From Paris, with Love.

When the artist returned home it was as if the whole of Paris knew about it. He was accepted back into the warm arms of the women he’d neglected for a year and he was given some interesting offers from all of them. Some he wanted to follow up but many he wasn’t interested in. He’d missed the gaggle of women that fawned over him. It was an enormous ego boost and if it wasn’t for the fact that his mother wasn’t prepared to let him go to Beauxbatons then they wouldn’t have felt so neglected. The artist had every intention of making it up to the girls though. Especially his favourites.

It was now mid-morning and Eli was feeling the weight of the night before on his shoulders. The girls had whisked him off as soon as they all shared hugs and kisses, to a bar that all of the artists went to. Claire disdainfully filled him in that it was the place all of the artists went to after having sex with the models and only getting half of the painting done, if that. Eli remembered rolling his eyes at that. The one thing he prided himself on was actually being able to finish the painting before getting to the more enjoyable part. Not that painting didn’t bring him joy but the models weren’t really there to sit and look pretty. They were, in essence, glorified prostitutes but if you called them out on that then you’d get your ass kicked from Paris to New York.

Of course, after charming the socks off of one of the girls he’d taken her home and engaged in his favourite pastime. It had been pure lust from what Eli could remember of it. The only bit of the night he actually remembered was when his manager burst in unannounced, woke the both of them up, shooed her out and tried to get Eli to talk art with him. The Bulgarian had been angrier at him for chasing the girl away then waking him up but that was beside the point. After making several commitments he shooed the man away and collapsed back into bed. Bloody man could never leave him alone. Never ever got the message.

Eli was more or less awake now. He was perched on his paint-splattered stool, he had a cigarette in his mouth, music was playing and he was absentmindedly sketching. It was if his morning ritual had been abandoned for the day. He couldn’t be bothered with it if he was going to be honest. He was groggy, slightly hung-over and was more than happy to chain smoke all day. Bloody French and their cheap cigarettes; oh how he loved them. Eli didn’t think anyone would want to visit him that morning. If he went down to the park then that was on his head. He didn’t want a model today, blow them. They were always easily chased away anyway. Then again, Arnold was pretty creepy.

Ingrid hated Paris women. Not to make a generalization but, the ones she had been intoduced to by Eli were all sluts. Ingrid had known Eli from year one and knew that he liked girls but she had not realized the extent of this until she had traveled with him to Paris for he first time.  There the women loved him and fawned over him. Well that was great for Eli but Not so great for the best friend who was always stuck watching the spectical.

Ingrid was in Paris for the purpose of seeing Elijah. It was not exactly thrilling for her when she arrived only to find a lovely women leaving his studio apartment. Frowning she traveled inside to find Elijah sitting there with an unhappy expression on his face. "So, who was she?" Ingrid asked with a small smile. It hardly mattered but Ingrid was always cirious.

The ashtrays were filled with ash and stubbed out butts. That didn’t stop Elijah from finding one semi-clear, though. He deposited his cigarette in the glass bowl and stood up. He threw his arms up into the air and pulled at his muscles as he stretched. He heard the vertebrae in his spine click and he shook himself a little before lowering his arms. There was a knock at the door that cleared Eli’s thoughts and he shouted “Come in!” For once he was fairly pleased with the person that walked through his door. Arnold was long gone if he knew what was good for him but standing awkwardly in the doorway was Christina, the baker’s daughter. Eli smiled saucily and ambled over to her. He kissed her cheek and looked down at what she had in the box that she was cradling in her arms. “Ca va?” He murmured, his breath ghosting across her cheek.

Christina was innocent, that was the bottom line and she definitely knew nothing of the charms of the French let alone foreigners so she didn’t respond too well to Elijah. She merely shoved the box into his arms and ducked back out of the door with a goodbye thrown over her shoulder. Eli did find it somewhat amusing but he did feel put out. He had most definitely not lost his touch so it was obviously her, the silly girl. Shaking his head, Eli put the box on one of the tables and took a crepe out. He took the cellophane off of it and sat back on the stool. He wasn’t as content as he was before, he was now more agitated than not. Picking up his pencil he added a little bit of shading to the sketch. He had an arm and a sheet which meant it was going to turn out to be a Camille-esq painting.

