codepdent valio where io steals their clothes, jewelry, perfume and pronouns while learning how to be a person because io doesnt exist without val. gold jewelry doesnt really suit my io's complexion but thats what they wear because thats what VAL wears, duh. and yeah they're wearing val's sash, and poncho, and bangles, and those necklaces are theirs too, but val doesn't mind. yeah theyre just friends why do you ask
still a wip... ill go and neaten it up tomorrow perhaps. io's chin doesnt look quite right, i think i have their head sticking out too far. guys sentience is such a good interactive fiction, you should go check it out, def worth it
also ive looked through the sentience-if blog and i am now realizing that i have been picturing everyone as much younger than they are.... i thought val and io were both twenty....
unmasked headcannon for guinefort from the if Sentience ? i wanted to give them long greasy hair, the kind that clings to skin and always looks wavy but i was afraid to overcrowd the drawing so i gave them a headwrap,,,, this is my first drawing in like 6 months too and I was afraid it might be offending to the author to just invent a physical appearance for their only character whose' face is hidden so I deleted it when i first posted it, forgive me please m(_ _)m
I want to draw them with their mask next...
( original creator can be found here: @sentience-if )
Pencil to paper. Quick strokes, light, but controlled. A thin line bloomed, filling out the drawn shape of a lip, giving it a delicacy, a fullness. The pencil lifted.
Io tapped it thoughtfully against their cheek as they considered the drawing in their lap. One. Two. Three. Four. Unaware they were even counting the taps, an instinct as natural to them as breathing. Needs more depth, Io decided. Scrunching their brow in concentration, they bent over the page to shade in a few small, deliberate sections, then raised their head back up. There. That’s better. Before, the two figures on the paper had been too visible, the boundaries between them clear where they clashed and fell apart. Now, Io could barely tell the two figures apart as they clasped each other. That’s truer. It was more right to have the intimacy between them obscured, known only to the figures themselves somewhere in all that charcoal darkness. And Io, who had brought them together.
A voice interrupted Io, startling them. “What are you drawing?” Val asked, carrying in a pot of something that smelled spicy and strong. The spoons stuck in their belt clacked, adding to Val’s familiar discordant jangle of countless beads and baubles. As Val clambered over the back of the sofa, electing for the shortest and most difficult way, Io kept an eye on the dangerously-tilting pot of food.
The paper sat loose in Io’s lap, the pencil once again gently tapping. Io shrugged a bit. “It’s just something little. A doodle. To see if I could.”
Somehow, in that way that only Val could pull off, the pot of food landed on the table without spilling, spoons clattering after, as Val craned over to look at the drawing. And then instantly recoiled.
“Nope.” Val swiped out at the paper, trying to grab it away. “Nope, nope, nope. No way.”
“So it’s good?” Io perked up, pressing the paper down into their lap so that Val couldn’t take it. “You can tell what’s going on? I’ve never really done this before.”
“Io, no. Wrong thing. You are focusing on the wrong thing.” Val looked at them aghast. “You should be focusing on the complete and utter mortal wound you just inflicted on my psyche.”
“Oh. So you can’t tell.” Io looked back down. They had thought their drawing wasn’t that bad.
They had spent the better part of the afternoon on it, lost in the spell of whispering pencil and eraser rubbings, as they waited in Val’s apartment for them to return. They hadn’t heard the door open, or Val’s shout of surprise to find them there like a ghost that had slipped through the window, or the pile of bedraggled things that dropped one by one on the floor next to their feet. They had only looked up when Val finally crouched down in front of them, repeating the questions Io hadn’t registered. “Are you hungry?” Val had asked. “Have you eaten today?” Io nodded mechanically, their mind still constructing adjustments to the neck they were working on tilting just so, and then went back to their drawing.
Now, Io tried to observe what they had drawn from outside their bewitched focus, as Val might see it. There were two people in pencil on the page in Io’s lap, and Io thought they had pretty good faces. They had eyes, and noses, and lips, and hands, and shoulders, and chests, and everything. Maybe it was in the way their lips were pressed together? Maybe it made them look more like they were devouring each other. On the other hand… maybe that could work too. Io scrunched up their nose and tilted their head back and forth, considering. A few scratch marks? A touch of blood? Could that help?
Val took advantage of Io’s confusion to make another grab for the paper. This time, Io let them take it. Val held it away from them like a dirty tissue. “This is disgusting. Improper. Treasonous. I should ban you from my apartment for a week. A month.”
“Why?” Io looked at the paper in Val’s hand and then back at them. They thought about making a move to take it back. But then, what would they do once they had it? What did it mean, to make something and keep it? Where would it go?
“Io.” Val looked at them with large, horrified eyes. “That’s me.” Val pointed at the smaller figure with braids and eyes blissfully closed, as if transported. “And that’s obviously Connie.” Val’s finger moved to the bigger figure, wrapped in muscle and drawn with an expression like they were wound tight and just about to spring. “And we’re… kissing.” The word spat out in disgust, as if Val had found an errant hair in their dinner.
