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"Can I touch your face?” The question innocent in nature.
When the stranger hesitated, Armet felt the need to explain. It's not everyday someone interviewed him after all.
“Well,” he began, “It will help me understand what you look like, because…I can't see you normally.” Armet chuckled a bit nervously. “And I will be able to picture what you look like in my head.”
He heard the other man let out a gasp, most likely being one of realization. “Oh!” He stuttered. “Yes, yes, of course you can touch my face, if it helps!” Armet heard shuffling, as the jittery man took a few tiny steps towards him. “Uhm, is this close enough, or should I…?”
Armet quieted him with a polite raise of the hand. “That's fine. You might actually be a bit too close,” the other man squeaked, and took a step back. Armet had to resist a sigh. This man was so scared of accidentally offending him, it was amusing, but also made Armet feel like he was being pitied.
He had received enough sympathy from the Exarch Morion, who had taken him in as his own out of the kindness of his heart, but just because he was blind at birth didn't mean he needed to be looked after like a child.
(of course, he has prayed for vision to bless him before… The young man has always been the best he could possibly be, hoping that The Great Umbrella, his lord, would see the potential in him.
It hasn't worked yet, but that didn't extinguish his hope.)
“That should be fine, let me just-” as he reached up to untie his blindfold, his walking cane clattered on the stone road.
(He could hear Morion's voice in his ear scolding him; “Armet! Don't be so easily distracted! Your brain is the only working part that The Great Umbrella has gifted you, so use it to your full advantage!” He couldn't help it if he was a bit of a clutz!
He knew from hanging around market places, and busy street corners, that people dropped things all the time, and yet they were never scolded.
It really wasn't fair, was it? To be babied but still chastised for things out of his control.)
A surprised voice snapped him out of his trance. “Please, let me get that for you!” and Armet felt a small breeze on his face as the man bent over to pick up the cane. “If you insist." Arment smiled at the kind gesture. “Just please don't run off with it!”
The other paused. Armet heard him hold his breath. Was he actually considering it? He couldn't hold his sigh this time. Great, now he'd have to ask for a new-
“Have people really done that…?” The stranger's voice was quiet, almost scared to utter the sentence. Nodding, Armet replied with sadness laced in his voice; “Sure, many times.” he murmured, before smiling once again. “But it's not that bad. Morion always makes me a new one when that happens, and it's very rare.” he said, trying to reassure the man.
(The reason for that rareness was because he hardly spoke to anyone, but the stranger didn't need to know that.)
The slight tremble in the stranger's voice told him that he was about to cry, which made Armet frown in response. ‘Oh Zontik, Umbrella above,’ he thought, ‘Why did you have to bless me with such an empathic man?!’
Sniffles and choked weeps came from the other man, as he reached out and took Armets’ hands in his own, intertwining their fingers together. “Thats horrible.” he whispered sadly. “How could anyone do such a thing?” Armet could only smile nervously, not used to being touched in such a manner. “Well, it's not like I could fight them, or chase them down. A blind man's cane is a free cane I suppose.” He wasn't sure how else to respond, besides finding some sort of positive. “Besides, I believe that you wouldn't steal it. You don't seem like the type to me.” He gave the man's hand a small squeeze
The stranger didn't say anything for a moment, before letting go. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled. Armet only shook his head, as if to say ‘No apology needed’. Awkward silence passed, before the stranger seemed to remember something, “Oh, you wanted your blindfold off, didn't you? Here, please let me do it for you…”
Armet bowed his head, letting the man unwrap his sensitive eyes. He rubbed them, a headache already beginning as light danced across his unhidden skin. “Damn!” he hissed, "that's really bright…”
The stranger offered his hand as both an apology and in case Armet stumbled backwards. “Sorry! Sorry, I- sorry!” he yelped. Once again, the man's hands guided him to stand up straighter. “It's alright, it's just a bit of a pain to adjust. I'll be fine.” he said as his headache started to go away. He looked up, listening for the man's breathing to tell him where he was.
