Read Online Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) by S.J. Madill - Free Book Online

strands of hair that had fallen over his face.   "People who sell clothes, they like to show their clothes being worn by people with a specific look.   I'm trying to get more work doing that."
    "A sexually appealing look?" asked Elan.
    The reflection in the mirror glanced at him.   Blaine's eyes had lines under them and shadows around them, and colour had been added to his cheeks to accentuate his facial structure.   "Yeah," said Blaine.   "That."
    "I have noticed," said Elan, "that a great deal of human culture revolves around sex.   Not necessarily for procreation, either; just the act itself, as if it were an act of conquest.   As if counting partners were a way of keeping score."
    Blaine tugged at the stray hairs more forcefully.   "I guess that's true, yeah.   It must seem kinda primitive to you."
    Elan tried a shrug.   "And we must seem very prudish to you."
    "Never thought of it," said Blaine.   He stood up straight, turning his head left and right as he examined his handiwork.
    "So," said Elan, "you must be considered very attractive among human males, to be employed in this way.   An example of a desirable man."
    Blaine blushed at Elan, his mouth stumbling before he spoke.   "I guess so, yeah."
    "You have made a remarkable transformation, Blaine.   Is it considered a form of art?"
    "What?   Makeup?   Sure, I guess."
    "Does it make you more successful at finding partners?"
    "Well…" said Blaine, then stopped.   He turned off the bathroom light and stepped out into the hallway, pausing in front of Elan.   He seemed to be thinking about what to say.   Elan wondered if sex was a taboo subject for casual conversation with humans.   If so, then their mass media had given him the wrong impression.
    Blaine gave a broad smile with shining teeth, and reached up to put his hands on Elan's shoulders.   Even through the coldsuit, his touch was very warm.   "You know what?" said Blaine.   "If you want to see some real art being made, why don't you pop in and see Heather?   She's the real artist in this apartment.   She said she was going to get some work done today, maybe she'd let you watch?"

    *     *     *

    Heather's voice sounded curt, clipped by the speaker of the door console.   "What?"
    "May I come in?" asked Elan.  
    He thought he heard her sigh.   "Sure, but only for a minute," said Heather.   "Door, open."
    With the merest whisper of air, the door glided open to one side.   Elan stepped into Heather's room.
    It was the same size as the other bedrooms, but seemed bigger.   There was an unmade bed against one wall, and a clutter-covered desk in the far corner.   Rumpled clothes and other items littered the floor or were heaped in piles against the desk.   The walls were bare, apart from random drops of paint; most of it concentrated on the right-hand wall where a chaos of spilled and spattered colours hid the off-white wall underneath.   In the middle of the riot of colour hung a blank, featureless square of white.
    In front of the canvas, Heather knelt on the floor, mixing pots of paint.   She wore a loose-fitting shirt and shorts, both covered in untold layers of dried paint.   Her hair was tied back behind her head by a stained cloth.   She glanced up at him, then back to her paints.   "What's up, Elan?"
    Elan wondered if he was being intrusive.   Palani artists were legendary for their idiosyncratic behaviour, for the 'sanctity' of their creative spaces.   He assumed the same would hold true for humans.   "Blaine said you would be painting today."
    "Yep," she said.   It sounded like she was forcing herself to be patient.   "Just about to get started.   What can I do for you?"
    "I was wondering if I could watch."
    He saw, from the way she tensed, that her first reaction was to say 'no', to kick him out.   A crease appeared on her forehead, and she kept her attention on the pot of blue paint in front of her.   She added a few drops of red to it and stirred, the