refuse this man a question. Though he realized his error, that he had disregarded the first questions. When the question of his life, and the chance to draw for him again, came up, that became the most important. When that question was asked, he didn't have an age or a name.

 

"I-I am nineteen years old, and my name is Reed, Sir." He told him softly, his voice shaking in an uncomfortable tinge of both fear and embarrassment.

 

Reed was in a great state of turmoil. He had forgotten that being slain by this great artist was still a possibility, he had let himself get carried away with hope once the man criticized his work, showing him how to do better. Wouldn't it be a waste of time to do that if he were to kill him? Or was Reed even worth that sort of thinking to this man? For an amateur artist like him who lived on the dirty streets of the Great City, he must be little more than a novel plaything to such an grandiose man.

[Coffee-Tastic]

Getting back to his tea, he let go of the boy's hand. With the twinkle in Reed's eyes, he did not have reason to believe he was about to go off and run away... If he did, then he wasn't going to go after him. Physical activities like that were never to his liking, which is why you'd never see Prince go faster than a speedy walk. He nodded hearing the name and dipped his pinky into the tea, "It's still quite hot... Good..." He sighed to himself and proceeded to extract honey from a jar to add in his tea, "Do you know who I am? Most likely not. Prince Florance. I'm 24 years old. Not old enough to be called sir, so don't call me that." Prince would not have minded being called sir actually, though he called his father sir, and to be called that by some street rat made it weird for him. "Just Prince is fine, or Florance. Or..." There was a long unneeded pause before he muttered awkwardly, "Prince Florance. If you want..." Typically, Prince didn't like to talk much to people. Everyone either felt fake, weird, or just plain annoying. His talking might be helped here since this was his house, but he found it reasonable to assume he was okay with it because this thief knew his place and he was not trying to be on the same level as him. Reed recognized his inferiority. That, he appreciated.

 

After stirring, he kept the spoon in his mug and lifted it up for a taste, becoming bery satisfied. It still was quite dark, but there was a hint of sweetness from the honey, and it wasn't hot enough where he'd burn his tongue again, but it also wasn't cooled enough to become distasteful. He licked his lips and slurped loudly as he turned to Reed, "Okay street rat. You're not going to get any better on the street will you? I'll help you for the next time you have to prove yourself to me you deserve your life. And your eye. I'm not doing it because I like charity. I'm doing it because I can." He slurped his tea again, walking out a different direction from whence they came, waving for Reed to follow.

 

"Before anything though, you need a bath since you smell. And your hands are dirty. And you might have lice... You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, which I mean this time, but you just look so disgusting that I can't bare to see you so nasty." In insulting him, Effortlessly suggesting that Reed can stay in his was a rash decision. He could agree completely. Prince just lacked concern over what went on in his house. A young thief being allowed access here might be a problem, but there wasn't anything he could steal that would make him curse his name. And frankly, if Reed stuck around, it would be more confidence boosting on his own part than if he wasn't.

[Noise Prince]

Reed watched the man, trying not to stare, as he turned his attention away from him and to his tea. Reed rubbed the marks left on his wrist slightly, and stood before him in an awkward silence, truly not knowing whether or not he would survive the night. At this point it felt so surreal, he didn't think he would be killed. Though this artist could very well be a cat who enjoys playing with his food before killing. The thought of running didn't really occur to him. This artist might as well of had the boy in shackles. He spoke to himself about the tea, almost as if he didn't have an audience who was hanging onto his every word.

 

He didn't know who he was, that much was true. But he could tell his name would sound as rich as the man obviously was. Prince Florence… it seemed familiar to him. He must be a very well known figure, which should have been obvious. He nodded solemnly when he was told not to call him sir, but rather by his name. That felt incredibly inappropriate, though. Reed had called men younger sir, after all, it almost didn't seem right. But he certainly wasn't about to argue with him. He'd call him whatever he'd like.

 

Prince drank his tea, leaving another delicate silence in the air. Reed continued to wait in silence, feeling like a spot on the wall as much he did a human being.

