Title: masterpiece
A/N: a small drabble on Libra and Robin, based on their support convos
Summary: Masterpiece, Robin called it. Libra had much better words—scrap, scribble, junk.
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"It's beautiful," Robin breathed, examining the scroll. Her fingers held the paper as though she was touching glass, a fear that the next touch might destroy the masterpiece in her hands.
Masterpiece. It was not a word Libra would use. Scrap. Passing fancy. A scribble at best. All descriptions that were more accurate for his painting and when he'd mentioned it, Robin had frowned deeply. Her brow had furrowed so much he could paint valleys and mountains with the lines.
Masterpiece, she had corrected, with the same tone she used when talking to a child. Nothing less than that.
It wasn't, he was sure. He'd looked at his pieces a dozen times before handing them off to her, at the brushstrokes and sketch marks and the small scuffs from where he had erased lines. Libra was no stranger to god's greatest works—the churches were filled with them. Tapestries with fine lines and delicate colours, each work flowed as though a vision from the almighty himself. His own fell flat to that. The idle pastime of a flawed man.
"Thank you," she exclaimed, beaming brightly at him. "I'll keep it better protected this time—it's a treasure and I don't want to lose it again."
"It's nothing so grand," he repeated, an argument they ran though over and over.
"A family heirloom." Her typical response and he could feel his ears redden at the compliment. No matter how many times he heard it, it still surprised him. "There's nothing grander than that."
It would be rude to argue any further, no matter how off track she was. There was grace in accepting compliments for what they were. His expression softened as he watched her return to staring at the scroll, her smile reaching the corners of her eyes. "Thank you."
Masterpiece. Junk. Words were just that and perhaps more than labels, he should focus on the results. He'd made someone happy with a few strokes on canvas. There was some merit to his art, however unskilled he may be.
Robin beamed at him and perhaps he could rethink his commission policy, if it made even a single person that elated.