Okay, so this story is majorly inspired by the works of Andy Warhol, but also by how unique and particular Nico and Rachel both are in their own ways, and ergo how beautifully they should go together. I don't even know if they interact in the books at all, but I've officially decided they're probably best friends. Enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own any elements of the PJO universe.
Coming Alive
"Rachel, I want to die," Nico said from his perch on the stool that Rachel kept in her oracle cave.
"No, you want to stand still for once and let me do this," Rachel said standing at her canvas.
Nico, despite all his brooding, was an excellent model. Besides, the brooding was part of the package in any Nico-centric scenario. But for modeling he was so casual… Wearing worn skinny jeans and his bulky aviator jacket over his knobby and skinny little frame. His hair was unbrushed and it flopped in front of his eyes. His sword hung at his side. The rings on his fingers glittered. His face was unemotional, but his posture was restless and annoyed and slouchy. It didn't feel as if he were modeling for her, it felt like Nico was showing Rachel a slice of his life and daring her to paint it.
"Honestly Nico, you're making this so much harder on yourself. I didn't even ask you to model naked for me."
"Is that usually what you get Percy to do?" Nico asked alarmed.
"No, dipshit," Rachel said. "That was a joke. Relax, and don't move again. There will be a point where I can't salvage this if you twitch, you know. And I will restart, do not test me."
Nico sighed but didn't move furthermore.
Percy had royally fucked up Rachel's master plan of binge-painting while away from Clarion by opting to stay at home and spend Thanksgiving with his family and girlfriend. Yes, Rachel had adorable visions of Percy and Annabeth making turkey sandwiches at midnight and baffling Sally and Paul with their half-god metabolism, or of Sally teaching Percy how to make pie, or of Annabeth snuggled up on their couch with Paul's borrowed Kindle as if it was a second home. But still, over the last year when they'd both gone to Goode, she'd gotten used to having Percy as a model she could just force down with a two minute notice. You wouldn't think so, but Percy was really good at standing still and not moving. Rachel had always thought that it was because last year he'd needed every second of stillness and meditation and break from the real world that he could, but regardless, they had a system and it worked.
This was a case of Nico being at the wrong place at the wrong time (mostly trying to not be in the Underworld) when inspiration struck Rachel. (Nico was most definitely being an ass and questioning that decision at the moment- but Rachel he could catapult mashed potatoes to at supper, Persephone not so much. He still came out on top).
"Okay, I'm done," Rachel said. "For now."
"For now?" Nico asked.
"Relax Frankenweenie, the rest will be touch-ups and shadings," Rachel said. "Your part is done, you may go in peace."
Nico slid off the bench and looked around the cave. It was a fairly busy space, to say the least. All the things that Rachel hid from her father she'd moved here- as well as the stuff kept in cottages and summer homes (it was her way of preparing for the quick escape she'd have to make when announcing to her parents that she was off to art school).
There were easels everywhere and Rachel had a complex and spread out system of baskets to store her pastels and crayons and paints and brushes and charcoal. Her bed had been shoved in one corner on a late night of manic painting last fall, and the rest of her cave was equipped with counter space to spare, a sink to wash up and a dramatic bathtub that Rachel liked to use to wash her paintbrushes all at once (she also liked taking baths after spewing a prophecy because fuck that, she deserved it). The walls barely had any place left for pictures and lyrics and drawings, so Rachel had moved on to the ceiling. Not all of the artwork was hers; some were pieces that Apollo would magically add on every now and then. It created a beautiful chaos of textures and colours and Rachel, when she stood intact amongst the shapes and lines and hues, looked very grounded and very real and very powerful indeed.
"Can I… see it?" Nico asked.
"So you are invested in this," Rachel said waving a brush at him before sticking it back in a pail of water.
"I want to make sure you got my nose right," Nico said.
"Your nose looks fine," Rachel said. "But you can come see for yourself."
Nico looked at the painting and he frowned for a bit before turning to Rachel.
"Dafuq is this?" Nico asked. "It doesn't even look like me. Why did you need me posing?"
"It is you," Rachel said. "It's just a bit more… abstract."
"Abstract?" Nico asked.
"Not even," Rachel said. "Not even actually, the illusion of visible reality is still there and I did have a visual reference. The only difference is the colours."
"And you turned my sword into a giant sunflower," Nico asked.
"It's all part of the spirit of the work," Rachel said. "See, I may have grabbed you from the Center Green, but I didn't particularly want to paint you."
