Post by Relic on May 12, 2012 4:54:39 GMT -8
The not-so-distance future...
Alameda, CA.
Marion Casey stirs and blinks as the red digits of her alarm clock quickly come into focus.
3:33 am
Just under half an hour before the alarm usually sets off at 4am; Marion's found that she does her best creative work in those early hours, the darkness before the dawn, before people start to stir, and a steady stream of auto and foot traffic begins to flow on Park Street below.
Her studio apartment is a small but adequate living space, only one of eight in the old building, just above Alameda's, 'Avant Piquant' galleria which is owned of course by Andrew Spencer, her friend... and secret infatuation.
It's a clean and modern interior, but too small for much else besides living in it, and without lavish tastes or belongings. But luckily Andrew also included in her rent - exclusively to Marion - a smaller room just up a flight of stairs outside her apartment door; this mostly-glass chamber is about half the size of her living space and had at one point been a storage room but was converted into an art studio due to it's large glass windows which provide terrific natural light all day. It has a large basin sink for cleaning brushes, ample shelf space for storing art supplies, and even a tiny bathroom which has an even smaller standup shower booth.
Best of all, the studio has a door which swings open to roof-top access, where Marion often spends her time. She's arranged a half dozen big ceramic vases with different type green-leaved plants lining the wall just outside her studio, and a patio/beach chair where she can often be found sketching, reading, day-dreaming or just clearing her thoughts.
Marion isn't sure why she's suddenly awake before her usual time, as it took her ages to discipline herself to get up to the 4am alarm she sets for herself as it is. Maybe she shouldn't have had that late afternoon mocha yesterday; or maybe she slept on her wings wrong. For whatever reason she is awake now and heads for her studio above wearing only a custom-modified, loose T-shirt with the back mostly cut out but velcroed at the bottom, and comfy black yoga pants.
She turns on the top light, and another swing-arm artist's lamp, aiming it at an easel holding the latest canvas she's working on. Yep, something still feels "off" to her about it, even after getting some sleep. Slightly frustrated, she cracks open the roof-access door letting in a cool, morning chill, then starts the coffee maker next to the sink. She really needs to get cracking on this painting as she's reserved a section of wall space in the galleria below roughly a month from now; Andrew's seen all her latest works but not this one, which she'd like to include.
Marion walks to door and steps outside, it's chilly and dark, but she sees everything in crystal detail. Park Street, technically 'Park Avenue' on the small island of Alameda, is the 'nicer' side of the town; small cafes, specialty shops, eateries, and no tall buildings. In fact, the Avant Piquant Apartments/Galleria is the tallest in the immediate vacinity, giving Marion prime view of the normally busy street below; of Shoreline Drive and the beach less than few miles to the west; of the South Shore Shopping Center adjacent to it; and just across the Bay, the silhouette of dark shapes and flickering lights that is the skyline of San Francisco, in the distance.
On a good day with no traffic, it's about a 20-25 min drive from Alameda to SF; much different during commute hours, where the average commute takes about an hour and much, much worse on a bad one. Marion takes comfort knowing she can cover the distance by air in just over 10 minutes, and that's barely breaking a sweat.
She stretches her wings out broadly, and a feeling of bliss comes over her. Then she brings them back down to a half fold, turning to see her unfinished painting beckoning her...
(OOC: Okay, we've officially begun! tell me what Marion's gonna do... also give me an Enhanced Vision FEAT roll as well)
Alameda, CA.
Marion Casey stirs and blinks as the red digits of her alarm clock quickly come into focus.
3:33 am
Just under half an hour before the alarm usually sets off at 4am; Marion's found that she does her best creative work in those early hours, the darkness before the dawn, before people start to stir, and a steady stream of auto and foot traffic begins to flow on Park Street below.
Her studio apartment is a small but adequate living space, only one of eight in the old building, just above Alameda's, 'Avant Piquant' galleria which is owned of course by Andrew Spencer, her friend... and secret infatuation.
It's a clean and modern interior, but too small for much else besides living in it, and without lavish tastes or belongings. But luckily Andrew also included in her rent - exclusively to Marion - a smaller room just up a flight of stairs outside her apartment door; this mostly-glass chamber is about half the size of her living space and had at one point been a storage room but was converted into an art studio due to it's large glass windows which provide terrific natural light all day. It has a large basin sink for cleaning brushes, ample shelf space for storing art supplies, and even a tiny bathroom which has an even smaller standup shower booth.
Best of all, the studio has a door which swings open to roof-top access, where Marion often spends her time. She's arranged a half dozen big ceramic vases with different type green-leaved plants lining the wall just outside her studio, and a patio/beach chair where she can often be found sketching, reading, day-dreaming or just clearing her thoughts.
Marion isn't sure why she's suddenly awake before her usual time, as it took her ages to discipline herself to get up to the 4am alarm she sets for herself as it is. Maybe she shouldn't have had that late afternoon mocha yesterday; or maybe she slept on her wings wrong. For whatever reason she is awake now and heads for her studio above wearing only a custom-modified, loose T-shirt with the back mostly cut out but velcroed at the bottom, and comfy black yoga pants.
She turns on the top light, and another swing-arm artist's lamp, aiming it at an easel holding the latest canvas she's working on. Yep, something still feels "off" to her about it, even after getting some sleep. Slightly frustrated, she cracks open the roof-access door letting in a cool, morning chill, then starts the coffee maker next to the sink. She really needs to get cracking on this painting as she's reserved a section of wall space in the galleria below roughly a month from now; Andrew's seen all her latest works but not this one, which she'd like to include.
Marion walks to door and steps outside, it's chilly and dark, but she sees everything in crystal detail. Park Street, technically 'Park Avenue' on the small island of Alameda, is the 'nicer' side of the town; small cafes, specialty shops, eateries, and no tall buildings. In fact, the Avant Piquant Apartments/Galleria is the tallest in the immediate vacinity, giving Marion prime view of the normally busy street below; of Shoreline Drive and the beach less than few miles to the west; of the South Shore Shopping Center adjacent to it; and just across the Bay, the silhouette of dark shapes and flickering lights that is the skyline of San Francisco, in the distance.
On a good day with no traffic, it's about a 20-25 min drive from Alameda to SF; much different during commute hours, where the average commute takes about an hour and much, much worse on a bad one. Marion takes comfort knowing she can cover the distance by air in just over 10 minutes, and that's barely breaking a sweat.
She stretches her wings out broadly, and a feeling of bliss comes over her. Then she brings them back down to a half fold, turning to see her unfinished painting beckoning her...
(OOC: Okay, we've officially begun! tell me what Marion's gonna do... also give me an Enhanced Vision FEAT roll as well)