“So you can tell!” Io brightened again. And then rubbed their head. This was confusing, feeling pleased, disappointed, and then cheerful again. Too many emotions, too quickly. They made Io’s insides roil a bit, as if they had eaten too quickly and given themselves a stomachache.
“Io! Focus! Think! Look at what you drew us doing!” Val paused, one eyebrow arched, as if giving the other a chance to respond. But what should they say? They were pretty sure that whatever they said would be the wrong thing. The silence thickened between them, the rich, heady smell from the forgotten dinner on the table filling the air instead of sound.
Io glanced over at it. Steam wafted up from the pot. When would Val say they could eat? Io’s insides still churned a bit from all the feeling that they were doing, but their tongue itched anyways. It wanted something spicy to taste. Something to make them sweat and pant. A little like they might fall apart. Io shivered.
“Io?” Val’s voice was more careful now. A little shut down. A little unhappy. A little tentative. “Why exactly did you draw this?”
Io looked back up. Val was still frowning at the drawing they held pinched between two fingers by the corner, the barest amount, just enough to keep it from fluttering to the floor. “You told me I needed a hobby,” Io finally answered, lamely.
Val laughed then, a bit bewildered, and the thickness in the room evaporated as the loud, hoarse, musical sound swelled up to the ceiling. They leaned over, briefly colliding with Io affectionately. It made Io’s insides roll a bit again, but this time in a good way. Like when they were so hungry they felt like they could swallow everything in the whole world right down to its marrow, and then Val put something delicious and real in front of them.
Encouraged, Io ventured to add, “You told me cataloging things didn’t count.”
That made Val laugh harder, as they poked Io in the ribs. “And I’m right. Fuck, Io, you were keeping a count of all the cobblestones between my place and yours.” Val snorted and shook their head, their hair rustling.
“But it was easy.” And it made Io feel closer to Val than they actually were. Only so many stones between them. Keep your eyes on the way. Follow the numbers. Find Val. And then what? A stray thought, small, prickly. Io let it wither.
“But it’s fucking weird.” Val leaned against them, longer this time. The warmth in their voice was stronger. Io felt almost like they were absorbing it themselves, warmth filling them up from the outside in.
“I thought drawing would be more normal. I thought it would help.” Help what? they wondered if Val would say. Would they want them to ask? What would they say? Help with… Io faltered.
They looked down at their hands, black and shiny with pencil smudge. Charcoal had gotten into the whorls on their fingers. They had fingerprints, didn’t they? Io looked at the dinner on the table, steam slowly lessening. At the crown of Val’s head where it still leaned lightly against their shoulder. The window beyond them was dark, Io’s reflection thin and wavering. Nothing more defined than a few sketchy planes of unreal light.
“Food’s getting cold,” Val said instead, sitting up and leaning forward to gather the spoons up. Io felt suddenly unbalanced, as if Val had been the thing holding them in equilibrium. For a second, Io thought they might tip fully over, pop like a bubble.
“Shouldn’t we have bowls?” Io asked, glancing back at the kitchen.
“Nothing clean.” Val shrugged. “Haven’t had the time. Too busy.” They dipped a spoonful out of the bowl and blew on it before taking the tiniest bite.
“Doing what?” Io knew better than to ask.
Like always, Val didn’t answer. “It came out good, what do you think?”
Taking the hint, Io dug out a spoonful of their own and swallowed it hastily. A muffled sound swallowed down as the scorching food instantly burned out their tongue. Tears involuntarily came to Io’s eyes. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but in a way, Io liked that it did. The way their body made tears without them having to be sad. The way they knew the skin on the roof of their mouth would grow back. It had happened before. “What is it?” Io squeaked out, sucking in lungfuls of air to cool their mouth.
“Vegetarian chili. Secret recipe.” Val grinned, their eyes crinkling at the corners. “You okay there?”
Io nodded, still huffing. “It’s good.”
For a moment, the two just sat, eating companionably together like so many nights before. Io had tried to keep a count of those too - it’s where they had gotten the idea of trying to count everything they knew in their world. But these times with Val weren’t like cobblestones. They didn’t have clear edges, easy lines. When did afternoons become nights become mornings? Where were the boundaries? And how much time spent together did it take before Io could close the distance? Before they could get to them?
“So…” Val drew the word out, drifting briefly into silence. “I’m going to hate myself for asking and I’m probably going to be even more pissed at you for answering, but I still need to know. Why me and… the human equivalent of persistent constipation?”
This time, Io was surprised. They were still thinking about that? The drawing lay on the ground between them now where it had slipped off of Val’s lap. Should Io pick it up? They had made it after all. Didn’t it belong somewhere other than the floor? But Io hesitated, unsure. Val hated it. Maybe it was rubbish. Maybe it should get cleaned up and thrown out with the vegetable peelings after they ate.
“I just… “ Io cast around for the right words. “Wanted to try drawing people. To see if I could, I guess.” Something crystallized for Io. “Expressions. I wanted to try drawing expressions. Something intense. Easy for anyone to read.”
“You could have drawn us killing each other, you know.” Val threw a brief, mock frown at Io. Softened it immediately with a teasing, “As long as you drew me winning.”