 

He jolted a little when he was addressed again, and could only nod in agreement. His mouth gaped slightly, bewildered by the offer. Even if the man had little kindness in his voice, and he made it clear it was for his own amusement, and that his life- and eye- were still on trial, he couldn't believe his luck. Prince Florence was going to help him with his art? He was truly going to teach him? His heart was beating so fast his chest was aching.

 

The street boy followed when Prince gestured for him to with no hesitation. Reed couldn't even feel insulted when Prince carried on about how filthy he was. He was too excited that he was also going to get a bath, a real, proper bath! And he knew how dirty he was. He was painfully aware ever since he stepped foot in this house, surrounded by such finery he knew how misplaced he was among such extravagance. He felt the dirt and oil and sweat clinging to his skin and clothes. His fingernails had rigid black lines, as did his knuckles. His face bored uneven streaks. His hair was in a terrible state, but he didn't have lice. Or rather, he didn't have lice so his hair was in a terrible state. He had lice a few weeks ago, in his long, wavy, dirty, oily hair. He caked his scalp with mud to suffocate the lice, and to scrub out the eggs. It did the trick, but his hair still had grains of filth lodged within the strands, and against his scalp. But he was about to have a bath! And he wouldn't be defiling Prince's house with his filth.

 

Even moreso, after a bath… Prince was insinuating that Reed also had a place to stay!

 

"Thank you ever so much, Mister Florence!" Reed finally sang in a needy, excited whisper, as informal as he could bring himself in address.

[Coffee-Tastic]

Prince held his head after being called Mister and muttered, "Mister isn't any better than sir." Perfection lied with staying young in appearance. He kept that part of the half, but being called mister made him feel old. The two of them had a small age gap, sure. By like, what? Six years. Oh sheesh, that was quite. Number wasn't it... Prince coughed and narrowed his eyes to himself, his head lowering slightly at the thought of looking like a big, old adult to the young man.

 

Reed was taken to his spare room, and it might seem like a nice thing, but when he opened the door and went inside, there were six or so cats inside that got startled and bolted out from where they came from: the window. "Oh, I was wondering where they were hiding out..." He walked in and went around to the bed, grabbing a pillow and pointed to the door at the side, "That's the bath. I'm pretty sure it has all the stuff in it..." The cats he allowed in his house didn't have collars on for a reason. They were all strays. He looked at Reed and thought to himself how he must of had some weird affinity for taking things from the street into his house. But the cats were far more cute to him, he loved feeling their fluffy fur.

 

Putting the pillow under his arm, he coughed again, "I haven't cleaned this room since my parents visited, so you can go on the couch. This is the cats room and I suggest you don't put yourself on the bed after you come out. I have no idea what might be on that besides fur. But this pillow should be fine."

 

Prince's bed had a cluster of pillows and clean sheets, but there was no way he was going to allow a rat sleep on it, even if he barely slept or used his room at all. If Reed wanted the spare room, he'd have to clean it himself, Prince would not partake in that, being the one to allow him shelter in the first place. And with that also came access to food. Which reminded him... "Oh. I plan on going back to my studio after you get in the bath I suppose. When you're done, You can either sleep on the couch, grab something from the kitchen or come back to the studio to watch the master artist paint." He slurped the tea again, "I have to finish that painting and another one by the end of the week, so I can't teach you anything tonight. Yes? Understood? You don't need me to hold your hand, right?"

 

He said how he would go back to painting, though honestly he might actually want to go and see what Reed looked like under his clothes and under all of that filth. There was no sexual reason behind it really, the man wanted to know. He was curious. He had already become immune to shyness, trained to see human's as figures more than anything else ever since getting many models to come to his art sessions as a kid.

 

Ah. He remember the first time he had a naked model. It was a handsome man with short, wavy blond hair and dark green eyes. His ten year old self blushed and shielded his eyes in his seat, refusing to look at his private parts. Now he wouldn't even blink at the sight of someone naked. In fact, that was actually a problem when he once tried hiring a prostitute. Prince couldn't get himself to look interested or impressed at her huge tits, insulting her and making her actually cry. Women were so annoying.

