Location: The Palace Maze on the Hampton Court Palace grounds

The artist stared at the hedge maze entrance a minute, reading up on a brochure he had obtained. Evidently, that particular hedge maze was the oldest in the United Kingdom and had been commissioned by William III around the year 1700. It supposedly covered a third of an acre and had managed to entice a number of kings and queens over the years. It was commonly referred to as a 'puzzle maze' and it was said to take around 20 minutes to figure out for the average person.

Kit found the whole place quite intriguing, but the thing he was most curious about was why one of his commissioners - a condescending pureblooded wizard who resided somewhere in England and went by the name of Jahmal (as he had contacted Kit by owl and refused to give his full name or address) had asked to meet him there in order to have Kit draw him. There were plenty of more private place for them to go for such a purpose, even if Jahmal hadn't wanted to invite Kit into his home, so why the pureblood had chosen the puzzle maze of all of them still perplexed the artist. Had he wanted the backdrop, perhaps? Was he trying to make a fool of Kit somehow? He certainly hadn't seemed to think highly of him by his letter, so it was actually a surprise the metamorph read that the elitist wanted to commission him at all.

As if someone had been reading his thoughts, Kit felt a tap on his shoulder and immediately looked up. The person who had tapped his shoulder was a tall blonde fellow with neat, trim hair, round spectacles, ice blue eyes and a thin line of a mouth. He also wore a dark, oxford blue business suit with a red tie. Though he of course wasn't smiling, his eyes glinted in a way that Kit was almost certain suggested amusement as his gaze bored into the artist. Before Kit could so much to open his mouth to ask about that glint, however, the blonde man inclined his head toward someone he seemed to want to draw the metamorph's attention to - someone who was walking into the hedge maze ahead of them.

Grinning curiously, Kit's own gaze lingered on the bespectacled fellow for a moment before hurrying after the person walking into the hedge maze. Interestingly enough, he was wearing an outfit not unlike the original owners of the Hampton Court Palace might have worn. Anyone might have thought that he was some actor or an employee paid to dress like a person of that time period, but Kit knew better. This was his client; the pureblood who had commissioned him to draw him.

"Mr. Jahmal?" Kit called out, jogging over to the fellow. He might have reached out to catch his shoulder, but as soon as he tried, the figure side-stepped him. Kit's brows rose and he stopped in his tracks, dropping his hand. Then he sneered at the other wizard, who was giving him a sideways appraisal with his hands clasped casually behind his back.

The wizard known as Jahmal did not appear impressed with what he saw, however, and his stare was anything but casual. "Do not touch me, American mudblood," he spat, sounding so monotone, bored, and dull in his tone except for the last word, which was spoken with so much vehemence that even Kit, who very rarely took offense to anything, instinctively flinched. "Do not even speak the name I have graced you with if at all possible. I merely gave it because it seemed necessary that I give you something to refer to me as...but that does not mean I wish to be addressed or even spoken to by you if I can help it. In fact...I hope to avoid as much interaction with you as possible."

Kit blinked once before reverting to his usual grin. "Uh...alright, then," he answered, reaching into his satchel for his sketchpad. "Straight and to-the-point. I can respect that. Where do you want me to draw you, then? For the sketch, naturally, since I doubt I can set up all my paints and start painting here in the middle of the maze without the staff noticing and kicking me out." He could tell that, despite the fellow's acidic attitude and despite the fact that Kit didn't really attribute much value to a person's physical appearances, the pureblood was actually quite beautiful by conventional and societal standards. He wondered if the fellow had Veela blood in him and wouldn't have been surprised.

But this man was dark-haired and dark-skinned; even more so than Kit. With a name like Jahmal, which the artist recognized as Arabic, to have been part Veela seemed particularly unusual. So too, however, was the fact that he was contacting Kit to meet him in West London and that he had a strong British accent, so perhaps despite his ethnicity and heritage, his nationality might have been British. If only he could ask.

