“I thought you didn't do birth-cycles?” Pebbles said as he tilted his head and looked to Suns. His cup clinked against the smooth table, drink sloshing a bit, letting the ice clink against the straw. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation, casual and yet refined. Suns fit in better than Pebbles ever did.
They sipped their drink, as poised as the cycle they met, embodying a silent holiness that Pebbles could never dream of achieving. “No, it is not my usual style,” they reply, “but it seemed valuable to celebrate.”
Void below. What is he supposed to say to… this? All of this! Seven Red Suns taking time out of their busy schedule just to take him out to lunch? He's an artist and lab tech, for wyrm's sake, and yet they continue to meet, discussing anything under the sun, and then lower as well. Religion, philosophy, paintings, life, their work on the lifeblood of their civilization. Turning Spires is activating soon, and they're here. Celebrating his birthcycle.
“Pebbles?” they prompt, bringing him back to the moment. “Is everything alright?”
He nods, taking another sip of his drink. “Just thinking about all that's happened.”
They raise their glass in agreement, tipping it towards him and then taking another sip. “It's incredible, really. We always wonder if the cycle has us trapped, and here we are, celebrating it.”
“Tradition, I suppose,” he contemplates, holding the cup on the table.
Suns seems to have noticed the oddities, to his dismay. “We don't have to celebrate here, you know. I thought it would be nice to take you up here, but you seem… uncomfortable.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious, Suns,” he bites back, harder than he really meant to.
Smoothly, always elegantly, in a single motion, Suns sets their cup on the table, taking Pebbles by the arm and pulling. He almost falls, but manages to keep step with his friend. They travel down the elevator, out onto the street, moving between the flowing crowd.
It takes until they are standing in front of the rolling door to Pebble's workshop that he realizes what Suns is doing. “Hey- I thought you said no work today!”
Suns unlocks the door. They've known the code for many cycles now. “Where do you keep your paints? And an apron, preferably.”
Little Pebbles, standing in the doorway where he was left, stares. “You want to paint?”
“It's your birthday, yes? You enjoy doing this. I want you to show me.”
It takes another moment before Pebbles snaps back into action, collecting two aprons and moving to hang his mask on the hook- until he remembered Suns was also there. Should he take off his mask-? It would be more difficult to paint with it on- would it be weird?
Maybe it would, except Suns had moved behind him, taking an apron in one hand and holding their own mask in the other, hanging it. Oh. He tries to stop thinking, pulling off his own mask and hanging it side by side. They are smiling at him- have they always been? Their eyes are so vibrant- focus. Paint. Cans are pulled from the cabinet, nozzles fitted and set in front of a blank wall in the workshop.
“It will take some getting used to,” he says, picking up a red can and shaking. “Keep your hand moving, or else the paint will pool and drip.” A piece of paper is handed to Suns, and they reach down to pick up another can. Purple.
They shake it as well, trying a few sprays across the paper. The first two drip, but the third is relatively even. Pebbles watches, and void below is it different having Suns in this workshop. They're tall, he's always known this, but even without the mask Suns towers over him. He nods at the test sprays, pointing to the wall.
“We start with a sketch. This will get covered up later, but it's good reference.” He takes a deep breath, stepping up to the wall. Scholar symbol. That will do. It's bubbly and big, and Suns moves to add some pearls in around the character.
“Is this good?”
He's always painted alone, this is so different. It's good. “Yes, very. I like the way it frames the subject.”
Five Pebbles gets into the rhythm of painting. Shake-shake-shake, spray. Step back, see the big picture. Next color. Repeat. Suns works on the pearls, and they almost glow on the wall, colors weaving together. They're picking this up well.
“You're quick,” Suns observes, adding gold to one of the pearls.
“I've done this for a long time,” he replies.
More painting. Outlines are added, highlights giving emphasis to the shapes. Suns steps back at this point, letting their friend finish the work.
He steps back, dropping the near-empty canister on the ground. “Well. We did it.”
“Thank you Pebbles.”
“Oh-“ He really had needed to get something on this wall, this had just been a good excuse to-
Suns puts their hand on his shoulder. “Let's get this cleaned up.”
He nods. It was still so surreal to see Suns without their mask, but there they went, picking the cans up off his floor. He hastily followed, putting caps back on and throwing out the empty ones. It all cleaned up quickly, and they both returned to the cabinet to put away the cans and aprons.
“It's a shame we must wear these bulky masks and not be able to properly appreciate all the artwork on the walls.” Suns states as they pick up their mask, inspecting it before putting it back on.
“Yeah.”
Suns glances to Pebbles. “Let's get home. It's been a long day. Oh- send Moon my regards! I'm still writing a response to her last message,” they laugh, standing and walking to the door.
“Yeah, I'll make sure she knows.” He follows suit, closing the door behind the two and locking it.
Many cycles later, when he's running for his life, he's going to come in this workshop, looking for supplies. He's going to see the mural, made with the one who set him up to fail. The burns on his hands, his face, all from the void fluid that Suns gave him. And he is going to swallow his despair, and run.
Run far away.