#drunkmeet

Kole Weathers had been downing artisan beer after artisan beer all night. Just to get the courage. She had been hoping for a chance to talk to a mystery guy all night. But she was nervous. On a whim, she had come to this party at a Brooklyn loft. Her friend had invited her earlier that week, she had thought it would be a good chance to meet other artists, being a sculptor herself. But the longer she stayed and tried to socialize and network with these people, she realized she no longer cared to. They were boring and narcissistic. It was alright, there was no love lost there. Truly, she hadn't been expecting anything spectacular out of the night. And art parties were always the same. Brooklyn loft parties were no different, they were just as pretentious. Most of the people at the party claimed to be creators, artists, and artisans, but she knew the reality. They were all trust fund brats.

The only person who had piqued her interest at all...was him.

The man with the guitar and the weathered leather rucksack in the corner. He had dreamy blonde curls and enchanting eyes. It seemed like he might be the only genuine article in the entire place. He had been quietly strumming songs, sitting on the ground. Eyes shut. Swaying to his own melodies. Tapping the wood on the body of the instrument in time. Providing the most soulful ambience to the glowing room. When she wasn't nodding drunkenly to the beat, she watched him. After closer observation, Kole could clearly see the faint remains of paint clinging to his fingers. Some bits of charcoal under his nails. He wasn't just a musician. He was an artist. But, he didn't seem concerned with trying to one-up anyone else in the room with tales of sold out shows, gallery openings, or sold out pieces on Etsy. He just kept to himself and his guitar.

The cool summer air streamed in through the open window and on he played. As the muted orange and bluish-white city lights streamed into the glass of the industrial loft. The occasional police siren and car alarm pierced through the dark. And the night sky looked down on them from above through the skylight.

When the blond paused for a break in his songs and a beer, Kole had found her opening. She finally decided to talk to him. She slipped a gluten-free beer out of his fingers and pressed it to her lips. "Hi, I'm Kole."

He smiled at her. He raised his hands to slowly sign to her. I'm Jericho. Holding out a hand for her to shake. Kole looked titillated. She ran a hand through her strawberry pink locks, before she grasped it firmly.

"Well Jericho, would you like to... share this beer with me?" He gave her a pleased expression and shrugged, as if to say, why not?

They talked at length. Kole had been right, Jericho was fascinating. Very well traveled. And very well-read. He was an artist and a musician. And every bit as talented as she had thought.

When the other partygoers went off in search of some vegan, gluten-free, sprouted flatbreads (try saying that 5 times fast) to soak up the alcohol, she half considered asking him if he wanted to just...get out of here with her.

But maybe that would be too forward? Kole did like him, but she barely knew anything about him.

Well, she could keep getting to know him and then, maybe they could escape.

Things had progressed. Currently, he was showing her his art.

"You've done a lot of portraits... Are people your favorite subjects?" Kole asked. Brushing back a lock of reddish-pink hair, as she more closely examined the sketch book in her hands.

You could say that. A little knowing look on his face. His fingers moved at an easy, steady pace as he signed to her. I've done some paintings too. Would you like to see?

"Sure, I'd...love to." She nodded, eagerly as she stared into his glowing green eyes. She smiled, gazing dreamily, albeit drunkenly at the very talented and very mysterious man before her. She did a double take. "I'm sorry, paintings... You have your paintings on you?"

In a way... He stood up from the floor next to her. Taking his guitar with them. He motioned for her to follow him. Kole rose. Still confused, but intrigued nonetheless.

Then, he took her hand and led her down the dark corridor. Away from the light of the living room festivities. To another room. A bedroom. Maybe Kole didn't need to go that far after all.

Her aqua eyes squinted in the darkness, before he switched on a light. Jericho placed the guitar on a stand in the corner. He pulled a sheet off an easel. She gazed in wonder at the half finished painting he revealed. And then, at the unframed canvases on ground, angled against the wall. This man seemed to know his way around far too well to just be a party guest. Whose place was this again?

Unless...

"Do you know who owns this place? Are you friends? Or roommates?" He tilted his head in a sort of a nod. She bit her lip, recalling her thoughts earlier. "Oh... I'm sorry." A skeptical look crossed his features.

