He lifts an eyebrow.
“It’s not a test,” I say, and flash him a smile. “I don’t know anything about it. I’m curious.”
“Okay.” He straightens up. “The concept artists are the first ones to create the visuals of characters, environments, and the overall style of the game. It’s all about exploring, brainstorming, and developing the feel for the story.”
“The vibe?” I ask.
He lights up and shows me the first I’ve seen of a real smile.
“Sure. The vibe of the game.” There’s a different tone to his voice now. “Before anyone has coded anything, we sketch it. It’s crucial for us to capture the emotions, the atmosphere, and the mood. Imagine you’ve been told there should be this castle in the story. Fine, it’s a castle. But what’s the … vibe?”
He gesticulates while he talks. It’s clear he’s very passionate.
“If it’s overgrown, damaged, foggy—maybe it’s haunted?” he continues. “Maybe a dragon lives there? We’re paving the way for the vision of the game.”
As he speaks, something flickers in my chest, and I’m taken out of my body. I’m floating above us, picturing myself getting up and drawing on the whiteboard. I’m sketching my old ideas of this abandoned world that has only one district left of living plants. I haven’t thought of this in years.
“Rey?”
I blink.
“Are you okay?” Horace asks.
I’m still sitting on my chair, thankfully. “Sorry. Umm… What you were saying sounds amazing. I envy the newbies who get to sit through your induction.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Rey. Can you show me the slides I need to talk to?”
I take him through everything and then it falls out of me. “Horace, can I work for you? I don’t even need to be paid. Please, can I be an intern or something?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “But you’re HR.”
“Temporarily. I also have a BA in Illustration from the University of the Arts London, if that makes a difference?”
Horace looks at me. Really looks at me.
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeat.
“Yes, why do you want to work for me?”
“I’ll be honest,” I start and brush a tangled lock of hair away from my forehead. “I’m nearly thirty and I haven’t drawn or painted in a few years. Umm, close to six years.”
Horace lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t speak.
“I always had these stories attached to my art. I invented this world of people who were left on a dying planet, fighting for their survival.” I dare a glance at Horace, he’s still listening. “I’d draw or paint the world and the characters any chance I could get. My walls were covered with it all, my mum would?—”
I shake my head. Let’s not go down that particular road.
“What?” Horace asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“Look, my art is colourful and a bit out there, but I can show you. My style is my style, but you’ll see I’ve got the right technique. I’ve just yet to find my path, and when you were talking just now…” I point to my heart. “You sparked something in me.”
I’m nearly panting when I finish. Horace’s brow is furrowed.
“Please,” I breathe. “Just for a few months?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