Oddly enough, even though he fell silent upon taking out his drawing supplies and going to sit on the ground, Kit began to notice that the more he pondered Jahmal, the more irked the pureblood's expression seemed to get. As soon as he noticed Kit watching him, he reverted his features to the most bland, neutral countenance he could possibly manage, but it had been too late. Kit had seen. And Jahmal seemed to realize Kit had seen, because then he exhaled a deep sigh and looked away completely.

"There's no need to affront me with your gaze if you haven't even started drawing me yet," he said as if he were the most bored person in the world rather than as if he had actually been offended. Kit found himself thinking he would have actually preferred the latter. This pureblood was really good at feigning indifference which he must have realized bothered Kit more than anything. Even more than being disliked or hated. "And on that account, hurry up. My time is more valuable than yours. I don't have all day."

Despite his unaffected tones, Kit continued to smile as he took out the last of his supplies and began to start a base sketch, reminding himself that Jahmal was, at least, still willing to speak to him. And that, if the pureblood really didn't want to have anything to do with him, he wouldn't have told him to meet him there in the first place. Jahmal faced away from him as he inspected a hedge, so Kit took that time to sketch the back of his coat and the graceful lines of his body as he moved. Poor guy, he couldn't help thinking as he drew. It must suck to look so beautiful and not be able to really disguise your looks. If I remember right, purebloods are pretty much known to their whole society from birth, so people would have known if he'd done anything to try to alter his appearance.

All at once, Jahmal seemed to startle. Or perhaps 'startle' wasn't the word - 'bristle' seemed more like it. Like he'd just touched or seen or heard something unpleasant. Kit recognized that response even from the back because that was how he behaved when he happened to get even the slightest bit wet. "Um...you alright over there?" he called, genuinely concerned.

"Never you mind," the voice answered in no louder or more passionate of a voice as his original dull one. "Just make haste. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can leave."

"You can leave any time you want already," Kit answered through his grin, staring down at the drawing in his lap he continued to sketch. "Still not sure why you're here if you seem to hate me so much."

"I need a portrait done. After some amount of research done by my assistant, you are the quickest, most convenient, cheapest, and most simple-to-deal-with option I had at such short notice. Trust me, if I had any better options that came even remotely close, I would have picked them over you. But here we are."

"So you're saying I'm the best option you had, then?" Kit asked, laughing softly. The pureblood could either stick to neutrality and indifference, or he could speak and act on his dislike of Kit. He couldn't have it both ways, though, and the artist relished that. "What a kind compliment."

"That is most certainly not what I was saying," Jahmal answered, closing his eyes and dipping his head to rub them in apparent pain. Kit was purposely being that pain and they both knew it. "My assistant believes you are the most suitable man for the job. Even if I don't trust you and I don't like your blood status, I trust my assistant. That is all."

Kit briefly looked away from Jahmal to locate blonde, bespectacled business suit-wearing man who had walked into the maze after them. He, presumably, was the assistant that the pureblood had been referring to. But the man was nowhere in sight. "You didn't ask him why?"

"I already mentioned why. Now shut up and do your job."

"Yes, Sir," Kit answered a little cheekily, smirking as he gave a little two-fingered salute and continued drawing. If the blonde man was really Jahmal's assistant, then the whole situation was funnier than Kit had originally realized. He dared not ask about him, but the metamorphmagus had to wonder if Jahmal knew what Kit knew about him. That Kit and his assistant knew each other and had known each other for several years, now. They'd both met in America, after all.

"Skilled as ever, I see," the blonde man spoke as he stood just behind where Kit sat to watch him draw over his shoulder.

"Ha! If you can call copying what you see 'skill'," Kit answered, chuckling. "There's nothing of the artist in this work. No style, no character...it's lifeless. Might as well be a photograph."

"But that's exactly what they want," the assistant answered calmly, still unsmiling. "They want a portrait as accurate as a photograph, but without taking a photo. Therefore, there couldn't have been a more perfect or skilled choice than you, because there is skill required to accurately produce photo-realism. Any other artist would have added their own flair whether they meant to or not. But without any such thing, your work is exactly what purebloods are looking for."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" the artist laughed, familiar with the blonde's cryptic manner of speaking. He could have just as easily been insulting him as praising him and Kit guessed his intention was to playfully do both. For all his straight-laced, serious appearances, which of course the metamorph realized were deceiving, the bespectacled assistant was more mischievous than he let on. Their past interactions had told him so.

