Fandom: Subreality (
www.subreality.com)
Disclaimer: You know the drill. What's yours is yours and what's mine is mine touch what is mine and you'll get yours.
Rating: Some cursing. Damned public schooling.
Summary: Rosencrantz decides to finally wander back to The house of strange dimensions after more then a years abscence.
Title: Down in room A5
by John R. Harris
"Hold still, would you?" John chewed on the end of his brush and tried to remember exactly what you mixed to get dead grass green.
Razu bounced a peanut off John's forehead. "Don't bleeding have to, you twit. You're just going to draw me from memory and incorrectly whether I'm sitting there still as a statue or no."
"You have no respect for an arteeste," John said as he decided to go with the china white and sap green for the start of it.
Razu shrugged and sat down again, tugging his shirt back into place. Earlier today John had rushed into the room he hadn't touched in over a year, shoved Razu's things aside and had declared himself king of the room, then critized Razu's choice of clothes. Razu was already planning where to dump the body. Beside Razu, Chimera mewed supportively.
"So, where have you been? You never write, you never call, the only time we've even had contact was minor inspiration! And you didn't even thank me." Razu glared, searching for his peanut bag. The sixth month of John being gone he'd decided to screw the acting as otherworldly as possible crap and had taken up the life of a college student. The ninth month, he'd decided to perfect various hobbies of his. He was still on mastering the art of catching nuts in mid-air portion of the whole thing.
"Stuff. You know me, a new obsession each week. This time it was roleplaying with warped Tolkien characters," John grinned and shoved the peanut bag a bit further beneath his backpack. "Besides, you helped me with that. Um, in your own not actually there way."
"Uh huh. We know about the Tolkien characters, twat. There was a large god thing that looked like Steve Buschemi eating a hoagie and looking for you down the hall," Razu said coldly. "We sent him down to the kitchen to see how much trouble he could cause."
"Works for me. Be glad the rest didn't follow. I've got enough on hand to outnumber all the writers here, actually," he said, pushing gray hair out of his eyes and streaking one eyebrow bright green. "It's hectic. I really could do with you two being around, you know. Razu, you're fidgeting." John leaned forward and thickened a charcoal pencil line with a clean brush.
"We're happy in Subreality. If I stay out of sight I don't meet anyone who would like to keep up the ban and/or kill me, and Chimera's got all the fictives to eat that she could ever want. What do we get if we leave?"
John shrugged slowly and began mixing up the off-white that would be used for Razu's skin.
"You get work. You get to do something besides sitting here all day. You get to fill me with ideas. Dialogue clear enough for me to hear and vivid images that are exactly how I wish from the moment the pencil touches the paper. I get dramatic speeches that don't sound as stupid as this. You two will be able to feel like you're doing something besides fading away as I focus on other things." John said slowly, forcing two inches of blue paint to cover six inches of board. "I have a story that really needs to be finished, Razu. And a few great canadian novels that want their first chapters done. Chimera, there's this painting of a tarot card I actually want to get right. Down to the last pinion. Hell, I want to paint you. A kitten, a cat, a lion. Birds feet, bats wings. You were so much fun to draw before I lost my scanner."
"You're the one who fucked off. We just sat and waited. And waited. And waited for a 'cricket'. The little kid who everyone thought was so sweet and cute. A fucking REDHEAD FOR GOD'S SAKE. What the hell have you turned into?" Razo yelled, finally.
"People change. Genetics kick in. Me, I like the height. I can cope with the hair going gray, and having it shaved for a time was a nice change. Piercings are just fun, tattoos are too, and I can't be a little kid anymore. Need to be big and mature for when my son finally gets old enough to realize that his father's a dumbass. I was allowed to grow up." said John. "It was interesting."
"You didn't even listen, did you?" Razu sighed, shook his head, and went to check the painting.
And stared.
"You like?"
"I look like some freakish green-haired french waif with a Madonna complex"
"Cool, isn't it?" grinned John, adding the final touches to the background.
"What the hell is that thing on my cheek?" Razo squinted at the painting in the hopes it would confess itself.
"That bruise of yours. That one that keeps refusing to fade?" John tapped the bruise in question before going back to his touch-ups.
"It isn't that colour. That's the wrong colouring." Razu glowered. "What other travesties have you done?"
"Of course it isn't right. I was using one on my arm for reference because you kept turning your head. 's very annoying, that."
Razu sighed and shook his head. "You have turned me into a freakish creature. And I do not look that effeminate."
"No arguments on the first, bad news on the second. And it isn't my fault you look so damned odd, do you have any idea how hard it is to draw shadowless skin? All over? I swear you do this to annoy me. The eyes came out good, though. All multi-coloury like they should be. You're an oil slick gone wrong, my enemy. So, are you coming with me?"
"Funny. I was going to ask you if you were going to stay."
Chimera hissed quietly between them, swiping her tail back and forth making it neccesary to edge away to avoid the spikes.
"Well?" Razu asked, crossing his arms and glaring.
"No can do, mate. They'll warp me here. Can't do that. Nice place to visit, wouldn't want to live here if you catch my drift," John waved a hand dismissively. "Now it's your turn," he said.
"Just give me time to pack a bag first."
Chimera rumbled approvingly and sauntered after Razu while John looked carefully at the painting.
"He's right. It IS crap. Go fig." and with that he knocked it in the trash and followed the two muses.
Life, after all, can't always wait for bad art. And he had so much to show them.
end.
Notes: God, I will never ever be good at subreality fic. So sayeth John fucking Harris. However, I figure I owed this. Thank y'all.