[Noise Prince]

Reed gasped oh so slightly at the error. He really didn't think Mister was less formal, either. But it was hard to muster enough moxxy to just refer to him by name. Reed only knew these as formal addresses, and never really considered an age implication, and was largely confused that such a proud man would refuse sir and mister. He swallowed when the man coughed. It reminded him of the itch he'd had at the back of his throat since he first snuck in. Every once in a while, he'd end up with a terrible coughing fit, a shaking rattling in his chest, as he hacked up some invisible intruder of his throat. He couldn't let Prince think he was diseased, so he'd have to hold it for quite some time longer.

 

Prince opened a door, and several cats, startled by the late night entrance, bolted out towards the open window. Reed himself was also startled, alarmed by the presence of so many in action so suddenly. He gasped softly, more audible now, and stepped forward, and reaching a hand out, as if reaching for the cats.

 

"Oh, your cats! Poor things…" It was dreadfully cold tonight, any cat with a home should be kept safe and warm indoors. But Prince didn't seem bothered in the slightest by this. Did he not care for these cats? There were so many though, he must like them, right?

 

He looked to where Prince pointed, and Reed nodded to show his understanding, not wanting to speak more, feeling he had just spoken out of turn a moment before. He wasn't sure what 'all the stuff' truly entailed, but as long as there was soap and water, Reed would be able to get clean. He was concerned with dirtying his tub, though. Reed had probably brought in more dirt and filth on his person than Prince had ever seen in his life. He didn't want to sully anything.

 

Reed nodded again, looking at the pillow. It looked so soft, so fine. He would bet there were real feathers in it, if he had any money.

 

"Th-thank you, s… hn, Prince." Reed stammered. What a decision! Reed wasn't exactly tired, but he was always hungry… or he could watch the man in action, painting! He wouldn't teach him anything, but just being able to watch a master painter would be a learning experience of itself, right? His stomach would argue that it wasn't. He'd have his bath to decide what to do, though.

 

"I understand, I don't intend to cause you more trouble," Reed told him, his eyes fleeting to the ground. He silently excused himself and headed into the bathroom. It was large, and so clean and white! He couldn't remember the last time he had access to warm water. He ran his hand under the running water while the tub filled. There was a number of soaps and vials of colorful fluids, probably shampoos and perfumes. They all smelled so good. But they were so fine in quality, they were made for cleaning nobles. Prince's only dirt he had to wash was his high-quality charcoal and graphite. Would these soaps be strong enough to clean someone as dirty as a rat off the street? He slipped himself into the water and he started to cry. The water began to thaw his thoroughly chilled body. It hurt in such a comforting way. The heat was forcing its way into his cold body. He was finally going to feel warm. He took a deep breath, the first he was able to take since Prince had him draw. Dirt was already starting to melt off of him. He wiped his face again and again until he no longer felt grit. Then he took a bar of soap and ran it over his arm experimentally. A pale tan streak was revealed under the grey film of dirt that remained. It was like an eraser! So high quality soaps like this could really work on a lot of dirt, too, it seemed! He stood so he could scrub his entire body. The dirt was gone from under his nails, he couldn't see his fingerprints anymore, since they weren't defined by dirt. His head felt so light now that he got out most of the dirt clumps in his hair. The tub was black.

 

He drained it and filled it again, to better rinse himself off and to clean the tub, a thin layer of dirt covered where the water touched. He used another small amount of shampoo just in case. Even more dirt came out! In the second pass, he had removed all dirt from his body, he double checked. The third tub was just to clean the tub itself, as now it was dirtier than the rat. His skin touched air, his hair moved lightly and freely with his head. He'd forgotten what being clean was like. He cried again, this time caving into a coughing fit as he did so. He laid crouched by the tub, scrubbing the sides to clean it better, crying in gratitude of his good fortune.

 

He'd have to brush his hair, that'd be a challenge. His hair maybe be clean, but it was fairly matted, and he had always been tender headed. When he was young, other boys would bully him, and pull his hair to make him cry, since it was so easy. But then he'd look presentable for Prince. He couldn't clean himself so much and then keep his awful hair. He brought all this filth into his home, into his studio, and he was kind enough to let him stay here. He had to look the best that he could, so he didn't have to handle the grime or smell of the streets on someone in his home.

