#pulchritudinouspigment

[dark-owl-lucy]

outreach

after her encounter with the Void Mistress, Lucy took to wandering the desert with greater frequency and purpose.  this suited her just fine, as the town's new neighbors tightened their grip and their razor lemon presence grew harder and harder to ignore; now that they had firmly ensconced themselves in most of the more major municipal institutions, they started going after some of the other vestiges of weird--banning bloodstones, changes in the Big Rico's sauce, the removal of the Shape in Grove park, and from panicked ripples in static that she and Ted both felt, hooded figures were disappearing.  but there was also stirring out in the desert, and not just where the oak doors now stood: little pockets of a cool swirl of pink anticipation shimmered and toyed with the hems of her robes as she roamed the desert.

and her own anticipation stirred inside, too, humming questioningly to the night and the stars, which only echoed back the same distant sentiment.  but something else stirred in her chest as well, growing more noticeable by the day.  sometimes she could make out the tangled fibers of her original bits of voidstuff, infused with the little monster she had found, floating about within her being, and lately during these walks it had taken to settling where her heart had been, and when it got quiet she swore she could hear some kind of cinnamon whispering.  it was nothing in this desert with her, its shading was more distant than that, but it wasn't too far away.

the whispering was sometimes voices--some lilting, most purple with a citrus burn--but often it was wordless and felt much older, not quite as old as the void or the stars, but not much younger than that.  it was distant, and she could've sworn it reached out, but to what she couldn't be sure, it was too faint.

but it did not go unnoticed.

pulchritudinouspigment

[dark-owl-lucy]

invitation

a few days after Cerise had gone missing, Lucy felt compelled to head down to the artist’s studio.  she didn’t want to go back--and indeed, in the previous days it probably wouldn’t have been safe--but there was this somber obligation butting against the inside of her chest.  to satisfy that was reason enough.

going out alone at night was less than advisable, especially with the new grinning neighbors afoot.  but Lucy was careful, even when troubled, and though she promised Ted she’d be back in an hour, she also brought along his jet black knife, just in case.

she didn’t want to go back.  why bother?  no one was there, and anybody who might be there would probably be less than friendly.  though she assured herself that if anyone was thinking to loot the place they’d be long gone, and that the new neighbors hadn’t taken to prowling the town by night.  it’d be as safe as houses could be these days in a place like this.  but that still didn’t make her want to go.  that place was Cerise’s, and she wasn’t there anymore.  it’d be like visiting her grave.

but that was precisely it.  this was Lucy’s friend, and it was only right to pay some sort of respect.  that was the obligation.

the place was in a tumult--furniture overturned, glass and tools smashed, all manner of everything scattered everywhere.  scanning the place with a flashlight Lucy half-expected to find the kind of debris that came with an explosion, bits of drywall or brick, but no such luck.  the closest thing she could find was the broken glass and the fragments and contents of a tea caddy strewn over the consultation room floor.  she was half-tempted to venture upstairs, but was afraid that she’d find it in the same chaotic state.

or worse, just the way Cerise had left it, only beginning to collect dust and quietly awaiting her return.

she started to pick her way across the consultation room, only to stop somewhere in the middle and shrug her arms listlessly.  this was wrong, this was all wrong.  then with a little whine she went over to the upset fainting couch, and struggling with it only a little she went about righting it and straightening it out.  she even brushed some dust from the cushions, then stood to the side.  there, it looked ready to receive company.

but what company would come to call?

Lucy sank to perch on the coffee table, still on its feet but knocked askew, and bit her lip in an effort not to dissolve into tears.  this was all wrong, this was all so very wrong.  to think that hardly a week ago she had sat here in this very room and watched the distillation of words and stardust into pigment, one of the most amazing things she had ever seen, and now for all intents and purposes that artist was gone, that friend was gone.

then something on the mantle caught her eye, probably because by some miracle it was the only thing still left on the mantle.  it was a small box, the box Cerise had out when making the pigment!  carefully Lucy brought it down, and after some hesitation opened it and shone her light into it.  the bottom was covered in a fine, dark powder that seemed to shimmer of its own accord, even without the flashlight’s beam resting on it.  this was the pigment, this had to be it.  it would be good to hold onto this stuff--maybe at some point down the road she could find someone else to apply it--but she was loath to take the box with her.  maybe there was a container or vial or something in the other room...

something muffled and ceramic clattered behind her, nearly making Lucy drop the box and jump out of her skin.  a potted succulent by the window she hadn’t noticed had overturned, but there was no skittering or any indication to suggest that any animal had knocked it over.  she crept over and turned her flashlight on it--the plant looked entirely shriveled and more than a little pathetic, even moreso now that there were clumps of dirt scattered around it.  but her light glinted off something that looked damp and vaguely squishy, and under the light it gave a small keen.

Lucy knelt down next to inspect it closer, although she moved the flashlight off the thing, which looked like a washed up jellyfish, hardly bigger than her palm.  it still whimpered quietly, and as Lucy came closer, it seemed to try and wiggle closer to her.

“Hey little thing,” she called to it softly.  after a hesitation she held out her hand to it, and with a coo the little thing climbed into her hand with exhausted eagerness.  it was cold and clammy, the poor thing, but there was still a warmth at its center somewhere.

and the warmth from Lucy’s hands seemed to do it some good, not only did it seem to warm up but it also took on a slight pinkish glow.  it cooed again, still quiet and tired but with a happier lilt.  and was it... purring?  this was some very affectionate little creature, whatever it might be.

but now it was shifting in her hands, the edges of its form scalloping--was it trying to change shape?  and it was only when Lucy squinted to look closer that she made out the shape of a flower before the thing fell out of shape and dulled in its glow.  then once its light returned it squirmed into roughest points of a star before slumping again, almost going dark this time.

this... couldn’t be one of Cerise’s monsters, could it?  were they even capable of leaving their partner?  perhaps so, if this little thing was here.  and as Lucy realized her hands were a little sticky and she glanced at the plant again, she could see it was a very peculiar way it had shriveled: as if something had sucked it dry, like a grape.

“You poor thing,” she whined aloud.  but what could she do?  she couldn’t leave it here, the little thing was probably on its last legs.  but how did one care for a monster like this?  she wasn’t even fully sure if that’s what this was.

well, there’s one way to find out.

shifting back to sit on the floor, Lucy closed her eyes and flattened her hand.  “Come on,” she thought, though it was clear enough in her mind that maybe she said it.  “Come on in, you’ll be alright.  It’s okay.”

to invite something into your skin, and to have it accept the invitation, is strange indeed, seeping in the same way tea infuses in water, but far more viscous.  a shudder crept up her back and down her arm, but by the time it shook through the little creature had slipped in, leaving its sticky makeshift medium behind.  and to have something move in your skin--not under, in--is another unusual sensation; Lucy could feel a spot of warmth no bigger than a quarter flit around her left forearm like a tiny octopus before squidging around the line of her scar, up her arm, and settling right above her heart.  Lucy sat still a moment, and she could feel the little creature’s slight pulsing warmth fall into rhythm with her heartbeat.

“Well.”  Lucy stood, taking up the flashlight and tucking the box of pigment under her arm.  “That’ll take some getting used to.”

but it was the least she could do.