Archive of Our Own

Gardenview's busy atmosphere vanished right before the cartoon residents' very eyes. Guests stopped showing up. The Toon Handlers did not make their daily rounds. Wooden boards covered the entrance providing no escape for the strays. It was a barren wasteland across this once bustling park. Toons swear they could hear the laughs of children echoing throughout the halls, but they were proven wrong with no sight of the source. Even with this dwindling hope, there were other means of entertainment such as engaging in activities with friends and spending time doing what they loved. As of now, the toons maintained fairly healthy mental states. The closure didn't hit them yet it seems.

Amongst the many floors that the building offered, the most populated happened to be the Projector Room. Toons ran around and enjoyed their rather 'free' lives to do as they wished. It was a place that every one of them found tranquility in. Well, not everyone.

Brusha, on the other hand, found this place rather loud and obnoxious. To her, it was a waste of time to do the same thing every day and smile without a care in the world, acting like everything was okay. Because, it truly wasn't. Nevertheless, it was quite ironic of her to feel this way towards her fellow toons when she spent most of her time painting in the Art Room just situated a floor down. Painting relaxed her when reassuring words couldn't. This form of expression potrayed feelings that were impossible to convey. Words were limiting. Language was limiting. Art, however, had endless possibilities. The idea that multiple perspectives to one single piece of art could exist piqued her interest. Provoking those emotion onto others felt like her true purpose. She was created to create lasting impressions on her beholders.

However, it was not always easy for this passionate painter as she faced many set-backs. The word for passion came from the Latin word pati after all. To suffer.

When Gardenview was open to the public, Brusha's main role was to motivate art appreciation and encourage guests to put their creativity to use when gazing up at one of her more abstract pieces. Adults and children alike, though confused, enjoyed making up tales and interpretations on the diverse messages the art sought out to deliver. A topic that came up often with these discussions were the colors that were used. Well, the lack of different hues. The canvases were coated with a palette that ranged from deep navies to misty blues. But, she had no other choice but to work with what she had considering she was impaired to the perception of certain colors.

Brusha's visual impairments, or color blindness, created an array of difficulties. First of all, choosing and mixing colors was a challenge. Any viewer of her art would raise an eyebrow at the beige trees and muddy roses. Delilah raised her chin in disapproval at the clashing, incorrect colors. It wasn't up to her standards. Her toon who was made to create striking images with vibrant colors could not even differentiate a variety of hues. Even with further repremands and criticism, Brusha failed to even replicate a bowl of fruits without getting at least one color wrong. She just continuously made mistakes. And the eyes on her were not helping. Eyes inspecting every drawing with the shake of the head. Eyes following her paint-brush dance on the tablet. Eyes staring into her own 'poorly fuctioning' ones for the millionth time to tell her that it's not good enough.

At the brink of giving up, Brusha wanted to just let out these feelings. Through that dissatisfactory art. It didn't matter anymore if it was not good to Delilah. Maybe she could paint a piece that she wanted to create for once. The art's body portrayed by an abundance of colors was not important anymore. It was the meaning to her. The soul of it.

She chose a range of colors that were the closest to the paint on her own hair for the rest of her art pieces.

"What does this painting mean? It's quite lovely." A voice called out from behind Brusha's shoulder. The speaker gazed up at the blues splashed across the canvas.

Brusha twisted her head to face the source.

Tisha had a finger on her chin.

The painter was certainly not blind to beauty.

During the months leading up to the closure, Delilah had taken a sort of twisted interest in the limited palette paintings. They were an artistic representation of Brusha's deepest feelings and thoughts, but the creator saw these as a way to showcase the toon's.. Talents. Soon enough, Gardenview's Art Floor featured a section for Brusha's artwork.

For once in her life, Brusha was complimented by those around her. The eyes still made her chest tighten though. Every single pair of eyes told a different meaning. Some were curious. Others confused. Eyes meant a lot of things to her.

