Me And Gravity • •

[micah andrew espeseth]

Micah had been to many celebrations after his restorations had been completed. Mostly they were in art galleries where everyone ate expensive canapes and drank champagne that cost more money than sense. He was an unknown artist – a shaggy man who didn’t belong. He wasn’t one for fancy events, preferring to be covered in paint and alone working on his latest project. Breathing life into some forgotten piece was where he belonged, but even hermits needed to leave behind the turpentine and remember what other people looked and sounded like. Besides, after spending so long tending to a piece of artwork, it felt only right to see it hanging back where it belonged; one last chance to say goodbye. It might sound ridiculous to anyone else, but it was like a vet with the animals they tended to. Micah worked so incredibly hard to perfect the minute details on each piece, that he came to know all the secrets about it. He knew where the hidden mistakes were, the slips of the brush strokes, where a thumb print might be pressed on the canvas. He cared for them enough to restore them to how they were meant to be when carelessness and mistreatment had led to their neglect and damage.

This was a little different tonight. It wasn’t a formal gathering like the galleries and museums put on. There was an opportunity for loud, raucous laughter and people drank whatever the hell they wanted from the theatre bar. Nibbles were chips, nuts, and anything pinched from the unopen buffet line. The atmosphere might have been a hell of a lot more relaxed, but Micah still felt like the odd one out. Everyone here knew each other, worked together. While they bonded, joked and got on with the daily grind, Micah had been high above them. He was nested in his scaffolding, far from social interaction, working on that mural that required so much of his concentration that he often missed lunch. He rarely spoke to anyone, and in all honesty, he wasn’t sure how many people knew he was even around when they passed under the metal jungle gym he used to reach his work.

He held back in the corner, a plastic bottle of a barely cold beer in his hand. A part of him hated that certain venues served the best drinks in flimsy bottles, but he understood their reasoning. He still hated it. His other hand was awkwardly shoved into the tight pocket of his jeans. He felt out of place again, but this time because he was the outsider looking in on groups of friends and work colleagues celebrating their own place of work. Some fancier dressed people circled round the edge reminding Micah of chaperones at a high school dance, but they had very little to say unless they bumped into each other. People watching was no his specialty; at least not without a sketchpad, and that was something Micah hadn’t done since college. Work kept him busy these days, and his hobbies outside of that really were things he did on his own. If there was ever a time when Micah was a ‘people-person’ he had lost that now.

• • •

TAGGED! Hadley Bronwyn Hastings
WORDS! 535!
OUTFIT! Awesome Artist!
LYRICS! Angel - - - Matt Nathanson
NOTES!

[Hadley Bronwyn Hastings]

Hadley's job was never really done. There were always costumes to whip up, something to fix or remake to fit someone else entirely because of a last minute scheduling conflict. Not even the higher ups of the theatre quite knew what Hadley had to go through, though they asked so much and expected it to be done ahead of time. Hadley was the closest thing to a miracle worker that she could ever be but even she had trouble meeting these outrageous deadlines. Which was why she was more often than not always working. If she wasn't cutting something out, she was measuring it again and again before she made the cuts or started actually sewing the garments together. She might have been able to get an entire Renaissance dress together in half a day but the truth was that those were easy dresses to throw together as long as the measurements were correct.

The idea that once the show started, she was finished was a joke. There was always someone in the cast who couldn't figure out how to put their clothes on without ripping through them. Hadley had long since learned she needed to have back ups for her back ups if she wanted to make it through an entire run of a show without needing to fix something; and even then, it didn't always work. She was constantly buying way more fabric and materials than she really needed just so she had extras in case something happened. It made her job easier, that much was absolutely true. Still, Hadley loved what she did for a living and if she weren't at that particular theatre, she would be at another, making a good name for herself. She hadn't started out, thinking her name would become well known but already she had a bit of a reputation. It was a good thing, especially in an industry as fickle and as long lasting as theatre.

Cheshire stopped in before heading to the celebration, bringing Hadley out of her little bubble. She knew about the party of course but because a new actor had come into the latest show extremely late, she had to work over time to get all the costumes for her ready. The one she was currently working on was nearly completed so she was going to finish it off and toss it on a mannequin to settle before looking it over again in the morning. It was a gold flapper dress, stunning if she did say so herself, and she did. Hair a mess, glasses stuck somewhere up in it, Hadley clapped her hands together, turned and walked out of the room without bothering too look at herself in the mirror. She knew there was gold glitter everywhere, she could see it on her eyelashes but she really didn't care. It was a party and everyone that was going to be there was used to Hadley being covered in glittered and sequins and little pieces of thread. Moving quickly over to the bar, she grabbed herself a celebratory drink and turned to scan the crowd. Cheshire was laughing with one of the lighting techs, Hadley didn't want to know. Then she turned a little further and saw the man of the hour hiding away. "Congratulations. Impressive work you've done." She said before taking a sip of the drink in her hand.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tag || micah andrew espeseth
Words || 564
Clothes || Glamorous Gal
Music || Written in the Sand --Old Dominion
Notes || <3

[micah andrew espeseth]

Micah’s next job was keeping him in New York. A private gallery had some priceless pieces that had been damaged in a freak flood. They were ashamed at their lack of protection for the art, and Micah could understand that. He had almost fainted himself when he heard the story before he signed onto the job. Normally strong rooms were protected from everything. The whole purpose of them was to be fool proof. They were the last place to be damaged in any situation, but this one event made it look like the door had been nothing more than papier-mâché, with flimsy cardboard walls. It was going to be a long job restoring the work, but not something Micah would consider difficult. He had done this sort of thing countless times before. Exposure to the elements was – unfortunately – one of the biggest reasons why he was kept in a job. Storage spaces were often prone to things like damp and leaks, especially when they were in older buildings and checked infrequently by the proper team who knew exactly what they were looking for.

Alas, all Micah could do was offer them advice after he had finished a restoration. He doubted that many of them took it. Restoration was costly, but having the proper safety measures in place seemed to be costlier, and nowhere appeared to have the money to part with. It was all tied up in the pockets of board members or investments, or other complicated matters Micah had no desire to understand. It pained him to see art ruined by things that weren’t just age and time herself. He didn’t always blame the people he met though. He knew some were just trying to do their best after inheriting chaos. Micah had seen that far too many times, and watched silently as they were given nothing but grief as they tried to piece together something that had shattered long before they walked into the room. It made him thankful he only had to rely on himself for his business. He handled everything from the accounts to booking the work, to arranging where he would stay for the duration of the assignment. He had always thought it was easier that way and whenever it seemed like he was beginning to doubt that, he always found himself witness to someone else being pulled at from every angle. It was a swift reminder as to why he was a one man show.

His thumb kept pushing the against the bottle in his hand, making the plastic pop in and out with a noise that would echo in any quieter venue. However, the theatre was loud and wild, far more livelier than many of the places he usually found himself when his work was done, and his tools tidied away in his belt in the back of his van. Many laughed at his idea of a tool belt when it was full of brushes and pots of potions, as he called them, but Micah preferred knowing that everything had a place and he didn’t have to scrounge for things. Still, without it on he felt as though he was missing something; almost as though he had left his apartment without his keys or phone. “At least you can see it exists now.” Was all Micah said, looking up at his finished work. Pieces like this one looked pretty at first, but no one considered the passage of time, the industrialisation and grime that would eventually come to rest over it and mar what once was. Micah realised he ought to be thankful for it, or else he wouldn’t have a career.

• • •

TAGGED! Hadley Bronwyn Hastings
WORDS! 611!
OUTFIT! Awesome Artist!
LYRICS! Angel - - - Matt Nathanson
NOTES!