this is just the beginning [kiwi]

[Bevan Kris Gray ««]

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"You don't understand, mate. I'm sorry sir, but you can't check out books here." His patience was quickly being spent, ready to pull his hair out in frustration.

The morning had been incredible -- incredibly boring, and he loved every second of it. He enjoyed his time spent in libraries; they were calming, quite places, completely absent of college-level douches and their whorish girlfriends. The only people that willingly visited the student library was, of course, studious students. On any given day, his job wasn't all that exciting; he put away books, checked them out for other students, or (and this was the best part) helped find books for people. He didn't have to put on a uniform; he got to wear normal clothes -- dark jeans, collared shirt, and a beanie to cover his messy hair. It was easy, it was simple, and it was cash; tutoring made more money, perhaps, but it was difficult at times, getting other people to understand things that came so naturally to him. The library was the perfect place to relax, to get away from the stress of classes and to avoid having any sort of social life.

But not today. This happened every so often, and Bevan always let out a sigh every time an elderly man or woman hobbled their way through the library doors. Most universities opened their libraries to all citizens of the town, but Miala kept their resources for strict student use only. Here we go again, He thought grimly, pulling out his earphones and standing up from his seat behind the counter. He looked a bit funny working here, six feet tall and in this tiny library. He crossed the library quickly, and caught up with the man just as he reached the first shelves of books.

And that was what the morning had turned into: an endless conversation, trying to get the confused gentlemen to understand that he couldn't check out books! Every time, the man just shook his head and mumbled otherwise.

It was impossible. After ten minutes, he gave up, letting the man look for the books he wanted, and Bevan returned to the counter. He took his place leaning back against the stool, one earphone in and skipping through songs on shuffle. Besides the elderly, there wasn't any one else around. Bevan had had this job since freshmen year, and his supervisor had long since trusted him to take care of things on his own. Now, the lady usually left during his shift, catching up on some grocery shopping or meeting with friends. It didn't bother him; either way, he was getting money added to his bank account.

The gentlemen returned to the counter; Bevan explained that they didn't and would never carry Fifty Shades of Grey. The man instead settled for some Stephen King, and Bevan checked it out on his own account, doubting he would ever see the selection back in the library again. "Have a good day, sir," He said with a sigh as the man shuffled away. There was nobody else around, so he put in the other earphone, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. It was midday on a Saturday -- he should be making out with a girl in her dorm, or deciding which party to attend. Instead, he was here...in a vacant library. "Bloody hell." He murmured under his breath.

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[BLAIRE elizabeth HART]

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It was just utterly and inexplicably frustrating. Whenever she thought she had a fantastic portfolio of pictures she snapped from her Canon Rebel T4i, her professor seemed to just downright abuse his right of constructive criticism and point out every single flaw in every single picture. Pulling fingers angrily through her hair, Blaire stared down at her portfolio, not understanding why her professor insisted on re-doing the assignment. It seemed reasonable to want perfection from students, but to a point, it just gets ridiculous. Blaire sighed, unhappy with her work even though she worked incredibly hard to provide the prints that just got a wave of the hand from her professor. Throwing her hands in the air, Blaire packed up everything from where she was sitting and tried to devise a rational plan of action.

Well, drastic times called for drastic measures and although she hated asking for help, the lovely woman decided it was about time to call upon her friend Bevan for some tips. He seemed to know the ins and outs of photography, so she hoped he could help her in a more polite and less critical way when it came to her shots. It was extremely hot outside, the sun beating down on her light blonde hair with more fervor than she had felt the entire spring. Of course there was a slightly cool breeze that made the unusual heat more bearable, but it was still pretty warm out. Uncrossing her legs from the metal picnic table, she looked around, noticing how empty the campus seemed. Classes were almost over, so many people may have been studying for their second semester finals, but it was unusual to see so little people outside, regardless of the heat.

With the camera slung around her neck and her bright pink north face backpack slung over one shoulder, the senior walked into the library from outside. She didn't exactly know whether or not Bevan would be working in the library this particular day but it was always the first place she checked when she wanted to hunt him down. She entered through a side door and walked into the cool library. Jeans in the heat probably was one of the worst decisions of the day but the cool and calm library almost made it worth it…almost. Sighing with relief, Blaire walked toward the front of the library, scanning for Bevan, hoping he would be there. She didn’t want to leave the library, not yet. Oddly enough, the library seemed to be completely dead. This was unusual due to the fact that finals were coming up. Weren’t they supposed to be studying? Then again, she wasn’t exactly getting prepared for finals. Maybe it was just a little too early to start really hitting the books.

