Pain(t)
mer-gangsta:
Looking over at the Makara before standing up quickly with a red face, Meenah nodded and went over into the open supply room, grabbing what she assumed was stuff for painting - an easel, canvases, brushes, a water bucket, and a separate bucket full of the same brand of paint the other kid had lying around him - and set it up beside his easel, propping up a large canvas and removing her white academy shirt. Not like it mattered if she took her shirt and tie off, being as Meenah always had a tank top on underneath. Now, it was all up to her finding something to start doing.
The first thought that came to her mind was pink, but as she went to pick up the container filled with hot pink paint, Meenah caught another glimpse of her ink-stained hands, anger bubbling inside her as she clenched a fist and picked up a brush, pulling it through a splotch of red that was already open near Gamzee as she began to leave spatters on the canvas, strokes hard and determined as she recalled why she was even there, why her hands were inky and cut. Meenah could only clench her teeth as she let all her hatred, all her frustration out as she began to watch what she was doing take some sort of shape. Turning her gaze back to the paints, she slapped tinges of orange everywhere next, fingers tight and cramping painfully as she kept a death-vice on the brush handle.
Next was hot pinks and deep purples, splattered where she wanted in an aggressive manner, until a dull snap much like the sound of bones breaking cut through the silence. Halting, the Peixes looked down at the brush she’d been using - now snapped into splintered pieces - and watched as crimson blood welled into her palm. She’d have reacted, but the shock of pain as broken wood dug into her skin, the burning feeling of paint and blood mingling in the wounds, somehow made her feel raw, almost exposed as she let all these feelings out. she could feel the prickle of tears far before they began to blur her vision, and in that moment she didn’t care who was listening as she blurted out angrily, “What the fuck does she sea in him?! Fronds, boat all they care aboat is them an’ not that I was left behind! Left! Fuckin’ ditched! An’ ain’t nomoby give a fuck seacause they be shoal in love!” She yelled, finally giving some sort of explanation as to why she was upset.
Gamzee was honestly just relieved that she didn't blow up at him. He couldn't quite bring himself to go back to working on his art, though, not when she was still storming around the room like a force of nature that shouldn't really be allowed indoors. He watched her grab her supplies and ready her station, wondering all the while if he should try and help or go back to what he'd been doing and ignore her presence. She definitely didn't look like the kind of person who took kindly to being ignored, but she also looked in the kind of mood to be left alone.
Because he was staring - rude, some voice at the back of his mind told him, s'all motherfucking rude to be staring - he noticed the little near-imperceptible tells that hinted at her mood getting worse. He wanted to leave; he didn't ever have good experiences with people in bad tempers, even if or especially because most of those times the bad-tempered person was himself. But he couldn't leave, because as much as she looked scary she also looked upset. He knew from experience that it's not good to leave an upset person alone. Bad things could happen. His intuition was only proven right when, as he watched her wind up more and more, the snapping sound cut clean through the tense silence in the room.
"... Well shit," he went. (Somewhere, in the Inappropriate Humour section of his mind, he was impressed by her ability to pun while this upset.) He put down his things and drifted over to her, careful and slow, and stopped a half-arm's-length away with a concerned frown. He should tell her to clean the cut before something nasty happened in there, and wash off the blood before it dripped somewhere and stained something, but instead what came out of his mouth was "who?" He swallowed, and kept going, because it wasn't like he could back out now. "Who done you wrong, sister?" He understood - it wasn't any good to be left behind. No good at all. "Being in love's no reason to be up and neglecting fron- friends." He was pretty sure he was missing some vital context here, but, well, he was trying. That ought to count for something, right?