"It represents the eyes that view this tablet." A smile tugs at Brusha's lips. "Each eye is painted in a unique way. Not one eye is identical to another. Because eyes," Brusha looks into Tisha's, "are the window to the soul."

"Do tell me more." Tisha hugs a feather-duster close to her chest, intrigued.

And that's where this singular tissue box changed this paint-brush's life.

Their close relationship was caught on quickly by Dandy's World's producers and shortly after, they appeared in many episodes together. It was Brusha and Tisha, Tisha and Brusha. Everyone in Gardenview knew that if they saw Brusha, Tisha would be trailing behind her with a mop in hand to clean the paint spills. They were inseparable.

Brusha pulled Tisha aside after a filming session to a hidden corner away from the eyes of others. She tilted the girl's chin up to bring their lips in closer. Tisha's hand caressed the back of Brusha's head.

It was to say they were quite inseparable indeed.

Tisha smooths out the wrinkes in her dress and folds her arms behind her back. "There you are. I was looking for you all over, but I should've suspected you to be here." She hovers behind a seated Brusha hunched over an easel.

"Tisha!" She'd turn around to face her, a paint-brush in hand. She was startled by the girl's sudden appearance.

"Immersed in your painting, I see. You didn't even hear me come in." Tisha cups a jagged corner of Brusha's cheek.

"I apologize for failing to realize you have arrived. I was simply absorbed in my work."

"What are you painting today?" Tisha looks past the girl to get a look.

"This tablet is called L'Amour. It was supposed to be a surprise for you, but I guess it is spoiled now." She looks into Tisha's eyes.

"La Amer?" Tisha tilts her head.

"L'Amour." Brusha takes the lavender hand and presses it against the side of her own face. She leans her cheek into it. "It means love."

"Love?" The observer looks back at the painting with a deep blush complementing her freckles. "No wonder you were so concentrated on this."

"Mhm. I sought out to paint something a bit different from my usual pieces. For my love." Brusha's eyes are mesmerized on the living, breathing work-of-art in front of her.

"If this painting is for me, then where am I?" Tisha asks with inquisitive eyes.

In the hundreds of drawings Brusha has completed, whether as an expression of sadness or love, not one of them exhibited Tisha herself. Admittedly, Brusha was not sure if she could replicate Tisha in the means of a painting. The girl made art feel limiting.

"I believe that it is utterly impossible to capture your essence under my brush." Brusha answers truthfully, looking at the image.

"I could help you, then." Tisha sits in the dull yellow chair facing the easel. "I can be your muse."

"My muse?" Brusha raises an eyebrow.

"Mhm! Any artist needs some type of inspiration, right?"

"I suppose you are correct on that."

"I'll stay still as long as you need me to."

"Alright." Brusha adjusts herself in the stool, folding her feet on the lower wooden platform.

"What pose should I do?" Tisha shifts her body to the side.

"Hm." Brusha looks between her canvas and back at the maid. "I am not too sure." This was harder than she had thought. She knew this was going to be difficult from the start, but she was not even sure where to begin.

"Oh.." Tisha leans forward, her hands in her lap. "Do you not want to paint me?"

"Tisha, that is far from the truth. I would paint you at every angle if I could."

"Then why won't you from this one?"

"It needs to be perfect if it's you."

"Brusha, I'm not perfect."

"How could you say that?" Brusha scans the perfection laying before her. "My eyes do not deceive me with this perception."

"Maybe we could take this one step at a time then." Tisha puts a finger to her chin. "What is one aspect of me that you find the most difficult to paint?"

"Your hue."

"My.. My hue?"

"Mhm. Your color. Your skin tone."

"I see." Tisha knew of Brusha's color-blindness since it was one of the first things she opened up to her about. They'd have lengthy conversations about their feelings. Especially after the shutdown.

The tissue-box rises up from her seat and makes her way towards the canvas. She holds an arm out to her painter.

"Tisha?" Brusha looks up at her confused.

"Color test on my arm." Tisha gives her a tight smile.