 

Reed himself was immune to his own smell, but now that he was clean, he realized how awful he really must've smelled. He was so fresh and light and scented now. He felt like a flower petal. It was like he was washing away someone else off his skin, off the sides of the tub. The tub was clean, and he drained the final amount of water. He couldn't put it off any longer, he needed to comb his hair.

 

He reached for a comb, and realized something worse would follow. His clothes… he'd have to put on his stinking, dirty clothes on once he was finished. He'd rather die in the bathroom! He'd finally gotten clean! He was so, so clean! He smelled nice! The comb was shaking him his hand, as tears filled his eyes. The comb hadn't even touched his hair, and he was already in tears. Ridding himself of these knots would not be easy knowing what was to follow.

[Coffee-Tastic]

(I'll forget this again if I don't post it here :Red_fox11: )

 

 

 

 

 

The owner of the house left the pillow at the couch in his living room, thinking that the boy might want a blanket as well, so he went to one of his spares closet and grabbed a few linens for him since the room got rather cold at night because of the large windows. "The rat's nest will be here for now and..." he thought to himself, also looking around just in case he could spot another one of his cats, and to no prevail, but it reminded him to get back to other things more important. Like his tea. His painting... This client wanted two paintings, both of his large, floral backyard. One of them was to be based off of the flora in the spring, and the other was was going to be in fall. It could be a very difficult task to those who didn't have as much training as himself. It was past fall, in the transition of becoming winter, and the man did not need to see the area before doing this project. To the artist, it was merely a matter of making sure he got it done in a few days, the first one being halfway to completion. It was a pain when sometimes he'd underestimate the time it took for these things... Though in fact, he had forgotten that he had until next week to get it done, once again.

 

On his way back to the studio, he passed the guest room and stopped in the doorway, looking towards the bathroom where Reed was in. He wanted to go in and see how he looked. "..." Prince turned away and went off to the studio instead.

 

After some time he remembered to actually close the window in the living room and went to go close it, passing by the guest room and repeating the same process as he did not to long ago. But he didn't go in. Prince closed the window and went back, again, stopping at the room for a few moments.

 

Did he really want to just go in there and watch Reed? The answer was yes. He had every right to do as he pleased... its just that there was something about the idea of seeming like a pervert to a younger male, who already thought he was an old adult, that he didn't want to step into.

 

He picked his brush and got to work again. Then stopped. Prince sped walked to his room, getting in his mind that the rat would need clothes!! Having a reason to intrude in the boy's private space, he didn't want to waste a second. The black haired man did not have clothes that would fit Reed, why would he own clothes that didn't fit him, that wouldn't make sense, and didn't bother trying to find anything that might be smaller on him. All of his clothes were fitted exactly to his body, too used to getting custom clothes to ever actually buy things from normal shops. Prince took a long sleeved shirt for Reed, as well as thick soft pants. No underwear. He wasn't willing to lend those over, but he supposed he could give the kid some money to spend on those things tomorrow. If Reed choose to take the money and not come back, then it was his own loss.

 

Knocking wasn't something he typically did, so when he came to the bathroom, he came right in with no regards and immediately started speaking as if he wasn't strongly anticipating seeing his new method of entertainment naked, "I forgot to give you your clothes~" His eyes had directly went to Reed's body. His face, his arms, torso, legs, ect. He was so much more clean. Way more easier to look at. He almost didn't notice the boy was crying for whatever reason that he had. "... Why are you crying? Did I make you upset?"

[Noise Prince]

Reed looked up at the mirror for a moment, in passing, and froze in his reflection. He rarely saw himself in a mirror, and tended to avoid it. He was used to being dirty, so he didn't think about it a lot, so when he saw how dirty he really was, it made him feel a little uncomfortable. But now… he could see just how clean he really was. His skin looked so smooth without dirt caking his pores, every texture of his skin. He was so pale, despite being outdoors so much, his skin was quite pale, though dotted with freckles. It was as if he was looking at a new face, a better him. The tub was a womb. And his hair didn't look so dull now,! It was still wet, and dark, but he was excited to see if it was as red as he remembered. He was distracted from his task for a moment. But the comb was still in his hand, and his hair still carried an impressive amount of tangles.