She thought she spotted his blonde-brown hair from the front desk. It seemed likely that it was Bevan, but she needed to start walking closer to finally know it was him. His muscular build was easy to recognize, but it was the messy hairstyle that really allowed her to finally know it was Bevan that she was seeing. Blaire thought she caught his eye, and awkwardly raised a hand to a wave. The thing she liked about Bevan? He was British, just as she was, so it gave them something to talk about. Although she didn’t live there now, she enjoyed hearing the accent…one that wasn’t one of her family members. Although her family now lived in Michigan, she still considered Manchester, England to be her true home. One day, she hoped to go back and live in England again.

Blaire approached the desk and smiled warmly at Bevan. “Hello again, Mr. Grey,” purred Blaire. This was always how she addressed him at first, because it just seemed fitting. “I’ve gotten myself into a small problem in my Photography class, and I figured you could be a suitable helping hand.”

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[Bevan Kris Gray ««]

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A few minutes after the man left, a girl came into the library with a bright pink backpack slung over her shoulder. Luckily, in that moment he was skipping a song, and he saw her out of the corner of his eye lift up a hand and wave. He smiled and automatically waved back, then realizing that it was actually someone he knew--Blaire Hart, a fellow junior at NHU.

Blaire Hart. A beautiful girl; he had heard guys talk about her before and after classes. Though, they never went on much besides her physical beauty. She was on the quieter side, studied hard. Most of them wanted an easy girl, someone to drink with, sleep with, and then get out. Blaire wasn't like that; she didn't put herself out, and he had always respected her for that. She was minoring (and he was majoring) in photography, so they had a few classes together, and he always enjoyed her company. She was sweet, and English like him -- they formed an instant connection. They both had origins in England, and while they didn't share the same home town, it was nice to know someone who shared a similar background (besides his cousin, Carlin, who didn't really count).

It was hot for a spring North Carolinian day, surely near 90 degrees. He was wearing his usual for work: dark jeans, toms, a bright-colored, collared shirt, and (since his hair was being especially difficult today) a beanie to cover it up. The heat didn't affect him too much in the air-conditioned library, but he was sure it was bad from where Blaire was coming from.

"Hello again, Mr. Gray...." She started as she approached the desk. He paused the music and pulled out his earphones. He noticed the time on his phone; his shift was over. "...I figured you could be a suitable helping hand"

"Sorry, ma'am. I can't help you; I am just way too busy with all this work. Honestly I don't even know how I manage it all myself." He shrugged helplessly. "I'd be happy to help you, Miss Hart, when my shift is over, but... He took out the sign from under the desk that said "CHECK-OUT CLOSED" and set it on the counter.

He grinned. "Oh, look! My work for the day is done." He stepped out from behind the desk, and smiled down at her. "Photography problems, huh? Not a surprise, really. Our professor is a complete bastard. Can you believe that he made me redo an entire project last semester? He stepped over to the desks, holding out a chair and offering her a seat. "Shall we sit? I've got to stay here until the next student comes in to take my place."

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[BLAIRE elizabeth HART]

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Okay, good. He noticed her. That was good, because now she felt a little better about going to talk to him about her photography project. Absentmindedly, Blaire wrapped a small bit of her hair on her finger, and stared toward Bevan, uncomfortably unsure of what she should say to him. She listened as he spoke, and a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders when she heard that their professor did the exact same thing to him as well. Huh, well, he must have some sort of prejudice over the English. Stifling a yawn with her hand, her eyes watered some, but brightened considerably after hearing Bevan joke about the “busy” library. She knew he was joking, and although normally unsure about how to respond to sarcasm, Blaire let a small laugh escape her mouth. She laughed plenty, but sometimes she laughed at the wrong time, and so she made sure it was quiet enough where her laugh didn’t seem rude. She wasn’t sure whether Bevan was completely joking, but…after scanning the library, she figured he was.

Taking a look around, Blaire figured they could take a seat anywhere. But, before really figuring anything out, Bevan took the initiative and walked over to the large area consisting of desks, where either one or many students could study while talking. She hated the silent study area – it made her feel unwanted – everyone was just so quiet. She enjoyed hearing things, but sometimes it got a little too noisy in the library, so she would move outside. Today would seem to be an exception, the library was as dead as her great-grandmother – who was plenty dead – and they would have no problem with talking to one another without another conversation right in their ears. Blaire took the seat Bevan offered, and waited for him to sit down before beginning to explain her problem. She figured seeing as Bevan was majoring in photography, he would have a little more expertise in the areas of movement photography, because for some reason, she couldn’t please their professor.

