Work Text:
Your travels have brought you to the celebrated Rain Dinners casino in Alabasta, its opulent luxury wrapping you in an overwhelming feast for your senses. You're in the midst of enjoying everything the place has to offer— games, music, dancing, food, drinks— and find yourself taking a quiet moment to relax at the bar.
You are interrupted by a quiet, refined voice.
"Perfect, absolutely perfect. No, don't move. The way the light catches you at that angle is simply exquisite."
Something about his tone keeps you still, whether in confusion or intrigue, but you glance out of the corner of your eye to see the person who spoke to you.
There is a slim, neatly dressed, bespectacled man standing just behind you and to your side, his expression one of seeming awe. He has rather sophisticated features, a high brow, prominent noise, and a wide mouth, with a tanned complexion that's somehow strangely waxy looking. Maybe the word 'waxy' comes to mind because of his tightly styled topknot, not a hair out of place.
As you glance at him, he reaches up and cups your jaw, the edges of his fingernails brushing the small hairs there and sending a shiver through you.
As you're wondering who the hell this guy is, he seems to read your mind.
"Don't worry," he purrs. "I, am an artiste. Your figure has simply called out to me in the spirit of beauty."
You have no idea how to react to that, and as you're opening your mouth to try, he cuts you off again.
"No, no, don't protest, my dear. I have a very different eye for beauty than plebeians do. I have a studio here in the casino; could I ask– no, beg– you to allow me to capture you in my medium?"
With his fingers cupping your face, and that fascinated expression fixed on you, it feels very difficult in this moment to say no.
You voice your agreement, and the man's wide mouth splits into a brilliant smile.
"Delightful! My name is Galdino, by the by. Here, allow me to help you to your feet."
Now his hand is on your arm, and like a perfect gentleman, he helps you up, and ushers you away from the bar toward a hall at the back of the casino. As you leave, you notice a look from the bartender, who looks away quickly. For some reason, that look sticks in your mind.
You had expected paintings in the artist's studio, but instead the walls are covered in framed photographs of strange subjects and they catch your attention immediately as you enter. As you're looking them over, it takes you a moment to notice that the rest of the room– there is ornate, elegant furniture in the corners of it, a sofa and a tea table, and a book shelf– but the center of the room is conspicuously bare.
Galdino comes up behind you and you can feel his breath on the back of your head as he speaks.
"My subjects," he explains. As he gestures to the photographs, he loops an arm around your waist. You can feel him close against you, and you smell the scent of him– some kind of rather floral cologne, mixing with tea, and something else. "I work primarily in wax. It's such a fantastic medium. So versatile, and capable of representing such small details."
Wax? You turn back to look at him in confusion. It certainly wasn't what you were expecting, and you say as much.
"It's unusual, I grant you, but very rewarding. And it plays to my… personal skillset, you might say."
You ask him what exactly he means by that, and he steps away, waving a hand. Despite the unfamiliarity of his presence in your personal space, his sudden absence feels almost cold.
"You see there are no slabs of wax in my studio? No tools for carving?" A smug smile crawls across his face. "I don't need either. My medium is at my full control."
As he speaks, something pale blooms from his fingertips, flowing like a liquid, and pooling on the ground at your feet.
You stare down at it, and move to take a step backward, but the liquid has already enveloped your shoe. You stumble, caught by the substance, but Galdino catches you with his hands around your shoulders.
"Ah ah, careful there, I think I'd prefer my model standing for this sequence." His hands are warm on you, but what's warmer is the wax that continues to envelope your feet, and over your ankles. Galdino's smirk has taken on a sinister edge.
You demand to know what he's doing. This isn't what you agreed to.
"Oh but it is," he counters, still holding onto you as the wax reaches your hips. "You said you'd let me capture you in my medium. Is it my fault you didn't ask any follow up questions? I suppose beauty doesn't always mean brains"
He laughs a wicked laugh as you stare at him in horror, the realization dawning on you that he means to capture you in wax. You can't move your legs, and as you try, he steps away from you, out of arms reach and gives you an appraising look.
"You can scream if you like," he says almost companionably. "No one will hear you. But there's really no call for it. I'd like to capture your beauty in a few different poses, so this will just be a temporary installation, rather than a permanent one."
Your gaze flicks to the different pictures hanging on the wall. Were they 'permanent' installations? You can feel your heart beating hard in your chest, your mouth open.
Galdino presses his hand to his chest, that awed expression back on his face. "Beautiful. I do love capturing fear. But I hope you'll cooperate nonetheless. If you do, I might be so generous as to let you go, rather than to keep you."
Your arms are frozen now, encased in the form-fitting wax, still warm on your skin. Galdino approaches you without hesitation and he strokes his fingers over your jaw like he did at the bar.
"Or would you prefer if I keep you forever?"
You don't get a chance to answer, the wax sealing your lips and flowing up your face. The only place that is spared are the hollows of your nose, each of your breaths a shuddering one, as your chest can't quite expand far enough in the wax.
The last thing that you see before the darkness takes you are Galdino's dark, intense eyes, that seem to swallow you as effectively as his power does.
And then there is darkness. Your body is warm, and still. The wax is fitted to the every contour of your body like a rigid glove, and it is useless to resist. There is nothing to do, nothing to see, and nothing to hear beyond a few muffled noises. All you can do is wait, and hope that the artist is a man of his word.
It's impossible to know how much time has passed. At some point you must have passed out, because you wake up sprawled across the elegant little couch in the corner of Galdino's studio. There is a moist cloth against your brow, and as you open your eyes, this artist is pressing a teacup toward you.
"I'd wager my muse is thirsty. Here, it's tea. My own special blend."
As you take the teacup in shaking fingers, you follow his gaze to the teapot on the coffee table, and beside it, where there are a sheaf of developed photos. You see yourself encased in wax and photographed at various angles. In some of the pictures, Galdino is standing there, gazing longingly at you, or resting his hand on your cheek.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Galdino asks with that same wicked smile as before. "You feel the fear passing, don't you? But it will remain forever as part of my work."
Your fingers tremble against the teacup in your hands, the soft steam from it caressing your face. Your whole body feels as though it's been peeled. The tea in your hands is warm, but not nearly as warm as the memory of the wax.