Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

[on_ur_left]

It was Thursday, and Steve was getting desperate. Class started in exactly a week, and he still didn't have a model. He figured, in New York of all places, finding someone willing to take their clothes off for money wouldn't be difficult. Sadly, he was aiming for someone professional (and not professional at taking their clothes off), and there weren't any actual artist's models who were willing to work for the income he had budgeted from the university.

He'd been planning on asking Peggy to do it again, but then she'd gotten a job offer back in England, and... well. She had family there, and he was glad she was able to do something she enjoyed, close to home.

It still left him in the lurch for a model. He'd been searching for almost a month now, finally this week he'd just printed up flyers and begun walking along the streets passing them out, explaining about his class, how he was looking for someone willing to do a Life Model job... He'd even had some people who had seemed interested - until he explained that yes, you would have to take your clothes off, during multiple sessions.

Inhaling deeply, Steve released the breath slowly, closing his eyes. "Please, dear God," he murmured, "I just need to find someone who can help me out. Anything. I know I'm bein' kinda picky, but if you could just, please help me out, here..."

And then he opened his eyes, and there she was. Striking, with white streaks at the front of her chestnut brown hair, a heart-shaped face, good, proportionate body-type from what he could tell under her clothes (Steve never noticed when he crossed the line when critiquing someone for art; someone else always had to point it out to him), she moved fluidly, and-- just-- she was perfect.

Before he knew it, Steve was standing in front of the woman, blocking her path, thrusting a flyer practically up her nose. "You're perfect! You're gorgeous, please, please, will you model for me?!"

It was maybe a whole five seconds later that he realized just how much of a creep he sounded like, and flushed bright red. "That's not a come-on!" he practically shouted.

Comments

[theycalledmeacurse]

Of all the things Rogue had expected to happen that day, being accosted by a handsome man in the street had not been one of them. She hadn't even entertained the notion. Opening her mailbox and finding another rejection letter? Likely. Also finding a past due notice from a bill collector? Even more likely. Eating dinner alone and wondering for the hundredth time if she shouldn't just bury her pride and go home to Mississippi? Unfortunately, almost guaranteed.

She'd been on her way back from a disaster of a meeting when she ran into him. Almost literally, with the way he rushed up to her, and she had to step back quickly to avoid crashing into him and his stack of flyers. When it registered what exactly he'd said, her eyes widened, and then he turned red and added the most hilarious (and honestly slightly disappointing) line and she had to smile in amusement.

Taking the flyer from him, she decided to humor the handsome, crazy man and looked it over quickly before asking, "You're an art teacher?" That explained the eccentricity.

[on_ur_left]

Steve held his breath, only tentatively releasing it when she didn't back away hastily, but instead seemed interested in the flyer, asking about his profession.

"Yes!" he enthused, trying to keep his desperation to a minimum. "It's - this is my third year teaching. Anatomy, living subjects, subtle art, that kind of thing. I had a model the last couple of years, but - she got a job somewhere closer to family, so I don't have a model anymore. I've been looking all over, I'm sorry I--" don't say accosted, a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his best friend warned him, do not say accosted, "I was so-- straightforward, just now. But you really do have fantastic bone structure and good proportions."

He was being too earnest to even realize how creepy it sounded, this time.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue had heard creepier things in her lifetime, usually when guys had been trying to hit on her and hadn't realized that their ideas about women were a little too caveman for her liking.

"Why, thank you," she commented with a smirk, her drawl thickening a bit with her amusement. "It's not everyday I get compliments like that." And oh yes, there was teasing in those words. A nice heaping portion of it.

Studying the flyer again, she was quiet for a moment before asking seriously, "What sort of modeling would the job entail?"

[on_ur_left]

Steve blushed, shoulders creeping up around his neck as he thought back on what he'd said, and how it might sound to a complete stranger - a woman he didn't even know. Oh God, he was going about this all wrong, why was she even still talking to him?

And then she asked what kind of modeling the job called for, and Steve sagged. This was always the point where he lost anybody interested in the position. "There is nude modeling involved, for the first month," he explained, his voice turning bland and dull as he recited the deal-breaker that had driven so many people before her off. "After that, underwear and tight-fitted clothing, and then loose clothes with a lot of folds and creases. And yes, the nude section is required, so they understand how different clothing items can change the shape of a body."

Deciding to take one final stab at keeping her around (because she really was perfect for this, aesthetically speaking), Steve added, "but I promise, it's a serious art class; nothing sexual. The door will be closed to keep out the looky-loos, and the students are just there to draw; nobody's going to make passes at you, or anything like that."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Nude modeling. Only one person had ever seen that much of her and he... But it wasn't personal, she reminded herself. The students would be like he had been, looking at her from an artistic point of view, studying her to make sure they got the lines right on the page and mastered the concepts enough to pass the class.

One month, he'd said. Just one month, only a few times a week, and for really a very short time, comparatively speaking. She was quiet as she thought it over, her eyes on the piece of paper in her hand and the rate of pay that was mentioned - she could certainly use the money. And wasn't she supposed to be getting out of her shell, trying something new?

"I've never done this sort of thing before," she started hesitantly, glancing up at him with uncertainty in her expression. "I have... There are a few scars on my back from an accident. They're not that bad, you can hardly see them except up close or under certain kinds of light. Would that be an issue?"

[on_ur_left]

Despite her obvious hesitation, when there was no outright refusal, Steve's entire demeanor (not to mention his whole body - he really did have a lousy poker face) perked up. He listened intently to her concern, taking it seriously, as it was obviously something she was worried about. Whether or not she was self-conscious about her scars, he could work with either way.

"That's absolutely not an issue," he explained, his voice losing his over-eager tone and turning reassuring. "The room has a lot of natural light, as well as some fluorescent lighting - it might make the scars more visible than normal, but you'll be at least five feet away from the students. They'll be focusing on the overall look, but I do ask that they try to capture any details they notice. Most of the time, I'd probably have you facing them, or doing side views." If the back of the model were featured more prominently, he might've been able to convince a few people from earlier into doing the gig. But it really was about the front of the model, which society as a rule said that you shouldn't see in the all-together.