Errol

"I really can-"

"I'll be fine," Atlas replied, cutting his friend off. Or at least I assumed they were friends by how freely they spoke with each other. And it seemed like quite the two way street.

I was still trying to get over his last comment about not holding his breath, I almost missed the intense yet brief back and forth Atlas suddenly got into with Nyra, before she eventually showed herself out. There was a comment she made privately to Atlas before she left, and I swear to god I thought I heard her calling me hot. Atlas's reaction to that was pretty dismissive, as he kept telling her to go.

Of course that was a definite ego boost from someone as beautiful as Nyra, but Atlas's almost aggrivating disinterest today ruined whatever confidence that could've given me. Dare I say, he almost looked repulsed by the sheer mention of me.

And the rest of our conversation wasn't any easier.

"What did you want me to do?" Atlas asked, barely paying me any mind as I took a seat on one of the wooden chairs a few feet away from him. It was hard to pay attention to his words, and I couldn't quite figure why at first. For starters, Atlas never once stopped working on his sculpture to speak to me and I quickly realized that probably wasn't going to happen.

Then there was the issue of his wardrobe. His absolutely horrendous wardrobe.

It was as if the sun itself threw up on him. Yellow overalls stained with clay, yellow undershirt. Yellow fucking everything, and I couldn't rip my eyes away from the fashion failure regardless of how hard I tried.

"Anything really," I replied, dealing with the horrible struggle of just staring...

There was something about Atlas that specifically drew me in to his work. This time around I gave myself a little more time to get a good look at him, and not his choice of clothes.

His eyes were still the color of pale blue, but they hadn't bothered to dart in my direction at all. I just had this feeling of dismissal, which I never accepted from anyone. Well I guess Hendrix was an exception, but she was the only one. "I want something somewhat special- something kinda specific to who she was," I finished.

"I mean you're her kid. I don't think anyone could explain her better than you, honestly. You'll have to give me some direction here." Atlas replied, and I felt myself visibly cringe at his words.

Somehow someway, it felt like Atlas immediately picked up on my uncomfortable energy. I saw his legs shift, with his right foot still on the peddle for the wheel.

"I- uh-" words left my small brain almost immediately as I scrambled to describe what I meant. I couldn't explain why I suddenly landed on the truth of all things. "I wasn't the best kid. There was a lot I sorta tuned out, betting on the fact that I'd always have time to backtrack. To ask her questions I didn't bother asking when I was younger. That was a mistake made on my part, I guess."

I couldn't help but watch Atlas intently, wondering what his reaction would be. There was just something about him, something that made me so outrageously self concious. Something that called for honesty yet tripped me up when I was being just that.

I thought back to a quote from From Dusk Till Dawn, when they spoke about your eyes being the window to your soul... When I looked at Atlas, I felt like there was a part of him I couldn't get a read on. A part that may be judging (probably was), but I could never truly know unless he told me.

All Atlas did was shrug slightly, as he continued to work. Those hands were working the clay as delicate as possible which felt so contrasting to the energy I previously picked up from him.

"I think a relationship between a child and their parents can be a complicated one. There's a level of closeness there that no one from the outside looking in, can really understand. And maybe that's how it should be, yeah?" Atlas offered. "I personally believe she adored you, especially from how often she mentioned her family. If I'm being honest, sometimes I sorta tuned her out there too. It was motherhood, something I couldn't really relate to."

There was a sense of comfort that settled over me, like someone had just eleviated a bit of that heavy weight I'd been getting crushed by since the accident.

"What I can say, is... your mother was a rockstar. Truly someone who did more for me than asked of her, and tried to help me through a situation I felt like I needed to handle alone at the time. Life is a bit of a bitch that way though, knowing you've been putting things off till later just to find out you don't get a later."

I felt my fists clench at his words. Sending bits of pain through my nerves. If I could go back in time, I'd do so much differently.

"I-" I started, but stopped myself a moment. This conversation lasted less than ten minutes yet here I was already so off balance. Maybe it was my overall sesnitivty to hearing anything about my mother, and knowing just how far her help extended. I knew she was a kind person obviously, but I couldn't really tell anyone the first thing about her group of friends or who she was when she went out.

She kept me in line for all my public affairs, working alongside Hendrix for a period of time. She was like my other manager. Now it felt like I was hearing about someone who gave birth to me, yet I'm still meeting again for the first time. "Thank you," I settled on finally, shutting up my internal thoughts.

This was when I allowed myself to take in a bit more of Atlas. More of his appearance. More of his demeanor.

There was this relaxed nature to him that started to spread through his body as our conversation steered away from arguing, and it created more of a comfortable vibe overall. I couldn't tell whether he could feel me staring, but something about his presence made me feel like he definitely knew... So I tried not to stare as intensely.

There was a few details with his features that I sort of missed the first time we met. Those incredibly light freckles that gave his face a darker tan, darker than his already sunkissed skin.

The golden hair that caught my attention, and would probably continue to catch my attention with its vibrancy. His hair was practically the color of a golden ray of sunlight, so much so that when the light hit his long almost shoulder length strands, I couldn't tell the difference in hues.

His movements with his hands pulled my attention there. There was such care in the way he added water to the clay. Building upwards. I didn't understand the first damn thing about ceramics but I knew he had skill, especially in regards to his intuition and knowing just how much pressure to apply. There was almost this feeling of inadequacy as I watched him work...

I felt like I hadn't tried hard enough to get back to the thing I loved, which was playing.

Atlas offered me a small polite smile. "I know we didn't get off on the best foot, and honestly we're probably just fundamentally different, but if you ever have a question about your mother, I'll answer what I can," he spoke honestly.

It was also probably the first time he sent any glance in my direction. I knew he couldn't catch my eye, but that gesture alone made me feel a little less iced out. Like he was finally regarding my existence during this meeting.

"She was a really special person to me, and I want you to get that, because there's no one else on this planet I would take a commission for, besides her." Atlas finished, as he returned to his project at hand. "Don't make me regret it." That last part came out as more of a mumble, I almost didn't catch it. Almost.

It made me think of just how selfish I may have been with this request to begin with. I basically hunted the man down, then snapped on him when he didn't want to deliver on my pretty oddball request. Honestly I felt even more irritated with myself.

"I didn't mean to-" I started, but Atlas spoke at the same time.

"It's a thoughtful request though." He paused, and I remained silent to let him continue. "One I know she would've loved."

My shoulders relaxed a bit at that, as I leant back into the chair. I almost smiled to myself at how solid Hendrix's idea was sort of turning out to be. I was still pissed she threw me to the wolves without any prior information, but just a glance around this studio let me know the guy had worked pretty hard to disappear.

Like pretty damn hard. There were barley any studios in this building, and judging the the lack of front desk personnel, it felt very self governed. Felt like a pretty good hole to hide in.

"Then since you're allowing me to do whatever, I'll create a vase. One similar to the one Lia and I saw together at the Art Institute of Chicago. It's a style I've tried once before, but it didn't make it through the kiln that time." Atlas explained, slowing the wheel down with his foot peddle as his hands gently cupped the base of his art. Those fingers were completely coated in clay, but his sculpture was smooth as can be, pretty incredibly so actually. He had created a perfect dome.

I wasn't sure what exactly he was making, but my interest in it kept growing.

An so did my interest in this. Whatever this was.

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