A Poor Trait ( Elena / Open to One Person ) Oct 30, 2013 8:20:49 GMT
Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2013 8:20:49 GMT
Elena really hated portraits.
Why they had to have one for every decade she had no idea, but she couldn't think of a more boring time to spend, several hours just waiting around. Her husband had commissioned two and now her son wanted one of her along with his whole family. Of course, only a small handful of people knew of the one that hung in her widows quarters, she had taken it to prevent many from seeing it though her husband had been extremely pleased with it. She just found it ultimately embarassing, but men were often drawn to those sorts of things. Her kids would have been bug-eyed to see it at all.
And then of course there was the official one from just after her wedding, the first one. That one hung downstairs in the main hall and wasn't nearly so bad as far as they went, but now her son was having two done, one of the whole family and one with her alone and, this was important, he had told her he wanted it to capture her real personality not the official stances and looks. SO she had made him swear on his position he would not peek beforehand and so far he hadn't seen what she had bribed the painter to do.
He might be upset with her (and she thought the painter Mr Tresnak must have a crush on her because she appeared far too young to her eyes compared to what she saw in the mirrors these days and he was far too young himself) when he saw what she had managed. It showed none of the current styles of dress (and there were enough photogravures floating around of her many different appearances for the House for goodness sakes) and showed her as being quite tired of the whole business, but she thought it very accurate of her non-public persona. Still, she was tired of these sessions and looked irritated when she saw movement form the corner of her eye.
Damn that steward! He knew this would make this longer!
The man got right close before he stood there, clearing his throat after a minute until the painter came to a stopping place. Sighing, she looked at him and he came over saying "Madam has a visitor who would like a few minutes word," and he leaned over and whispered in her ear a name. Looking at the calling card he handed her, she frowned slightly. This was the man's studio after all, not her home; how did they know she was here to begin with? "Alright, send them in then and I'll grant a few minutes. I'd rather not sit still much longer anyway." Standing as the painter covered the canvas, she stepped to a nearby window, carefully shuttered to control the light and flung it open, enjoying the fresh air that came in with it.