#ft: mal cohen 01

[avaxbest]

There'd been a time when she'd desperately wanted nothing more than to be deemed cultured enough to be on Richard's arm, constantly feeling as though she needed to better herself to put herself on his level. Playing a continuous game of catch up when he'd had decades more than her to expand his horizons and learn about the world. Art and music were two of his favourite areas to measure her knowledge and find her lacking, her understanding never as broad or in depth as his or if it was then somehow her opinion was the wrong one, insult taken at the notion she might have opposed him even briefly.

Maybe that was why the frown was so quick to settle on her brow at the word 'dumbass' and why her head began to shake almost immediately at the idea that art was meant to be something so out of reach. "I think the best art should be accessible, something that can make anyone and everyone feel something. It shouldn't have to always be some kind of test that only an elite few have the answers to. Surely the more people you can move with your creation the better?" There was a brief glance his his direction but she barely paused before she continued. "I'm not saying it can't be challenging but when it becomes something only the rich boys club can pat each other on the back for supposedly understanding is it even still art?"

As the rhetorical question hung in the air between them, cheeks began to flush at her overreaction and a sheepish half smile was offered in apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean to trap you in some kind of one-sided debate."

Malcolm's days were typically structured all the same; he'd wake up, make himself a cup of earl grey tea, and then take Pepper out with him for a jog. He'd learned in recovery that maintaining a routine was an important part of keeping himself clean and sober, not to mention it kept his mental health in check. It was almost funny -- the Boston native used to absolutely loathe mornings, more often than not getting out of bed well past noon as he dealt with the previous night's hangover. Now, it was the best part of his day.

He'd brought him and the french bulldog to a stop when he spotted Ava, a quizzical look crossing his features as she forewent a more casual greeting and asked him a question. "Uh --" he turned to face the painting in the window fully, head ever so slightly tilted. "Makes me feel..." Dark brows narrowed. "...like a bit of a dumbass?" Art was never his forte -- he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at, just that he couldn't for the life of him desire. "Isn't the best art supposed to make you feel like that, thought?"