#(calebgoldstein1)

Lucius hadn’t precisely enjoyed sitting for a portrait- that long under anyone’s scrutiny was enough to make him shiver with discomfort- but Caleb Goldstein had been a professional about it, and Lucius couldn’t deny a certain level of anticipation to see the finished product. It was about time he and Narcissa had their likeness hanging in the manor for generations to come. It also gave him the perfect excuse to take down the last portrait of his parents. 

He stepped into the studio and glanced around expectantly, posture stiff. “Mr. Goldstein?”

Nic never bothered with helmets. A jacket sometimes to keep off the wind, but a helmet would make things too safe, too boring, too predictable. Which is why his hair was more than a bit of a windswept mess when he finally swung off his bike in front of Caleb Goldstein’s studio. On his way up the steps he couldn’t help but twitch his wand in his coat pocket and rearrange the metal numbers outside the door, then he let himself in. 

“How is my masterpiece?” he called, swinging around the nearest corner until he found his artist. He’d taken off his jacket, and the shirt he wore was rolled up to just below his elbows, revealing the elaborate fox tattoo on his left forearm, and the enchanted empty skin on his other (one couldn’t just walk around with the Dark Mark on display; Nic had spent enough time in jail).

She didn’t get it. She just didn’t. She’d gone to the Bad Dragon and only left mostly more confused, and then she’d been distracted by Lucian’s hands and hair even though he’d been an active annoyance when they met at the cafe. And now she’d absently witnessed an entire interaction which left her completely baffled. Normally she didn’t care about people, why did they what they did, where they were from, what they wanted. It didn’t interest her and as far as she was concerned, they just weren’t all that important. But now that she’d had her attention drawn to her glaring ignorance in certain subjects, she couldn’t let it go until she understood it. 

“How did you do that?” she demanded, abandoning her coffee and sitting down across from the slightly older man who’d just met a woman who seemed like a complete stranger, talked for perhaps four minutes, and somehow wound up with her contact information pressed into his palm and her retreating with a wide smile. It just didn’t make sense, and the more she turned over the interaction in her head, the more frustrated she got by her lack of understanding.