 

The boy wondered what Prince might think of him now. He was so clean, he smelled so nice. He was almost kind of attractive. His blush no longer had a dirt curtain to hide behind, and his pale face became crimson at his own hubris. He could get really carried away sometimes.

 

He had managed to push all the loose hair and force the tangle down to the tips of his hair. It was large, and it was becoming more difficult to manage. And it was really hurting. The comb had gotten stuck in the knotted mess it created once or twice. Tears were still on his cheeks when Prince walked it. He dropped the comb in shock when he walked it. It hung in his hair before it fell to the floor. Reed was more preoccupied with keeping his body covered the best he could. He had left the towel out of reach, so he could only resort to using his arms, one across his chest, the other over his lower front, his legs awkwardly shifting the weight side to side. He was even bent forward a bit, in a nearly childish way to try to shield himself.

 

The sharp-eyed man had brought clothes- clean clothes! For a man who seemed to have such a passing interest in the would-be thief, he sure seemed to show him exceptional kindness. Even if that wasn't Prince's intentions, that's certainly how it was perceived by Reed. He was ever more in his eternal debt for every simple kindness life had frequently denied him before.

 

The crimson returned to his face, and he shook his head when Prince commented on his years. He used one hand quickly to wipe them away. "N-no it's not that… sorry… I'm sensitive on my head, you see, so… Thank you for the clothes,"

[Coffee-Tastic]

The older man barely paid attention to Reed's response to him, trying to take in as much as he could of what was in front of him. Disappointment is what he felt when the boy covered over himself, but what else should he have been expecting when barging in on him in the bathroom? He really wished he knew why it was embarrassing to be naked for other people. Everyone is born naked. Everyone used to be naked in the outside world. As soon as clothes were used, suddenly everyone became chickeny about it... Even more so, they were both male. What was the problem here. But he wasn't entirely dissatisfied. The street rat was clean. There was no longer and dirt covering over him in it's own layer. He was a nice pale, nude color, no joke to be intended there, and with looking at certain spots, he could see he had gentle freckles. Freckles might actually be the only body trait that he found that wasn't as impure as other might think, they established individuality and no two people ever would have similar speckles.

 

After not saying anything for a few seconds after Reed thanked him, he finally answered, looking at the rat's rat-nest hair, "Yeah." With air coming out of his nose more loud than his usual, Prince bent down and picked up the brush, "Why would you want to put on dirty rags after you just took a shower. Gross..." Standing tall again, he put a hand over Reeds shoulder and the other on his back, forcing him to stand up with a but of pressure, "You'll ruin your posture if you hunch like that. We're both the same gender, you don't have anything to hide. If it made you feel better, I will show you mine if you want." With having the same tone as always, it was made clear that he was being serious, but he wasn't insisting on it, he knew Reed wouldn't either.

 

"And you shouldn't cry over this," he showed him the comb as he walked behind him, touching the tips of his hair, "You're supposed to brush from the tips, up. Not hack at your head until it gets fixed. If yo get any bald spots, I'm going to kick you out." To give example, he did it himself. It was safe to do so knowing Reed was clean, if not, then he wouldn't even think of being anywhere near whatever might be on his head. He held a fraction of the mess on his head and started to comb at the bottom, muttering to himself, "Of course a rat like you wouldn't even know how to do the simplest of self care..."

[Noise Prince]

Reed got the feeling that Prince wasn't really listening to closely to him. He got the feeling that some of the things he asked were rhetorical, or that he wasn't too interested in the answers at all, despite asking. But he was a lot more preoccupied with covering himself the best he could right now. It was strange to him that Prince didn't seem concerned at all with his nudity. Sure, he was an artist, and sometimes artists would draw people without any clothes on, but this was entirely different, wasn't it? He had this homeless boy he was clearly unimpressed with, almost disgusted by, standing naked in his bathroom. This was not the sort of context in which Reed thought it was acceptable to be naked. He hated being naked in front of others, though. So small and vulnerable. There were times when he had to be, of course, it happens, but it was always unpleasant. Sometimes when other homeless people he knew arranged to bathe together, they would all bathe in silence, avoiding looking at each other. There was still shame in the necessities they took.