A voice shook him from his thoughts and he turned to see none other than Ingrid standing in his studio. A lazy smile spread across Eli’s face and he put the crepe down. He got up and held his arms out for a hug, a more playful expression on his face now. “That was Christina, the baker’s daughter. Lovely girl, far too shy though. Where’s my hug? I’ll stick a shirt on if it makes you feel better.” He teased. Ah yes, the Bulgarian that had no shame had yet to dress. His emerald silk pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips and he’d completely bypassed a shirt, deeming it too hot. Nachash had settled herself on his forearm and was snoozing from what he could tell. He was definitely inviting but perhaps slightly underdressed.

Ingrid rolled her eyes, an expression of playful annoyance on her face. Did her best friend have to be the one boy who was known to sleep with almost any woman in Paris. Well, that was harsh - only the pretty ones. "Nah, it's not like I've never seen you without a shirt before" said Ingrid as she moved across the room. It was a nice place, though it was very clear that a boy lived there. Ingrid had always lived with impecible cleaness from her uncle. The walls in her childhood had always been the brightest white and the floors spotless. This had always tickled Ingrid's funny bone. Like Elijah, Ingrid was an artist. Eli had always been more well known for it but it had always been Ingrid's passion. Her room had been the only one with basically any color in it at her home. She had personally finger painted her walls so they were completely covered with little birds. It had been an amazing project.

As she reached Eli Ingrid threw her arms around him. "Missed you, Krum" she murmered in his ear. The last time they had talked face to face was the year before at Hogwarts. Owl post was frequent, but it just wasn't the same.

You owe me paintings, boy! The gruff voice of his dealer resounded once more and a smirk tugged at Elijah’s lips remembering the night before. The man was jovial and didn’t know how to negotiate unless it was about paintings. He was the man to go to but he was a little bit obsessive about the whole thing. Elijah didn’t mind but when Arnold woke him up in the middle of the night and shooed out his bed warmer...yeah, he wasn’t happy. He loved the guy but for goodness sake. He’d probably have left Elijah alone had it been a male he had wrapped around him. You couldn’t shock Arnold with much but there were a few things that creeped him out – free love, ass tattoos and gays. He had nothing against gays, he acted camp enough to service the whole gay community half of the time, but Elijah didn’t know how much was the truth and how much was fabricated. Maybe it was just a bad experience. Either way Eli didn’t care as long as Arnold didn’t climb into bed with him. That would be going too far.

With a smile, Elijah wrapped his arms around Ingrid and buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent that was unique to her. “I’ve missed you too.” He mumbled against her neck. Elijah lifted his head and he smiled before kissing her cheek. He stepped away and held his friend at arm’s length, taking her in. “You’ve grown up,” He stated with amusement. “How are you, love?”

"You've grown up" Ingrid mocked with a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her face. "It's been two months dufus". But to be honest, Ingrid had grown up in little ways. Her hair was a little longer (but she doughted Elijah would have noticed) and a slightly lighter shade of red from all of the sun. Dispite the short time Ingrid also was a bit taller, not much but still enough to make her apear a bit bigger than his memorys of her. Ingrid was also skinnier. Not in a 'oh my god! Is she anerexic?' way but mearly from a lack of wonderful Hogwarts meals and a plenty of dietary snacks of fruit and vegtables provided by her aunt and uncle. Her new skinnier nature (that she planned to dump the second she saw the golden plates of the first feast) happened to also make her chest look larger. So overall, the eddect would make her look older. Not that he had to be so happy about it.

"I've been worse" Ingrid told Elijah, looking up into his eyes. Truth was, a whole summer to do whatever sort of artistic projects she felt like had been pretty amazing. Most of her work during the school year consisted of sketches in a leather notebook. Ingrid was primarily a sculpter. She especially liked making mobiles, though any type of 3D object was fun. Her whole closet contained more Greek style sculptures than she cared to admit. "What about you?" she asked looking around. "Not cleaning I see"