Jericho raised a blonde brow, as if questioning what she could possibly be sorry about. He motioned for her to elaborate.

"Well, I just assumed that whoever owned this place was some snob or trust fund baby. I had them pegged wrong. If they know you, then they can't be all bad."

Not exactly.

He turned around. Then, he gave her a forlorn look over the shoulder. His shoulders sagged with the weight of something.

"It's more than that isn't it?" The back of his blonde curls bobbed in a half nod. "This is... your place?" He took a slow step forward.

He signed, even though they both already knew. Yes.

"Well it's...beautiful. Truly. It's the nicest loft I've ever been in."

He shook his head again. I wish I could say thank you. But I can't. Even though I know what you must think of me.

"No..." She bit her lip. She tried again. "Why...don't you tell me?"

I'm a poser. Like all of them. But I'm the worst one of them all. I'm worse than Liev and his hand sewn silk handkerchiefs and Janson with her backyard brand of organic pop rocks.

Inebriated or not, Kole seriously doubted that, but she let him continue. His beige fingers had begun signing with harsher, more rapid movements. Cutting air between them as his fingers flew. It was getting a little difficult to follow, particularly after the beers. "Jericho... slow down, I can't -"

But then suddenly it all became clear. What he was trying to say.

Yes, this is my loft. I'm not a trust fund baby... exactly. But, my family is... well off. My father bought this place for me, a sort of a last ditch effort to get me to see things his way. My father is... Well, he and I don't exactly see eye to eye on a lot of things.

"You and your father don't get along, do you?" The glassy green eyes peered at her in astonishment. Then, recognition. He signed yes. She took another sip of her gluten-free artisan beer - which she had to admit at last - was terrible by the way. But, funky taste aside, it must have spurred on a soliloquy, because the next thing she knew, she was spilling her presumptions out on to this stranger named Jericho. "Did he put unrealistic expectations on you...?"

Jericho nodded slowly.

"Did he enforce his will upon your destiny, and demand you to be the kind of creation he wanted to bring forth in this world?" Her slim fingers tightened around the oddly configured neck of the beer bottle. "A creation. His creation... One... that he reminds you that he spent time and money and resources on." Kole's voice went hoarse, sickened just at the thought of her own father. "And then... when you finally get the courage to turn around and say it... To say guess what? That person who you want me to be - no, thank you. It's not who I am; it's not for me. Only then, you get tossed aside. Like trash." Kole smiled darkly, taking a brief sip of beer. "Oh, I know a thing or two about Daddy issues... And I certainly know you do..."

Jericho was looking down at the ground. His fingers gripping his blonde curls a little tightly. Like he was wrestling with something.

"Maybe we're like... kindred spirits..." Kole wondered aloud. She took a drunken step. "Somehow, one in the same?" Fingering the sleeve of his shirt.

He pulled away and shook his head. He held out a hand to say he just needed to do this.

To get this out.

He signed slowly. Kole... My name is Joey. Joey paused, his greenish-yellow eyes searching her aqua blue. Jericho is just a name I took on as an artist. And to distance myself. Because my full name is Joseph Wilson. My Dad is -

"Slade Wilson?" The heartless business man. Whose ruthlessness and heartless practices continually damaged the lives of the less fortunate around the globe? "That monster is your father?"

Definitive, sharp gestures denoted his diction. This life, these parties, my art. They are... all I have. Well, that's what I told myself... But I won't, the sideways thumbs up was pointing severely over his shoulder in express his emphasis, be a part of the Wilson legacy... Even if this... art is all I have to show for it. His fingers trembled slightly after his confession.

"Jericho, you're really amazing. Art like that - music like that couldn't be created by someone without passion or talent. You took your hurt and your pain and transformed it into something beautiful. And you turned that beauty into something tangible. That others could appreciate. And that is what your father will never understand. Your legacy is not his."

I think I know how to finish this now.

"You do? That's great." Kole hiccuped. And then laughed at her own drunkenness. And Jericho crinkled his eyes, before his expression turned serious.

I'd like your help, Kole, Joey signed wistfully. What do you say - will you help me?

Kole nodded and Jericho, reached down and clasped her hand.

They stood side by side, looking at the unfinished painting. At all it was. And all it could be.