The class was loosely structured. The students could do any of the projects at any time during the semester, as long as they made the deadline, and did all of the different types of photography. She had already submitted her portraits (both formal and informal), her landscape, as well as her still life, but she knew that movement and action would be the most difficult for her, so, like many things, she waited until the last minute to actually complete it. She had a 3.8 in the class, so she wasn’t completely worried, but it still troubled her mind that her professor couldn’t even say one positive word about her portfolio. That frustrated her, and she wanted to prove him wrong. Yes, she could do action photography, and she would show him that he was wrong.

Placing her backpack on her lap, Blaire rifled through her various folders until she found what she was looking for – her pale blue photography binder – where her action shots were sitting in nice, plastic sleeves for Bevan to review. Thinking about it, as she placed the binder on the table, maybe her professor hated horses. He couldn’t have hated her, right? She never wanted to get on his bad side. Since showing her project to her professor, she had also placed in various other pictures of the horses, regardless of whether they were while moving or while they were still. Along with the pictures of the horses were various items of tack as well as a few shots of the barn cats. Blaire blushed as she remembered that she put those in the binder, and she hastily flipped through, collecting those that weren’t action, and stuffing them into the back pocket of the binder. She hoped Bevan hadn’t seen them. Those hadn’t even been given to the instructor – those were the pictures she took while she was at the barn – more for herself than for anyone else to see. How could she have been so foolish as to put them there for all to see?

“I tried to capture the bond between horse and rider while being ridden and while being handled,” said Blaire quietly, showing Bevan two pictures – one of a horse being ridden at the canter, three legs off the ground and one toe dragging in the dust – and a second in the barn, a rider grooming her horse with one hand on his withers and the other brushing him softly. The light was really nice in the second picture; shadowing the horse’s body in a very gentle and soft way, while highlighting the calm and serene look on the rider’s face. “These are only a few,” said Blaire, “but so far, what can I do to make them pleasing to our professor?” She sighed unhappily, not seeing anything wrong in the photos. She ran her hand through the front of her hair, hoping Bevan could help her.

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[Bevan Kris Gray ««]

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He sat down, stretching his legs out underneath the table and crossing his ankles. He was a tall guy, and these tables were small--but there wasn't anything else around, except for cushioned chairs, but he was sure they needed a table to set her laptop on. He was slightly surprised when she pulled out a binder; personally he liked keeping digital copies of his work. He kept his portfolio on his laptop, so he could easily edit his work with photoshop, and email them to his teachers if needed.

Like his father, he had always been observant. He couldn't help himself; his dark green eyes were always collecting information, storing it away and connectiong the pieces later. He noticed her hastily stuff away some other pictures, a slight embarrassment crossing her face. He smiled a bit. "I see you hiding those shots. You aren't taking any kind of pictures I should be worried about, right, Blaire?" He teased her, his crooked grin lifting up his face. He knew, of course, that she wasn't that kind of girl -- one of the reasons he enjoyed her company so much -- but he was curious to see those pictures. He had always been like that; anything kept secret, he wanted to know about it.

She explained the concept of the art for Mr. Bateman's class, then pulled out the binder and two pictures. He looked over them closely for a moment, concentrated thought clear across his face. Then he spoke, "The lighting in the second one is great, but the first one needs work. The first one is too overexposed; remember that when you're in bright places, you have to set a low ISO on the camera, and a large aperture. The shutter speed has to be high, 1/250 if not larger; but I think you got that down, since the horse is in focus." He smiled at her. "You know, I think that Bateman is giving you a hard time because he knows you can do better than this. You are a rider, right? You should be able to tell this story better than anyone. And these are the kinds of pictures that I -- a man who knows nothing about horses -- would be taking. The riding, the cleaning. There's more to that bond between animal and rider than just that, isn't there?" He glanced over the pictures again. "My advice would to get more personal, and get different angles -- go high, go low. This might be a daft idea, but have you ever tried taking pictures while riding your horse? Hard to take, probably, but it could be an interesting angle." He wasn't really sure that would work, but it could be cool. And there was no harm in trying something different; if he wasn't so freaked by the creatures, he might offer to help her with the assignment. Oh God, what if asks me to help her? I can't step one foot into a barn before bursting into tears.

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[BLAIRE elizabeth HART]

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She didn't like the look in his eyes when she hid the rest of her photographs. It was this probing look, almost as if he wanted in on some secret. She knew that the pictures were fine, but they were of her horses and at her property, and she didn't want to hear anything about them, whether positive or negative. She wasn't a fan of criticism, but she could take it good-naturedly on the exterior, but like so many, on the inside she would be upset with the advice. She didn't want him to see the pictures, and so she wouldn't show them to him, whether he liked it or not. Her body language immediately shifted from relaxed to uncomfortable and stiff, and she noticed the confused expression that clouded Bevan's eyes as his eyebrows furrowed looking at her binder. Blaire pursed her lips, now uncertain that she wanted him to view her photographs.

