For the prompt:

Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

Beau sighs. "Remind me how I got dragged into this?"

Jester shushes her. Loudly. "Because you're a very good friend and roommate who is always very helpful."

"Because I've got official-looking Cobalt Soul robes in case we get caught," Beau translates. "Hang on, asshole walking by in a second here."

Jester freezes in place, the soft scraping of dagger against stone coming to a ragged stop, until Beau finally looks back at her to nod the all-clear. Jester resumes her efforts, her tongue poking between her teeth in concentration. "But you definitely mainly came because you think I'm super beautiful and clever and wonderful to be around."

"Yup. That too." So much of what Beau says is sarcastic that it's sometimes kind of hard to tell when she's being deeply emotional and sincere. Jester is pretty sure this is one of those moments.

She works in contented silence for a while, though she knows she'll probably have to retire this dagger from stabby use for a bit if she keeps blunting it on stone like this. Nott probably won't mind. Anyway, she didn't even notice when Jester took it a few weeks ago, so it's technically everyone's dagger at this point, technically. She blows on the scraped bits of stone and watches the dust puff out, hanging in the air like motes in the beams of moonlight shining in through the window.

Apparently bored at the lack of passersby or angry devotees, Beau wanders up to lean over her shoulder and inspect her work. She whistles low. "Damn, Jes. That's a good one."

"Yeah?"

"Like, from an abstract aesthetic perspective? Very nice. Super veiny. Sort of... obscenely detailed."

Jester settles back on her haunches, beaming. "So it's obvious it's a dick, then? Only I saw the eye symbol and thought, wow, you know what else sort of has an eye—"

"Yup. Yeah. Hard to miss. Brings a whole new meaning to the word 'eyeballs'." Beau yawns hugely, stretching her arms over her head while Jester pulls out her set of paints. "You do realize you're vandalizing a temple to the god that my order worships, right?"

Jester pauses partway through mixing a nice vivid magenta, glancing back. "Is that okay?"

Beau scrunches up her face for a second, and Jester feels her heart fall somewhere down in the vicinity of the floor. Then Beau gives a short, sharp bark of laughter. "Nah, I'm just messing with you. Go for it. Nobody needs a sense of humor more than these kinds of people, anyway."

"Right?" Swallowing her worry, Jester starts on the first brushstrokes. "You're going to love this one," she says, a little bit to Beau, but mostly to the Traveler.

She practically hears Beau's expression shift behind her; she's way more of a nerd than she likes to pretend, and her particular brand of belligerent curiosity involves a lot of suspicious squinting. "How does that work, anyway? Can you, like, feel his presence when you do shit like this?"

Jester shrugs. "Sometimes. When I was little, I thought it was just what being creative felt like. Little tingles down your spine. Momma said she got it sometimes when she was thinking about a new song to sing and she figured out something super good. But then I was like, 'Well, Momma, what about when the tingles down your back turn into an actual hand on your shoulder?' and she was like, 'What?' and I was like, 'What about when the hand on your shoulder turns into a whole person and he's super cool and talks to you?' and she was like, '...What?' And I kind of figured out the Traveler was something special that only happened to me."

Except, she thinks, that's not true. Not only to her. Ever since finding out she isn't the only one, this really annoying part of her brain keeps flooding her with images of little kids growing up all across the Empire—little kids who probably already had so many friends—and meeting the Traveler, learning from him, following his teachings. She hates how sad that makes her feel, sometimes. How angry. It shouldn't, right? It's all really great, right? Everyone should know the Traveler, right? Right.

She shakes her head and works on mixing a familiar forest green. Beau meanders back to her lookout post, keeping time with the odd impatient sigh. When it starts to get annoying, Jester leans back and swipes a bit of sweat off her brow. "Art can't be rushed, Beau."

"Bullshit," Beau says, cheerfully enough. "I've seen you tattoo people so fast they weren't really sure what happened. This place is creepy, man. I don't want to hang out here all night."

Jester stares up at the vaulted ceiling, but her back's already aching from hunching to paint over the engravings around this column, and she's pretty much done anyway, so she just gives up and flops onto her back on the stone floor. "I think it's really pretty."

"Creepy," Beau repeats, emphatic. "It's just so empty and quiet at night."

"I thought you'd like sneaking around at night."

There's a snort from Beau's general direction. "Don't get me wrong. Skulduggery, stealing, kicking ass, bootlegging family wine, it's all best when it's quiet. But it's still creepy. Kind of lonely and weird."

"Oh," Jester says. "I always really liked being in the Chateau when it was empty. You know, if Momma wasn't feeling well or just wanted some quiet time to ourselves for a while. It's fun, seeing a place when it's not supposed to be seen. Like seeing some really fancy guy, only he's just wearing socks and a silk string wrapped around his—"

"Man, you saw some weird shit."

Jester grins at the ceiling, then closes her eyes, feeling the chill wind whistling through the open window. "But it's like, here's how things are supposed to be, and then here's the version only you get to see, and that one's special and just for you. How many people do you think see this temple when it's closed, with the moonlight coming in like this?"

Beau's clothing rustles; she's pacing around the room, judging by her footfalls. "Not that many."

"Right? And we're definitely the only ones who have seen it when there's this amazing colorful dick carved into the stone. So this version of the temple is ours. And sometimes it's good to have things that are only yours. Important, you know?"

Beau stays quiet for a while, so Jester opens one eye and catches her looking out the window, wistful and unguarded. Then she glances back, smirks at Jester, and stalks over, offering her a hand. "C'mon. I think your artistry's going to be thoroughly appreciated in a few hours, and we probably shouldn't be here for that part."

Jester accepts the yank to her feet, and when she glances at her handiwork—a masterfully engraved and painted magenta dick in a little forest green cloak—she feels an immediate wash of amused approval. "Yeah. I think that's a good place to end it. Thanks, Beau."

"Well, someone told me you're super beautiful and clever and wonderful to be around, so what choice did I have?" Beau slaps her on the shoulder, then stalks toward the window they'd forced open to get in.

Jester lingers, staring around the quiet room for a moment with a satisfied, possessive smile. Then she turns and follows Beau, tingles running up and down her spine.