[hr][center][h1][color=B8860B]Theo Callahan[/color] & [color=crimson]Isabel MacGilios[/color][/h1][/center][center]Collab between [@beyond visions] and [@Vashonn][hr][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4RBqr5Lsco]The Lamp Kept Us Warm, But Now We Walk (feat. Olivia Dixon) - Trevor Ransom  [/url][hr][/center] 
[indent]On the opposite side of the wide street from which the Theater sat, there stood a smaller, though still quite large building, known to the prisoners of Churchill as the Gallery. The Gallery stood apart from its surrounding structures in that it was significantly larger than the rest, two stories in height, and twice as long, the entirety of its exterior constructed of white stone, which perhaps wasn't marble, although it may be, as a good deal of the materials came salvaged from the structures within the great city of London. At the center of the face of the building stood a gargantuan, dark-wooden double door, nine feet in height, and six feet wide. All along the front of the building were long, vertical windows which allowed light to pass through into the main lobby, as well as the hall which was directly above the lobby, both rooms connected by spiraling staircases placed at both the left and right ends of the front of the building. These two rooms were where the sunlight ceased, as walls were placed at the ends of these rooms to keep the light from entering the main part of the Gallery, where all of the artwork was held - with the exception of the Stone Room, which sat at the rear of the building on the first level, which was allowed to receive sunlight through a large glass pane to illuminate the various sculptures which were placed there.

The main lobby reached from the far end of one side of the building to the other, three meters deep with a desk set between two smaller, intricately designed doors at the center. The floor was a mosaic of tiles put together by various architects from the Muse faction - as was most of the rest of the building - and the general temperature in the room was rather cool, as the stone surrounding the lobby kept most of the heat from entering.

As Theo and Isabel stepped into the lobby, they were met by various other prisoners from all over Churchill who had gathered to socialize or see the artwork, most of which were Muses, though the occasional Vanguard and Mastermind were also present. Though most of the other residents of Churchill seemed to take no notice of the couple, there was quickly a hushed whisper which fell over some of the grouped parties as they exchanged glances and gawked at the two leaders who, with interlocked arms, strode past the masses toward the left door into the lower Gallery.

While the two walked their way towards the main gallery, Theo cast a stare upon the mosaic tiles. From the start, this new setting seemed far different from what Theo rested his eyes on. Theo has avoided the Gallery up to this point, mainly because he doubted his own simpleton mind when it came to art involving theater, poetry, or literature. He failed to see symbolism or understand metaphors if not obvious. Though with the visual arts, he found the change of scenery pleasing to his eyes. He even found it... refreshing. 

In his effort to play apart in chivalry, Theo curled his bandaged fist around the handle of the door leading into the main gallery. With his biceps contracting, Theo held the door open for Isabel before he too followed her inside. Once within the main gallery, the room seemed awfully dark at first. [color=B8860B]"It's darker in here..."[/color] And then more quietly Theo whisper, almost as if he were reminding himself of his own fear. [color=B8860B]"Scared--"[/color] but then, because he was in company with his wife, Theo quickly used a different word. [color=B8860B]"[i]Hate[/i] the dark."[/color] But with time for his eyes to adjust to this new sense of dim lighting, Theo sighed in relief, [color=B8860B]"Ah, that's better... Not too dark now... g-good... good."[/color] 

The dim candlelight which illuminated the whole of the main gallery was quickly absorbed by the dark brown of the walls, pedestals, and various displays which held each piece of art, leaving the entirety of the room just bright enough to trace one's footstep and not bump into any other objects. This dull light was perhaps planned, as it accentuated the features of each piece of work, drawing focus to every detail as they popped off the canvas.

Isabel, having spent many hours in the gallery in what little free time she gave herself, quickly stepped away from Theo, hunting for new pieces of art which she knew were to be added, though she had not witnessed as of yet. Turning her head back slightly, she stopped a few meters from Theodore, then remembered that the Spartan had probably never even seen what was inside of the Gallery. Slowly, she turned back around, stepping toward her partner, reaching for his hand which she had to grab with both hands to grasp firmly. Tugging in a playful, albeit impatient manner, Isabel led them toward one painting in particular - a towering canvas which extended from the floor to the ceiling, a red and black painting of a man sitting, his head lowered into one hand. Though it appeared simple, Isabel stood in awe for a brief moment, then began to speak.

