Thread: Painting Perfection (ShiningKnight x DearestDarling)

Daisy had always hated New York. Every spring and summer they vacationed in their penthouse uptown, a luxury suite to most but not much more than a pretty prison cell for her. Her parents cited the crime rates when questioned about the restrictions they put on her, but it was just an excuse to keep her locked away, only to be released for school and pre-sanctioned extra curricular activities. On the West Coast she was afforded a little more freedom they had an expansive property with a private beach that she could sunbathe on. She was counting down the days until September 1st, when they would fly back to their other home and she would start college. Her mother, Helene Harrington, was hovering over her, watching with hawk-like precision as she practiced a concerto on the baby grand. Her parents thought that music 'kept her out of trouble', but truthfully, it was just a way to pass the time. Daisy had been primped all morning long-- a stylist had been by to curl her long, rich brown hair so that it fell in waves down her back, a floaty, ethereal white dress had been picked for her to wear. She didn't understand what the fuss was about, or why her parents were suddenly obsessed with the idea of having a life-sized portrait of their daughter in the front room. In their social circles, these kinds of fads were common. One wealthy couple would spend an embarrassing amount of money on some frivolous luxury item, and like lemmings the rest would follow. But her own parents had won the game. They had managed to book one of the most sought-after artists of the moment, Isaac Winters, to come to their home and paint their lovely daughter. She wasn't much more than an ornament to them, a pretty songbird locked in a fancy cage. And the portrait would be a testament to that, so Daisy had come to resent it. A loud knock interrupted her playing, and her mother placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Wait here, I'll get the door, she instructed but Daisy shrugged her mother's hand away, slipped off of the piano bench, and dashed to the door, sending her perfectly set hair in disarray. In her haste she nearly knocked over a vase that cost more than what many people made in a year, and her mother only just caught it before it fell and broke into a million pieces. The extra time it cost Helene to catch the vase and replace it on its display table gave Daisy the advantage she needed to reach the door first. The company that she was able to keep was so limited that she was chomping at the bit to meet this artist, even if he was stuffy and boring. She swung the door open, and instead of the artist they'd been expecting, a man that looked homeless stood outside their door. The only men that Daisy had ever seen that wasn't clean shaven were those that stood on the corners of busy streets, clutching cardboard signs that begged for anything that could be given. Daisy's delicate brow furrowed, her blue-green eyes shining with concern. He didn't look dirty, but his clothes were worn and looked like something that their landscaper in California would wear. He was young, not much older than herself. How did you get past the doorman? Her words were poorly chosen, but she was genuinely surprised. Look, my mother is going to send you away, but if you can come back by in a few hours, I can give you something, alright? My mother won't be here, she'll have pilates class. Speaking of the devil, her mother had reached the doorway and pulled the door wider so that she could see the visitor. Unlike Daisy, she was not at all pleased to see him on their doorstep. I'm going to have that doorman fired, she huffed, looking the man up and down. We don't give out handouts here, alright? So turn around and find your way out before we call security.