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If you told me that I’d be taking the portraits of each member of the Diamond Cutters a few months ago, I’d have you pegged as a madman. Sure, I did pick up photography as a hobby a few years back, but…
But what? The powers that be had a certain sense of humour. Director Jewel knew a person that knew me. A few emails, and soon I was face-to-face with the beetle in a restaurant draped from roof to carpet in red satin, laden with the scent of rosemary. Lunch was chanterelle, carefully roasted. Pecking at her plate with a fork, Jewel explained that she was searching for a photographer for the Restoration. I was all but ready to decline her proposal when she mentioned it was for the Diamond Cutters.
I had to accept it, then. Suppose you could say I felt compelled to.
[I: Whisper]
Arriving at the crack of dawn was not the best idea. (I didn’t want to deal with the morning rush hour.) Yet, to my surprise, there was someone already there to receive me: Whisper. When my gaze landed on her, I paused. She was certainly the same wolf, but… Well. I suppose that, after the war, we’ve all changed a little.
Whisper nodded in recognition; we were deafened by all that was left unsaid. There was a moment of silence, like self-effacing melancholy, and then she gestured for me to enter the headquarters with her Wispon.
As we passed by brambles and ducked under tree branches into the rebuilt Restoration HQ, Whisper didn’t bother to make small talk. She didn’t hover with a sleepy gait, though; most likely, she was already up several hours ago, and was just the antithesis of a talkative person. Normally, I’d chat with my clients to get a feel for them as a person to better capture their essence. But I already knew bits and pieces of her, scattered throughout time.
I reflected, direful. Seeing Whisper up close confirmed it: she saved me during the war. Tyranny deeming something as illicit doesn’t erase it—it only forces discretion. Before Sonic had been freed, hopelessness had overtaken the world. Still, I wanted to fight wherever I could. So, I volunteered to gather information for the Resistance, taking note of the Egg Empire’s movements with my, at that time, not-so-trusty, practically-begging-to-be-put-out-of-commision camera. It went well…at first. My luck could only bring me so far. A patrolling Egg Pawn had caught me in the act. Thought I was done for…
Well, I’m still here, now. You can probably piece together what happened.
No one knew of her name, then. We hadn’t even known her gender, or—as hushed whispers in moonlit bunkers would speculate—if she even had one. She’d shown up, turned the tides of battles, left. Her presence was (and still is) light as a thought. The very idea of the Guardian Angel of the Battlefield was larger than life, almost omnipresent.
A picture suddenly felt so very small in its confines.
All that was no longer true as of recently. The world moved on, brushing off yet another tragedy with a flick of time’s hands The wolf herself emerged from hiding. We got to see Whisper for who she truly was—like us, just us, with the aching need to seek justice in this world. Resolute, I snapped my photo. The portrait depicts Whisper wearing her mask, a peacock in mourning. For we remember, still.
[II: Tangle]
The lemur showed up a few minutes later, jogging up to us while clad in athletic wear and a striped headband. Social etiquette dictated Whisper make introductions. In lieu of one, the poor thing merely awkwardly gestured between us two, shrinking into herself all the while. To Tangle's credit, it only took her a moment before she connected the dots, cheerfully greeting me with her tail as she ushered her partner away. Meanwhile, Whisper looked like she was trying to will a hole into existence such that she could disappear that instant. I don’t blame her.
Tangle all but dragged me to the outskirts, where she knew “a good pair of stumps”. There, we chatted. Well, she did. I listened. And I marvelled at the power of being able to effortlessly hold a conversation by oneself. As she sat perched on the stump, Tangle talked about plenty of things. Whisper, mostly. She was absolutely smitten for her. But she also babbled about the beautiful hills and vales Sonic brought her to, their latest mission involving trains and lots of explosions, and a cool rock she found and subsequently adopted as a pet. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a younger Whisper.
Several escapades later, I finally got a question in: “Does it ever get tiring?”
“A little,” Tangle replied, “But I fight better when I know there’s someone watching over me!”
At first I wondered how to capture her essence in one photo, but it turned out that Tangle was a refreshingly simple person. The world was simply more colourful with the right vision. Even in black-and-white, her excitable nature leapt at you, painting the world around her in unflinching colour.
[III: Lanolin]
Lanolin’s one was the one who surprised me the most. Even before meeting her, I've heard plenty of her through the grapevine: headstrong, candid, a little bossy. I had already imagined the portrait down to her stiff posture and her scowl.