Maybe she would have been better off just taking the hit on the grade and making it up toward her final. "Well?" asked Blaire, accidentally sounding a tad bit more hostile than intended, "you act as if the binder's going to bite you. It may be 2012, and I do have copies on my macbook. I just like it on paper. It's more organized. I can edit on my computer, but when push comes to shove, sometimes your computer won't work when you want it to. I can always have my binder, though," explained Blaire quietly, still unhappy over Bevan's look toward her previous photos. Maybe if they had been better friends, she would have showed him, but she just didn't want to show them to anyone yet. She still needed time to go over them, especially the ones of her brother's horse. God, she missed her brother.

But, now wasn't the time for upsetting thoughts.

Blaire listened politely to Bevan's comments about her photographs. She knew he wouldn't like the first and that he would compliment the second, but she was completely taken aback at his comment of "not fully capturing the horse and rider bond". What did he know about horses and riders? She could tell that he had a complete lack of understanding of equines based on his expression and the way his eyes scanned the photograph. You are a rider, right? No shit, sherlock. Blaire tried extremely hard to hide the hurt in her eyes. What was he even talking about, trying to get more out of the bond between horse and rider? What, did he want her to stand under a jump and take a picture of a horse jumping over her? As nice and artsy as it sounded, it seemed crazy, and she wouldn't try it in a million years. And the fact that he even suggested holding a camera while riding? She didn't know what would happen if she did that, no way did she want to lose hold of her precious canon. Blaire furrowed her brow and held back a scowl. And then a thought crossed her.

If Bevan didn't know anything about horses, maybe she could drag him to the barn so he could experience shooting through her eyes. He wouldn't know until he tried. Horses were magnificent creatures, and she was positive he could take amazing pictures. They could have a shoot-off, per say. Or, maybe it would just be nice for him to accompany her so he could point out certain things that popped for him. Because apparently she wasn't doing her best job at capturing the bond. There was something more, but if she couldn't figure it out, maybe instead of talking the talk, Bevan could walk the walk?

"Say, Bevan, maybe you could be of assistance to me, then? Come spend a day at the barn with me. We can take pictures together, and if you're lucky, I can get on a horse and you can take some 'bonding' shots with me and my horse?" asked Blaire, trying to sound calm and kind. She normally didn't act like this, but she certainly did not expect Bevan to talk about something he most certainly wasn't at liberty to talk about. Obviously she couldn't drive him all the way to Michigan to see their horses, but she could take him to the school's barn and show him her one horse she had boarded there. It wouldn't hurt, and she'd like to capture the look on his face around horses. She could tell they were an unfamiliar and scary creature for him, and she secretly hoped he would face his fears, man up, and start living life and loving the creatures she held so high in her heart.

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[Bevan Kris Gray ««]

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He was a bit surprised by her reaction, and also a bit chapped by it, as well. She was the one that came to him for advice. What kind of right did she have to get angry over his opinion—that she asked for? If you want to be an art student, you need to be able to handle criticism. Did she get this way with everyone that reviewed her work? Maybe that was why she was having trouble with the assignment; maybe it wasn’t the work, but the attitude.

“Blaire, calm down, no need to get upset.” He thought his advice was rather valid; he was just being direct and honest, and that was what she had been asking for when she came to him with photography. He loved photography; it had been his passion since childhood, and he held everyone involved in it to a high standard—so what right did she have to get angry over an honest opinion? He certainly knew more about the subject than she did; he was a major, she was just a minor. He was always pushing himself in his work, looking for new angles and new stories to tell; he just wanted the same from her. Honestly, he didn’t want help her if she was going to be such an ass.

“I’m just giving you my honest opinion. I’m more experienced than you, so you should listen to me—I’ve had the professor longer, and I know what he’s expecting. But if you’re not willing to take risks in your work, or accept criticism, then…I don’t know why you even bothered to ask me for help.” Her rudeness was definitely beginning to rub him the wrong way. He couldn’t believe the nerve of her next question; Come to the barn and see if you can do anything better, was basically what the girl was saying.

“You know what, I will take you up on that offer. This weekend, perhaps? I have no Saturday classes, and we can take my car up to the Equestrian Center. I’ll bring all my equipment, and you bring yours; no matter how difficult the task, I can surely show you the ropes .” He grinned at her, handing back the binder. He was the one of those peoples that generally stayed out of conflict, but once you brought up a challenge or insulted his pride he wouldn’t refuse—especially if it involved his photography. Blaire might know horses, but he knew the camera.

A small, small part inside was freaking out, completely passed a panic attack. Oh my god, Bevan, what did you just get yourself into? Apologize right now. Apologize or it will be the death of you. But he would let that part of himself surface once he was back in his apartment.

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