Chapter Text
When Remlin agreed to draw together in the common room, several emotions rushed through Rudo at once. The first was utter elation and awe that his invitation was accepted, along with pride that maybe he was getting the hang of this whole human interactions thing. Then came a nervous, twisty feeling when their party of two suddenly turned into four, but he liked Guita and Dear Santa enough that he didn’t mind them joining; Remlin looked ecstatic at the prospect of more company and the whole point of this was to cheer them up.
Once they were settled in the common room, papers and pencils passed out and extras gathered in a pile at the middle of the table, panic settled in as he realized he had no idea what to draw.
He couldn’t just sit there doing nothing, but it also didn’t feel right drawing random shapes and symbols. Remlin mentioned using references to draw, and while he didn’t fully understand what that meant, he agreed that having something concrete to base his drawing on would help. The only potential subjects in the common room were the tables, couches and chairs, and that just seemed boring; was his drawing really going to be of a couch when Guita, Santa and Remlin had already sketched their first doodles? How did they get to be so good at art!?
“Thinkin’ ‘bout what to draw?” Remlin glanced over the top of their paper at him and Rudo fidgeted, not wanting to admit that he had no idea where to begin. Despite that, Remlin read him as easily as a children’s book.
“Hmm”, Remlin tapped their chin with their pencil, deep in thought. “I got it!” They exclaimed, slamming their hands on the table and jumping up excitedly, “How ‘bout try drawing a person!”
Rudo’s eyes widened. A person? Why hadn’t he thought of that?! At least that would be more interesting than a couch.
He nodded in agreement, picking up a fresh sheet of paper and gripping his own pencil tight in his gloved fist. Now came the question of who he should draw. He tilted his head, thinking of a good candidate, his hand hovering inches away from his paper.
Then his hand began to move.
He knew exactly who he was going to draw.
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Rudo stormed back to his room, yanking on the doorknob so hard, the hinges nearly broke. The portrait he’d drawn clenched tightly in one hand, wrinkling the paper. The door slammed harder than he’d meant to, which he felt guilty about for a few moments, before his attention was pulled toward the drawing.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
Rudo had more fun drawing with the others than he’d ever admit. It was nice, being surrounded by friends, while they each worked quietly on their projects. Occasionally, one of them would lean over, usually Remlin or Guita, asking for advice for shading (he wasn’t even going to try to attempt something like that), or debate about other elements of their drawings that flew right over his head.
Once he’d decided on the subject of his drawing, Rudo honed in on his paper. The chatter around him faded into background noise, as his hand glided smoothly across the paper. Each line he sketched unearthed an unknown emotion in him, like someone was pulling an invisible string in his heart as the person came further into existence.
A few black lines here.
A circle there.
It doesn’t matter! Why do I care?
He hadn’t even noticed when Arkha Covus walked in, cheerfully asking what they were up to. But he did notice when his paper was suddenly snatched from him.
“That’s not finished!”
His muscles tensed, ready to take off at a second’s notice like a startled cat, waiting for the Boss’s reaction to his drawing. Compared to everyone else’s, he knew it was a pathetic attempt at a portrait. If he just had a little more time, he could’ve fixed some details! And while Semiu’s comment left his cheeks feeling like they’d been set on fire, he wasn’t mad. He knew it was a shit drawing.
No, what had caught him off guard was Remlin’s comment, when they finally got a look at what, well who, he drew.
“Wait, that's his beard? So shaggy!”
He knew they didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, Remlin had laughed and smiled, like they enjoyed seeing his attempt. A logical part of his brain ensured that this was the case. Yet, another part bristled and growled indignantly. In the moment he was able to move on and shrug it off, but now that comment was playing on repeat in his mind, like a broken record.
Shaggy…shaggy?
“He’s not supposed to look shaggy…” He muttered, finally glancing down at his drawing. If he had to describe Regto, ‘shaggy’ would be the furthest from his mind. Maybe the man had been a little unkempt, what Tribe folk Spherite didn’t look a little dishelved, but shaggy?
No.
Regto wasn’t and never had been ‘shaggy’, yet, in the end, that was how it came across.
He squinted, as though the portrait had personally wronged him. The more he stared, the more confused he felt.
Was he misremembering? Was Regto’s hair ‘shaggy’?
“Ugh!”, he threw his head against the door with a ‘thud’, breaking eye contact with the picture. “Why am I so hung up on this?”
Shaking his head, he dragged himself and the drawing to bed. Rudo kicked off his shoes, and flopped down, exhausted from the day. Carefully, he set the picture on his night table; even if it was a bad drawing, it was still a drawing of his father and should be cherished as such.
Regto’s messily drawn face stared back at him.
Okay, it was a really bad drawing, he could admit that. Thanks to his gloves, he’d messed up when drawing the eyes and had to go back over the lines a few times, creating the illusion that the man had spirals for eyes. And Rudo knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. Besides, even if his drawing skills were absolute garbage, all the important details were still there: his long hair, his beard…Rudo narrowed his eyes at the drawing. Something seemed off.
Did Regto always have a nose that big? The mustache he’d drawn also seemed out of place, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.
He scoffed at himself, and how easily this shitty ass drawing was getting to him. Why was he doubting himself so much? He and Regto had been together for as long as he could remember, near fifteen years worth of memories, give or take. Of course, there was the fact that it had been a few weeks since Regto die- since he last saw him- he wouldn’t forget his dad’s face in such a short amount of time!
He closed his eyes; he was going to prove to himself this whole thing was ridiculous and was brought on by nothing more than his lack of artistic talent. Sure, he may not have been able to draw it, but he had his memories. A deep breath helped calm his racing thoughts, and when he closed his eyes, he easily saw Regto in his mind: the man was tall, he always wore his long spherite jacket, and charcoal-black hair framed his face. Now he just had to complete the picture. Mentally, he placed the details on the man’s blank face: the long hair, his beard, normal, non-spiral-shaped eyes. But when he got to his mustache, he blanked. Had Regto had lots of hair in his mustache? Or was it less?
His eyes snapped open, and he was greeted by the portrait. The wrong portrait. The portrait that looked nothing like Regto. His stomach pinched as he gritted his teeth.
No. He could do this! He knew what his father’s face looked like! He spent his whole life with the man, there was no way he’d forget! Maybe he was struggling because he was trying to do it mentally.
He needed paper and a pencil now. Just a quick sketch before bed, he’d draw Regto correctly this time, and then his mind would settle. A quick and easy solution.
Despite how tired he was from the day, Rudo dragged himself from the comfort of his bed and plunked down at his workbench. A stash of paper and pencils for when he was thinking up ideas for potential vital instruments sat tucked in the desk’s corner; he was glad he wouldn’t have to venture out to find some or worse, ask to borrow some and risk being asked in turn why he needed paper in the middle of the night.
He grabbed his pencil and began his new sketch.
The reference is in my head. I’ll just quickly draw it out. He thought to himself, making the first line of many that night.
As the hours dragged on, his dismay grew.
Not a single drawing looked like Regto.