Rumric is on my last motherfucking nerve right now. I know he doesnt have a computer; theres not much chance he will read this, so I dont feel bad telling you that compared to Rashan, he is an *awful* model.
He makes me use honorifics whenever I address him, otherwise he pretends not to have heard my request. Hes imperious, arrogant and an insufferable know-it-all. He insists on seeing the image before its finished, and of course, has read enough art history texts to think that he can critique the work.
Id strangle him, but he is keeping those flintlocks loaded. He says its for verisimilitude, but I think hes just plain crazy. He keeps looking over his shoulder into the corners of the room; my door is closed, there is nothing there. He startles at sounds that I dont hear. Im a little worried that hes going to take a shot at me, although those archaic pieces of shit are pretty inaccurate.
(Of course, he claims that he has enchanted his pistols, and put the Heartseeking Hex on his shot.)
He wants me to change the position of his arms so that they are crossed directly over his heart, and change the angles of the pistols so that taken with his forearms, they create a pentagram that encompasses his third-eye, throat and chest. I told him get over it, were making a fucking cute little painting for a game, not a ward against diabolic inequity, but he insists. As if.
Whenever Rumric sits for me, I notice a lot of bugs. They seem to follow him around. It's so wierd.
Just before he left today, he told me that no concept of representative government, either direct or via invested agencies can assure itself of a divine mandate, because, as he put it, the celestial heirarchy is reflected within our own mortal classes; our lessers (he assumes I am aristocratic, I think because I have all my teeth) are not fit for self-adjudication, nor shall they ever be.
I swear I want to slap the snide out this boy. But Rashan and Arnae seem to really like him, so . . . whatever. Now I'm worried about painting Ranoux; I hear that he's the vain one.
He makes me use honorifics whenever I address him, otherwise he pretends not to have heard my request. Hes imperious, arrogant and an insufferable know-it-all. He insists on seeing the image before its finished, and of course, has read enough art history texts to think that he can critique the work.
Id strangle him, but he is keeping those flintlocks loaded. He says its for verisimilitude, but I think hes just plain crazy. He keeps looking over his shoulder into the corners of the room; my door is closed, there is nothing there. He startles at sounds that I dont hear. Im a little worried that hes going to take a shot at me, although those archaic pieces of shit are pretty inaccurate.
(Of course, he claims that he has enchanted his pistols, and put the Heartseeking Hex on his shot.)
He wants me to change the position of his arms so that they are crossed directly over his heart, and change the angles of the pistols so that taken with his forearms, they create a pentagram that encompasses his third-eye, throat and chest. I told him get over it, were making a fucking cute little painting for a game, not a ward against diabolic inequity, but he insists. As if.
Whenever Rumric sits for me, I notice a lot of bugs. They seem to follow him around. It's so wierd.
Just before he left today, he told me that no concept of representative government, either direct or via invested agencies can assure itself of a divine mandate, because, as he put it, the celestial heirarchy is reflected within our own mortal classes; our lessers (he assumes I am aristocratic, I think because I have all my teeth) are not fit for self-adjudication, nor shall they ever be.
I swear I want to slap the snide out this boy. But Rashan and Arnae seem to really like him, so . . . whatever. Now I'm worried about painting Ranoux; I hear that he's the vain one.
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yeah, i might be coming into the city tonight to see daggs...who knows? you should come too...go to daggers' page...but i also think i have a dinner party...so maybe not...
And I should trim this mess for sures.