October 7th, 1891 — Sanditon Resort after the storm

((This is for the writing challenge so please only take it if you can help me finish it this month :D))


Between finding a spot with good light, hauling out the easel, and arranging her supplies it had taken Louisa the better part of an hour to get set up.  Eager to get to work, she fixed the unframed canvas to her easel, perched on the stool she'd brought for herself, and set about refreshing her palette with fresh paints. 

By the looks of it, she had her work cut out for her.  The storm had taken its toll on nearly everything at the resort and the art was no exception.  For this particular project she'd already addressed the water  and structural damage caused by the storm but now it was time to fill in where paint had been lost.  With quick, deft movements she began mixing half a dozen colors, adjusting the warmth and hue as she went until she was satisfied she'd color.

Finally ready, she raised the fine-tipped paintbrush to the canvas and looked the painted Viking square in the eyes as if to gauge how he would act.  "Now don’t move…" she muttered as she dotted her brush over the areas of loss, careful not to paint over any of the original work.  She had a few moments of productive peace before -

"Oh, for heavens - No, just hold still!" She pulled back from the canvas as the portrait spouted a stream of Old Norse at her.  Each time she raised her brush brought out a fresh protest.  "The sooner you let me get on with it, the sooner I'll be done." she chided, leaning back in with posture that would make an etiquette teacher faint.

  

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"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!

They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"

Walking through the Sanditon Inn had been...rather a surprise. Irene had heard that the property had been quite decimated, but the extent to which it was had her staring wide-eyed as she made her way down the path. And to think the scene had been absolute chaos when now, it was hard to even imagine a brisque breeze blowing through. The artist bit her lip, wondering just how much damage had been done to the inside and what kind of restoration was waiting for her.

She got her answer rather soon as she heard the unmistakable ringing voice of her co-worker echo to the left of the path she had been walking down. Irene changed direction and followed the sounds of a foreign language being spoken and Louisa's subsequent response.

"Louisa?" Irene called, frowning as she approached the easel her co-worker had set up. Ah. She should have known it was a fight with a painting. "I recognized your dulcet tones," She said jokingly, though eyed the painting and its subject with suspicion. "Having some difficulty?"

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Louisa gave a light shrug, still holding the paintbrush aloft..  It was the same old story, one she was sure Miss Crawley was equally familiar with.

"I don't suppose you speak..." she trailed off to squint at the portrait. "... old norse?"  Of course, reasoning with a portrait didnt always work but she couldn't try if the subject had no hope of understanding her.

"We've got our work cut out for us, eh?"  She shook her head at the viking who was looking increasingly dispondent now that it appeared Louisa had backup.  "I've got one that needs a new stretcher, two more with paint loss  still drying out, and one what had a tree branch go clean through it."

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"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!

They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"

Irene pressed her lips together in a frown as she took the strap of her bag to hoist it off her shoulder. Setting it on the ground, she began riffling through it in search of her wand. “I’m afraid I don’t, though I should like to after this.” she replied, finally locating her wand and starting to wave it in patterns to coax her supplies out. They immediately obeyed as soldiers would, marching into formation for the millionth time, and Irene‘s station was soon set up next to Louisa’s.

“Merlin, the damage this storm caused.” She lamented, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes as she looked around again “I can help with the tree branch.” Irene winced as she said it, knowing they had a rather long afternoon ahead of them.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Spotting an opportunity from the corner of her eye she swooped in while the Viking was distracted and dotted some fresh paint to fill a spot missing from his nose.  This brought forth a fresh torrent from the portrait and though she didn't speak the language it was pretty clear to her that there was some profanity involved. 

"Do not make me hex you." she directed to the painting with a Look.  He rubbed at his nose with absolutely no impact on the paint she'd just added, but was otherwise stilled for the moment.  She returned to the palette to add a touch more red to the mix on her brush.

