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I side-eye him. “You’re an uncultured swine with not an artistic bone in your miserable body. Don’t pollute my studio with your lack of taste.”
“I do have taste. It just doesn’t include your ugly art.”
“It’s far from ugly,” Bran says without looking at Eli, then lowers himself to his knees to inspect them closely. “These are some of your finest work. They’re stunning.”
“All of my work is stunning.”
Bran stares at me. “You haven’t sculpted a thing in months, Lan.”
“These aren’t sculptures.”
“You haven’t done any model miniatures either.”
“They’re doodles. They mean nothing.”
“You’re such an arrogant fool. If others… No, ifIcould make something like this while doodling, I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”
“You need to stop painting happy-go-lucky nature scenes and you’ll be able to do better than this. You’re welcome for the free advice from a genius.”
“I told you not to meddle with my artistic choices.”
“Cry me a river.” I kill my half-finished cigarette and crack my neck. “What time is it?”
“Past your beauty bedtime,” Eli says. “Dark circles look hideous on you.”
“And that striped jacket gives you a fantastic grandpa vibe. Have better fashion sense before patronizing me about my looks.” I point at the door. “Now, out of my space, and I’m going to need that master key so no one trespasses again.”
Eli leans forward and whispers, “No,” before he buggers off to make the world a worse place than it was an hour ago.
“You need some sort of an escorting service?” I ask when Bran lingers behind, still staring at the miniatures.
He reaches a hand to one of them but thinks better of it and retracts it. Good. That hand might have been accidentally broken if he’d put it on my possessions.
Though I might not be as murderous if he asks for permission. He’s always wanted to touch my sculptures after I’ve given him the green light. Now, he doesn’t even ask if he can.
My brother stands to his full height and faces me with a furrowed brow. “Are you going to sculpt any of them?”
“No. They’re not worth it.”
“Have you positively lost your mind? These are your…”
“Finest work. Stunning. A stroke of a genius,” I finish for him. “We obviously have a different definition of excellence. What you see as extraordinary is mediocre at best to me.”
“Well, excuse me for not understanding the genius genes.”
“Nonsense. You have them as well, but as I’ve mentioned a million times, you’re shackling them to the best of your abilities.” I prop an elbow on his shoulder and grin. “Want my help to bring out the side you buried so deep, you almost forgot it existed?”
“If by help, you mean to drown me in your blood-flavored activities, then no thanks.”
“One day, you’ll take me up on my offer.”
“Not even if you’re reincarnated as a saint.”
“Bloody hell, Bran. Don’t go manifesting pure torture over a small disagreement.” I pat his cheek with the back of my hand.
It’s a gesture he used to like when we were growing up. Now, however, he drops his shoulder, making me lose my balance, and steps out of the way.
“No disagreement with you has ever been small, Lan.”
