@proditeur 𑁋 liked for a starter
( ACCEPTING )
the words fundraising gala were an oxymoron, didn't belong together. in john's opinion, if they had the funds for a gala, they certainly didn't need to raise them -- not with an auction on top of the several-hundred quid ticket price. not that john paid it, of course; he'd slipped in through the kitchen door, propped open for the cooks to come and go from their smoke breaks.
as a matter of fact, he's only stopping by for that charity auction ( and the open bar, but that's really just a detour on the way ), although he's certainly not about to pay the going rate for some dusty old antiques. his target - an old oil painting, cursed beyond belief - has already been paid for and sits in a back storage room with the rest of the collection, waiting to be boxed up and shipped off to its new home.
john's goal is simply to keep it from doing exactly that.
it's unfortunate, then, to find himself interrupted in the middle of scribbling in chalk a series of intricate runes directly on the canvas' rough surface, looking for all the world like a petty vandal rather than an expert trying to put an end ( rather forcibly ) to a haunted artifact's long and bloody history.
" i'm sure you've 'eard it before, " john's drawing may have slowed down when he heard the man enter, but it only stops once he tucks the chalk back into his pocket and fishes out a lighter instead. " but it's really not what it looks like. "