a gentle heart

"You know..."

"Oh," Wren jumped at the voice, having been completely lost in her book. "Oh," she said again as she looked to the source of it and found a familiar face. "I suppose they are just the spaces I am drawn to," she replied with a soft smile. "I can leave if you wish to be alone though?"

The ghost of an amused smirk tugged at Klaus' lips upon Wren's reaction. "I'm sure you've heard enough about me to find me to be rather a bastard, but I wouldn't quite stoop to making you give up your seat simply because I've arrived in the same place," he mused. "I'm not entitled to it."

"I always take what I hear about people with a grain of salt," she said, because so far his conduct towards her had not caused her to find him to be a bastard. "Well in that case, would you like to join me?"

She watched silently as he mounted the painting on the wall, noting the care he took. "I cannot say I keep track of whether I do or not," she answered truthfully. She glanced back at the painting, smiling at seeing it on a gallery wall. But then she turned her gaze to the rest of the space, "It is a lovely collection of work here, are you the one who chooses which artists work are displayed?"

Klaus studied her with his gaze, as if her physicality might betray her words. But, in truth, she only reflected a genuine interest, in the sort of way that softened him with the barest touch of pride. "I am. Rather more a curator than an owner," he explained before extending her his hand. "Niklaus Mikaelson." Another test of sorts. To see her reaction to his identity, if she knew his name.

She smiled at his reply. For it seemed to display that he was in this for the love of art and not for the money. The name was certainly familiar. "Ah," There weren't many supernaturals in the city who wouldn't know it. She'd heard plenty even before her agent had proposed getting her work into his gallery. What she'd heard was enough of a mix that she'd decided she couldn't make up her mind what sort of person he was without meeting him. "You're an artist yourself or so I've heard?" she said as she shook his hand. "Wren," she then added simply by way of introducing herself.

Wren watched the man for a moment from the doorway of the gallery. Watched him admiring the painting. Her painting. Then she started making her way over to him. It was one she was particularly proud of. The way she’d captured the early morning light filtering through the canopy of a wood. Rays of light hitting the moss and ferns on the woodland floor, and sparkling on a stream. “Hello,” she greeted as she got close.

Klaus noticed the fae before she'd fully approached him, but his gaze remained on the painting in his gloved hands. He was starting to mount it on the wall, gingerly maneuvering it until it was secure. Only then did he turn to look at her, observing her properly. "Do you often approach people in the middle of a task?"

She watched silently as he mounted the painting on the wall, noting the care he took. "I cannot say I keep track of whether I do or not," she answered truthfully. She glanced back at the painting, smiling at seeing it on a gallery wall. But then she turned her gaze to the rest of the space, "It is a lovely collection of work here, are you the one who chooses which artists work are displayed?"

reading @ the botanical gardens

"Is it a pattern of your to invade quiet spaces?" He asked, although his tone was light even despite the word choice.

"Oh," Wren jumped at the voice, having been completely lost in her book. "Oh," she said again as she looked to the source of it and found a familiar face. "I suppose they are just the spaces I am drawn to," she replied with a soft smile. "I can leave if you wish to be alone though?"

reading @ the botanical gardens

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"It's ok, I was rather absorbed in my book so really the fault is mine,"

reading @ the botanical gardens

Magnolia laughed a bit as she stumbled upon the other fae, holding up her own book in her hand. "Great minds think alike."

She looked up at the sound of the laugh. "Magnolia," she greeted with a smile. "Oh," a laugh of her own escaped as she noted the book in the other fae's hand. "Great minds indeed," Wren scooted up, making room for Magnolia. "It really is a perfect reading spot isn't it? Especially at this time of year,"

At Eye of the Beholder

Wren watched the man for a moment from the doorway of the gallery. Watched him admiring the painting. Her painting. Then she started making her way over to him. It was one she was particularly proud of. The way she’d captured the early morning light filtering through the canopy of a wood. Rays of light hitting the moss and ferns on the woodland floor, and sparkling on a stream. “Hello,” she greeted as she got close.