Paint it Black āxā Open
A nightmare? A hoax?
No, Benjiro had never been one for denial. Heād been given suitable proof and this thing, whatever it was, clearly had power. Best to consider the worst possible scenario and figure out where to go from there. Ironically this was likely the first time he had agreed with the AI or whatever it was. This did require some thinking; a lot of it. Before he decided on anything he needed some clarity. If they were getting Mio involved then... that was unacceptable. It just was. But apparently violent urges werenāt limited to him... as someone had already had their head lumped in. Alive, yes, but the sentiment remained. People had it in them to go that far. Nothing he was worried about, of course, he would love to see someone try. It was more an issue... a question about tactics. And how far he should go and how far, in turn, others would go. He wasnāt the type to rely on others but if people were going to fall upon themselves he wasnāt going to stick around to help them. Heād use it to his advantage, of course, who wouldnāt?
Hm, well... staying holed up in his room wasnāt good for his head. He hardly liked being inside as it was. He liked being away from people, yes, and being inside helped him to that end, but he much preferred being outdoors, to enjoy the fresh air and grass. Underwater though that seemed... well, a bit like a distant dream. Still, he needed some form of clarity -- someone who didnāt know him well might call it a distraction but rather than that it was a way to broaden his horizon. What was it? Well, it was art of course.
Not having your tools could crimp anyoneās intention but thankfully Benjiro was a creative soul and used to interesting shortcuts. So he headed to the lounge and immediately set to work on supplies, grabbing several of the drinks before heading back to the kitchen area. Heat this flour, mix it with this drink... coffee, orange juice, if you were creative you could make something out of all of them. And he did just that, soon having a small collection all nestled into fancy glasses. Not ideal but good enough. He had something to do now at the very least.
There was paper in the gift shop heād nabbed too; none of it big enough but together? Itād do. Placing them all on the floor of the lounge he began slapping down colours one after the other, it looked, to an overseer, a bit barbaric and messy. But on the page itself? Like magic. Everything mixing together, just so and soon the images of flowers began to fill the leafs of papers. He was so involved in his art, so used to blocking out his surroundings that he hadnāt noticed the intrusion.