[color=crimson]"This is the last painting of Justen Dutler, the first Renaissance. He stepped down from his position as he discovered his apprentice, Riley Scott, had surpassed him in his art, and thus, the competition that occurs between any Muse who would challenge the Renaissance was born. In his depression, Dutler created one last work, which would become the first piece to be inaugurated in the Gallery, by Scott, shortly after Dutler's death,"[/color] Turning to face Theo, Isabel smiled half-heartedly, continuing. [color=crimson]"This is the very piece which inspired me to begin my own work. I try and mimick its simplicity, and try and draw from raw emotion, like Dutler did. I still don't think I could ever come to Dutler's level of work, though my rank would say otherwise,"[/color] frowning, the Renaissance turned back toward the painting, standing in silence as she began studying each detail of the canvas, just as she had done countless times before.

As his eyes rested on the piece in front of them, a slight smile softly curved upwards from Theo's lips. [color=B8860B]"Um... I don't usually react like this to anything..."[/color] He was not sure how to match his feelings to words, but with his affection he may be able to express those emotions. As she had just held his hand, Theo laid his palm over hers. [color=B8860B]"But this is... this is peaceful..."[/color] He chuckled to himself joyfully. [color=B8860B]"With your story.. I can come to appreciate this painting even more. As we look at it now I can't help but face the brutal reality that to reach the top as a vanguard, a Spartan's heart has to stop beating... But not with you guys... Death does not have to equal promotion."[/color] His head angled downwards in sorrowful remembrance of the Spartan before him. Theo's mind flooded with flashbacks of a strong man crumbling due to an enemy, a cancer, he could not cut down. His death equaled Theo's promotion. [color=B8860B]"Our alliance-- our marriage... With you at my side, perhaps I can make decisions that give me the type of peace I'm feeling right now... Peace without death, without destruction... Hell, peace and relief without breaking something..."[/color] 

Isabel shifted her gaze away from the painting, staring up into Theo's blue eyes as he looked down in sorrow. For a moment, she stood there, watching and thinking, before turning her head to look toward the painting again, though her eyes fell to the ground. Not knowing what to do, Isabel shifted her hand to wrap around his, as well as it could. [color=crimson]"I... I do wonder... What truly are your plans for our marriage?"[/color] Closing her eyes, Isabel slowly let the air fill her lungs, trying as she could to calm her beating heart, which she felt pulsing even in her ears.

Theo took to careful notice that Isabel used the word, [i]marriage[/i], not alliance. This let him understand that she was referring to their bond as a relationship between two people, not two factions. Simply Theo blurted what had been on his mind for a while, [color=B8860B]"Isabel, I am a ride-or-die son of a bitch."[/color] Theo held up both of her palms, the tips of his fingers curling around hers. Her hands were inches away from his face. [color=B8860B]"Know that once you give me your heart, not just your faction, I'll give you mine. If you don't want anything of me other than what I can offer politically... Then please... Tell me now. I know it is too earlier to confess any unconditional love... but at least let me know you are open-minded."[/color]

Struck dumbfounded, the Renaissance stared up to the Spartan with wide eyes, the blunt impact of the proclamation leaving her speechless. Quickly, however, Isabel felt her face warm as her cheeks flushed, praying that her mask and the dark of the room would keep Theo from noticing. [color=crimson]"I... I don't know what to say..."[/color] Isabel gazed up into Theo's eyes, unsure of what to make of their intensity. Her thoughts began to whirl about, churning together the words Theodore had uttered.

[color=crimson]"Theodore..."[/color] Isabel's head dropped, the range of emotions bouncing back and forth in her mind. [color=crimson]"I want so dearly to be with someone that I know I can love... And, I wish of them to have the strength to love who I am..."[/color] Shifting her feet, she continued. [color=crimson]"This alliance was made for the future of Churchill in mind, I know this. And, now with the Overseers in desperate need of our aide, we... You and I... Have more sway over the fate of the colony than ever before. Though..."[/color] Again, Isabel shifted her feet, before finally lifting her eyes to meet Theo's. [color=crimson]"I want, first, to grow to know and love the one that I will be spending the rest of my days with. I don't want to think of the colony, or of the Overseers... Or... What Vanderbilt did..."[/color] Grimacing, Isabel lowered her eyes, trying to keep back the few tears that were pooling up as she spoke.