 

And that's how Reed felt now, no matter how comfortable Prince was with it.

 

The rat couldn't help but cringe when Prince exhaled in such a way, like he was frustrated with Reed's sensibilities. It wasn't that he wanted to wear his dirty clothes again, it was he didn't think he had any other choice. But for a man with such a decadent life as Prince, it wasn't too far a reach to think that someone like Reed really had no concept of proper cleanliness. He wanted to reply to clarify himself, but he couldn't get the words straight in his head. So he was silent.

 

Until Prince approached, and placed his hands on him! On his bare skin! He forced his houseguest upright, and Reed let out a small whimper in surprise. But he should have saved it for when the man offered to strip in turn, and the poor boy turned crimson red. He shook his head as much as he could muster.

 

"N-no… that would make it w-worse… sorry."

 

The hand he used to cover his chest now moved with Prince, shielding his bum from the noble man's eyes. He didn't seem to mind, but Reed really would rather not expose so much of his body to him, even if one hand wasn't really doing the trick. He hadn't known to start from the bottom, it seemed weird not to start from the top. It was counter intuitive, wasn't it? And seemed a bit contradictory, maybe. But Prince already had the brush to the tips of his hair. It felt almost soothing to have someone tending to his hair like this, to make sure it was proper. If only it wasn't such a frightening man doing it.

 

"I'm sorry I couldn't do it proper," He whispered, clearly embarrassed by the artist's passing remark.

[Coffee-Tastic]

"I should have known, so it is fine," Prince said, continuing to comb, as it did not seem like he was actually going to stop. The boy's hair didn't look so nice when he first saw him, but touching his cleaned, conditioned hair, he didn't mind this. "If you brush from the top, you'll end up clumping all the knots together and... Fwua... Never mind. Just do it right next time. I have no intention to baby a street rat like you." His tone was rather cold, though he still went on brushing his hair, in fact, doing what he just said he wasn't going to do. But that's to be expected coming from Prince. If he wanted something done right, he just simply had to do it himself. For now. Since his hair felt nice once he felt a long fraction of his hair run between his fingers. "That does remind me of something."

 

Prince's head tilting slightly as he kept his eyes on his hands going though Reed's hair, "Since you're staying here, I suggest you make more of an effort to mind your manners. I don't have rules so to speak... But decent behavior is what I ask of. If you decide to do something in the kitchen, please put things away when you are done and for god's sake do not leave messes around. I know I am the parent of several cats that keep pests away, but I don't take kindly to the thought that rodents or bugs would be attracted to anything in my house." He didn't care much for other animals, but he loved his cats too much... However there was a crisis that happens often where his cats give him gifts. Gifts as in... dead animals... And since they came directly into the home, they would leave dead animals around for him to find. He found it sickening and adorable, but he'd rather not have them do it. But mice and roaches, alive and in his house, that was pain disgusting.

 

"Another thing..." a low grunt came out of his throat, thinking of what was another important thing to mention about staying in his house. Thoughtlessly leaning down and pressing his nose onto Reed's head, he sniffed and closed his eyes. For his reason was none, the man only did as a passing thought told him to do: that being, to smell the hair he was fond of touching so much. One might think his problem was not thinking about things before doing them, but that's not true. The real reason was that he didn't give a damn. Or rather. He didn't care right now. He certainly cared about what Reed might think of him barging in this bathroom.

 

His senses and morals were always skewed due to the rule of his parents for such a long time. His brain struggled to hold on to his perfection and child-like behavior, going back and forth when situations change from things he knew how to handle and things that he did not. The only thing he knew how to handle at all times was painting. No matter what task he was given with a brush in hand, he could do anything. Social situations were hard for someone who only stayed at home and had never bonded to anyone besides a cat and... someone he couldn't remember, maybe because she wasn't really important enough. Failing so much at being someone normal out on the street, he choose to reside only at his home where he'd never manage to, in his own head, make a fool of himself. His home was the best place to be. It was special place. But one thing went beyond that. The room he barely used, his own bedroom, held things in it that were between the boundary of special and dangerous. Thus, leading him to say the last notice to Reed on his mind.

