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Post by Coty Adelaide Cosette Hale on Jul 20, 2015 18:23:13 GMT -5
  Art wasn’t just Hale’s job or passion, it was her life. Having grown up the way she had, she’d learned to appreciate art a little more than most people. Of course, most children weren’t sitting at their uncle’s side at five, recreating centuries old masterpieces. And she’d been damn good at it even back then. She’d become as good as her uncle before she’d even hit double digits. She was really that good; even the cousins had trouble telling the real from her forgery on occasion. Hale wouldn’t deny it was a boost for the ego. They’d been trained from the moment they’d been born practically to tell forgeries from the real deal. Hale was the best though, she had an excellent natural eye for it that her uncle had and helped her hone. So it really had been the only option for her when the family business got a little too hot.
Like most of her family, the heat hadn’t actually stopped her; not exactly. She had still been pulling jobs but she’d been keeping her acquisition instead of finding a fence she liked well enough to sell them off. But her jobs were private homes, not public places. It was just her and for those bigger jobs, there needed to be a team. She didn’t want to get the band back together for a job or two only, especially when she could do it herself. By day, she might have been your everyday blend-into-the-crowd professor because that was how she wanted to be remembered but by night, she was a cat burglar. It would have been a pretty damn funny story to tell if she could ever tell it. She’d tried that once and it didn’t exactly work in her favour. JP really hated her so completely. She wasn’t sure they could ever come back from it. Her stormy thoughts were actually the reason she was in the art room at that exact moment. Hale would go crazy if she couldn’t get her emotions out on canvas. Keeping things bottled up was killing her and her uncle’s and father were no help at all; even the aunts just shook their head at Hale’s situation.
They all seemed to forget that they all weren’t born into the family, that some of them had actually married into the life. Oh, they might have settled in well enough but they still weren’t blood in the same sense. But Hale had never minded that. It took all kids, right? She’d just been one of the lucky ones, born into the family, into the life that she had. It had been in her blood. She’d been pulling cons long before she could even remember helping out with them. She had been the perfect distraction on more than a dozen when she’d been small. And Coty Hale had loved every single second of it. But she also wanted JP in her life. She couldn’t choose and she really didn’t want to. If the family ever gave her an ultimatum, she would pick them, every single time, but if she didn’t have to, she wouldn’t. With a sigh, Hale pulled back from the canvas on the easel in front of her to look at the piece she’d just created. If it wouldn’t have been so high profile, she would have become a professional artist. She had been completely wrapped in her work, but with her upbringing, she always knew when someone entered the room and she knew she wasn’t alone but whoever had joined her hadn’t said a word yet and Hale wasn’t going to be the first to talk. She could be stubborn that way.
Tag || @satchel
Words || 679
Clothes || Curiously Chaotic
Music || Dirt Road Communion --Chase Rice
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Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2015 21:42:16 GMT -5
It was almost Luka's mother's birthday, and she had always wanted a painting from Satchel. Ever since Satchel had been a young girl, Luka's mother had admired her artistic abilities. She always said that Satchel would make it as an artist one day, just like her parents had. Of course, Luka had always been proud of her abilities, too, but he had always had a thing for the tall brunette. And she felt blessed that he had. Luka was an attractive guy with an amazing personality. He as sweet and kind. He would do anything for anyone. Sometimes he had a bit of a temper, but that was only when he was protecting someone. He liked sports, and most importantly, he liked Satchel. She had always thought that was strange. How he, Luka, could like her, Satchel. She had always been teased while growing up. She had always been taller than the other girls. She always had the duller hair or developed physically the latest. There was always something for the others to tease her about. Yet, Luka saw past that. He made Satchel feel like she was the most beautiful girl in the world. It was something Satchel never thought she would find.
Sadly, she had lost Luka. When she decided to move to New York, he decided to stay in California with his mother. She understood where he was coming from, and there were no hard feelings between them. But she still loved and admired him with all of her being. And she adored his mother, too. She was kind and strong. She did things for others all the time, just like Luka did. She even married a man so his parents wouldn't find out that he was homosexual. So, for her birthday this year, Satchel had decided she was going to paint her a picture of Brazil. It wasn't going to be the continent of South America or anything like that. It was going to be a collage in painting form. It was going to be of the instruments, animals, people, and all of the things that made Brazil, Brazil.
She made her way to one of the art studios that the school had, carrying a large canvas with her. She didn't look up until she saw that the light was on in the room she had planned on using. She stood in the doorway, looking at one of her professors who happened to be painting there, too. She watched the brush strokes for a moment, admiring the work of the woman. A smile came to her face as she placed the canvas on an easel next to her teacher's, pulling a stool up in front of it.
"I knew you were talented, but I didn't know you were that talented."
She complimented. Satchel's voice was unique. She had grown up in many different countries, and each time she grew accustomed to a new speech sound, they ended up moving across the world. So, her voice had picked up all of the different accents and combined them to make a giant, unique one. That was another thing the kids teased Satchel about in middle school. She loved her voice, though. She loved the fact that no one else besides her siblings had the same accent she did. She loved that people complimented her on how unique her voice was. She loved being the unique person she was, and her accent just made her even more unique. While she was in middle school, she had been bullied and hated every moment of it. She remembered telling her mom just what she wanted to change about herself and how she wanted to change it. But something changed when Satchel grew older. She realized that she didn't want to change those things about herself anymore. She realized that she loved the way she was, and that was something she was extremely grateful for.
