Wait, it's actually a rule? He's sure if he just plays cute he'll probably get away with it anyways.
How Lemmy Breaks the Rule:
Lemmy admires his… less than average painting with the eye of an art critic, but the understanding of a rookie. His lines are unsteady (they're more accurately defined as shaky squiggles) and his overall painting looks infantile, like a hatchling took a paintbrush and just went at it, but he's not even slightly dissuaded by his end result.
After all, painting and drawing has never been his forte. His talents lie in the more physical aspect of creating art. He can find the epicenter of a ball on his first try, his nimbleness and flexibility can draw awes from a crowd with his heart-stopping stunts. If they're not on their feet from the excitement then Lemmy breaks out his impressive repertoire of dance moves all the while carrying a tune. Unfortunately, his skills are lacking when it comes to the sitting-down-to-create-art department.
Still, he can weave mystifying tales with his words by using his daydreams as an outline, digging up the flowery vocabulary he stole from listening to Ludwig recite sonnets, but trying to keep his hands steady enough to write it down, let alone paint a picture, isn't easy for him.
Maybe he's overthinking things? His circle isn't that bad, but then when he turns his head slightly it looks more like an oval? No, no, he's imagining the distortions, right? Okay, he is overthinking this.
Luigi looms over him, a mug of tea steaming in his hands, tracing the patterns of Lemmy's work with his experienced eyes. The nectarous aroma of his tea pleasantly fills Lemmy's nostrils with a combination of honey, cinnamon, and an unnamed, but familiar flower.
Luigi's brow quirks. "Why did you paint the grass blue?" Luigi asks.
"I wanted to be different." Lemmy shrugs, then spots a splotch of blue on his palm and begins to peel the dry paint off his scales. He briefly wonders if he got any splatters on his face from some of his more… intense paint strokes.
Judging by Luigi's thoughtful expression on his face free of any signs of playfulness, Lemmy surmises he probably looks presentable enough to not warrant any teasing. Luigi's eyes fall back onto the painting, brow raised permanently as he attempts to comprehend Lemmy's logic. He takes a step closer, leaning in to get a better look at his artwork.
Subsequently, Lemmy resigns to his teacher's harsh critiques, open for any input Luigi has for him. Although Lemmy knows Luigi isn't brutally honest or brusque with his comments and could possibly shirk on dishing out the criticism.
Luigi is a painfully kind soul even when his job requires him to be brutally honest with his students. Lemmy may have to do a bit of digging and scavenging around Luigi's well-meaning sentences to pinpoint what he's attempting to say as he tries not to discourage Lemmy from trying again.
"Grass is usually green," Luigi notes with humor in his tone, humming a little note. Lemmy glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, noting the twitching of his lips curtained by his bushy mustache. He's trying not to laugh out of politeness and to spare Lemmy's feelings, but Lemmy isn't so fragile.
It's a conclusive statement to make.
Well, actually, that's not fair if that's Luigi's only critique. What happened to 'letting the colors guide you' or whatever deep, philosophical thing Luigi had sprouted before he began teaching Lemmy the basics of painting?
Lemmy sends him a dry look, arms crossed defensively. "Hey, in a world where ice cream and cake can be a race track, I think I deserve a little respect here."
Luigi snorts out a laugh, no longer able to contain himself. "That is a valid point, but it looks more like water when it's blue. I was trying to understand why you painted Polterpup floating on water."
"Everyone's a critic," Lemmy mutters jokingly, his smile bright despite his sarcastic tone.
"I wasn't very good starting out either." Luigi chuckles, ruffling up his vibrant hair causing the little Koopa to laugh. "It takes practice."
Of course, Lemmy isn't disheartened. Practice makes perfect, after all. The scars on his knees and elbows are proof enough of his stubborn persistence to get his tricks just right before he unveils it to his audience. If he gave up every time something went amiss, he'd never be as talented in magic or acrobatics as he is now. His hidden potential would be wasted, forever buried by the fear of failure.
Besides, his painting isn't that bad when he looks at it more. Clearly, it's done by an inexperienced painter, but if Luigi could tell Lemmy painted his ghostly companion without questioning the end product then he's made progress from his sorry excuse for a tree he painted two weeks ago.
"I made you a cup of hot chocolate," Luigi says, disrupting his musings. Luigi gestures his head towards the kitchen behind him. His knowing gaze then falls to the recliner where Polterpup is snoozing quietly. "Make sure you get it before Polterpup licks the whip cream off the top."
At the mention of his name, the ghost pup perks up from his resting place on the recliner too quickly—as if he was pretending to sleep the entire time, probably waiting to be the subject requiring their undivided attention. Polterpup stretches out his body with a gruff yawn, tongue hanging from his mouth.