 

Still pressed against his head, he eyed Reed with his barren stare from the reflection of the mirror as he spoke, "You might have become apart of my house, and apart of my belongings, but I do not give you access to my personal bedroom. If I catch you inside snooping, I will not be responsible for my actions that follow. But surely a small rat like yourself has plenty to occupy yourself with everywhere else in the house. You will not have a second warning regarding my room. And if you were wondering where that door is, its the one with a crescent moon carved on it. So now you have no excuse to stumble in it." He moved to the boy's ear, a dark shift occurring in his eyes, "I can assure you that if you test me, you won't know what it's like to see again..."

 

Standing back up straight after that, his eyes went back to their average, dull state, brushing his hair and managing to rid Reed's hair of another knot, blinking, "Oh, you see that? This is a much better method of brushing hair. Haha."

[Noise Prince]

Reed bit his lip, standing still, and silently, as the noble continued with his hair. Reed thought he was only going to demonstrate to him how to do it proper, but rather it seemed like Prince wasn't going to stop until he had combed his entire head.

 

"Y-Yes, sir- I mean… I'll be sure to do it right…" Reed stammered, though he noted how he said he wouldn't 'baby' the rat, but he still continued to brush his hair for him. There was something almost soothing about it, even though he was very intimidated by Prince. Having someone, no matter how scary, brushing your hair for you felt nice, it made him feel safe, cared for. Even if this was the only time Prince ever did something like this, he was grateful for it. "Thank you…"

 

Reed couldn't do much in the way of nodding, as Prince toyed with his hair, so he hoped the noble knew that he was listening to his words intently. Despite seeming like a strict, unforgiving man, he really didn't had much in the way of rules or expectations. Just minding his manners, and nothing unnecessary or anything that inconvenienced Prince. That was more than fair, considering he was going to keep him here in his home, even giving him lessons. This was a dream come true! He was allowed to get his own food from the kitchen, so long as he cleaned up after himself! That was more than generous. And Reed couldn't do much in the ways of cooking, so he doubted he'd be making any particularly severe messes, so for him that was an easy agreement.

 

"Yes, I understand," He replied when the noble had finished. "I'll mind my manners, and I won't leave any messes,"

 

Reed froze, his eyes widened, when Prince's nose touched to his thick, still-damp hair. He wondered what else he wanted to say was, if it was in relation to what he was doing with him right now. He wasn't sure how to respond, and something about it seemed very intimate, made only worse by the fact that he had been kept naked through this time.

 

Prince was a peculiar man, Reed decided. But an incredibly kind and generous one, so there was little he could mind about his oddities. He was a little nervous about what he might say next, maybe this was a hint. He feared that he was going to tell him he was really going to be kept for one reason, a reason that had granted Reed temporary shelter at other times in his life. It would explain him coming into the bathroom while he was naked, now him combing and fondling his hair, and now smelling it. Reed of course wouldn't refuse if that was the case. Prince was still very kind, and was still offering the nearly ideal situation for Reed, but still, the aspect worried him.

 

He was watching Prince in the mirror, the noble's eyes piercing him from the reflection. His lower lip retreated under his teeth when he spoke, when he called Reed one of his belongings. It seemed odd, but what was odder was how Reed found such comfort in being called that. And Reed was relieved that there was a specific rule, which would be more than simple to follow. Just don't go into his room. Reed didn't really see why he would ever need to, so that was not going to be a problem. His room had a crescent on the door. Simple enough to remember. He wouldn't do anything to inconvenience or upset Prince, so long as he had the guidelines to avoid it.

 

The street rat almost smiled, until his mouth crept to his ear, and he warned him of the consequences of disobeying. The rules here were simple enough, but the punishments were incredibly severe.

 

"I-it is… thank you so much," He couldn't remember the last time his hair looked so nice.

[Coffee-Tastic]

With the he offer of thank, Prince began to ignore Reed once more. If he kept taking 'you are welcome' every time this kid said it, he'd b spending enough breath to cut down a year of his life. And anyways, he was done talking for now, there was no need to speak any more than he had. Reed understood what he wasn't supposed to do and what he was expected of regarding living space. So, the man continued to brush the stray's head, removing one knot at a time until he was perfectly able to run his fingers through without being stopped by a clump. But even after than, he continued to brush. 100 more times. That's how many times he remembered his mother would go through his head as a kid, and of course, when his hair was slightly more long.

