Disclaimer: These are not my characters. They are the sole property of Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling
Chapter Two
"Her Hands"
The brush, shaped from an old twig, was outlining the form of a girl. The girl had dark flowing hair, thick from a caring hand; soft brush. She had deep blue eyes that set off her well defined, sandy face. The brush traced her outline eloquently. The lines were smooth and curving gracefully. The colour was a warm flesh. The hand that moved it did not shake. The fingers were holding the brush with medical precision. The resulting shapes, though, weren't quite as medically correct.
"If Mom finds out what we're doing up here she'll kill me. She'd kill you. Have your head."
"I think she'd scream first. Like a little pre-pubescent girl. She's weird like that, Aisha."
"She'd think we were dykes."
"Yeah, probably."
"I can't believe I'm letting you do this here. I must be going nuts. It's crazy."
"Lots of things in life are crazy. Live a little."
Relm flicked a fushia strand from her face, streaking her cheek a deep pink shade. On the bench across from her, Aisha was posing for her. Yes, her mother would indeed be angry if she found them, for she was wearing nothing but the crimson of her cheeks. Aisha's mother being possibly the least liberal person in the whole town, and Relm assumed, possibly even the whole world. Aisha shuffled her position in the chair a little uncomfortably. She was a little worried, but hey, what are friends for? So what if her mother ended up thinking she was gay?
"Hey, don't belittle me. I'm the one that has to live with her." Aisha rubbed her hand across her shoulder, cold. The skin prickled with goose bumps.
"Nudity is a pure form. It's essential to a work of art."
"Try telling it to Mother."
"I'm going to ask her to pose for me too, later."
"Oh yeah! Well done. Let me pack my bags first!"
"You really need to relax." "Put your arms back . . . Like this" Relm gestured her upper body in a practised stance, hands outstretched. Classical, very classical, she thought. It will make a fabulous painting. Aisha complied and settled into the pose, began to relax a little.
"Maybe next time we should do this at your place." Aisha suggested. Or outdoors maybe, she thought. How nice to lie naked in the soft grass . . .
"Oh no." Relm countered. "The old man will get in our way. He's always running about there with some bunch of old coots. Senility loves company, as they say." She dipped her brush into some rich amber pigments. Blending carefully, she produced the perfect shade to create her friends skin tone. Smooth. Rich. Like butter cream.
"You don't go home much anymore."
"No. I s'pose I don't. Would you?" She rubbed her hands together to remove the excess paint on them, wiping the remaining loose paint into her pants. White pants, or at least they had been white at one point. "Thamasa is a ghost town. A shitty little port town now. Not even connected to the Greater Continent. Who would want to live there? Certainly not me."
"I think it's so romantic though. About the magic that used to be there."
"Key word being used-to, babe. Ain't nothing there even the slightest bit romantic now."
"Yeah, I guess." Downstairs there was a rustle. A slamming door, followed by a cacophony of house-noise. Barking dogs. The kitchen rattling.
"Oh shit."
"Not a problem, chicky! I'll just slip this canvas into this wooden case. . ." Relm was obviously prepared for this, Aisha could see. She produced a makeshift canvas-holder that appeared to be constructed from willow branches and chewing gum. The sign of a true artist. Relm's hands worked fast, nimbly slotting everything together. There. Done. She wasn't one to waste time. Aisha was nearly as agile, pulling her last arm into her jacket as Relm threw the whole thing over her shoulder.
"Now what? I'll meet you outside?" Aisha shot her a look of inquiry, knowing the girls habits. Knowing her mother wouldn't want the so-called "street urchin" in her house. She reached toward her multicoloured arm. Paisley and butterflies. The fabric soft, like denim.
"Yeah. Sure thing." And out the window for her. Trails of braids and blue and turquoise were the last signs she left.
Outside, she pulled herself down the tree and a safe distance away from the house. She settled down on a street corner, among the dust and random flotsam. Her constructed case yielded her work for inspection. Nice. Very nice. The tones had blended perfectly. Those art snobs ought to like this, she snickered. It was beautiful, she grinned, but not quite tame. Aisha was the perfect model. The girl had good spirit, Relm determined. A fine lass. They were like two peas in a tornado, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Relm surveyed the town, shielding the bright noon sun from her eyes with her free hand. Jidoor, she thought, was a fairly nice town. A lovely art community, if an elite one. And Relm, well, she had no time for the opera. Romantic nonsense. Smut. But this place, it was a serene one. Maybe too calm. She simply loathed routine and was probably going to head towards Zozo soon. Yeah, the old man would hate that, would he? Perfect.
She absent-mindedly picked at a paint stain on her boot, purple. The finish was marred but she wasn't polishing it anytime soon. She was no army freak. All those crazy cats, with their airship, they wouldn't have either. But they were freaks too, weren't they. Relm had no time for it. She began picking at her loosely polished nails. Three days old. Burgundy. The chips fell unto her lap, like tiny ladybugs. Pretty, tiny ladybugs. She smiled. Inhaled the warm Jidoor air. Dust and grass. Flowers and ale. And what was that? Oh yeah. Something like petroleum.
She looked up from her careless picking as she heard Aisha approaching. She smiled. Got to her feet. Aisha was laughing, her face beaming. Great day, this was going to be. Not bad. She greeted Aisha and they headed off into town together.