‘He must be quite tall, it sounds like he's looming over me…’
Armet raised his hands, meaning to make contact with two cheeks or at least a nose, but was instead met with boney shoulders.
Shoulders.
“Umbrella!” Armet cursed, but instantly regretted using his lord's name in vain. “F-forgive my shock sir, but good lord, you're huge!” He hoped his “staring” and agape mouth did not offend the man, but he could not contain his surprise.
The tall man –thankfully– let out a laugh, a light twinkling sound. For some reason Armet felt drawn to it, like he's heard it before. Like a sound to be celebrated, rejoiced, praised.
How curious.
The shoulders went down as the tall man bowed. “My apologies, is this better for you?” Armet felt the tip of a pointed nose brush against his own, clueing him where the face was. “Perfect…” Armet whispered.
His hands brushed against soft skin, perhaps pale, tan, or dark. That never mattered to him. His fingertips found the nose, and traced it up and down, before using his thumbs to find eyebrows. After eyebrows were eyes, naturally. They somehow felt sad to the touch, which made Armet wonder just how sad this spongey man was. But they also seemed kind. Round, large, with long lashes used to hold tears, had the upturned squint of someone who wanted to see others happy no matter what. Armet knew this because he's touched his own face so many times before. He was the same. Armet smiled.
“What color are your eyes?” he asked, curious if he could picture and describe the color to Morion later. “Uhm…blue?” The man replied, a bit of confusion in his voice. Armet groaned, “Well obviously, we're all blue! I mean, are they light blue, baby blue, dark blue…?” he could go on, but it was a bit hard to name things that you've never seen.
The man jerked his head back a bit, and Armet thought he had accidentally poked him with his thumb. “Oh aha…Theyre kind of icy I suppose? Maybe more of a sky blue…Sorry, I'm not exactly sure, I've never really looked at my eyes…”
(if Armet could, he'd do nothing but look at his new eyes.)
Careful hands found lips with a mouth, and a jaw. He trailed back up, and ran them both through soft, long-ish, hair that ended at the boney shoulders. “And what color is your hair?” he mumbled, a bit distracted by the length. Most Zontopian men had their long hair cut, or tied up. “A dark teal I guess.” the strange man replied, still sounding unsure of himself. “A lot darker than my eyes…like an ocean teal? Is that a thing?” he said, shifting his feet nervously.
Armet slowed, as a strange feeling of deja vu washed over him. The eyes, the mouth, the nose, all of the face…the hair length and color…it sounded strangely like something he had heard before. And felt before too, like this strange man was a living piece of art.
Yes, the man's features felt all too known, too memorized. Too familiar for Armet's comfort.
“This might be a silly question…” he began, “But have we met before? I feel like I've felt your face, but I can't remember where.” the man frowned. “We’ve never met, no. I would've recalled if I met the only blind man in Zontopia.” he murmured. How could this be? Maybe Morion was right, and he was too distracted and unfocused for his own good. “How strange.” was all Armet replied with, before whipping his hands on his pants. “Perhaps it will come back to me later.”
In the faint distance, a clock tower rang its bell, signaling that it was high noon. “Ah, it seems I must get going. I have a lot of sculpting to do today!” Armet smiled before wrapping his eyes again. The man guided his hand to the handle of his cane, which made Armet realize just how strange his hands were too. They were big, but still soft, with a few rougher patches, as if he had injured himself recently. Armet hummed thoughtfully, but didn't get to ask about the man's own profession before the contact had ended. His best guess was a shepherd or some sort of artist.
“Ill have to look out for your art the next time I step into the main church. I'm sure they're quite lovely.” the stranger said, and Armet could basically hear the smile on his face. He beamed, soaking in the compliment. “The project in working on is much grander then my typical commissions. Morion has asked me to make make a small statue of The Great Umbrella, Zontik! I have such a big responsibility on my hands.” He was trembling a bit from excitement, the very thought of sculpting something people would bow and say their prayers to, filled him with such a sense of pride.
The man hesitated, a shaky sigh escaping him. “That sounds…like a challenging feat, but I can't wait to see the results.” Determination flooded from his voice. “I'm glad I met you, Armet. I hope I can meet you again some day.” he turned, and began to walk away.