 

When it was done, he put the brush on the side of the sink and met Reed's eyes in the mirror, "You can get dressed now," his gaze then love red slightly, trailing down the younger's chest and stomach before taking one of his arms, sliding his hand up his skin. Very soft, clean... "I'll take leave now. My say still stands if your mind changes. You can choose to eat on your own, go to bed or come to the studio to watch. I'm not going to baby you." Letting go of the others arm, he removed himself out of his elbow room and took himself out of the washroom.

 

After closing the door the behind him, he touched his fingers and exhaled. "Very soft. Now. Must carry on..." To say he got what he wanted out of this, that was wrong. What he would have liked better was to sit at the side lines and just watch Reed act natural. But there wasn't going to be any way the kid was going to act natural. He could tell how nervous the boy was, and he went stiff whenever he spoke. Prince must have creeped him out after all. Shaking his head when settling himself back at his canvas, he picked up his palette and reached for his tea. Sadly, when he reached for his tea, there wasn't anything there. ".... Where did I leave that cup at...." He asked himself, but he wasn't about to waste time looking for it when he already spent enough time dilly dallying. Whispering a prayer for his lost cup of tea, he began to work again. Even if Reed were to enter, he wouldn't notice unless his attention was grabbed, not poked.

 

"White... Tan. Pale blue... Opaque white..." He muttered colors of the sort to himself, despite using the color dark brown.

[Noise Prince]

Prince fell silent, and so did Reed. The red head felt he must be quite a bother to the noble artist. He wondered why he offered to have him stay, why he was still brushing his hair for him. Reed felt so meek and small with him, yet he was getting a fair amount of attention from him now. Even naked, he started to feel calmer and more safe with the unusual man with severe consequences involving spoons. Of course, his body was still stiff and rigid, and he was still quite scared, but Prince was showing him more kindness than anyone else in the world. Finally, Prince finished his hair, but the continued to brush through it. Reed certainly wasn't going to tell him to stop. He watched the man's face in the reflection. So strong, stern, serious, and handsome. His fierce, focused eyes, looking at his hair, his graceful, practiced hand brushing his hair until there was no resistance between the hairs of the brush.

 

He watched his eyes crawl over Reed's body. This time, he wasn't interested in covering himself, more than he already was, at least. He liked being looked at by this man, even in this state. Prince's hand lightly wrapped on his arm.

 

"Yes, thank you," Reed responded softly, now relishing the chance to finally get dressed. Enjoying being ogled, while standing here naked… how gross. And worse was thinking that Prince would want to look at him in such a way. He was caked with dirt not an hour ago, and he was sure Prince didn't think he was significantly less disgusting now.

 

Once Prince left, Reed dressed himself in the clothes the painter had provided him. They were so clean and soft! They felt so nice, he had never touched anything so fine! He wanted nothing more than to go and watch the man start to paint, see how he worked in the studio. But his stomach definitely didn't agree with him. He decided he should best eat something first, then he could go into the studio to watch the master at work. Reed allowed himself one more glance in the mirror, to admire how clean he was now, how nice his hair was now, before scuttling off towards the kitchen.

 

His heart was beating widely. A kitchen! That he was allowed in, full of foods he was allowed to eat! He could almost weep with happiness. He knew better than to just run amok and forget his boundaries, but it was hard not to get excited when he finally saw all the food laid out. How foolish he felt for not considering stealing some of this with the charcoal when he first broke in! Of course, thinking like that wasn't necessary now. Reed made himself a humble sandwich with a bit of meat and bread, and an apple. He ate it quickly, and was sure not to leave a single crumb out on the floor or counter once he was finished. Reed also had the sense to wipe his face, then eased his way down the hall, towards the studio. At first, he only peaked his head inside.

 

The master painter was hard at work, deep in focus. Reed moved into the studio slowly, and took a seat on the floor behind Prince, his hands on his chin in awe.