Post by Kamish on Jan 26, 2008 6:54:38 GMT -5
Schools, Myou mused, had a bizarre habit of sending you on utterly pointless excursions, then claiming that it was for educational purposes. Not that she particularly minded, of course – like any other student, she was perfectly happy to skip a day of schoolwork.
This day had been planned for weeks now, she knew, and she had done some planning of her own when she had been informed of it.
A trip to an art gallery wasn’t something to be particularly excited about, not for her in any case. She wasn’t particularly artistic, but she did enjoy the feel of the gallery, the quiet, the calm and the respect. It might have been odd, but it was what appealed to Myou most.
Yawning lazily, Myou glanced up at the high ceiling, taking in the skylights and the cloudless sky beyond. Cloudless, it seemed, meant that only a few puffy little clouds could be seen, for several little white smudges scudded across the blue.
She shifted uncomfortably in the cold, weak metal chair, her elbows propped up on the food court table, and her chin resting on her palms. Around her, other students were chatting animatedly, though clearly over nothing that the gallery contained, eating in groups or listening to music, some had mobile phones out and were punching at the keys.
Myou sat with her friends, who were talking together, both a part of the group, and simply on the fringe. They were here friends, in a sense, but most of her friends were in different classes or year groups; they were more people that she could talk with and not feel excluded, though wasn’t particularly close to.
In a sense, that was what a friend was, the first part at least.
She sighed, and brushed a hand through her dark, dark blonde hair. Or she would have, had it not been pulled back in a customary bun. Her action yanked several chunks out of place, making the hairstyle not only look, but feel, strange. Frowning slightly, she corrected her mistake, and watched one of her friends stand.
“Where’re you goin’?” she questioned habitually.
“Bathroom,” the other girl replied.
“Me too,” another piped up, standing to go with the first. “You coming, Myou?”
“Nah… I think I’ll go walk around for a while…”
“Don’t go too far… Smith’s a dragon,” warned the first girl.
“You worry too much.”
“Bye.”
Myou stood, closing her blue eyes briefly as the slight dizziness passed, and pulled her small backpack up.
She had brought only a few things with her, like the other students, and so had brought a smaller bag than usual. The yielding material was a dull blue-grey colour, and somewhat resembled denim, though it was not.
Inside, she knew, was a full lunch box, a purse, a notebook, pen, and a mobile phone.
And it was the phone she intended to use.
Pulling the small device out and slinging the bag more securely onto her back, she watched the signal bar, walking slowly through the food court towards the entrance to the gallery. Technically, you weren’t supposed to have a mobile on in the gallery, but everyone was disregarding this rule, so why should it apply to her?
She dodged Mrs. Smith’s eyes and slid through the door, leaving the scents of food, people and life behind for the cool, somewhat chemical smells of the gallery.
Myou passed artworks she couldn’t even begin to name, and waited patiently waited for the signal bar to increase.
She glanced at the bright colours, took in oddly intriguing, sometimes beautiful, other times bizarre, scenes, and admired the simple beauty of several statues and sculptures when she reached the relevant section. She likes sculptures more than paintings sometimes, but she wasn’t entirely sure why.
They had a sort of accomplished feeling, as though every chip or precise pressure on the clay had been painstakingly made. Paintings seemed beautiful, awe inspiring to look at, so intricate and often delicate, but eventually, you could lose interest. Sculptures and statues had so many tiny details that you didn’t even see for the simplicity, so many details that would surprise you.
Shrugging off her somewhat philosophical mood, Myou leant against the wall, gazing at a sculpture of a gazelle in mid-jump with a critical expression. Her eyes flickered down to the tiny screen as her thumb manipulated the buttons, summoning the right number from a list of about twenty or so.
The dial tone seemed to last an age before the rhythmical ringing began, and she waited patiently for the answering voice.
This had been organised many weeks ago, when Myou had first known she was going on this trip. It was somewhat silly, to plan such a small thing, but it just felt right to do it. The plans had been adjusted, finetuned and replanned more times than a plane design, and it was all worth it when the accented voice came through the connection.
“Hello?”
“Ni, Akari,” Myou couldn’t stop the grin that broke over her lips at the American voice answering her.
“Myou, I thought you’d forgotten.” The tone was teasing.
“Course not, how could I forget? Three weeks of planning went into this!”
A soft laugh, oddly restrained. “We’re such dorks.”
“Indeed,” the giggles were threatening to overwhelm her voice now.
It was strange how the awkward laughter could come even when you were completely comfortable with the person’s presence… or in the case, voice. They had talked before, but the accidental laughter was always there, it was just a part of things.
“So, where are you right now?”
“Second floor, west wing,” Myou replied.
“That tells me nothing…”
“I know… Sculptures.”
“Ah.”
The line was filled with static, and the break between her speech and Akari’s was several seconds long, but it was to be expected of an international call. This was something of a day out together, or the closest they could get, living in different countries entirely. It was the closest they could get to – God forbid – going shopping together like normal friends.
Weird, that one’s close friend would live on a different country entirely.
“Oh, wow.”
Myou held the phone tighter to her ear, straining to hear Akari’s voice over the crackling.