Theo touched the bullet strung around his neck, it was his dog-tag. [color=B8860B]"I... I heard what happened when I came home... to Churchill-- at the time I  was on the field with my combatants."[/color] His once calm expressed distorted into a grimace while now gripping tightly that bullet. [color=B8860B]"I couldn't believe it at first-- why would he pull that kind of crazy shit?"[/color] With his teeth clamped against each other, frustration was echoed through his inflection. It didn't make sense to Theo how Alfie went from being rather merciful and kind, to scourging a woman over the shortage of thirty-so crops. [color=B8860B]"No... I'm thinking to much about it-- the thought... it's... it's pissing me off. And I'm sure you don't want to dwell on it."[/color] What perhaps infuriated Theo the most, was as he finally released the grasp of his dog-tag, and instead laid his firm palm against Isabel's shoulder, gazing into her tearful eyes, her trauma seemed so familiar to him as Theo has seen it so often in his own men and women, those mainly who have been in captivity and subjected to utter torment. [color=B8860B]"However... one last thing about that, I know in the war room, I wanted Thrax as my prisoner because he caused me to execute traitors I thought I could trust when they were my soldiers. But I know now, because I have seen it in the eyes of my brothers and sisters, that torture is far worse than death. Whatever hell you have in store for Alfie... I'll just be upset you don't let me watch."[/color] 

Isabel shifted her gaze away, turning her body to face the rest of the Gallery, stepping away from her companion as she fell deep into her thoughts. For a moment, she stood there, folding her hands together as a sort of solemn prayer, before she finally let out in a hushed tone:

[color=crimson]"Let us not talk of such things."[/color]

Glancing back again to have her eyes meet Theo's, the Renaissance's demeanor appeared to change dramatically, the somber mood that had fallen over her seemingly lifted as she smiled to him. [color=crimson]"I was wondering, in any case, if there were any pieces within the Gallery that you may want to discern? I understand, you may not have many in mind, as you are often busy with your Vanguard, but..."[/color] Taking a step back toward the Spartan, Isabel grasped again at Theodore's hands, her light blue eyes shining with anticipation. [color=crimson]"Perhaps... There is someone's work that you'd like to see?"[/color]

[color=B8860B]"What I would like to see..."[/color] Theo let go of Isabel's hands, rotating behind her while also sliding both of his palms up her arm and onto her the edge of shoulders. [color=B8860B]"what sealed your fate as Lady Renaissance... What brought you here to me, of course. That is what I want to see."[/color] As he spoke, Theo leaned in closer to the back of Isabel's head, hunching his posture in order to rest his head against both her neck and lower jaw. Theo knew of Isabel's painting, all faction leaders know why each rose to their title. It is better that way, to understand what the others did to gain power. [color=B8860B]"But..."[/color] Theo chuckled, Isabel feeling his vocal cords vibrate off her shoulder, as he laid his neck there. [color=B8860B]"I am a guest in your gallery, what is it that [i]you[/i] want to show me?"[/color] 

Theo promised Isabel that he would be on his best behavior once inside the gallery, thus he made the gallant effort to just so. It seemed ever since the meeting in the war room that Theo had been far less forcefully, and instead asking rather than assuming. Perhaps without such the slap of reality in the war room, Theo would have likely cradled Isabel in his arms and marched over to her painting. Theo has often realized that even though he may have good intentions, he can rub off as the aggressive type due to overambitious passion. It is best to be reminded, even when that means harshly, when being overbearing, overprotective, or just plain bumptious.

Blushing, Isabel stepped away from Theo's grasp, turning around to face him and opened her mouth to speak, though she seemed to stop herself before any words could flow forth. Finally, fixing a wry smile to her lips before she began to walk away, glancing back for Theo to follow. 

 [color=B8860B]"Oh, and deeper do I descend into your lair... Ha, ha, exciting!"[/color] Perhaps why Theo seemed so enthusiastic about the moment was because he felt that she might be actually enjoying his company. Even if her reactions were quite reserved, at least he was getting somewhere.

As the two of them walked through the Gallery, Isabel would occasionally slow to glance at any art that had drawn her eye before, or the few new pieces which had recently been installed, as some works would be replaced every so often with the consent of the artist, though a great deal of the expositions on the first level were left untouched from the moment they were set, save for the few occasions when cleaning had to be done to the surrounding area, or the art itself. The further the pair walked, the more recent the artwork became, leaving a slight scarcity upon the walls where there would be room for future inaugurations into the Gallery.

