“Hello, can I help you?” a man says, practically gliding toward us. He’s an omega, and while he smiles pleasantly at us, I don’t think he’s going to be able to help.
“Is your school taking new students?” Abbott asks.
Ansel hides a smile because Abbott will typically move straight to the point.
“For whom?” the omega asks unimpressed.
“There’s no way I’m able to hold a candle to this caliber of work,” Bellamy gushes. He points out the different artists he can see from here, their technique, and how incredible they are, garnering attention.
“I’m Pierre La Rue,” the older omega states. “I’m the gallerist here, and sit on the board for our school. Do you have a portfolio?”
Bellamy sighs, sagging under the weight of his past.
“I don’t,” he admits. “All of my previous work was lost. It would take me forever to get together anything that would be good enough for this school. I have been thinking about applying to the university here for an art degree, but the fact still remains that I don’t have any proof I’m good enough.”
“I have a photo of a painting he did, but I doubt that’s what you’re looking for,” Abbott says, wincing.
I know he was hoping to help, and he may be if Bellamy’s wide eyes have anything to say. I think it’s important to dream, especially for him. It keeps the less than pleasant thoughts of hurting yourself away when the world gets too loud.
Ask me how I know.
“This…painting,” Pierre drawls. “Can you show me?”
Nodding, Abbott pulls out his phone.
“It’s just something I did for my nest,” Bellamy says. “I don’t think it’ll show you much. I did it freehand.”
Abbott hands his phone to Pierre while open to the photo he took, and the omega stares at it for a moment.
“I’ll be back,” he says curtly, taking the phone with him.
“Shit,” Abbott mutters under his breath.
“You don’t keep things on it that would be an issue,” Ansel reminds him. “Shi has everything that could be pulled from your phone at the end of the day.”
“Really?” Bellamy asks, his eyes on the door Pierre disappeared into at the back of the gallery. “Shiloh does that?”
“Phones break,” Abbott shrugs. “This way he can back up a new one for me.”
“You throw them against the wall,” I laugh.
“Shhh. Don’t tell all of my secrets,” he laughs.
Bellamy’s lips twitch in amusement, but his body is still stiff, especially as Pierre comes back with another male on his heels.
“This is the head of the school,” Pierre explains. “His name is Beau Duvall.”
“Is there a good reason why you don’t have any work for me to see?” Beau asks.
“Yes, but it’s too personal to disclose, sir,” Bellamy says politely. “As I said, the trees are just something I painted for my stepsister and I. She sketched her vision, and I brought it to life. It's not perfect.”
“Art with soul doesn’t have to be perfect,” Beau says impatiently. “I don’t currently have a spot for a student, but I do for an apprentice. You’ll learn new techniques, receive commissions artists in the area can’t take for one reason or another, and will build your portfolio that way instead if you wish. What do you think?”
“Is this a paid apprenticeship?” Abbott asks as Bellamy gapes at him.
“Of course. The city makes me pay my apprentices,” Beau sighs as if it’s a hardship.
I just bet it is.