"Touching, Rachel."
"Hush, here me out," Rachel said. "Okay, so I switched up the colour palette a bit…"
"A bit?"
"Do you want to hear my artistic vision or not?" Rachel asked. "You may be able to raise the dead Frankenweenie, but art is supposed to come alive too, you know. It's not supposed to be exactly like something we've already got walking around and being grumpy and barking out its foul mood from the shadows."
Nico shut up.
"There. Okay, so look. Since art is supposed to come alive, like I said, this entire painting is like a... a wish-list, okay? Bear with me, I'll explain. So I kept your shirt black, because that's what you like to wear and that's who you are and I think that's important to keep."
"Okay," Nico said.
"But," Rachel said, "I decided to draw your background red- because red is supposed to be the angry colour, but I think you're the kind of person who needs to think about their anger and whether or not it always deserves to be front and center. Maybe it should be in the back. Maybe you need to spend that energy on something else."
"Fuck," Nico said. "This is all a metaphor?"
"I'm not even done," Rachel said. "I turned your jacket yellow because you always wear that thing, I'm surprised you can still peel it off. I think it's nice that you always carry something with you, so you always have a little bit of home with you, but I think you also need some kind of… of light in your life. Some kind of inspiration and purpose, something happy to live for, you know? So yeah, yellow jacket, because I hope you find that something one day and I hope it stays near your heart. Alright, so you're probably wondering about your hair…"
"I am."
"It's purple because I think you need a bit more imagination. You're a smart kid, but you're only smart with reality. You don't see the possibilities, what the future may hold. Also I think purple would suit you if I could weasel you out of your black everything, but whatever. As you can see, your pants are green. Green is the colour of growth, you know, and you're still so fucking short…"
"Am not!"
"Okay, true, you've grown like a weed since I met you. But you're still a kid and I still want you to grow up a bit and try new things and meet new people and find yourself."
Nico shifted uncomfortably.
"Alright, so one of the teachers I had who used to get high a lot said that the colour indigo helped to open the third eye because it was the colour of perception and intuition. Regardless of what he was smoking, I used this because you have the sturdiest instincts ever. It's actually quite astounding. So, boom, your lips are indigo because I want you to always be able to voice those instincts and trust them and follow them."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rachel," Nico said. "Alright, so why are my shoes orange?"
"Because I want to see you stay at camp a bit more," Rachel said. "And if not camp then somewhere that's like home."
"That's cheesy as fuck."
"I don't care if it's cheesy, it's true," Rachel said.
"Okay, any other true reason why the cuffs of my jacket are pink?" Nico asked. "Other than you wanted the entire rainbow there."
"Because pink means love," Rachel said. "And you've got a lot more of that than you know."
"Fuck, it's only getting worst," Nico sighed. "Okay. So considering that this entire painting is an ode to the rainbow, why is my skin white? And don't tell me that it's because I'm pasty."
"No," Rachel said. "It's because I still think that a part of you is innocent. Or at least I hope there's still some of that left in you, because you're so, so young, Nico. I know that everyone here jokes about demigod years being like dog years, but it isn't normal for kids to have seen everything you've seen and I hope you know that. And that none of it is your fault, your responsibility, your chaos or your duty."
Nico's jaw tightened. "Okay, Buddha. Well, thank you for the palm-reading and stuff."
"You're leaving?" Rachel asked, alarmed.
"Yes."
"Here or camp in general?" Rachel asked. "Nico, I didn't mean to scare you off, I'm sorry. You just… you asked, and I explained and… I'm sorry if I was being blunt."
"I like to think there's no such thing as being too honest," Nico asked running his hand through his hair and looking at that portrait.
"I really do like you," Rachel said. "Even if it's technicolour, this painting is an homage you know."
"I appreciate it," Nico said. "It really is quite nice. Like, the colours too I guess. If you want your painting to come to life, and your wish list too, I… I'd like that too, Rachel."
Rachel smiled and held out her hand, well-aware that Nico had a no touching policy. This time, he took her hand however.
"Want to go get some left-over pumpkin pie from the kitchens?" Rachel said. "Oracle-privilege. I have a microwave here and everything, possibly a can of whipped cream too."
"That sounds great," Nico said. "Gods, how does everybody know that offering me sugar is my weakness?"
"You're a skinny thirteen year old Italian dude," Rachel said. "Some things don't even need analysing. Come on, di Angelo. Let's go stuff our faces."