It hadn't taken too long a time before the two leaders reached the rear of the building, just a slight distance short of the wooden doors which acted as portals into the Stone Room. Here, the air felt cooler, dry; the smoke of the candles which burned pooling into a wispy fog, filling the nose with the light scents of lavender. Set between the two doors along the back wall, directly in the center, hung the portrait Isabel had crafted for her competition just over a year prior.

Theo tilted his head and folded his arms while viewing Isabel's profound piece, "Intacta Caelo". As he stared at the crimson painted skies, he could not help but ask a curious question. [color=B8860B]"Isabel... I can't keep my eyes off of it... When did you paint this?"[/color] Why Theo precisely asked this, was because he wondered what exactly inspired her. Was it the Overseer oppression in general, or perhaps a specific painful experience compelled her? Theo wanted to know what drove her heart. 

[color=crimson]"It isn't often that I come to view my own work,"[/color] It seemed almost as if Isabel had not even taken notice to Theo's question, her eyes locked upon the sweeping crimson skyline which seemed to plummet into the blackened soil. [color=crimson]"Often times, I would finish my painting, it would be published, and then I would never let my eyes fall upon it again, lest I spot all of the faults in the canvas, all of the little mistakes that only I can see,"[/color] her jaw tightened, Isabel raised her chin to take a deep breath, finally turning to respond.

[color=crimson]"Though many have attributed this to be some sort of cry for freedom, I can't say that that was my intention, as I find the topic to be incredibly mundane. Not to mitigate the meaning of that, 'freedom', for which all of these colonists seek, but rather, I wanted it to stand for hope... Maybe, rebirth, in some sense. Notice the little girl, beside her parents,"[/color] raising an arm, Isabel let her fingertips grace across the canvas, though she drew her hand back quickly as it approached the smaller figure. [color=crimson]"I guess people always want to associate it with the Overseers for the color scheme, but then, look at the rest of my work. And even so, it wasn't long after... Vanderbilt... I drew this, knowing that if I could give the colonists some sense of hope, then maybe we could begin to grow, and shape our own destiny. It's funny, I hadn't truly expected to become..."[/color] her voice trailed off, leaving the shadow of a smile upon her lips, the weight of seeing her own work hung as the symbol of her position suddenly bearing down on her.

[color=B8860B]"I like that... you called us colonists, not convicts..."[/color] Theo unfolded his arms while stepping forward towards her. [color=B8860B]"The crime that got me here, arms-dealing, I thought I was doing the right thing. Allowing others to defend themselves by possessing arms."[/color] Theo scoffed at himself, [color=B8860B]"Hell, I'm so damn American! But that was how life was back in States, on Old Earth. We had that right then, and yeah, I was seven when my dad told me about my good American rights, but I guess that all means nothing now."[/color] Theo paused, soaking in the silence he now caused. [color=B8860B]"Isabel... I'm sorry I made you cry earlier... I know it's random, but I haven't stopped thinking about it. You've probably noticed, I've been on better behavior since then. I don't want you to be scared of me. I would never hurt you, of course not physically, but not even emotionally. I'm not using you for political gain. No matter what anyone says, I'm genuinely trying to make something of us."[/color]

[color=crimson]"I must admit,"[/color] Isabel began, her hand raising up to touch at the crimson brooch pinned to the collar of her dress, [color=crimson]"this alliance of ours, when it was brought to my attention, I had no intention of accepting it. Yet, as I thought, I saw only a chance to better the colony as a whole, and I threw my own feelings aside. I hadn't fully grasped what I had agreed to, until this morning..."[/color] Turning, Isabel stared deep into Theodore's eyes, her own gaze clouded with contempt. [color=crimson]"You are, Spartan Callahan, the most abrasive, vulgar, childish man I have ever had the hindrance to consort myself with."[/color] As she spoke, the Renaissance's tone actually lightened, as if she was making a joke at Theodore's expense.

[color=crimson]"And yet..."[/color] her lips curled into a coy smile. [color=crimson]"You've revealed that there is a gentleness to this giant. And for this, I suppose, I can make peace with the prospect of being wed to you, so long as you keep your head."[/color] Isabel snickered to herself, turning as if to leave. Stopping, she looked back, glancing down at the Spartan's bare chest, then back into his eyes. [color=crimson]"Oh, and I do hope for you to at least wear a shirt to our wedding. A few of the older Muses wouldn't find it, ehm... 'Proper',"[/color] then, smiling, she began to walk toward the door out into the lobby.[/indent]