Chapter 15: but you've got to admit that I do it with style
Naminé picks up the brush. Naminé puts down the brush and picks up the eraser. Naminé puts down the eraser. The clock ticks a minute up.
Neo leans back in the beanbag chair, his honoray throne whenever hanging out in Naminé's room. Which he did pretty often. Sprawled out next to him, Vanilla, his fur tickling Neo's cheek, tries to swat at the buttons again.
"Stop that," Neo says. He selects the next move for his plant toad to fire of against the enemy dragon. In response, Vanilla elects to poke his cheek.
"That's not very effective, idiot. You should've switched." The enemy's HP-bar ticks down as the clock ticks up another minute. On the next turn, his plant toad, affectionately named 'Bungus', succumbs to the enemy's gales. "Told you."
"Shut up." After ruffling the fur on Vanilla's head, Neo puts the game down and stands up, his joints varying degrees of creaking when he stretches. The clock ticks up one more.
"Naminé?"
She picks up the pencil. She puts down the pencil. "What is it?"
"It's time for lunch."
"But I'm not finished yet!" Indeed she hadn't finished, because her canvas stood as barren and blank as an author's brain coming up with a creative descriptor. She started two hours ago.
In a very eloquent response, Neo slings Naminé over his shoulder – gently, unlike what one might expect – and makes for the door. One last time, Naminé reaches out to the canvas, only to give up and accept her fate of having to eat lunch. She sighs in token resistance, but this was agreed upon, after all.
Neo has explicit permission to force her to take breaks and eat lunch. Curse those promises.
Exit Neo and Naminé. Enter Vanitas, now alone.
Immediatly, he sniffs around. He can't deny that Naminé's table hasn't made him curious before; she simply always shooed him off since learning of the fun he had with Neo's homework.
Right now, though, with Neo carrying her down for a well deserved break and Naminé not around to object… the table is his.
He knew of pencils and paper and the like, basics mostly. There was no need for art when training to murder somebody, after all. Maybe understanding art can help his plans? Yeah, right. With what hands? He just doesn't have anything better to do than get to know his friends better.
What a gross thought. Instead of dwelling on it further, Vanitas first climbs the absurdly tall chair. Then, with all his might, he leaps up on the humongous table. Gigantic. Towering above all.
Up there, he glimpes an empty canvas for but a second before splattering it with thick dark blue due to his fearsome power skidding out of control. He slams against the back wall, though gets up unscathed a moment later.
Unlike the canvas. Ouch.
Even in this state, it appears what Naminé had been working on for the past two hours was… not much. Torn up sketches, loose paper adorned with indistinct lines. Maybe that's art?`What even is art? Then again, Naminé acted none too pleased about herself when Neo carted her off.
Well, she never acted too pleased about herself, but his point still stood.
Because the canvas in the middle of the table is obviously supposed to be a piece of art. And, mere minutes previous, it stood empty. He tip-toes around his, uh, work, careful not to step into the puddles of paint dripping to the floor.
The table stinks. Like paint. Like very much paint absolutely everywhere and. By the stars above maybe Neo will finally kill him.
He ruined a perfectly good canvas. Look at it, its got splatters.
Maybe that's art? In all his not that many years of actually living, Vanitas never even considered art. Are the Unversed art? They all have different designs, and color schemes, and he really likes that one with the musical instruments.
Maybe art is what he needed, after all. Maybe art will prove him right, despite the fact Vanitas didn't ruin any actual work.
The paint drips and drips slowly like crawling Floods, over the edge of the canvas, down the table, to the floor in wet splashes. Almost inaudible. Vanitas stares, looking and thinking, until the pitter patter of drops transitions into footsteps.
Wait, when did those start?
Maybe his hypothesis will get tested earlier than expected.
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
AN: going forth chapters will be shorter because i discovered i hate reading and writing long ones