Armet's smile turned into a frown quickly. As much as he needed to get back to work, he liked talking to…he didn't even know who he was talking to! How rude of him.
“Wait!” he yelped, taking a few steps forward, and bumping into the man. “Please, at least let me know your name!” He took the man's hands in his own, as if to plead.
“My name is Zo-” a long pause. Armet tilted his head, confused.
“Brolly. My name is Brolly.”
~~~~~~
On his way home, Armet was deep in thought.
He knocked twice on the door before opening as always, to announce himself. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air, making him smile widely.
“Armet? Is that you?” a voice called from somewhere upstairs. “Yes, it's me.” he answered simply, wanting to wait to tell Morion about his day. He grabbed the stair railing, beginning his traverse.
Once upstairs, he could smell the food even better. “Is that potato stew?” he questioned, setting his cane against the table, no longer needing it. “It's almost done, needs maybe…another hour.” the sound of the other man's voice moved from the stove to the table. Untying his blindfold, Armet attempted to make eye contact.
Morion pulled out a chair, and Armet joined him. He heard the shuffling of papers, most likely being scriptures and homilies. Armet brushed some into a neat pile. “So, how was your morning?” the priest asked –a bit absent mindlessly, but Armet didn't mind. “It was enjoyable. My prayers went well.” Morion hummed quietly in response. “And a kind man interviewed me.” that seemed to get his attention, as papers picked up the pace. “Who was it?” he questioned. “Im not sure…He said his name was Brolly.” paper sounds stopped. “I don't think there's a ‘Brolly’ in our church,” His voice edged with suspicion. Armet nodded in agreement.
“I thought so. Perhaps he's from another parish?” Armet offered.
(He still found it strange that the man felt the need to hide his real name.)
“When I traced his face, he felt really familiar, so maybe you do know him after all.” Morion made a sound he couldn't categorize, before making his way back to the stove. The faint clattering sound of a spoon stirring a pot could be heard. “Well, why don't you go work on the sculpture while lunch finishes cooking? I'll call you down when it's done.”
Nodding again, Armet made his way to his bedroom, which doubled as his work room. He put his hand against the wall to guide him, before opening his door. A light breeze hit his face, making him squint. The open window near his bed had never been his friend.
He pulled the stool out from under his desk and began to feel out his clay, kneading it until it was soft and workable.
‘Let's work on the face today.’ he thought. After such a strange meeting, faces were all that was on his mind.
The original Zontik statue, the one he loved to sit under in the middle of the country, had specific details he must replicate to his Lords standard. Anything lower than, and he would fear disappointing his Deity. Of course, that would be a bit of a challenge.
He had–to his utter joy–a reference to use that was made by the first builders of that same statue. He was so lucky to feel the real textures, the ancient stone it was immaculately crafted from. This was every artist's dream.
Excitement ran through him as he began to examine the face plate. Like all his projects, he saved the best for last. He picked up the large slab carefully, handling it with the same amount of care as if it was the real God.
(He really, really hoped The Zontik would appreciate his offering.)
He began with the nose, slender and long. Large, but determined eyes laid above sharp cheeks. A proud, joyous smile portrayed the God as someone who cared about the well-being of his citizens. And of course, the strange third eye, that he's heard so much about. Short bangs outlined the additional eye, and flowed down to shoulder-length locs.
Armet froze. This couldn't be…he must be imagining things.
Other than the eye, this was the same face he had touched a few hours ago. Frantically, he checked again, thinking that perhaps the earlier encounter had messed with his imagination. He clawed at the face shape and jaw, fingertips brushed roughly against stone eyes, and a nose, wanting, no, needing to be wrong. He can't know this man!
No. It was utterly, perfectly, disgustingly, the same. He had felt this face before. Armet's hands trembled, his legs feeling like they suddenly didn't want to work, as he stumbled backwards, shock making him sputter. Tears streamed down his freckled cheeks, realization dawning on him far too late.
The stone broke into multiple pieces as it hit the floor.