Yet my perspective changed when I met her—or rather, observed her as she worked tirelessly in the background. A document slipped here and there. Barked orders even as she jogged from place to place. A tired smile, briefly heaving its weight onto the presence of a lounging Surge. As I waited, I pondered about the efficiency of the Restoration if Lanolin were to, Chaos forbid, take an extended sabbatical. Our appointment was delayed for thirty minutes. (Later, she apologized for making me wait. I replied that I didn’t mind, and for the first time, I meant it.)
I had thought it silly that, despite being the greenest member of the Diamond Cutters, she was the leader. A world of difference from the previous one, certainly. But where she may lack in experience, she more than makes up for in dedication. Icarian as it may be, her determination for a better world shone through.
When I finally had the chance to sit down, and told her of my new idea, she merely shrugged. “You know better.” And so Lanolin’s portrait doesn't even have her facing forward: her back faced my lens as she coordinated a shipment to Mazuri. Making a difference for those without the strength to do so was what she strived for.
[IV: Surge]
Surge was…unique. There are few that don't know her after she forcefully plastered herself on the front page of every newspaper after the chaos she’d wrought in Central City, and, subsequently, her stellar showing in the Clean Sweepstakes. If nothing else, she was definitely bold and brash. I mean, she managed to make fun of my outfit, poked at my rectrices, and compliment Lanolin’s sundress in one breath! It was definitely a firsthand experience.
Because of that, it was foolish of me to think she'd comply with what I had planned for her. Even as I took the photo as she instructed—her body garlanded with questionable hand gestures and destroyed Sonic merchandise—she kept barking at me to “get it right”. Surge's portrait was thus less of a statement and more of an achievement. If the good tenrec ever comes across this memoir, I hope she doesn’t take offense when I say I wish to cross paths with her again someday. It's not everyday that I come across a client this interesting!
[V: Kit]
Kit was aloof. Surge had informed me that he doesn't talk much, but whereas Whisper's distance was born out of shyness and past events, Kit seemed like he didn’t want to interact with anyone that wasn’t Surge—a “Why say ten words when you can say none?” kind of person.
He was in the woodworking section, surrounded by caches of machinery and gadgets. I tried to initiate small talk, and he stared at me. Asking if he was busy only yielded more staring. I shuddered—it felt like I was in my earlier days, trapped in a networking event gone wrong. Horrible. But he replied eventually, and though his responses were, more often than not, no longer than Whisper’s, I consider it a success.
I asked him what he thought of the Restoration’s work. Though he still worked on his contraption, he pursed his lips, visibly mulling over his answer. Finally, the kid tightened a screw, and spoke in a measured tone: “Charity is a grave sin. Or so I thought. Now that I am under its wing, I’ve lost my fondness for hating it.”
Perhaps he simply had an aversion to having his photo taken as some kids do. Well, Surge knew this as well, and had insisted I took one despite Kit’s inevitable silent protests. Said he’d like it. I released the shutter as he pondered upon mass transfer equations: his mind was loudest when he was silent. Later that day, I showed the result to Surge before it was published. The tenrec stared at it, quiet, before her features twisted like persistent tongues of flame back into barbed, uncaring light. I said nothing. Who was I to deny their fierce fondness for each other?
[VI: All]
At six, it was time for the group photo. A visibly-vibrating Tangle brought Whisper (and everyone else in the vicinity) closer with her tail. Whisper smiled bashfully, not noticing Surge sticking her tongue out at her as a worried Kit glanced at them. (Maybe Whisper did, and she just couldn’t be bothered anymore.) Standing in the middle, Lanolin tried her best to look annoyed, but the small smile that tugged on her lips betrayed her efforts. The wisps joined in, too, huddling at those closest to them.
I paused. My finger hovered just above the camera, still not releasing the shutter, for I was transported to a few years back at Clove Sea. Same team. Same numbers. Different members, of course. Does it matter? They still posed and smiled and laughed like their only purpose there was each other’s presence. You'd think a menagerie of vastly different personalities would clash and stifle voices, but it merely brought each out in their own way. However simple, however complex, being in the team lets them better express each aspect of themselves.
One way or another, this was something that they all wanted to do.
I captured the photograph: a snapshot in time. As I did, I sent silent prayers: one for the longevity of the team that stood in front of me, the other for their predecessors.
I left the Restoration with a…honestly, I’m still not exactly sure how to describe my feelings then. Reinvigoration? It’d be hyperbolic to say that this gig got my back into my groove. But it was a start.
The Diamond Cutters…each of them have their own thoughts and wants. All of us do; we all contain multitudes. Embolden these selves, and you give them each their own voice.
How wonderful is it that, at this moment, we have the ability to think, speak, write, draw, create. The world is our canvas; our passion, its paint. Do not stifle your voice. Let it scream.