"Owen. Stop distracting the mudblood," Jahmal said, turning his head so his profile was visible as he watched the pair talk.

"Owen, huh? What a pleasure to meet you...Owen," Kit said, grinning down at his drawing as he continued to sketch.

Owen sighed, not even bothering to dignify Kit's words with a verbal response. Instead, he replied to Jahmal. "Sir...if I may...would it not be advantageous for you to actually face the artist attempting to capture your likeness? It seems counter-intuitive to only show your back to him when you wish him to portray your front. And was it not you yourself who said you wish to be done with this encounter as soon as possible?"

Kit, taking the assistant's lack of a direct response to him as a cue to shut his own mouth, chuckled and shook his head. Still, he felt obligated to share his gratitude to Owen for trying to make his job easier. "Thanks."

Owen had once more fallen silent. But when Kit glanced at him out the corner of his eye, the smallest upturn of the corner of that straight-lined, thin-lipped mouth suggested the assistant had heard.

I wonder what this poor bastard's deal is, the metamorph began to wonder again. Needing a portrait as accurate as possible on such short notice...wonder if it's one of those things where pictures have to be given of people for those stupid arranged marriages. The portrait he commissioned from me was small in its requested dimensions, after all. Shouldn't take me long to paint it once I get back to my room. Wish I could just snap a picture on my phone for a reference, but I know he won't like that.

Jahmal bristled again, but this time, he was facing Kit, so Kit had the opportunity to glimpse his expression before he shuttered it. Was that...had that been...flusterment?

"What are you gawking at?" Jahmal asked, somehow managing to achieve sounding simultaneously unenthusiastic and yet irritated at the same time while maintaining a straight face. "I don't see you drawing. Are you done yet?"

"You don't...like being stared at, do you?" Kit asked suddenly, the realization dawning on him as he said it. It came to him because he had known the feeling before when he used to care about trying to fit in rather than stand out. But it was the split-second look of shock and horror on Jahmal's face that told the artist he was right.

"...I think we're done here," Jahmal answered coldly in the fraction of an instant it took for him to recompose himself. Turning toward the maze exit, he quickly began to power walk away.

Kit clenched his teeth to keep from bursting into laughter as he stared after him. "Uh..."

"No matter," Owen remarked, a sort of half-smile contorting his own expression as he, too, watched Jahmal go. "You're finished, aren't you?"

"Within the first five minutes," Kit acknowledged. "Before he turned his back. But I thought some additional sketches couldn't have hurt if I wanted to portray him accurately."

"Right," Owen muttered. Kit very strongly suspected he was making every effort not to roll his eyes at him. "Because it's not as if your memory is reliable enough to go off of." With another weary sigh, like a mother finding herself having to go after a child planning to throw a tantrum, the assistant turned to go. Not before leaning down to tell Kit one more thing, however. "Your client...he's a Legillimens." he whispered. "A particularly sensitive one who was never quite able to train himself to block out others' thoughts of him."

"What?!" Kit cried, almost unable to hold back his laughter for real as he pushed himself back up to his feet. "Why didn't you say so from the start?!"

"You didn't ask," Owen answered coolly, all traces of his previously crooked smirk and any amusement whatsoever gone from his countenance. Still, however, a hint of it lingered in his voice. "Besides...what fun would that have been?" He then turned his own back on Kit as he hurried after Jahmal.

Snorting and snickering to himself, Kit ran a hand through his wavy black locks as he stared down the path they had gone. Well, he suppose that explained why the pureblood had been bristling so much. Kit could only have imagined what kind of willpower it must have taken such a proud person not to comment on the artist's thoughts as he'd thought them.

"Well...I guess I've got my work cut out for me," he thought, chuckling to himself again as he flipped through the sketches he'd made in his sketch book. He thought he could probably use his preliminary sketches to sketch on a small canvas and paint it from there, completing it by that afternoon...provided he managed to find his way out of the maze within the average 20 minutes it took most people.