Pink Diamond's Portrait
A little drabble with some Homeworld lore and Steven's characterisation.
You can also read it on ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/69396901
Homeworld is a beautiful place. Endless rays of portals weave the body of the empire, and, like a gem, the old planet shines brightly in the endless darkness of space. Adorned by convoluted veins of patterns made of buildings made of painted stone, carved marble, statues and hues and impossible architecture.
It seems magical but every stone, every stroke, every line is precisely calculated by an entire branch of the empire, headed by Blue Diamond herself. She gives direction. Sapphires and Opals and Moonstones make designs, plan, order. Bismuthes and Citrines and Turquoises build and carve and stitch it into reality. The Ministry of Art is a busy place.
And Opal B-C6-KA-Q5H46 is a busy gem. With a very, very, very-very-very important job. An important job that, if done properly, will finally earn her the respect of all the era-ones. Stars, maybe even Blue Diamond! Well, not her respect, that's simply impossible, but maybe approval? Acknowledgement of her existence?
The throne needs to face the canvas at exactly 47 degrees. Not quite looking at the viewer, not quite looking away. Distant, but present. The drapes should cover a third of the canvas. The window should frame the face like a halo, with Homeworld visible in the background. Stone tablets in hand, zircon gems on both sides, even triangle patterns. Everything should be perfect for Pink Diamond's portrait. And it is. Right?
Opal paces nervously across the room, checking the composition from every angle. She frames it, breaks it into thirds, checks her canvas again. She shifts her form and checks her color palette. She thinks everything is perfect. But how can an imperfect gem be sure?
She's an Era 2 opal. Her hue range is imperfect - too much red makes all her colors warmer, and her greens muddy. It greatly limits the range of work she can do, but this once, it gives her an advantage. No other opal can create a pink as vivid and bright as she can. No other opal can command its gradient like she can. She is perfect for Pink Diamond, and if she impresses her, Pink will certainly give her patronage. She might be the weakest Diamond, but she's a Diamond nonetheless.
Opal is startled out of her thoughts by the sound of a door opening. A gem strides in, posture straight, looking at a floating screen in front her. She has an unusual build - like her form can't decide if it wants to be a quartz or a zircon. Still, her clothes are impeccable, managing to both mask her rougher cuts and highlight the smoothest surfaces. Her hair is intricately styled, waves off curls forming an open flower bud. She has a wide mouth, a small, upturned nose and thick eyebrows, stiff with consecration. But most importantly she has big downturned eyes, with bright, diamond-shaped pupils staring into Opal's very gem. Staring. At her.
Opal jumps into a salute, "Welcome, My Diamond! I am Opal of Blue Diamond's court. It is my honor to be able to capture the likeness of such an illustrious, brilliant, radiant... "
"You're an opal?" Pink interrupts, her eyes shifting with a long dormant emotion.
"Yes, My Diamond, " Why would you ask this?, " I work in the ministry of art as an artisan. We make drawings, paintings, sculptures, engravings and all sorts of other things too intricate for bismuthes."
"I know, " she quirked her eyebrow. Oh stars. Of course she knew. Did she really just lecture a Diamond? Did she really think Pink wouldn't know?! She did, from what the other aristocrats said... "And you will use he/him when referring to me."
"Y-yes, My Diamond. "
Maybe the aquamarines didn't really lie. Pink Diamond is a rather peculiar gem. Opal had the honor of witnessing Blue Diamond up close when she was visiting the workshop. Her radiance shone so brightly it was impossible to look away. The overwhelming nature of her stature, moving gracefully along the corridors. Everything Opal has ever known was made by Blue, every art movement, style, trend - created in her image, born out of her genius. Eons of creation, growing the beautiful shell of their empire, designed by their brilliant Diamond. Opal made to be but an embellishment.
