Owner	Pose
Damian Wayne	The Salon was an oft unused room in Wayne Manor. Though thanks to the efforts of Alfred, was kept imaaculate. Off-center of the Salon was a Chaise Lounge, among other early century decor worthy of being shot for some TV show of the Victorian era.   Damian had laid clear tarp under his easel, and a pallete with freshly squeezed paints were served up on the wooden platter. A small table held the various brushes, knives, and instruments that a painter would need to create a wonderous piece of art. He'd stretched his canvas, and prepped it like he had been taught as a smaller child. "Strike a pose, please." He comments to his chosen live model. He'd asked her to choose any clothing she thought would suit a portrait. Even though he didn't seem like he was overly artistic, Carrie hadn't seen his sketchbook.   Talia had made sure that her progeny had the best of tutors, in every subject imaginable. From Mathematics and Sciences to Fine Arts and the cello. Which proved to forge Damian into a person much more advanced than his age would be. If one had in fact listed his academic achievments to record, he should have at least three masters degrees and one PhD.
Carrie Kelley	When first asked to be a live model Carrie had been hesitant. At least until Damian had mentioned clothing appropriate for a portrait. The 'models' she knew of that worked on campus generally were nude most of the time, after all, and for just a moment she had not been entirely sure what Damian was asking for. Outfits though? Oh, she had SO MANY of those. While her wardrobe might be a bit sparse on the side of 'fashionable outfits' or 'brand name' items, she had *costumes* galore. It was one of the reasons Bruce had given her the Regency bedroom -- It had two walk-in closets. Extra space for her rather large collection of attire from various plays over the years. "Profile, full face, or three-fourths? That seems to be a favorite among most of the art students at Gotham U at least," Carrie reasons even as she shifts the heavy skirts of her Gone with the Wind style dress so she stands slightly tilted to the side lifting her head up, and flicking the handfan she holds up to touch the top just against her chin as if she were trying to recall something or another. Hey, he didn't specify WHAT he wanted her to wear.
Damian Wayne	Damian had rolled his eyes once he saw what exactly Carrie had decided to wear for this sitting. But instead of admit defeat, he was going to roll with the punch.   "With that dress, three-fourths." He beckons, taking out his phone and taking a picture for reference.   He grabbed a large brush, five inches, and started to paint a simple background. "I see you have adjusted to life in Wayne Manor." The young man comments, the canvas rasping with the wide brush strokes. "I have not painted a portrait since I was ten. This will be the perfect practice for whomever wins the auction."
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley allows herself a little grin as she finds a point to stare at trying her best to not move. There was of course the subtle movements of breathing, and the occasional dip of her arm before she caught herself. Stubbornly she retains the pose though refusing to admit it might have been a difficult one to do for long. No doubt a good reason for the photo taken. "I don't know about adjusting, but it *is* nice to be able to see my costume collection without having to sift through Rubbermaid boxes to find them. Much better for the fabric, too. Some of the materials used for costumes aren't the highest quality and folding... It's just not good for it." A glance is cast back toward Damian, a single eybrow lifting. "To be honest I didn't know you painted to begin with."
Damian Wayne	Damian hadn't spoken much of his studies before Gotham. Other that he was trained very well and that he was a high League assassin. "Mother had insisted that the grandson of the Demon have the best." He comments, dipping the brush in odorless spirits. He started to work on the outline of Carrie
Carrie Kelley	"The Demon?" There's no mocking there, it's honest unfamiliarity with the term. Sure, she knew a bit about his family--But past what he'd told her? She hadn't investigated further. There were some things she would not have been able to know without him telling her, and that was one thing that seemed as if she ought to leave alone on the computer files that she'd had chance to browse. He had come to her apparently searching for some semblance of a 'normal' life. The very least she could do was ensure she didn't know every detail of *his* life that he didn't choose to share with her. "I don't know about that, but I know your grandmother was very much into the arts. It's entirely due to the scholarship that she set up that I was able to get into Gotham U under the theater department in the first place." There's a little flutter of her fan before she holds still again dutifully. "I'm glad to hear you had a chance to learn more than just martial things, though."
Damian Wayne	Damian kept an eye to his canvas, using the fine brush and painting a very fine line here and there. "My mother's surname. Ra's al Ghul translates from Arabic to English as The Demon's Head. Many in the League call him The Demon. We are worshipped as near godlike to the League. It's how Ra's keeps his legions under his command. Which means even more of a splinter group tries to assassinate the daughter of The Demon."   Another brush dipped in thinner and cleaned, placed back on the table methodically. Like a surgeon would his implements, Damian took to the canvas. "Every subject had its tutor. Usually a professor of world renown. When I could no longer learn, they were cast off. Into the ocean around Infinity Island. It wasn't until I was older that I had seen the bodies, weighed down and chained in the waters as I embarked on a mission did I realize just what happened to them."   "The Martha Wayne Endowment for the Arts. I'm familiar with it. In fact one piece of portraiture in the Salon was of Thomas and Martha, shortly after their marriage. "So, yes. I learned much more than just how to kill people. Military strategy, engineering, field medicine, art, the cello. Just a few subjects I was exposed to."
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley doesn't fidget at least while he explains his upbringing. It's only once the mention of the tutors being weighed down occurs that she snaps her head in his direction to stare wide-eyed. "... So they couldn't teach anyone else," she reasons with a little shiver at the thought. And here she was calling herself his teacher at times. Maybe she ought to aoid that. Resuming her prior pose she clears her throat a little bit. "Is there any of it that you like over others, though? A hobby?" Even after she asks she falls quiet a moment with a little faint grin. "It's strange hearing about this. I mean, you went through a lot, because your mother wanted you to be the best at everything. Mine paid me so little attention I just did what I wanted instead. Definitely different types of parenting to say the least."
Damian Wayne	Damian starts to mix colors, getting Carrie's skin tone as close to perfect as he can. "Correct. No loose ends. No way they can tell the tale of the eight year old that could synthesize compounds that they just learned how to make two months ago."   A delicate brush touches the canvas and the boy continues to create his work. Her question though gains an answer that perhaps she never thought of. His tone was genuine, not condescending or pointed in any way. "You don't see it. This" He gestures to himself and the room and what people see as Damian Wayne, the son of the Billionaire. "is the hobby." The boy who puts on a uniform and body armor and weapons and fights crime at night, that is the true Damian Wayne, Son of the Batman.   "It was all I knew. So there was no point of reference for me. Not many children grow up in the League. I was the only one."
Carrie Kelley	"I didn't want to presume," Carrie points out about the hobby with a soft hint of a smile teasing over her lips. The fan taps against her chin just a moment, a quick motion to help ease a cramp in her wrist. The small fidgets were always quick, and breif, when she had to. "I look forward to seeing this then. Of course I was curious anyway. The only painting I've ever really helped with is set painting." There were times though that other items were needed, such as portraits and landscapes, that went to far more talented people than herself. "You'd think they'd want to train others young as well. I've started much later and am so far off from knowing even a portion of what I feel like I ought to." Even as she says this, she tips her head toward him again. "I think you've turned out pretty good in spite of everything, Damian."