“What?”
“There’s this really amazing statue here,” Akari replied, sounding impressed. “It’s a… it’s a white wolf, made out of marble or something, I think.”
Myou, getting frustrated with the connection, spoke.
“Just a sec, ‘Kari, I’m going to walk around, see if we can’t improve the connection. I might cut out or something though.”
“Mmkay.”
Myou continued walking, chatting about something mundane with her American friend and smiling happily frequently. She barely noticed anything about her surroundings, other than ‘stairs here, person there, bathroom, don’t trip on that’.
That was, however, until a certain something caught her eye.
“Hey, didn’t you say something about a wolf statue a little while ago?”
“Yeah, it’s a white wolf.”
Myou stopped, the connection was about as good as it was going to get, and she was getting some annoyed looks from the other art-savvy gallery goers.
The statue she was looking at now appeared to be made from, as Akari had said, some form of marble or stone. The edges seemed impossibly smooth, the shining black surface gleamed up at her, distortedly reflecting her appearance.
She shifted in her jeans and plain t-shirt, itching to touch the wolf. It was cut in such a way that it seemed a second piece should have been present, and there were some marks that implied there had once been another part, a part to fit perfectly with this one.
The little information card caught her attention as the plastic casing around the card glinted – why have such protection for the card when the simple, though beautiful, wolf was exposed?
Yin
There was some information she found boring, but something caught her eye.
A Hikari family work donated to this gallery upon opening. Its companion piece was given to another gallery, with the family’s only wish that the two be kept separate, though no reason for such a request was given.
The rest of the information was too dry for her to read, so she skimmed it before returning her attention to the wolf itself. She was amused by the snippet of information she had read. The Hikari family, eh? It seemed that the Hikari family, be they fictional or real, had a habit of being renowned artists.
Surely one little touch couldn’t hurt it?
“You still there, Myou, or have I lost you?”
“No. Sorry, I’m still here.”
“Ah good.”
“Got a little distracted… very interesting statues, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, what’s yours like?”
Myou described it briefly, her eyes never leaving the wolf. The thing called to her, she couldn’t help it.
Her fingers brushed over the cool ears, tracing down the curve of the icy neck, along the spine, over the powerful, yet somehow delicate, shoulders and hind legs.
Right to the tip of the tail, then once along the muzzle, over the brow.
Feeling drowsy, she intended to stretch, return to her conversation, perhaps wind it up – she’d been talking for too long, the credit was probably gone, or nearly so. But as she tried to lift her hand from the statue, she felt something cry out.
Not a voice as such, but something just as real, something that was purely… animal, basic, so basic. Almost as if it were an emotion.
And then darkness swept her away, with only the faint buzz of the phone going dead and the echo of a longing cry in her mind.
This day had been planned for weeks now, she knew, and she had done some planning of her own when she had been informed of it.
A trip to an art gallery wasn’t something to be particularly excited about, not for her in any case. She wasn’t particularly artistic, but she did enjoy the feel of the gallery, the quiet, the calm and the respect. It might have been odd, but it was what appealed to Myou most.
Yawning lazily, Myou glanced up at the high ceiling, taking in the skylights and the cloudless sky beyond. Cloudless, it seemed, meant that only a few puffy little clouds could be seen, for several little white smudges scudded across the blue.
She shifted uncomfortably in the cold, weak metal chair, her elbows propped up on the food court table, and her chin resting on her palms. Around her, other students were chatting animatedly, though clearly over nothing that the gallery contained, eating in groups or listening to music, some had mobile phones out and were punching at the keys.
Myou sat with her friends, who were talking together, both a part of the group, and simply on the fringe. They were here friends, in a sense, but most of her friends were in different classes or year groups; they were more people that she could talk with and not feel excluded, though wasn’t particularly close to.
In a sense, that was what a friend was, the first part at least.
She sighed, and brushed a hand through her dark, dark blonde hair. Or she would have, had it not been pulled back in a customary bun. Her action yanked several chunks out of place, making the hairstyle not only look, but feel, strange. Frowning slightly, she corrected her mistake, and watched one of her friends stand.
“Where’re you goin’?” she questioned habitually.
“Bathroom,” the other girl replied.
“Me too,” another piped up, standing to go with the first. “You coming, Myou?”
“Nah… I think I’ll go walk around for a while…”
“Don’t go too far… Smith’s a dragon,” warned the first girl.
“You worry too much.”
“Bye.”
Myou stood, closing her blue eyes briefly as the slight dizziness passed, and pulled her small backpack up.
She had brought only a few things with her, like the other students, and so had brought a smaller bag than usual. The yielding material was a dull blue-grey colour, and somewhat resembled denim, though it was not.
Inside, she knew, was a full lunch box, a purse, a notebook, pen, and a mobile phone.
And it was the phone she intended to use.
Pulling the small device out and slinging the bag more securely onto her back, she watched the signal bar, walking slowly through the food court towards the entrance to the gallery. Technically, you weren’t supposed to have a mobile on in the gallery, but everyone was disregarding this rule, so why should it apply to her?
She dodged Mrs. Smith’s eyes and slid through the door, leaving the scents of food, people and life behind for the cool, somewhat chemical smells of the gallery.