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Post by Coty Adelaide Cosette Hale on Aug 15, 2015 15:34:22 GMT -5
For Hale, her own art was her escape from reality, from the world, from her personal problems. When she had a paintbrush in her hand and she was creating an original piece, she completely zoned out, left the world behind until something pulled her from it. She preferred mixing her own paints when it was her own work instead on using what was packaged for her like her students. But she didn’t keep things like that at the school, in her classroom or office. Those paints because they were expensive and she knew what kids were like, were left in her home studio, away from wandering hands and eyes. Of course, she didn’t enjoy painting in the classroom either but Graham had asked her for a piece of art that looked old and expensive for a production. And Hale had mastered how to make pictures cross time before she’d turned double digits. Her works, her original works could be up there with the likes of Claude Monet, Leonardo da Vinci or Vincent Van Gogh, if they were ever allowed to see the light of day in a gallery. It would never happen but Hale was actually quite okay with this.
She didn’t want her work scrutinized that closely. If it ever was, the potential for disaster would be of epic proportions. Or because the painters, the sculptures and the like that she’d recreated throughout her life wouldn’t even be brought up because they were hundreds of years old in some cases while Hale had only been around for nearly three decades. Still, it wasn’t a situation Hale wanted to find herself in. She was a conman after all, and the whole point of her part in any job was to blend in, not stand out and be the main attraction. That was usually her cousin, Candice. She was the girly one of the pair, though Hale had been known to wear a short skirt and high heels. Some times the best way to blend in was to stand out but she really hated those jobs.
But jobs were jobs and Hale was like the rest of her family; she got a rush from the job. And like the rest of her family, she hadn’t wanted to hide away but she had needed to for a time and things, at least for Hale, escalated until she was a professor at a school with not one but two doctorates taking up the space behind her name and on her office walls. Of course, to search up her name would deliver absolutely nothing of use, not even a reliable photograph. She was an excellent thief and the best kinds were the ones with no reputations. Hale, like most of the Hale’s was a ghost unless she wanted it to be otherwise. Her smile barely lifted the corner of her mouth as the girl who’d entered the classroom spoke. She recognised the voice immediately of course but often the best way to go about something was letting the mark think they were in the lead. Hale had been trained to think that way, even if it were a completely innocent situation like this. “Merci.” She said, dropping her paint covered brush into the water she’d had standing by.
Tag || @satchel
Words || 568
Clothes || Curiously Chaotic
Music || Dirt Road Communion --Chase Rice
Notes || <3 |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 18, 2015 15:47:43 GMT -5
She knew that she couldn't buy a house in the future. She knew that she would always be living in apartments or on people's floors. She knew that she would have a cultured life, though. Satchel knew that she didn't need stability in her life to make her happy. She didn't need to settle down and have a nine-to-five job in one city for the rest of her life. No, what would make her happy would be living with a tribe for a year and then moving to another place for another year. Every year she thought needed a new place to live. It was something that made her happy to think about.
"What exactly are you painting, Ms. Hale?"
She asked the young teacher. Something that Satchel loved about this school was that the teachers were younger; they were able to connect easier with their students than if her professors had been ancient. Satchel was only twenty-two, but she thought Ms. Hale was only a few years older than her. Maybe five. She wasn't exactly sure, to be honest. But Hale looked young. Which made her feel more at ease with this teacher. She felt that Hale knew more about modern art than the other professors would know. It also made her feel as if she would get a better education on what she wanted to learn about.
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Post by Coty Adelaide Cosette Hale on Sept 22, 2015 13:00:07 GMT -5
Hale was a little bit sad to know things in New York would be ending sooner rather than later. It was disappointing to think she could have a real, normal life but what did she really expect. She was a Hale. Hale’s weren’t normal people; they were con men, thieves and criminals. They were a family with a rich heritage full of generations and generations of criminals. Not a single one of them had ever actually made a real life of being innocent. They all had their skeletons, they all had their priceless pieces hidden away. It had been a dream, one that had served it’s purpose for Hale now. She’d lived the life that she had wanted and now that JP didn’t want her, or the life she really lived, there was only one real thing for her to do; finish out the year and disappear. It would take that long to move the things from her apartment, though she would be keeping that. It was always better to have a residence to work from than hotel rooms. But it wouldn’t be safe to keep anything real in there. The replicas could stay of course, because they were fakes created by her hands but the rest needed to go.
And then the day she said her farewells, she would have her cousin hack into everything and change everything that had her name on it. She would be losing herself; sort of. At least, the people of NYU would believe she was someone else entirely. And because people’s memories are far more fickle than they ever want to believe, people will start to think the woman on the school’s website was really the one who taught them everything they knew of art. And Hale could walk away without a trace and after hiding away from New York for a couple years, no one would even remember her at all. It was a depressing thought but she’d grown up knowing better than to ever get attached to people, places or even things. There weren’t actually that many things they still had that they’d stolen over the years. They kept quite a bit sure, but the rest they fenced for a pretty penny, which ultimately kept them going.
Hale sighed softly, the only outward sign she was annoyed. She’d told the students in the classes she taught that it was just Hale. There was no Ms or Mrs, no Miss. It was simply Hale. She hated formality and had only ever used it when she was in the middle of a con. “It’s just a view from a window.” She said vaguely. She couldn’t admit to anything about it. She wasn’t supposed to have even been in the city in question but as she had admitted only to herself, she hadn’t been able to stay away from the life. And she’d gone on to this particular city and did a one woman job that had been easier than she’d expected thanks to an electrical storm knocking out the power.
Tag || @satchel
Words || 545
Clothes || Curiously Chaotic
Music || Dirt Road Communion --Chase Rice
Notes || <3 |
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