Chapter 13

Conversation, Haru had once observed, was not necessary when having someone sit for a painting. All the same, she found that between herself and Baron, there seemed to be a natural flow.

"Where was I?"

"You were telling me about your maker, the 'artisan Jason Nishii'," Haru supplied. She had started by washing on the base colours that she would need in roughly the placed they would be needed. Orange for Baron's face, red for his vest, grey for his pants, cream shirt, brown bookshelves and so on. The artist was up to delicately putting the lines in place now, as she listened to him talk in that voice, that accent, that made her want to go all gooey.

"That's right, before you distracted me by talking about cricket and tea," he returned, deliberately shifting in his wingback chair, both to get more comfortable and to disrupt Haru's work. He shifted back, he just had to move a little – he had been sitting for quite a while.

"You started it by saying he loved the sport and always had half-drunk cups lying around his workshop, and if I have to tell you one more time to sit still, you're getting a miniature of a flea," the lady artist defended, pointing her paintbrush accusingly at her sitter.

He smiled. "Yes, I suppose I did."

"Artisan Nishii," Haru prompted, returning the fine hairs of her brush to her canvas.

Baron bowed his head in submission, found an exasperated glare waiting for him when he looked up, then resumed both his still pose and his narrative.

The porcelain cat-man statuette went on to describe how he had been formed, how he had watched a partner being formed for him, and how he had come to life, and she had not.

"Louise never even blinked, but I couldn't be sad for her, because she would never know what it was to feel pain or sadness. In many ways, it is the many millions of creations that do not come to life that are better off. Those of us who live must then find a way to live; we must come to terms with seeing those around us die, and just like the humans who made us, we struggle to find a reason why we were chosen to have life, and not another."

"Hang on, back up a bit, did you say that your partner's name was Louise?" Haru said, interrupting again. When the Baron affirmed that she had heard him right, she asked, "Describe her?"

"She was a cat, like me, but her eyes were the purest blue, and her fur was whiter than snow. Now that I think of it, she looked rather like that young lady with the prince, Yuki I think you said her name was. Yes, Louise looked a lot like Yuki, but she wore a lacy red dress and white gloves, with fingers, and had a lovely purple hat. Miss Haru, you look pale, is something wrong?"

Baron resisted the urge to move out of his seat and hold the young woman who had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to sit.

"Wait right there, and don't move," she said, getting up quickly from her seat before the canvas. "Believe me, I will know if you do," and with that, she left the room.

The statuette was on the verge of rising from his chair to follow Haru, having begun to worry about her being gone for so long, when she returned, something held tightly to her chest as she slowed from her jog and came to a halt before her model.

"Is this her?" she asked, releasing what turned out to be a doll from the clutches of her bosom.

"Yes," said the Baron, shocked and staring to see the doll that had shrunk with the rest of Miss Haru's luggage. He didn't remember seeing her pack it the day before. "May I enquire how she came to be in your possession, Miss Haru?"

"She's been handed down from mother to daughter for generations in my family," Haru explained. "She, and her partner, were supposed to be gifts for my … Grandmother's Grandmother's Grandmother. Very old, very precious, and very still."

"So it would seem that I was made by your ancestor," Baron said, staring at the doll that now rested in his hand. "As I understand the matter of giving life to creations, that means that you have that same sort of potential, though it's all very complicated."

Haru nodded her understanding and took back the doll, placing the delicate porcelain feline on top of the mantelpiece before returning to her canvas. She worked steadily at the portrait until the sun went down.

"Alright, you can get up now," she said, tapping her chin with the wooden end of her current paintbrush.

Baron rose from his chair, grateful for movement. He was used to being still for long periods of time as a porcelain figure, not as a breathing one. The cat gentleman walked around the artist's canvas and peered over her shoulder to look at her day's work.

"There are a couple more things that I want to do to this, but you don't have to sit for them. What do you think?" she asked.

"I think it's wonderful. So lifelike, and your brushstrokes are barely there… The work is exquisite."

"Thank you."