My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

836 A Stroke Of Love, Part Y’know, I’ve been holding pencils and pens for the majority of my life, scribbled on enough papers to demolish an entire forest – anyway, cutting a long tangent short, I should be pretty well-learned at doing both.

But go ahead and premise it into a quick, quirky game and suddenly it’s like I’ve never held a single thing between my fingers my whole entire life.

They always say you should put your mind to it and the rest will follow. Well, I’m the opposite it seems, I put my mind on anything too much and it’ll just self-implode and this here winds up being the result: dumb, dull me struggling to comprehend the concept of put-skinny-drawing-stick-in-hand please, for the love God, just hold it properly.

“Should I strike a pose?” Amanda asked, standing back far enough away to remain blind to my ongoing internal breakdown. “How do you want me to draw me?”

“Um, uuh…” I’m crashing, I’m dying, what does a pose mean anymore and why does it scare me? “Just stand still and smile, I guess?”

“Ugh, basic, boring, bland,” Amanda said in a cruel verbal act of mental castration, finishing me off with a gutting look of disappointment. “Come on, you gotta really challenge yourself! Stay like this, you’re gonna wind up drawing stickmen for the rest of your life.”

“I…! Well…!” I plunged the pencil onto the page, offended, feeling the flow of retribution surge up my fingers and into the graphite. “Fine! Fine! You start posing! Give me what you got. I’ll tell you what I want.”

“Now that’s what I want to hear,” she said, beaming proudly. “Alright, umm, poses, poses – let’s see what I can… ah!”

Amanda stepped a little over to the right, overhanging branches and wooden fences aligning in her perfect frame, and slowly and perfectly coordinately, she spread her arms high, lifted her knee, and her lips parted into a silent cheer.

.....

“Head cheerleader?” she asked.

I gave a good sifting look at her, before promptly shaking my head.

“Alright, how about – ” she moved again, and suddenly she looked a lot more guarded, a lot more meek, a trembling hand trying to hide her blushing, timid expression. ” – the shy, quiet bookworm?”

‘I can’t see your face,” I said.

She quickly dropped the act, and strode forward in confidence, hands on her hips, and a cool attitude brimming in the sultry look in her eyes. “Bold and brash?”

More like belongs in the… never mind.

“Not that either,” I muttered.

“Alright – lightning round, then.”

And at once, Amanda dove into another pose, cupping her chin, staring distantly out into the night, a strangely familiar sternness shaping her pondering gaze.

“The cold, mysterious Succubus?” she asked.

Then before I could even answer, she transformed again, her arms falling limp, and her expression at once blanking into a dreamy blur, and almost in slow-motion, she roused her voice.

“How… about…?”

“Oh my God, Amanda.”

“No…?” She cocked her head. “Okay…”

Bam – she changed again, reaching deep at the actress in her, and suddenly her eyes sharpened into straight focus, holding her head high, before plunging an imaginary sword into the snow and holding firm at the hilt, and as if nature itself had been waiting on her cue, the wind blew, carrying her blonde locks with an almost ethereal grace.

“The brave, beautiful Elf?” she asked dutifully, bowing once. “Master?”

“Oh, ha, ha…”

“Pick one already then!” Amanda broke into a chuckle, reverting back to herself. “There’s only so many poses out there, you know?”

“Alright, alright, just let me think for a moment…” I said, lifting the pencil up, and pushing it against my lips in thought.

Y’know, thinking back, she portrayed each one of those girls to the tee, but only now I’m realizing that was completely missing someone else in that lineup there.

“How about something a little more… Amanda-ish?” I suggested. “I mean, it’s you I’m supposed to be drawing. aren’t I?

Amanda let out a laugh again, a faint breathy chuckle ending with an even fainter smirk.

“Amanda-ish…” she muttered, and for the final time, she shifted again, only this time she didn’t do much, move much, simply tucking her hands behind her and smiling for the canvas. “Well? How’s this?”

I let my stare sit for longer on her, more amused than anything, realizing what exactly I was seeing.

“Just standing still and smiling, huh?” I remarked. ”

“Basic, boring, bland,” she shrugged her shoulders, still smiling as wide as ever. “That’s me.”

“Not what I’m seeing, Amanda.”

“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. So hurry up and draw already,” she urged me, keeping herself as still and present as she could. “Then you can show me what you see.”

Suppose that was enough chatter for the time being, yeah… only got ten or so minutes on this, after all.

“No stickmen!” she warned. “You turn me into bamboo, I’m breaking up with you.”

Never even crossed my mind, that. To be honest, actually nothing was crossing my mind. I looked at her, really looked at her, the tip of my pencil remaining stagnant, and for a precious minute or two I just stayed that way.

Because I was simply set up against the absolute impossible; the gentle curve of her eyes, every strand of blond blowing in the wind, the little dimples of her smile, the perked tip of her nose, the soft lift of her jaw – seriously, how was I ever supposed to translate such indescribable beauty into page?

Unless I had some steamed milk and coffee, I couldn’t draw a thing to save my life. Like, the only times I ever had a pencil in my hand was just to write and…

Huh…

Hmm…

A few minutes later, and umm, well… a few minutes passed, and literally ripping through the prolonged silence echoed the tearing sound of paper.

Amanda gave me an incredulous look. “Did you just really…?”

“I messed up that one,” I muttered, stuffing the discarded piece of paper into my pocket. “Starting over.”

“Starting over?” she snorted. “Are you sure you’ll even have the time to…?”

“I do, don’t worry,” I assured her, pressing the blunted graphite back onto another blank page. “Though I’m warning you now… you’re not looking too pretty here.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “If I wanted pretty, all I have to do is look at you.”

“Sounds like you can hardly wait for your turn then.”

“Squirming here,” she said cheekily. “I’m probably gonna spend more time making you do all kinds of poses than actually drawing you – ah, I really can’t wait.”

I let out a groan.

“Can I make that eat into your time? Is it too late to change the rules now or…?”

“Too late!” she declared hastily, grinning wickedly. “I’m sorry, but you’ll be at my mercy now.”

“Not just yet,” I said, leaning out at her, and pointing the tip of my pencil. “For now, stop swaying around, please? I’m trying to get your breasts right and it’s just not…”

“Ah, okay, right…” I saw her eyes give a long, weary roll as she complied and stilled herself. “Guess every artist has their own first priorities…”

“I’d argue it’s every man’s priority, actually,” I glanced at her again, raising my brows. “Not complaining, are you?”

“I’ll save any of those until after you’re done, alright?” she said, playfully jutting out her chest. “Until then, I’ll just be at your mercy.”

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