"I've got it being pressed flat at the moment," this time talking to her cohort who was setting up a work space near by "The canvas was so brittle the edges have pulled away."

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"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!

They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"

"She will do it, you know," Irene piped up cheerfully as she picked up her skirt to step over a pile of debris to reach the impaled painting. "I've seen her hex one of you so that your eyes remain permanently crossed. You don't want your gaze to personify your personality, do you?" She added cheekily with a giggle at her own wordplay before bending down to examine the painting.

Brown eyes skirted over the edges as she assessed the damage. Louisa wasn't kidding - though Irene hardly thought she would have - the edges of the paintings were considerably detached from the canvas. It would take some extensive amount of work to see it properly repaired. Irene frowned as she took in the image. It was rather extensive, though quite beautiful; a large group of people gathered together outdoor for a party under the shade in the summer sun. Other than some of them looking rather disheveled from being tossed around in the storm, the painting would be salvageable; it would just take quite a while. "Well, best get on with it, then." She murmured to herself, standing up and taking her wand out to flip the painting over and work on the tear at the back.

"How long have you been here then?" Irene inquired conversationally, summoning more supplies to her and setting to work

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Louisa nodded emphatically, eyebrows raised at the surly portrait as if to impress upon him she would do precisely what Irene was outlining.  She couldn’t recall actually making a portrait cross eyed on purpose but it made for a solid threat.  Even though there was a very strong likelihood that he could understand them as little as they could him. 

With a mental shrug she shifted to filling in a bit of the back drop, leaving his splotchy nose for the time being. 

"Here with this one?  Not long.  I'm starting to think he's never been restored." she said with a nod to the painting.  "He didn’t mind the cleaning nearly as much.  But I got here last night and I spent most of the morning just assessing things - I'm sure there's more that'll need seeing to."

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"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!

They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"

Irene glanced up, her arm pausing in midair as she worked to peer over at the painting again. The disgruntled Viking drew more attention than the frayed edges of the painting but the longer she surveyed the canvas, it became clearer that the man was in need of some attention. "Hmmm," She muttered, nodding. "I see what you mean - and of course the hurricane didn't do him any favors either, poor chap."

With a flick of her wand, the supplies continued on their merry way, depositing brushes here and paint there. A few swabs and bottles of potion perched next to the easel. She didn't doubt there was a great deal more to be done than the two of them likely could make their way through. It would take multiple trips, but then again, Irene had a feeling she and Louisa wouldn't be the only specialists visiting the Resort to restore it in the next few weeks.

At the thought of those at the Resort, Irene's gaze darted back up to Louisa. "Have you heard from Bram?" she asked, concern laced into her tone as a stool shuffled behind her so she could sit down.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Louisa shook her head, hunched close to the canvas once more.  The Viking stuck to the left side of the frame while she saw to a large patch of missing paint to the right.  Fixing backgrounds wasn't fun work but at least she was making decent progress now. 

"Well sent him an owl."  she corrected herself, not looking up from the infuriating swirl of green that was the background she was supposed to be blending.  "He wasn't hurt but his home was hit pretty bad."  She'd thought check in on him when she'd arrived at the resort but thought better of it.  A visit was a bit more than a cordial letter and she didn't want to force that on anyone. 

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As she worked, she listened to Louisa and the mild alarm that had worked its way into her mind subsided, though the worry for her friend remained. Her nose wrinkled at the reminder that she'd meant to check in on him before heading this way. Sometimes the prospect of getting so wrapped up in ones work sent other thoughts completely from her mind. Irene made a mental note to take a break in the next few minutes to head over to his residence.

As she settled in, she threw a few other comments in Louisa's direction, falling into the habit that they normally did when working on-site together. Each chatting occasionally to their subjects - "Budge along there," Irene said, prodding the canvas with the opposite end of the paintbrush before she set on mixing more potions - but eventually they fell into a comfortable silence with only the sea breeze as their soundtrack of the afternoon.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders