stitched up {lawrence!}

[joselyn claire allaway]

outfit

Joselyn hated stairs. It was fairly easy, of course, to hate stairs when your main footwear tended to have four inch heels the size of toothpicks, so it should probably have come as no surprise that stairs made Joss cranky. She could have, of course, not worn stilettos when she knew she would be climbing stairs, but they were Jimmy Choo, so that logic was really quite absurd. And really, even if they had been perhaps Chanel or D&G instead of Jimmy Choo, she probably wouldn't have foregone them anyway. Just because school had decided that she needed to climb stairs so goddamn frequently didn't mean that she had to look frumpy doing it.

And besides, Joss was very-nearly-always graceful. Usually. Most of the time. Any time she tripped was, really, not her fault anyway. It wasn't as if she didn't have perfect posture on those unnaturally long and shapely legs of hers, after all, so obviously it was her surrounding's fault when things went awry and she found herself stumbling more than was strictly ladylike. She would never, on such occasions, think to blame something as perfectly innocent as her Jimmy Choo stilettos since, without them, she would not walk as wonderfully as she did usually.

Although, there were occasions on which she could blame those damn Jimmy Choo stilettos; like the occasions on which her right heel snapped clean in half as she was climbing the stairs. Like today. Fan-fucking-tastic.

She, of course, was not expecting this sudden blemish in her journey up the stairs and so, when she was suddenly supported by two less inches of shoe, she gasped sharply and flew forward, head first. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to grab onto the railing, which jarred her arm painfully, but kept her from faceplanting into a Jocelyn pancake. Which, really, would have been the coup de grace of the whole event. When she felt steady enough, she twisted herself to sit on the step and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Why does my life suck so much?" she murmured softly to herself. She'd have rolled her eyes, but as they were closed, couldn't complete the gesture. Instead, she merely sat there and prayed that no one had been on the stairs. She hadn't bothered to pay attention before and she was sort of regretting that decision.

[lawrence josef grimani]

Pottery day in Lawrence’s class always proved to be exciting. Today, in fact, a first year student had set one of the electric pottery wheels on its highest speed and had then taken her foot off of the pedal when all of the clay began to sling off in slices of wet mud across the room. Lawrence hadn’t been angry that his shirt had a four inch wide glob of clay across it, he had simply taken it off and replaced it with a soft black t-shirt he had in his office. Lawrence hadn’t been mad that all of the girls in his classroom had to attend their next class with clay in their hair, actually, in a way he found it amusing even though many of them were less than amused. Lawrence had only gotten angry when he noticed the amount of muddy light brown water smeared across his wooden floors when the students stampeded out of the room to their next block of classes. For some reason, the teacher had a thing about keeping his floors clean even when the activities his students practiced in the room were the ones most likely to make them dirty.

Lawrence grumbled under his breath as he walked up the stairs, carrying a bucket of water in one hand and a load of towels over one shoulder. His classroom was so large that it had to have been placed on the top floor of the building, and unluckily enough for him, there seemed to be no elevators functional here today. The water sloshed over both sides of the bucket at his side despite all of his efforts to keep it contained and behind him, it trickled in a long trail against the stone steps a few hallways he had cut through. The small sink in his room hadn’t had enough power in it to quickly fill a mop bucket, giving Lawrence the brilliant idea to walk all the way down the stairs and fill it with a water hose the gardeners used to keep the lawn green. He hadn’t expected the climb back up with a five gallon bucket in hand would be so hard. As he rounded a corner between two flights of stairs, he noticed a scuffle on the stairs above him. Lawrence hadn’t noticed the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps until he heard the snap of a shoe heel. He almost laughed at the comical situation he encountered, but kept himself reserved. No one wanted to be laughed at for stumbling up a flight of stairs. In addition to that, he was in no shape to be laughing at anyone because being a man who was winded after walking up so few flights of stairs with a heavy bucket was no laughing matter.

The teacher was afraid that he would have to catch the young woman teetering and tottering so precariously in the middle of the next flight of stairs. His mind began to race, trying to figure out how he would drop the bucket and hold out his hero-like arms to catch her. Luckily, his subconscious fear was put to ease as she steadied herself, then flipped around to sit on the very stair that had unsteadied her. Some perverse notion in the back of his mind slyly regretted that she had accomplished the feat so ladylike in such a short skirt. Lawrence was almost appalled at himself for a moment, mostly because he considered himself a champion of women, one who respected them infinitely and would never be like his father. He preferred to treat women like princesses and adored all of their various habits, even down to the way they brushed their hair or smelled like perfume even when they wore none. Then again, nice guys always tended to finish last, didn’t they? That would be the reason why he had never found a girl who truly convinced him that he was in love with her, always determining that he and his lovers would be better off as friends.

Lawrence’s high cheekbones held a soft blush, mostly from his sneaky thoughts, but one would imagine it was from the overexertion caused by hefting a bucket up stairs. Setting down the bucket as gently as possible, he felt a moment of dismay as it sloshed over the sides, defying him even further. The man shook his head slightly, tousled strands of hair sliding back and forth against his shoulders. Many had told him that he should cut his hair more often, but it made him feel bald when he did so. Life just didn’t seem right when his tresses didn’t blow in the wind but instead, the wind blew through them soundlessly. He trotted up the stairs between him and the woman, only to hear her say a few angry words. Looking at her, it didn’t seem as if her life sucked too much, but only just this morning. What did a beautiful young female professor at have to worry about, other than grading papers and assigning assignments?

Lawrence immediately misinterpreted the situation by assuming that the stunning woman was a teacher rather than a student. It could have been the fact that the halls were empty, most of the students already having rushed to the rooms before the second bell rang, announcing their late arrivals. Or, it could have been that the woman had an air about her that announced maturity and refinement that he didn’t often see in college students. Most often, his special little students were lucky to be wearing pajamas or the occasional robe. Whatever it was that threw him off, Lawrence had always had problems guessing things about women, such as their age or position in the world. The brunette before him, he guessed, was on his level, rather than just a student.

Settling himself down next to her on the step, knowing that no other students would need to wedge their way between them, he spoke right as the second bell rang, his words almost drowned out. “I suppose your life must suck so much because it’s your first day teaching and you’ve got a classroom full of kids who think you’re late. I’m Lawrence Grimani, I do.. Art.” Lawrence gestured down to his light colored blue jeans, now encrusted with half-dry clay. “Let me guess, you’re the lovely new Spanish professor I’ve heard everyone talking about so much?” Lawrence hadn’t heard that there would be a new Spanish professor per say, he had just heard rumors that they would be getting new staff due to a few retirements during the last session. By looking at the well dressed woman, somewhere in his mind, he had decided that she had an exotic look to her and that must be what she was doing at MMU. Lawrence Grimani, with his own exotic accent and sweet little dimples tended to always get things wrong when ladies were in a room and though he was awkward, most girls tended not to care. The art teacher simply smiled toward who he thought was the newest professor at the university and waited for her response innocently.

[joselyn claire allaway]

Joss may not have always been particularly observant, but even she could not ignore the clanking sounds of something heavy being set down coupled with the sloshing of water. Managing not to groan, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying to whatever god there may or may not have been that a janitor was not about to come sit down and see what was wrong. Not that she was all too discriminatory against those less fortunate than she [AKA everyone], but a janitor would just really have been far too much. Cleaning people coming to comfort her? That would have just been the cherry on top.

It didn’t occur to her for at least thirty seconds that a janitor might, perchance, be the very person she should have been looking to to fix her shoe and the sort of person who might carry superglue around, but when it finally did, she opened her eyes and chanced a look. And what she saw was definitely not a janitor. It was a fine piece of man, that’s what it was. And, by the looks of things, he was a teacher. Which was, of course, good and bad. It was good because it meant that he probably wasn’t going to skeeze on over, since Joss was fairly certain that numerous people would go for the skeezing technique. But it was bad, of course, because she recognized him as being a professor. Not that Joss was all that picky about who she flirted with, but she did have standards, after all.

She watched him walk over out of the corner of her eye, unconcerned with the way her face naturally moved into innocent-damsel face the closer he got. She couldn’t help it—flirting was almost a defense mechanism and this sitting next to her was obviously an invitation for her to do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t invade her personal space any more than she wanted him to [though, she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d mind some personal space invasion].

When he started talking, however, her innocent-damsel face curved into a smirk, one eyebrow lifting. A teacher, eh? She supposed she could see where he was coming from; she was one of the oldest in the school anyway and her fortune enabled her to dress…well…older [and better]. But that didn’t make it any particularly less amusing, especially since Joselyn wasn’t entirely certain that she had ever willingly imparted knowledge on a person before. Sure, she was a good student, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.

“Spanish?” she repeated, glossing over his teacher remark as if it hadn’t been there in the first place. She shifted so that her knees were facing him rather than the wall, her broken heel resting dejectedly on the stair. “I don’t speak a word, Lawrence Grimandi.” Her voice was soft, but there was no question of whether or not he heard it. She just had one of those voices, the kind of voice that girls wished they had every time they accidentally squeaked talking to their crush. “French, however, is a different story.” She slowly offered her hand to him, more as if she were expecting him to kneel and kiss it than shake it. “And it’s Joselyn. So nice to meet you.”

Yeah, standards. That’s what those were. Standards.

[lawrence josef grimani]

It was an age-old game, the coy eyes, her soft hand in his. Lawrence adored women, far more than he should have. He immediately felt a stirring in his soul when her voice purred his name, a softening of the walls he had built up to prevent people from barging in. There was something simple about the grace of a woman that made him feel at ease. At the same time though, there was something about her manicured beauty that made me feel lonely, made him regret starting a family and having someone to keep his sheets warm at night. This same thing always happened when he spoke to a woman his own age, a simultaneous release of regret and unpreventable interest. He couldn’t help it, after all, he was male. Except instead of viewing most women naked and in his bed immediately, he first imagined them as permanent fixtures in his life. He was gullible to say the least and always assumed that everyone wanted from life exactly what he wanted from life. That was what had happened to the women he had loved before. Lawrence had always heard people say that men were the ones that were hard to nail down into commitment, but somehow, his life was reversed. It wasn’t him who wasn’t ready to settle down, but rather the lovely women he met and enjoyed… spending time with. Perhaps he always started relationships wrong by immediately jumping to… that conclusion that had broken him not too long ago.


He smiled as she mentioned her French speaking abilities and couldn’t admit that he remembered half of what he had been talk while growing up. Rather than looking silly, he didn’t prattle off any chains of well enunciated words in French and instead remained quiet until she introduced herself.


Lawrence smiled at the way she had placed her hand in his, much like a duchess or princess would have done. Going by that standard, he ducked his head and placed a light, playful kiss on her knuckles before releasing her hand back to her. Though he often started off awkward and a bit out of the norm, Lawrence was an expert at how women wanted to be treated, at least he thought so. He was an excellent flirt but missed the initiative to ask a girl out on a date instantaneously, often missing out on the opportunities that came his way. He had found himself in the position often where ladies found him attractive and generally had a wanton fling with the “dangerous” artist, only to find out that he was simply a pussy cat. It was usually a disappointment for both parties, especially when Lawrence's past crept into his mind.


Joselyn. It was a lovely name, said with a lovely ring. He was quite taken aback at her sophistication and somehow, it reminded him of the Italian super models his friends had often dated back home. She didn’t have the vapid mindset of those ladies though and from the way she spoke, he wasn’t assuming she was intent upon climbing the social ladder. After all, who would try to do such a thing at a small school like Meringue Mountain. This place was more like a sanctuary for kids who didn’t belong elsewhere as compared to a resort for rich little snots, though it had its fair share of them as well.

He melted into the ancient warm glow that men always felt around gorgeous women as he sat there, quite enchanted with her as a whole. When she had finished introducing herself, his voice deep with just a bit of a rumble he murmured that it was certainly his pleasure in meeting her, in more eloquent terms. He scooted a few inches away from her, his mind suddenly remembering the bucket he had set at the bottom of that flight of stairs. If he was to cause anyone to fall into it and go careening back down the stairs, he was certain that he would never hear the end of it from the school nurse. There were certain clauses about keeping the university a safe place for students, but for the moment, Lawrence was content with the fact that the hallways were empty and no one would be stepping into his bucket of sloshy water.

Lawrence turned his attention back to the younger teacher, rubbing his hands across the crisp denim of his jeans, knocking flakes of dry clay onto the ground. “So how long have you been here Joselyn? Did you just arrive today? I thought that we already had someone teaching French and French history… Hmm.. She must have gone off on a whim.” Lawrence winked after he finished his little bout of questioning, a habit he had picked up when he was going to his alma mater in Rome and had never quite gotten rid of. It wasn’t a creepy type of wink, just a small crinkle that was almost as charming as Lawrence himself was. “I’m sure that this institute is honored to have a foreign language teacher such as yourself here now in her place. Where did you study for your undergraduate degree?” He was blabbering, he would admit quite shamelessly. But, it was all that he could do to prevent himself from looking at her as if he was a man and she was a woman. After all, he was in his place of work and that was simply no place for romance, no matter how coy it was.

[joselyn claire allaway]

She could not deny that she was pleased by the kiss on her hand; the better he did with that, the more it showed that he could keep up with her. He may have been an adult [and god knew how many years her senior], but that didn’t stop her from being the way she was any more than it humbled her. She allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch a bit from their firm smirk, clearly approving of the gesture.

“Oh, no,” she murmured back. “The pleasure is all mine.” She settled her hand comfortably back in her lap as he scooted away, not really bothered by this action. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten up and left and she was certain that he wasn’t about to any time soon.

As his hands moved toward them, Joselyn’s gaze was drawn instantly to his jeans and the clay spattered upon them. If she said that she didn’t mind the general unkemptness of his appearance, she would have been lying, but she couldn’t deny that it did give him a sort of…real feeling to him. While she tended to make sure that she bantered with anyone that spoke with her, if only to make sure that she never said anything wrong, she felt slightly more at ease with those that were...well…less like her. She knew, from firsthand experience, clearly, what someone with a tongue as silver as hers could do to a person.

She listened to him talk, the smirk on her face managing to remain firmly fixed, though it did desire greatly to grow. Sure, it might have been a little bit malicious to keep him going on his teacher trend, but really, she saw no reason to stop what was bound to be a pleasant conversation just because he suddenly realized he was putting the moves on a student instead of one of his own colleagues. And really, she was an honest girl and wasn’t exactly lying to him. Just omitting the truth a teensy, tiny bit.

As she listened, she shifted slightly to face him more, leaning her back against the wall and pointing her knees in his direction. It wasn’t a particularly necessary gesture, or a large one, but it showed she was listening, among other things. She was, after all, a master of any conversation of any sort [she liked to think—generally rightly so] and had been in enough situations [and watched more than enough movies] to be able to get her tactics down pat.

“Mmm, no,” she said, shaking her head slowly, ignoring his spiel about the French professor. Sure, she had been taking French, but that didn’t mean she intended to correct or affirm his statements. “I’ve been here for awhile.” Which clearly meant that he was new, or he most definitely would have heard about her before [or at least had her in a class]. It wasn’t as though she went out of her way to be inconspicuous about her academics and teachers, she knew, tended to gossip even when they weren’t supposed to.

“And no again,” she continued, slowly brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not a French teacher.” Again, she ignored his question. Not yet having an undergraduate degree, she felt it was best to do so. Besides, she figured that, with the way he’d been talking so far, he’d find something else to babble on about. But maybe she’d give him a little help.

“So, Lawrence Grimandi,” she began, drawing his name out. “You said that you do…Art?” She trailed off delicately, as he had when he’d mentioned, and found her gaze once again straying toward the clay all over him. “What sort?”

[lawrence josef grimani]

It was the natural reaction of an artist to be flattered when one asked about one’s art. There was no difference in the reaction that Lawrence had when she asked, his head growing a bit fuzzy when he began to speak. “I.. Um..” the art teacher was a bit at a loss for words as he tried to grasp what he would say to her without confusing her or losing his own train of thought. “I’m a painter. I work in acrylic and oil mostly. I prefer to do paintings in monochromatic schemas with an abstract subject in mind. I like to do things that only hint at what the original inspiration could have possibly been….”

Lawrence continued speaking prolifically about his own artwork for a few minutes, his eyes flashing intensely as he spoke to the woman on the steps. His hands were involved with everything he was saying, large artist’s hands that attempted to exaggerate and act out everything he said. The man went into a different style of speaking, both proud and self-absorbed in his passion, something he didn’t often get to discuss with the other faculty. As he was talking, it didn’t occur to him that she might have been too good to be true. Adults were more self-centered than their younger counterparts, more worried about themselves as compared to questioning things about others. Other staff wanted to brag about their own passions, in an attempt to both display what they had done as well as levitate their “position” among the staff. He should have known immediately that Jos wasn’t all that she seemed, especially when she ducked his questions so easily.

But she was a beautiful woman.

And he was a gullible man to say the least, a softy in the most sincere form. He was easily distracted by her soft voice and actions, more than he would have been with other people. Lawrence Grimani was a man ruled by nature in more than a few ways. “But enough about me!” It seemed like forever since he had begun speaking and he had gotten lost in his own little world while doing so. It took effort for him to pull back into the world of the living as compared to the world of the squishy and paint filled. “Have you met the rest of the staff yet? I think we have a tube of super glue in the staff room if you’d like for me to fix your lovely shoe?” He pointed toward the broken heel on the step, dejectedly missing a heel and all of its spunk.

“Though, I have a set of epoxy in my studio that might work better… It’ll form a better hold on it. It’s what we use to attach hangers to canvases.” Perhaps he was going a bit out of his way to save this damsel in distress, but if it meant there would be a little clay dried on the floor, he could deal with that later on. The man smiled, dimples showing as he waited for her answer. He almost hoped that she would want to go to the staff room. That would show the rest of the guys, if quiet Lawrence brought the beautiful new teacher in with him before all of them had even gotten a go at her. In a way he was proud that he had sought out her friendship first and perhaps the students seeing him with a pretty female teacher would ruin those silly rumors about him being a pedophile. What a mean thing to say! Who would think that, based on his actions?

[joselyn claire allaway]

While Joselyn was very rarely content to listen to people prattle on about things, she found that she didn't particularly mind that this Lawrence Grimmel was. Perhaps it was because his incessant talking kept her able to remain silent, which was what she preferred, in general. Or perhaps it was because he had such a nice voice. Either way, Joselyn was not about to stop him from his spiel. The longer he talked, the more likely he was to distract himself from thinking in the education direction.

She would have replied had she any idea what to say. The most she knew about art was fashion and she doubted, what with his oil paintings and abstract concepts and all that jazz, that he would appreciate that sort of input. So instead, she contented herself to smirk pleasantly and watch him, hands clasped loosely over the knees pointed in his direction. It was a bit amusing, the way his hands danced about like that. Not that Joselyn ever really spoke all too much, but there were times when she got on a roll and, when she did, she knew she talked with her hands just like that.

"Hmm?" she said when the conversation was abruptly shifted back to her. She was prepared, of course, to dodge more questions, but that didn't mean she particularly felt like having that mental challenge right about then. Fortunately, his attention shifted to the heel of her beloved Jimmy Choos, lying there in its poor, dead state. As he mentioned it, her gaze drifted towards it, her smirk going down a few notches. There was nothing that could ruin a mood like her babies breaking.

She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him taking glue or whatever that "epoxy" junk was to her Jimmy Choos. It could easily leave a horrible mark on the heel. But then again, he was an art teacher and probably knew what he was doing...and she didn't really have any other choice. It wasn't like she could fix the shoe herself, after all and, as long as she went for the stuff that wasn't super glue [because really, asking her to deal with that was just asking too much of her high maintenance mind], she supposed all would be well.

"Your studio," she finally said, after pondering the situation thoroughly. "No superglue. You can't use superglue on a shoe." With that proclamation, she stood up and slipped both of her shoes off. She couldn't believe that she was going to have to walk around barefoot, but it was better than limping along like some freakish, retarded thing.

[lawrence josef grimani]

Lawrence was inexplicably nervous as he stood and began his progress toward his classroom. For some reason, it felt as if they were sneaking away toward the janitor’s closet, as he had heard so many students did in their spare time. If he had not forced himself to breath deeply, he might have began to sweat. Attempting to match the barefooted woman’s pace by slowing down his long strides, he was pleased to notice that they climbed the stairs together and their shoulders might have brushed a few times. It was charming, the fact that she was walking around shoeless to him. Sans shoes more of Joselyn’s natural beauty was apparent, Lawrence thought, wondering why gorgeous women always chose to hide behind expensive clothing and makeup. Though it might have made her look more professional, he thought she would have looked just as lovely fresh out of the shower.

His keys jangled pleasantly as he yanked them from his pocket and pushed his key into the lock. “You’ll have to forgive the mess, Joselyn. We just finished with pottery day- and I left that bucket of water in the hallway.” Mentioning the last part as only a reminder to himself, he swung open the heavy door and winced as it squeaked a little. The hinges were beginning to show some wear and their age. The room itself was full of organized clutter, as all art mediums demanded that their setups should be. The lights were off and only muted light from the opaque windows floated in. As he set to digging out the epoxy set he had somewhere, he hoped Joselyn wouldn’t notice the clouds of white dried clay on the soft wooden floors.

After a few moments of digging around, a few crashes, and a bit of paper tumbling off shelves, Lawrence appeared with the tube of epoxy in hand. The formula was quick drying and he would only need to use a dot on the tiny shoes. “Can I see the broken one? I promise not to hurt it.” Lawrence was joking, of course, but he couldn’t have known that Joselyn formed an emotional attachment to her shoes. His next actions would have to be accurate and quick so that the heel wasn’t attached back incorrectly and didn’t cause the lady to wobble when she walked due to unevenness. Walking over to a clean, stone topped table usually used for flattening clay for slab building processes, he flicked an overhead light on. Looking very much like an ill-dressed surgeon, he glanced toward Joselyn very seriously and spoke solemnly. “We’re ready for surgery, nurse.”

[joselyn claire allaway]

It was hard for Joselyn to deal with the fact that, by the time she could put her shoes on again, her feet were bound to be dusty and black, but she supposed that it was better than limping. She could get leg strain that way, after all, and leg strain would be no fun. Of course, she wasn’t sure that she’d mind having this Lawrence Grimmel carry her about….She didn’t mind in the slightest that their shoulders brushed together as they walked. He was taller than her and she was certain that he would be even in her stilettos, and height was a nice thing in a man. She glanced over at him periodically, half to just ogle him and half to see if he was making any malicious facial gestures toward her beloved Jimmy Choos.

When they reached his studio, she was satisfied that he was not mal-intended and followed him in. She might have been nervous as well had she not known that there was no way anything would happen. He may have been attractive, but Joselyn was in charge of every relationship--physical or otherwise--no matter what and there would be nothing going on without her permission. And she certainly couldn’t permit anything happening when he was so clearly deluded about her occupational status--she owed him that much, if only for fixing her shoe.

Which he had best not muck up. He had no idea how much his nurse analogy hit home or how much trouble it was for her to walk over and just hand him her beloved shoe. She eventually did do so, however slowly, and took a step back once its corpse was prepared for inspection. It sort of felt like her heart was in her throat as this happened, but she tried not to look like a complete simpering prat. After all, it wouldn’t do for him to think that she was fawning over him. And it certainly wouldn’t do for him to realize that, if he could not fix her shoe, she would go back to her dorm and get teary eyed at her pillow. Not full on crying, of course, as that would be undignified, but there would be a definitely moistness.

“Be careful,” she said, gazing lovingly at her shoe. She flicked a glance at Lawrence, who was obviously not taking this seriously enough, and frowned a bit. “…Really. Be careful.” There. That should help. Duh.

[lawrence josef grimani]

Lawrence gave Joselyn a bit of a funny look as she brought the shoe over and gave him a particularly serious look for a shoe repair. It was as if she was concerned over a child that he was operating on, but he began to take it a bit more seriously. The tube that held the maximum strength epoxy had a thin nozzle and he delicately placed just enough on the inside of the broken heel and the place where the heel met the bottom of the shoe. The artist’s hands were still, quite accustomed to detail work that required a steady hand. Soon, the epoxy bonded and the heel appeared to be stuck fast to the sole of the shoe. The art teacher admired his handiwork for a moment, seeing if there was excess epoxy anywhere on the shoe that Joselyn’s lovely feet might become permanently stuck to her beloved shoe with, but there appeared to be none. When he was finished examining it, he handed it back to the dark haired woman with a crooked, boyish smile.

“Good as new.” The man’s voice was quiet as his fingers lingered on the gold colored designer heel. “I wouldn’t walk on it for long periods of time until it’s had twenty-four hours to dry entirely – for safety purposes of course. After a day you won’t even be able to tell that it was ever broken.” Looking at the pointy-heeled shoe, he winced a little and shook his head. “I’ll never be able to understand how women wear these. I prefer comfort to style, I do suppose. Then again, I don’t spend much time on picking my clothes, just whatever fits.” Lawrence finished talking and crossed his arms, a little uncertain of himself around attractive females despite his own looks. It was almost as if the man hadn’t noticed that he, himself, was an attractive man. Perhaps it had something to do with being the “weak” looking one in a family full of muscle bound, dark haired and dark eyed Italians.

“So, Joselyn… Where are you from originally? I can’t place your accent exactly, to be honest...” Lawrence was always interested in the history and heritage of the people he met, though he preferred to gloss over his own for obvious reasons. The Italian tried to brush some of the dried clay off his light blue jeans and had a bit of success as clouds of clay burst into the dimly lit room. The art teacher walked over to one of the walls and flicked on the lights that were set into the ceiling, brightening up the room considerably. He then returned to the lovely teacher he thought he had discovered before all of the others had had a chance to develop attachments to her. This seemed to be an awkward, but interesting beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[joselyn claire allaway]

She didn't want to watch while he did it. It was like watching someone cheerfully reattach her child's arm after the train wreck that everyone had ogled. But in that sense, she felt obliged to watch, like there was no way she could remove her sight from it for an instant or she would be betraying the maternal love she felt for it. Or whatever sort of love one felt for a shoe. When it was finally finished and she could breathe again, she could have thrown her arms around him and kissed him. Fortunately [or unfortunately, depending on who was looking at it and how], she restrained herself, only showing her relief in the twitching corners of her mouth, which eventually twitched into her general smirk. Her baby was okay. Just as long as this epoxy junk was not a lie, everything was going to be fine. She was so glad she had met an artist today.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the shoe with an appreciative nod. The flash of his grin sent the corners of her mouth twitching again, though she tried not to let that get out of hand. Of course, there was certainly no danger of it getting out of hand when he started up his talking about clothes. She did not understand what there was to not understand, but she supposed she could spell it out for the clearly less fortunate art teacher.

"I find them quite comfortable," she said, her voice rolling out in its general drawl, though this time, it was tinged with the slight challenge that came whenever she spoke passionately. Almost as if daring someone to tell her that she was wrong. "And it is perfectly possible to be stylish and comfortable at the same time. I am most certainly not uncomfortable right now," she pointed out, gesturing at her dress. "And looking good on the outside shows people that you care about yourself." Her smirk turned into the pleasant sort of grin that people only give when they're feeling particularly ironic or threatening. "You care about yourself, don't you?"

She decided, however, to drop it and continue on with the conversation, since not everyone was quite as interested in being snarked at about clothes as some. "Where am I from?" she repeated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced down to make sure that the chair nearest her was not covered in anything that would get on her off-white dress before gingerly taking a seat. "Well, I was born in the City. New York City, I mean. And I visit frequently, but I've lived in Pennsylvania for quite some time." She smiled a bit fondly, though she tilted her head downward so that he perhaps wouldn't notice. "I suppose my accent is just American. Where are you from?" From the looks of things, he was Mediterranean in some way and Joselyn, obviously loving cultural experiences, was quite okay with any.

[lawrence josef grimani]

“Just American?” Lawrence had to laugh a little. Americans were a bit oblivious to how they appeared to the rest of the world. To him, an Italian, American women were the more exotic type. As compared to girls from back home, they had personalities full of freedom and sensibility. A little sillier, a little less frumpy, to Lawrence Grimani, American girls always seemed as if they had stepped out of California, bronzed to a golden fault, their hair styled perfectly – and he loved that. Of course American women intrigued him, or else he wouldn’t have married a lovely girl from the States in the past. Just thinking of his past life still caused him a certain level of pain, though he tried to keep it from transferring onto his face.

“I’m from a little town called Orvieto,” Lawrence smiled slightly, thinking back to his simple beginnings and his parents fighting like cats and dogs. “Italy,” he clarified and shoved his fingers through his hair, leaving a slight trail of chalky residue in his brown locks. He was strangely nervous around the other professor, though he couldn’t quite place the reason why. It seemed that he got along with the other male professors a bit more easily, because mostly he just nodded at what they said and thought about other things instead. “It’s a beautiful place, full of cathedrals and old sculpture. If you ever take a European tour during a break, I could definitely show you around.”

Now why, exactly, had he said that? It wasn’t as if she had asked him to be a tour guide – what if she thought he was taking her home to meet his parents?! The ceramics professor immediately blushed, slight splotches of red sliding across his lightly tanned skin. He coughed weakly and covered his mouth in an attempt to distract from it and quickly stated, “Ahh! I got a bit of dust in my throat.” Good enough cover up, he thought. For now.

“You said you’re from New York City – the big Apple?” Lawrence sounded somewhat like a brochure for the city; did anyone even really call NYC the Big Apple anymore? “I’ve never been there before but I’ve seen pictures. I’d love to have an art exhibition there one day, but I might be setting my sights a little too high, hmm?”

[joselyn claire allaway]

Joselyn shrugged. "It's not Southern and it's not a New York accent nor is it a Midwestern accent. So it's just...American." She didn't really see the issue, although she supposed that, to him, her accent was just as strange as his was to her. Of course, not that she would admit it, but his accent was adorable. If he hadn't been obviously Italian, she would have cast him aside as a musclehead. Obviously, his cute accent backed up the fact that he was an artist who just happened to be attractive. And good with his hands.

Something that sounded as pretty as Orvieto could only be in Italy, Joselyn figured. There was no need for Lawrence to specify. "I've been to Italy before," she said. So as to look more involved in the conversation, she shifted closer to him, facing his direction more now. She tapped her chin with the tip of her acrylic in thought. "We went to Sorrento, I know, because that was my favorite. We also went to Rome, Florence, and..." She thought for a few seconds. "Messina, maybe."

Unlike Lawrence, Joselyn didn't find it strange that he had offered. She was not exactly the most social person, but she knew that it was fairly commonplace for people to offer "tours," even if they weren't sincere. Or maybe people just liked offering to show her around. Either way, his offer made the corner of her lip twitch in an almost-smile. She really shouldn't have stayed after he fixed her shoe. This was likely going to be a problem, but Joselyn decided that she was the type of person who lived in the present and wasn't going to think about the possible consequences. Of course, if she just kept the ball in her court, there wouldn't actually be a problem. This was the best idea.

"Glad you're alright," she said, not having moved at all to help him in his coughing. "I did say that." She nodded slowly. "That's where my father started out as a lawyer, but he eventually opened up his practice in Pennsylvania. My youngest siblings were born there." She shifted again, this time uncomfortably. He hadn't asked for her life story. "And I wouldn't know. I haven't seen your art."