Myou passed artworks she couldn’t even begin to name, and waited patiently waited for the signal bar to increase.
She glanced at the bright colours, took in oddly intriguing, sometimes beautiful, other times bizarre, scenes, and admired the simple beauty of several statues and sculptures when she reached the relevant section. She likes sculptures more than paintings sometimes, but she wasn’t entirely sure why.
They had a sort of accomplished feeling, as though every chip or precise pressure on the clay had been painstakingly made. Paintings seemed beautiful, awe inspiring to look at, so intricate and often delicate, but eventually, you could lose interest. Sculptures and statues had so many tiny details that you didn’t even see for the simplicity, so many details that would surprise you.
Shrugging off her somewhat philosophical mood, Myou leant against the wall, gazing at a sculpture of a gazelle in mid-jump with a critical expression. Her eyes flickered down to the tiny screen as her thumb manipulated the buttons, summoning the right number from a list of about twenty or so.
The dial tone seemed to last an age before the rhythmical ringing began, and she waited patiently for the answering voice.
This had been organised many weeks ago, when Myou had first known she was going on this trip. It was somewhat silly, to plan such a small thing, but it just felt right to do it. The plans had been adjusted, finetuned and replanned more times than a plane design, and it was all worth it when the accented voice came through the connection.
“Hello?”
“Ni, Akari,” Myou couldn’t stop the grin that broke over her lips at the American voice answering her.
“Myou, I thought you’d forgotten.” The tone was teasing.
“Course not, how could I forget? Three weeks of planning went into this!”
A soft laugh, oddly restrained. “We’re such dorks.”
“Indeed,” the giggles were threatening to overwhelm her voice now.
It was strange how the awkward laughter could come even when you were completely comfortable with the person’s presence… or in the case, voice. They had talked before, but the accidental laughter was always there, it was just a part of things.
“So, where are you right now?”
“Second floor, west wing,” Myou replied.
“That tells me nothing…”
“I know… Sculptures.”
“Ah.”
The line was filled with static, and the break between her speech and Akari’s was several seconds long, but it was to be expected of an international call. This was something of a day out together, or the closest they could get, living in different countries entirely. It was the closest they could get to – God forbid – going shopping together like normal friends.
Weird, that one’s close friend would live on a different country entirely.
“Oh, wow.”
Myou held the phone tighter to her ear, straining to hear Akari’s voice over the crackling.
“What?”
“There’s this really amazing statue here,” Akari replied, sounding impressed. “It’s a… it’s a white wolf, made out of marble or something, I think.”
Myou, getting frustrated with the connection, spoke.
“Just a sec, ‘Kari, I’m going to walk around, see if we can’t improve the connection. I might cut out or something though.”
“Mmkay.”
Myou continued walking, chatting about something mundane with her American friend and smiling happily frequently. She barely noticed anything about her surroundings, other than ‘stairs here, person there, bathroom, don’t trip on that’.
That was, however, until a certain something caught her eye.
“Hey, didn’t you say something about a wolf statue a little while ago?”
“Yeah, it’s a white wolf.”
Myou stopped, the connection was about as good as it was going to get, and she was getting some annoyed looks from the other art-savvy gallery goers.
The statue she was looking at now appeared to be made from, as Akari had said, some form of marble or stone. The edges seemed impossibly smooth, the shining black surface gleamed up at her, distortedly reflecting her appearance.
She shifted in her jeans and plain t-shirt, itching to touch the wolf. It was cut in such a way that it seemed a second piece should have been present, and there were some marks that implied there had once been another part, a part to fit perfectly with this one.
The little information card caught her attention as the plastic casing around the card glinted – why have such protection for the card when the simple, though beautiful, wolf was exposed?
Yin
There was some information she found boring, but something caught her eye.
A Hikari family work donated to this gallery upon opening. Its companion piece was given to another gallery, with the family’s only wish that the two be kept separate, though no reason for such a request was given.
The rest of the information was too dry for her to read, so she skimmed it before returning her attention to the wolf itself. She was amused by the snippet of information she had read. The Hikari family, eh? It seemed that the Hikari family, be they fictional or real, had a habit of being renowned artists.
Surely one little touch couldn’t hurt it?
“You still there, Myou, or have I lost you?”
“No. Sorry, I’m still here.”
“Ah good.”
“Got a little distracted… very interesting statues, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, what’s yours like?”
Myou described it briefly, her eyes never leaving the wolf. The thing called to her, she couldn’t help it.
Her fingers brushed over the cool ears, tracing down the curve of the icy neck, along the spine, over the powerful, yet somehow delicate, shoulders and hind legs.
Right to the tip of the tail, then once along the muzzle, over the brow.
Feeling drowsy, she intended to stretch, return to her conversation, perhaps wind it up – she’d been talking for too long, the credit was probably gone, or nearly so. But as she tried to lift her hand from the statue, she felt something cry out.
Not a voice as such, but something just as real, something that was purely… animal, basic, so basic. Almost as if it were an emotion.
And then darkness swept her away, with only the faint buzz of the phone going dead and the echo of a longing cry in her mind.