At first Malachite worried that he had offended her by offering to pay but then worried that she was making fun of him with that low price. He didn't think he looked like a total street rat anymore thanks to his jobs at Indulge but maybe he still carried himself like he was and she suspected he couldn't afford much. She wouldn't be entirely wrong since he always used the cash he did get to feed the others and do some things legally like buy winter gear, bedding, and heaters. But what did he know about pricing art or art in general? "Five dollars sounds fair," he agreed before trying to place his head in the right position he was asked.
Once he found the right spot and his artist friend started sketching, Malachite's mind wandered to his past. He never was any good at drawing. He had a teacher that liked his short stories so maybe he could have been a writer? He remembered telling his dad how excited he was to go to high school and join the band. He wanted to learn an instrument, maybe the clarinet or saxophone. But that never happened. High school never happened. His dad never would have seen him play even if it had.
Malachite blinked rapidly several times, shaking away the memories and refusing to let them grab hold of him, especially in public and with someone studying his face so carefully. "Sorry, just thinking about how much my own attempts at drawing suck," he gave a soft laugh, doing his best to keep his voice low given where they were but then smiled brightly once more as he realised they hadn't properly met yet.
"I'm Malachite, by the way. And no, it's not my real name but that name is boring and doesn't suit me anymore. This one was given to me years ago and just sort of stuck." Mostly true. He gave it to himself, having always liked the stone for the colour and the properties behind it. No one in Greenbrooke knew his real name and so far that had worked well for him.
Once he found the right spot and his artist friend started sketching, Malachite's mind wandered to his past. He never was any good at drawing. He had a teacher that liked his short stories so maybe he could have been a writer? He remembered telling his dad how excited he was to go to high school and join the band. He wanted to learn an instrument, maybe the clarinet or saxophone. But that never happened. High school never happened. His dad never would have seen him play even if it had.
Malachite blinked rapidly several times, shaking away the memories and refusing to let them grab hold of him, especially in public and with someone studying his face so carefully. "Sorry, just thinking about how much my own attempts at drawing suck," he gave a soft laugh, doing his best to keep his voice low given where they were but then smiled brightly once more as he realised they hadn't properly met yet.
"I'm Malachite, by the way. And no, it's not my real name but that name is boring and doesn't suit me anymore. This one was given to me years ago and just sort of stuck." Mostly true. He gave it to himself, having always liked the stone for the colour and the properties behind it. No one in Greenbrooke knew his real name and so far that had worked well for him.
