[ He meets her at the nursery door, swinging it open after he pecks her hello. After she enters, he pulls on a pair of violet-lensed glasses and follows. Without them, the room is a muddy mush of browns and olives, with some blue thrown in for good measure; with, he doubts he sees exactly the same as, say, Scully, but he can at least tell the different layers of paint apart.
Mulder's never been known for artistic talent, and that probably won't be changing any time soon. He's spent hours on YouTube and Pinterest tutorials, though, not to mention leafing through various books from the library and projecting various shapes on the walls to trace; at this point, he's pretty sure he's at least hit "mediocre imitation of Grandma Moses" levels of skill. Which, as far as he's concerned, is pretty good.
He's cleared the drop cloths away, so the hardwood floor is once again visible. Painter's tape still protects the baseboards and window casement, but the general effect is basically complete. Long, thin pine trees encircle the room, with slender trunks that get feathery green needles about halfway up. A thin brown layer of earth wobbles around the bottom of the wall, in a way he's hoping reads as realistic rather than sloppy. In one corner, the trees form a familiar shape at their crowns, and a UFO floats lazily in the air, missing only an I WANT TO BELIEVE amid the foliage. In another corner, two stiff figures, each the length of his forefinger, stand beneath the heavy green canopy in suits; one has red hair, the other brown, and neither has a discernible face. A silhouette of the Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot hides between a few tree trunks, a red-eyed face peering around another. A little flock of V-shaped bird silhouettes fly above one copse of tree tops, just visible against the sky, which starts out a sunset-y orange and becomes blue, and then black - to match the ceiling, where constellations are daubed out in silver.
None of it is in proportion, but it's not really supposed to be. The feeling of it is what he wants, and to the best of his knowledge, he's gotten that: out in the woods on a nice night, the whole world beckoning. ]
no subject
[ He meets her at the nursery door, swinging it open after he pecks her hello. After she enters, he pulls on a pair of violet-lensed glasses and follows. Without them, the room is a muddy mush of browns and olives, with some blue thrown in for good measure; with, he doubts he sees exactly the same as, say, Scully, but he can at least tell the different layers of paint apart.
Mulder's never been known for artistic talent, and that probably won't be changing any time soon. He's spent hours on YouTube and Pinterest tutorials, though, not to mention leafing through various books from the library and projecting various shapes on the walls to trace; at this point, he's pretty sure he's at least hit "mediocre imitation of Grandma Moses" levels of skill. Which, as far as he's concerned, is pretty good.
He's cleared the drop cloths away, so the hardwood floor is once again visible. Painter's tape still protects the baseboards and window casement, but the general effect is basically complete. Long, thin pine trees encircle the room, with slender trunks that get feathery green needles about halfway up. A thin brown layer of earth wobbles around the bottom of the wall, in a way he's hoping reads as realistic rather than sloppy. In one corner, the trees form a familiar shape at their crowns, and a UFO floats lazily in the air, missing only an I WANT TO BELIEVE amid the foliage. In another corner, two stiff figures, each the length of his forefinger, stand beneath the heavy green canopy in suits; one has red hair, the other brown, and neither has a discernible face. A silhouette of the Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot hides between a few tree trunks, a red-eyed face peering around another. A little flock of V-shaped bird silhouettes fly above one copse of tree tops, just visible against the sky, which starts out a sunset-y orange and becomes blue, and then black - to match the ceiling, where constellations are daubed out in silver.
None of it is in proportion, but it's not really supposed to be. The feeling of it is what he wants, and to the best of his knowledge, he's gotten that: out in the woods on a nice night, the whole world beckoning. ]