[Image ID: two close-up gifs of someone using colorful chalk to draw on concrete. In gif one they use purple chalk to add to a purple swirly design. In gif two they use their fingertips to blend the purple into the blue chalk drawn next to it.]
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I love drawing with nibs, but every time I do, I know i'm going to smear ink all over my art. No matter how meticulously careful I am. Smears! Ink on my fingers and arms! On my shirt and trousers! Yesterday I managed to get ink on my forehead and I cracked myself up. Because all of a sudden it occurred to me, after 50 years or so of reading the Charlie Brown vs. ink pen saga, that this is not just one of the many instances where CB is defeated by life (sports, sentimental life, dog ownership), but actually a self referential moment, the experience of the author with the curse of the smearing ink pen (Charles Schulz used a very stiff, very inky nib: the now out of production Esterbrook 914 "Radio" nib). If you draw with nibs, you know.
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(this one is on the shorter side, but i now have... three more scenes planned...)
The next morning finds him groggy and sore as he sloughs out of bed. Macaque half-heartedly hisses at his shadow as the shade hovers by the door, and the inky mass slinks out of his sight. He probably shouldn’t have sent it away, already he can feel his magic waning the longer they’re separated. And his ‘tank of magic’ was already bouncing on empty; dying, being revived and having your power source cut off will do that to a guy.
He avoids dining area entirely, and instead portals directly to the grove to continue his cleaning and daily avoiding of Wukong. He manages to work for a few hours before his stomach growls pitifully. Sighing, he brushes dirt off his knees and stands before he wobbles a step.
Macaque breathes deeply as golden stars dance before his eyes, and he feels his body slacken for a moment before his knees hit the dirt once more.
“Shit.” He curses as his vision clears. The dirt is sunlit and warm beneath his claws, but he just feels like static has poured into his veins.
Dark purple hands that are fading around the edges grab his face and he tilts his head to look at his worried shadow.
“Hey bud.” He slurs out, and his shadow sighs. “Guess I need a recharge. Oops.”
His shadow’s magic merges with his own, and he inhales, finally feeling like he can breathe.
“Apparently skipping meals isn’t the greatest idea,” he mutters to himself as he successfully stands, only stumbling once before managing to portal to the shack.
There’s a burst of indignant chattering in his chest, and he chuckles as his shadow continues to unintelligibly lecture him. The walk to the kitchen seems daunting, but he grimaces and puts one foot in front of the other until he’s standing on the tiled floor.
“Hey, I’m not disagreeing,” he says as he opens the fridge. “I literally just said it was a bad idea.”
Macaque pauses as he sees his usual breakfast – a bottled smoothie and half a grapefruit – carefully wrapped and placed in the direct center of the fridge.
“Huh.” He murmurs, and gently takes his uneaten breakfast back to the stone table behind him.
He unwraps the grapefruit and rips open one of the several packets of sugar sitting in a box in the center of the table before dumping it over the fruit. Another worried burst of chatter echoes around his heart, and he tenses.
“I know that. I know I’m running out of time. You don’t have to remind me.” He stabs the ruby-coloured citrus with his spoon and winces as the utensil rips through the fruit to clang against the table.
Macaque sighs as he flicks the bent spoon to the side, a portal catching it and depositing it on top of the small steadily growing pile of bent silverware he’s hidden under his bed.
“Why he doesn’t have celestial silverware like a normal person?” Macaque shakes his head as he gets up for another spoon.
“They banned me from the kitchens my first day in heaven.” Wukong answers. “I didn’t manage to steal anything other than two spoons, and I lost them a century or so ago.”
The demon whirls, his arms raised defensively before he realizes it’s just Wukong, leaning against the doorway casually.
“What? They didn’t trust you with anything other than a spoon?” Macaque teases, but even to his own ears, his voice sounds tired.
Wukong frowns before sliding into his usual spot at the table. “No, I almost took out the head cook of the heavenly kitchens with a pair of chopsticks once on accident, and after that, they didn’t really invite me to many meals.”
Macaque snorts at the forlorn look of the golden monkey’s face. “The company’s shit anyways.”
“You say that like you’re that much better,” Wukong chuckles.
“Hey! I’ll have you know; I am a delight to be around.”
“An absolute gem,” Wukong agrees, a twinkle in his eyes.
The silence hangs in the air for a moment before Wukong clears his throat. “No shadow today? I missed the company.”
“I…it does what it wants. If you haven’t seen it, it probably found something more interesting.” Macaque lies, and he can feel the disgruntled shadow bang against his ribcage in protest before settling down.
“And here I thought I was the most interesting thing on the mountain,” Wukong sighs dramatically, laying his cheek down on the table. He shuffles moments later and props his chin on the stone.
Macaque just rolls his eyes, and tries not to sway where he stands as he debates whether or not to stay.
“You gonna eat that, or just stare at it?” Wukong asks, flicking his eyes to the half-mangled grapefruit.
The demon scowls before swiping the fruit off the table. “I’m going to eat it. Gods you’re nosy.”
He turns to leave and manages to make it to the edge of the tiled floor before he stumbles. He leans heavily against the doorjamb for a moment, clutching the half-ruined grapefruit to his chest. Hands wrap under his knees, and he snaps his teeth as Wukong lifts him into the air.
“Would you stop picking me up? I don’t need your help.” Macaque hisses and tries to twist out of the golden monkey’s arms, but Wukong only tightens his grip until he sets him down at the table.
“You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
Wukong steps back and opens a drawer, pulling out a spoon.
“Why are you being so… so nice to me? Not even a month ago, you would’ve bitten my head off given half a chance.” Macaque growls, his tail lashing.
The god pauses, half turned towards him.
“MK… the kid…he… he asked me to give you a second chance. Said there was still good in you or something sappy like that.” Wukong scoffs lightly, but continues in a softer tone when Macaque doesn’t say anything.
“I wasn’t sure at first, but then having you… you back on FFM, …I realized just how much I missed you.” Wukong shuffles, his face a violent shade of gold, and Macaque realizes his eyes are tinged pink when the golden monkey makes two seconds of eye contact before turning his face away.
“Oh.”
Macaque stares at the table, flicking a claw towards his face in what he hopes is a subtle gesture, desperately trying to glamour away his growing blush.
He wants to bolt, to grab his destroyed breakfast turned lunch and run, but instead he silently takes the offered spoon and begins to eat.
Wukong sets his unopened smoothie next to his grapefruit, and leaves Macaque alone with his thoughts.
As he finishes eating, he glances down at his hands, and sees a doubled outline of his shadow. Both of their forms are steady, not fading at the edges or wisping away, not even when he lets his guard down bit by bit.
His shadow must have found some hell of a battery if all it took was half a piece of fruit and merging for them to be feeling this good.
“Whose power have you been siphoning?” He mutters to the shade nestled around his heart. “The kid’s? I didn’t think he’d let you get so…close…”
He pauses, glaring down at his hands, “Oh, you bastard.”
“This isn’t going to end well.” Macaque mutters to an empty kitchen.