Pink is a bleak copy in comparison. She sits on the fake throne, holding symbols of bureaucracy and wisdom, attempting to embody the grace of Blue, or maybe the strength of Yellow. Her military posture clashes with the noble gesture of her hands, her soft eyes with her tight lips. Worse of all, it has no identity of its own - there is no Pink Diamond, there is only a vague idea of what a Diamond is supposed to be.
But it's fine. After all not every garnet is a perfect leader, not every aquamarine is a paragon of rationality. It is Opal's job to fix these imperfections in her art. A picture, a perfect copy of life, can never truly hide all the impurities. But painting creates a new reality, where even the meekest of gems can shine brightly. She just has to figure out what kind of reality would fit this little diamond.
Opal is taken out of her thoughts by another strange question.
"Why do you make art? " Pink asks. It might be a trap, to see if Opal is rogue enough to lecture her again. But ignoring a diamond seems much worse than sounding rouge.
"Art is made to worship the glory of our Empire, our history, our dignity and of course you, My Diamond."
Pink chuckles, "I know the scriptures, Opal. I want to know your reason for it. "
What a confusing notion. There is no other reason. There is nothing but slogans. There is nothing but a narrow path to follow. Or maybe it's just Opal. Maybe other gems do their job not only because they were made for it, but because they want to. Maybe to truly desire servitude is the correct way to serve the empire, and she is just. Not.
Pink studies her with curiosity, the stars in her eyes blinding. Opal doesn't know what to answer, truly. She just stands in front of the canvas, afraid to have her loyalty judged. The diamond notices and adjusts.
“Have you ever made something you weren’t ordered to?” It seems like Pink wants to get her in trouble for disobeying orders. Opal won’t lie to a diamond, but maybe there is still a way out.
“I used to make portraits of Pink Diamond, even before your return,” that should be enough. But Pink’s eyes light up with curiosity that makes Opal continue, “Because of my hue range, I can make very vivid pinks. I always thought that if Pink Diamond was here, maybe I could… Maybe I would have a place where I belong.”
Opal isn’t sure why she shared this feeling. Maybe it was the diamond’s open, curious face, focused completely on her. Maybe it was the intensity with which she listened to Opal. Like she was somebody deserving to be heard. Maybe she hoped to flatter her way into the diamond’s good graces.
“Can I see?” The little diamond asks.
“Um, of course My Diamond,” Opal opens her data bank, with fingers shaking, and hands the floating screen over. It shows the previous Pink Diamond, in realistic portraits and stylised murals. Most are recreations, but there are a few originals. In them Pink’s features are softer, and there is a subtle sadness in her eyes. She looks less like a conqueror or a jester, and more like a… Like a protector. With a shield next to her and surrounded by gems, she looks like a saviour. She looks like the painter was praying for her to save her.
“It’s beautiful,” Pink says. And the genuine awe in her voice makes Opal blush.
“Oh! It’s nothing really… These are just copies and not accurate and…”
“Don’t say that! I can see how much hard work you put into these,” her eyes roam the face of the old Pink Diamond, a bitter smile stretching her lips, “And I see what you saw in her. It’s stunning. Especially the pinks.”
When he turns to look at her the bitterness is gone. His face lights up with something so rare, and so very precious. The kindness he shows, it smoothies over his features, and the dissonance from before is gone. The false bravado, the false elegance, they disappear, leaving only softness and warmth. He shines in the small studio and Opal soaks up his light with starved fervor.
“Can I keep these?” Pink says almost shyly.
“Of course!” Opal answers with enthusiasm, her cheeks blushing even brighter, “I would be honored!”
***
Pink Diamond’s portrait has him sitting on a throne at exactly 47 degrees. The drapes cover a third of the canvas. The window frames his face like a halo, with Homeworld visible in the background. Stone tablets in hand, zircon gems on both sides, even triangle patterns. Everything according to the cannons of royal portraits. Except Pink is looking at the viewer, his soft features painted with utmost care, with a smile on his lips and kindness in his eyes. He lures you with a promise of safety and security. A true protector.