Lemmy spots the exact moment when the words register in the dog's addled brain—or when the smell of hot chocolate hits his twitching nostrils. Polterpup eagerly jumps off the chair, playfully hopping between his paws like a little dance at Lemmy's feet.
Lemmy doesn't waste anymore time, knowing exactly what to expect from the mischievous canine. The Koopaling sprints away from his easel towards the counter where his sweltering treat is awaiting him. Polterpup barks excitedly, phasing through the floor, using a shortcut only he can.
"You cheater!" Lemmy cries, hearing Luigi laugh as Lemmy climbs over Luigi's recliner instead of running around it to get to the little kitchen corner first.
Miraculously, he manages to snatch his drink just before Polterpup springs out of the counter and lands on the counter top, tail wagging from the thrill of the race. The pads of his little feet tap dance on the counter's tiled surface. Lemmy giggles, patting the dog once before taking a victorious drink of his hot chocolate.
It slightly burns his tongue as it slithers warmly down his throat, but the sweetness douses the pain to a bearable sting. He licks the whip cream beard off his face before he scoops up a finger of whip cream and allows the pup to slobber his claw clean with cold, ghostly spit as a sign of peace.
He sits down at the tiny table meant for two, scraping the chair against the floor to cautiously clammer up it. He successfully avoids spilling any hot chocolate onto himself or the table. Luigi joins him, sitting across from him, setting his tea down. Polterpup squeezes himself under the table to rest on his owner's feet.
Lemmy takes a small sip, humming happily as the coldness of the whip cream cools his stinging taste buds. "So, didja send it?"
By the extremely remorseful look on Luigi's face and the very perceptible flinch, Lemmy already knows the answer to his question. His smile droops ever so slightly around the corners and Luigi nervously pulls at the collar of his shirt.
"Not yet," Luigi replies sheepishly. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, shoulders tense as he absentmindedly fiddles with the string of his teabag. "I've been meaning to, but I keep chickening out."
"Luigi," Lemmy whines, kicking his feet to emphasize his frustration. "You promised. No one will know it's your painting. The lady said you'd remain anonymous if you choose to submit a piece to the gallery."
Luigi shrivels back, grimacing like he's been struck by every syllable, sucking on his bottom lip. "I know." He gives Lemmy a defeated look and a miserable quirk of his lips. "But what if no one likes it?"
"What if they do?" Lemmy counters. "Me and Mario both agree you're good enough. You already know what painting you want to submit too. What does Mario usually say?" Lemmy adjusts his voice accordingly, adopting Mario's signature accent. "'You just have to pull up your big boy pants and submit it, bro!'"
Lemmy gulps down sips of hot chocolate, allowing his words to properly soak in. His impression of Mario just now was pretty admirable, maybe Luigi will compliment his skills. He could use a compliment after Luigi dunked on his painting with his critical stare alone.
"I don't have to worry about that; I wear overalls," Luigi mutters halfheartedly instead, attempting to scour up a joke to settle some of the apprehension engraved deeply into his concerned expression. The pathetic smile and meek shrug begging Lemmy to laugh only adds to the humor.
Lemmy, not expecting him to take the jokester route at all, snorts hot chocolate straight out of his nostrils. No-longer-hot chocolate splatters onto the table, forming a disgusting mixture of chocolaty booger puddles. His sporadic coughing causes Luigi to frantically hop out of the chair with a tiny yip. He rushes to the counter for paper towels.
He hands Lemmy a wad of paper towels with an apologetical little smile and a guilty glimmer in his eyes. Lemmy presses them against his leaking nostrils and wipes the saliva dribbles from his mouth.
Through blurry vision, he watches humorously as Luigi hurriedly returns to the sink. He turns back with a dripping wet sponge and wipes away the mess on the table before it becomes sticky or pools over the side to the tiled floor.
The boiling temperature of the hot chocolate burns Lemmy's throat as he recovers, tears pour from his eyes, but Lemmy can't help the bubbling giggles from escaping him as he begins to laugh so hard he's breathless and actually crying.
He quickly hears Luigi's deep baritone laughter intermingle with his until they're both cackling like a pair of mad scientists, heaving for air to fill their overworked lungs. Eventually, their random fit settles down. Luigi wipes tears from his eyes with his fingers and Lemmy regains his breath.
As they wedge themselves into the comfortable silence, Lemmy smiles at Luigi; who taps his fingers against the mug of his tea with the same goofy grin on his own face.
"Do you promise to submit it tomorrow?" Lemmy asks innocently. "You did almost just kill me."
Luigi's grin turns shy. Timidly, he glances at his tea that has long gone tepid. "I promise to try."
Paradise is one of my favorite stories I've ever actually written. It's so… fuzzy and soft and it makes me smile. I'm actually proud of it whenever I glance it over.
This little blurb makes me want to write another 25,000 word friendship between a turtle and a human plumber. I dunno if anyone would be interested in that but I love this friendship too much to not give it more love.