"W-What?" Brusha leans back, almost falling out of her seat. The Tisha who doesn't like any mess on her skin, is offering to be painted on?

"Use those colors to match my skin!" Tisha jerks her head towards a group of colors in a set.

"Er.." Brusha follows the gaze. She hasn't used that set since her sessions with Delilah.

"It'll be okay, Brusha, trust me. I'll let you know if the color is accurate or not." Tisha looks at her.

Brusha reads genuineness in those eyes. "Okay. Let's do it."

Tisha's face lights up and she nods.

The painter stands up from her stool and gestures her hand towards it. "You sit down, I insist."

"Oh! Okay, thank you, Brusha." Tisha folds her hands under her dress before sitting down.

"Comfortable?"

"This will do." Tisha straightens her back.

Brusha chuckles. "You can understand now why I have terrible posture."

"It is not the most ideal seating, but you should really work on your posture nonetheless. Your back will forgive you in the future." Tisha holds her arm out again.

Brusha places the paint-brush between her lips and looks toward the all-too-familiar paint set. She takes a deep breath before opening it.

The intimidating shades stare back at her. It's like she can hear them pleading not to be used. Especially the yellows that were caved into.

"I suggest taking colors from that one, that one, and that one." Tisha points to various shades.

Brusha nods and starts her mixing magic. She uses different palette knives to add the colors to a wooden palette and mixes them together. She creates a dull lavender color.

"That's a start! It looks almost identical. What a talent you have!"

Brusha removes the brush from her mouth and swipes at the color she created. She takes hold of Tisha's arm and gives her a look. Tisha nods as a way of granting her permission.

Brusha looks back at the arm. She strokes the paint-brush against it.

Tisha winces slightly.

"Are you okay?" Brusha snaps her head to read Tisha's face.

"It's just a bit cold, that's all."

"If you want me to stop at any time, please notify me." Brusha gives the arm a squeeze.

"Don't worry so much, dear." Tisha smiles softly. "Hm.. Maybe a little less green by adding some blue." She points to the colors.

The painter nods and adjusts accordingly.

A few paint strokes later, Tisha's left arm was covered with lavenders that only differed in hue.

"Use your heart and not your eyes." Tisha says as she watches a frustrated Brusha scrape against her palette. The color was not perfect yet. It had to be perfect.

Brusha grips onto the arm tightly as her left hand holds onto the paint-brush.

"O-Ow, that hurts." Tisha sucks in her teeth, jolting her arm back.

The grip is loosened. "S-Sorry, Tisha."

They sit in silence as Brusha strokes a line across Tisha's arm.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, she has been feeling rather apprehensive lately. Acting rather snappy. Feeling frustrated. Feeling angry. Feeling even empty at times. Could she handle these feelings any longer?

She didn't favor the scared eyes Tisha gave her when she was like this.

Both of them look down in disbelief at the color that seemed like it wasn't even painted on. They look at each other.

"It's a perfect match." Brusha whispers.

"Indeed it is." Tisha nods.

Brusha goes over to open a pack of wipes and pulls one out. "Here. To clean up."

Tisha takes it quicker than the speed of light and scrubs at her skin.

With the most difficult part out of the way, Brusha is more confident about the actual painting segment.

"You sit down on the couch again." Brusha takes Tisha's hand to guide her off of the stool. Tisha cracks her back and Brusha lets out a small chuckle.

Brusha uses the dusty lavender on her palette to paint the masterpiece in front of her.

"Andddd, I'm finished." Brusha steps back from the easel and wipes her brow.

"I'm so excited to see the finished product!" Tisha beams with her hands folded together on her lap.

Brusha flips the painting around to show off her work.

Tisha cups her hands over her mouth. A blush is painted onto her own cheeks.

"Do you like it?"

"I amour it." Tisha puts a hand on her chest.

"Je l'adore." Brusha corrects.

"However you say it, I think you made me so beautiful."

"Of course I did. You're you."