Chapter Text
The train rattled and clanged as it sped down the rails. Passengers aboard held onto available poles and handle bars as to not lose their balance. It was being proved somewhat useless, though, as people still fell over from time to time.
Pico watched them with intent, slightly confused. He set down his pencil, unable to focus, and pondered about these passengers.
There's, like, 5 open seats. Why are you guys standing? There were 7 seats open, actually. And yet those people chose to stand instead. How come? He didn't see any handicap signs above the seats, and there weren't any mysterious puddles on the seats. Nor were there any protocols that those seats were off limits. So why wouldn't these people sit down?
People always confused him. He was never able to understand the weird habits, fetishes, just anything about other people. Why would people find feet pictures cute? What about big teeth? What's so awesome about those? And piss kinks? The hell?? Why would someone get turned on by someone else's piss?! It makes absolutely no sense to him.
Then again, maybe piss kinks hardly make any sense to anyone.
Anyways, Pico can't understand people in general. Just about everything about people's behaviour that isn't survival instinct confused him. At one point in time, the students and classmates at his old middle school held a protest against the girl's dress code and had people wear purple. He still doesn't understand how that was supposed to prove something. If anything, the school would think that was gang mentality and put more policies in place. Wouldn't it just defeat the purpose? The world may never know.
He shrugged it off and went back to sketching out a design for a commission. He had more important things to do than wonder about people's stupidity, like finish up commissions he receives and high school to attend. Besides, it's not like the curiosity will eat him alive. He'll live.
These people are weird. He tapped the top part of his pencil against his chin. Maybe I could use them for the commission. The customer was weird as hell, anyways. He pressed the lead against the paper and started to draw out what was in his brain.
Maybe, like, some sort of person with blood dripping down the side of their face? ...Maybe not. That sounds cool and all, but this is for a restaurant. That might turn people away. I don't think anything like that is the way to go. What about a cat or some animal? But what will people think of that? Is everyone a cat person like me, or do they like dogs more? I don't even know if the restaurant is formal or not. Or is it a diner? What kind of food do they serve? I think they serve Italian food or something. That's what I heard anyways. They're supposedly a good Italian restaurant. Yum, Italian food... I really like the fettuccine those restaurants serve. I should get some when I go there. I haven't had that in forever. Does it taste like I remember? I dunno, hopefully it does. Otherwise, I'd be wasting my money.
...How is that even related? Pico furiously shook his head to clear those thoughts and went back to focusing on his sketch.
Maybe I could just spray paint some pasta. That's kind of Italian. Wait no, that's kinda racist. But don't people think of pasta and pizza when they hear 'Italian food'? What can I put then? What do I know that's Italian? Uhh... There was that race in Luca. But I don't think that was a real thing. Was it?What did they base that on? They probably based it on a real event. I don't think they would let me paint Luca on the wall, though. What can I put then?? Uh... I dunno. Ugh, this is so hard!
He ended up with a bowl of fruit and a chewed through eraser. Not very creative or useful. He sighed and closed the sketchbook, putting it in his backpack. Oh well. He'll probably be able to get more ideas when he actually SEES the place. It's not like his creative juices ran out.
...Did they?
He hasn't been able to get that creative flow going for a while. The most he's been able to sketch out was just random doodles of the same person. That same beanie, blue hair, sweater. He hasn't been able to sketch out anything else recently. That person had infatuated his mind.
Aw geez, he really has run out of those creative juices he needs for commissions. At this rate, he'll be out of a job! What will he do for money?! He has no idea how to fill out a resume. He'll get kicked out of his apartment and have to eat filth out of trash cans with the rats for the rest of his life! This is bad, really bad. What should he do?
Pico looked up and saw that people were leaving the train. Was he at his stop already? He glanced at a sign and saw that, yep, this was his stop. He must have zoned out enough to not notice. He stuffed his sketchbook into his backpack, stood up, and stared to follow those people leaving. He stopped when he noticed a little girl staring at him.
"Um, hi." He awkwardly waved at her, giving her a small smile behind his mask. The girl didn't respond. She just gaped at him.
"Mommy! Look!" The girl suddenly came back down to Earth and turn to her mother, pointing at the ginger. "It's that boy on the news!"
The girl's mother rushed over and took her daughter's hand. "Rebecca," she scolded as she led her away, "you shouldn't talk to criminals like him. They're very bad people."
Pico watched the woman go, his thoughts clouding his mind. Criminal? He wasn't a criminal. He knew that very much. He's not a criminal. People don't know what happened that day. They don't know the real story. They only know what the news and politicians told them. They don't know what really happened. They weren't there to see it.
He wiped his eyes and ran out of the train station.
...
Pico wiped his forehead and grinned at his hard work. This wasn't one of his best - he knew that he could do better - but it was still something that was brilliant to look at. It was appealing to the eye.
It looked professional.
He walked over to the counter, eager to get paid and go home. "Um, excuse me?" The manager, who was currently out and about, noticed him.
"Yes?" Pico pointed at what he painted.
"I finished your request. Could you pay me, please? I'll get out of your hair afterwards."
The manager carelessly tossed some money at him. Pico scrambled to pick it up, and counted each bill. 10, 20, 40... 50? 50 bucks? They agreed on 400!
"Um," he went back over to the counter and set the money down, "you underpaid me. We agreed on 400."
"Sorry kid. You did a shit job, so I lowered your pay." The manager didn't even bat an eye at the ginger. They merely focused on how many orders they have left to finish.
Pico stared at them. He spent time and money on that art on the wall. He felt like he deserved at little more than 50 dollars.
"I spent valuable time on that mural. You wouldn't have that on your wall if I didn't spend any money on supplies. Can I please have what we agreed on?"
"I could've hired a better freelance artist than you and payed them less." The manager shrugged. "Just take your cash and get out."
Pico felt anger bubble up inside of him. First, they don't even pay him a quarter of the price they agreed on. Second, they say he did a horrible job on their wall. And now they're calling him trash?! What the actual hell?!
"Excuse me?!" Pico slammed the cash down. "I don't know if you understood what I said. I spent VALUABLE time and money on your stupid fucking order. I could've used it on anything else, but I chose to waste it on you. So please, give. Me. My. Money."
"And I don't think you heard me." The manager snatched the money off the counter and stuffed it inside the register. "I told you to take that cash I generously gave you and get out. Now, you don't get any money. Now GET OUT!" They jabbed their finger at the door. Pico let out a frustrated groan before storming out of the small diner.