nexus_crossings | The Beauty of Inspiration

There is a large canvas set up in the Plaza today. The majority of the canvas, which is five feet in height and close to seven feet in length, is currently blank. But there is an artist who is working on the first portion of his project.

Hunter has a very unique appearance. A network of vine-themed tattoos cover his face and neck (and since he is wearing a tank top today, those same tattoos are also visible on his arms). There is a large rose bush tattoo on his left forearm that seems to be connected to the vines that run up his arm. He is completely bald. A large silver tree is prominently placed on his forehead, which trails down to a nose-bridge piercing. He has no eyebrows, instead Arabic writing is tattooed along his brow line. And along the right side of his cheek is a deep red scar.

At his side is a large trolley, that currently holds a multitude of paint jars. There is also a large container of rose petals, which every now and then Hunter uses to dip into the paint and place onto the canvas to create a multi-dimensional appearance to his creation.

He also has a few cloths available, so every now and then he can clean his hands, step back and look at the piece. It is during one of those moments, that Hunter asks his question. "Where do you find your inspiration?"

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Hunter's words bring a small nostalgic smile to his face. There was a time when Steve would do the same here in the Nexus; occupy a spare chair in the plaza or a park bench a bit outside of the hustle and bustle and just watch the world around him. Reveling in the myriads of different people coming and going from this meeting place between worlds.

Excuse him while he fishes in his jacket before pulling out a small leather bound book and holding it up for Hunter to see.

"Sketches, mostly. Though I love all of it, I did most of my larger works in charcoals."

"Really?" Hunter smiles again. He reaches down into his backpack, and pulls out a large sketch book.

"I do most of my works in pencil crayons."

He holds out his sketch book. "Portrait work. Would you like to see?"

That draws out a laugh from Steve Rogers. He nods once and offers out his own notebook in one hand and moves to accept Hunter's much larger sketchbook with the other.

"Nice. I'm...ah. I'm a soldier so I don't have the luxury of taking larger books with me a lot of the time. But I always have this one on me. A lot of my work is portraits too. Sometimes it's caricatures or abstract drawings. I used to be a newspaper satire cartoonist a long time ago. Freelance."

A pause and then Steve nods again.

"Steve Rogers. It's nice to meet another artist."

Hunter starts slowly flipping through Steve's notebook, taking his time to admire the portraits, caricatures and drawings contained within.

When Steve starts looking through Hunter's, he might immediately know that the other artist lives in New York City because of the city backgrounds in most of the drawings. Most of his drawings depict life on a busy New York City. There are those of the homeless and their struggles, the overworked and underpaid waitress in a busy café, lawyers rushing to get to the same cab, and many more.

At the introduction, Hunter glances back up. "I'm Hunter. And yes, it is really nice to meet you."

Rogers' New York in the small sketches looks damn near antiquated by comparison. The old cars heading to the Brooklyn bridge. Roadside food carts and a ferris wheel that would be immediately shut down in Hunter's era. These sketches are joined by those of a woman with a similar face to Steve's smoothing out a wrinkle in her 1930's nurse uniform. A different woman with dark curls punching out a much larger soldier than she.

Faces familiar to locals of the Nexus as well who Hunter may or may not recognize. The newest drawings are of Steve's fellow Avengers. An anatomy study of a man drawing back a bowstring. A disheveled man in glasses hunched quietly over a cup of tea with headphones on. A woman looking up out of the corner of her eye as she cleans a pistol.

The raspy sounds of pages turning has slowed on Steve's end. He's staring at each and ever drawing of Hunter's in a quiet awe. His fingers tracing just above the familiar landmarks. Wide eyes studying the lined face of the corner cafe waitress cleaning tables. Of the greying beard on the homeless man looking up from his seat while a cheery real estate ad is plastered up behind him.

"I'm from Brooklyn...." Steve's voice is quiet and filled with emotion. His eyes are still on Hunter's sketchbook. "Born and raised. This is...these are something else." He sounds deeply impressed and more than a little moved.

Hunter is equally captivated by the sketches of a New York from a different time. A time before he was born. But he can recognize the Brooklyn bridge.

He takes careful time studying the woman in the nurse uniform. And then the woman with the dark curls. He smiles slightly at the action in the drawing, capturing the moment of her punching out a larger soldier.

Hunter also takes the time to study the more recent drawings.

"Really?" Hunter chuckles lowly in his throat. "I grew up in Manhattan."

"You did?"

Steve chuckles then, a quiet sound that does wonders for relieving the out of touch expression he'd worn while studying the drawings. It helps to be reminded of where and when he is. Sometimes it's easy to get lost in his memories.

"In the 2000s I'm assuming? The time you're from I mean."

Near the back of the sketch book are some portrait drawings of people who are important to Hunter. There is a captivating drawing of a woman with bright green eyes, who seems to be looking right at Steve when he studies the drawing. And following that drawing, are sketches of seven different girls, who have a similar face to the woman with the bright green eyes, but each have their own characteristics. And there are a few drawings of Hunter himself, without his shirt, that depict the network of thorn-themed tattoos that decorate his body.

"Yes. 2017. Are you from an earlier time?"

"Yes, and no."

He knows it's a vague answer but the truth is complicated. Especially considering the Nexus.

"I came to the Nexus from December, 1941 the first time. But it's 2017 where and when I work, now. So while I'm from an earlier time, I'm living in a modern world now." And only partially thanks to Nexus shenanigans, at that.

"Got to love how time seems to merge here, no matter where you are from. Or how long it has been since you were here last." Hunter smiles slightly.

"So you crossed the timeline, to now be where you are. That must be difficult to catch up with all the differences."

"More or less, yeah."

Steve rubs at the back of his neck. It's really quite the mind trip every time he thinks too hard about it.

Hunter smiles softly. "Would you like to paint a little?" He offers Steve a brush. And gestures to the canvas in a welcoming gesture.

"I find, that the art always helps me focus my mind."

Once more Steve's gaze sweeps over the canvas taking in all of the bright colors and texture hunter has added to the piece already. It reminds him of a mural he did once in an attempt to bring some warmth to a charmed winter Nexus a long time ago.

Perhaps because of that memory Steve decides to paint a bouquet of golden yellow tulips tied together with a warm burgundy ribbon that drapes off of the small table he's made for them to sit on.

Hunter leaves Steve alone while he paints, because simply that is the whole point. And he works on an area, where he is creating a small forest of lollipop trees.

The Beauty of Inspiration

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