He is, surprisingly, already there, his presence overwhelming as always, a singular point of gravity in the middle of the room.
"Good morning," he says when he hears the sound of Joshua walking in. Alecto is sprawled already on an armchair, his legs thrown over the plush arm, directly in front of a wooden easel that had been set up the night before. He has a closed book in his hands, his finger holding his place between the pages. He is dressed comfortably (as had been requested): a simple off-white linen shirt with an open collar, the fabric loose around his neck and clavicle, paired with tightly fitted, tan-colored fall front trousers.
"I had these prepared. Hopefully, they're to your liking." He gestures to the several stretched canvases, papers, and an abundance of paints, inks, and chalks put off to the side of the stool behind the easel.
no subject
"Good morning," he says when he hears the sound of Joshua walking in. Alecto is sprawled already on an armchair, his legs thrown over the plush arm, directly in front of a wooden easel that had been set up the night before. He has a closed book in his hands, his finger holding his place between the pages. He is dressed comfortably (as had been requested): a simple off-white linen shirt with an open collar, the fabric loose around his neck and clavicle, paired with tightly fitted, tan-colored fall front trousers.
"I had these prepared. Hopefully, they're to your liking." He gestures to the several stretched canvases, papers, and an abundance of paints, inks, and chalks put off to the side of the stool behind the easel.