Io laughed a little. “Maybe I will. That would be interesting too.” The laughter died off. “But I didn’t want to draw fighting. I wanted to draw something where the bodies were close. And alive.” Something that made Io’s insides light up a bit.
“But why me and Connie?” Val’s face twisted a bit. Disgust? Was something else in there too?
“I saw you earlier today,” Io replied. And then amended, quickly. “No. That’s not quite right. It’s because… you’re both the easiest to picture. I can reconstruct your faces so perfectly in my mind. It’s almost like I can summon you. And it makes sense to me.”
“Well, not to me,” Val snorted. “Connie would rather kill me on sight than admit to themselves, much less me, that I’ve got game.” They tucked back into their chili as if everything was settled. “Although I could, you know,” they pointed their spoon at Io. “If I was ever inclined.”
Io held their spoon, twisting it so that it reflected the warm light of the lamps. It twinkled a bit, although it was battered and needed burnishing. They wanted to say, Sometimes I see… sparkles. Well, “sparkles” wasn't quite right. But they couldn’t settle on a better word. There were other ones people sometimes used. Passion. Interest. Tension. Words that had meanings that could be easily divined, that could generate their own electricity.
But as Io considered it, those words weren’t right. Val showed passion for other things, like cooking. Had interest in trinkets and treasures. Was tense every time a holy day approached. And Connie… to be honest, Io couldn't really tell easily if they felt anything other than irritation, which hung around them as thick as the smoke from their smokes. Still, sometimes it seemed like the irritation changed shape a bit. Got denser, the shape of something more dangerous hidden inside.
Usually it was when Val was there, that irritation intensifiing. Gaining edges. Got diamond-sharp. Yes, that’s another word for what I see. Sharpness when the two met, Val’s wicked teasing sharpness playing off Connie’s blunt axe-like anger, and when the two sharpnesses finally struck each other true, Io could see flecks of something bright and hot come to life. Not sparkles, maybe. Little tongues of fire. Io thought that it seemed sometimes like it wouldn't take much for them to catch and spread out of control. Maybe they needed just a breath. A place to land. The right conditions.
Words burst out of Io, surprising them both. “I know Connie says they hate you, us, but the truth is, they like things that are bad for them. Like cigarettes.”
“Flattering.” Val’s tone was dry.
Struggling, Io forged on. “Connie doesn’t want something easy. They don’t have room for it in their life. They want something they know. Even if it’s chaos.”
“Connie hates trouble,” Val pointed out. “As they have made very clear to both of us on many occasions.”
“But Connie’s whole business is trouble. Connie can spot it. Take the measure of it. Figure it out. Deal with it. And more than anything else, Connie needs to be in something where they can understand what to do. They may not like trouble, but they’re good at trouble. And they like being good at trouble, no matter how much they protest.”
In the swing of it now, Io slowly slipped towards the reverie they had been in earlier, when it was just them with the pencil, the paper, and the two people Io was constructing. In the drawing, Connie’s hands held on to Val so tightly it was almost like they were about to wrestle. “I wanted to draw that. I wanted to draw Connie in the middle of an inhale, like the way they crave a cigarette, on the verge of letting the smoke out. About to go in swinging. About to bring it to a head and come out on top.”
“Do you even hear yourself,” Val muttered.
“So I did.” Io looked down at the picture again. Connie’s eyes were shut tight. Concentration. Frustration. Focus. Determination. Io could picture it so clearly. Every one of those emotions they’d seen at some point on Connie’s face, in their posture. Io could bring it to life. Or at least to a facsimile of it. Io knew they could. They could try.
“Sure, we get it, Connie is all big and repressed and the sexy kind of grumpy.” Val rolled their eyes and pretended to gag. “But why me, of all people?” Val moaned, dropping their face into their hands.
“You.” Io’s voice got soft, hesitant. They kept their eyes trained on the picture. Val had been harder to draw. Sketchier. The lines of Connie’s face and hands were strong, Io’s pencil leaving grooves in the paper where they’d dug in. But Val’s body seemed to float. Their hands skimmed Connie’s waist so delicately you couldn’t tell if they were grabbing on or pulling away. Their shoulders so lightly sketched that they almost looked like they were on the verge of disappearing. “You’re in there because…” Io searched for the right words. “You go where you’re not supposed to go. For your own reasons. You don’t share them. But you turn up there anyways.” They pondered. “You’re like Connie in some ways. Your whole way of living is trouble. You run and hide, you keep from getting caught, but you stay close to the edge. The certainty of it is better than the alternative.”
Val said nothing in response, burying their face in their hands deeper.
Io continued, gaining strength, “You live cheaply, but you surround yourself with things that make you feel good. You like what catches your eye and you take it. Even if it doesn’t make much sense on the outside. You take the pretty thing and the cheap thing and the dirty thing and the old thing, just because you want to. Because you know what things are worth, to you and to others, and you’re willing to go through trouble to get them.” Io’s voice quieted again. “Things that seem wrong come right around you, even if they go back to being wrong when you’re away. You know, somehow, what works and what doesn’t in the moment, no matter how weird it seems. Like this dinner.” Io gestured. “You put chocolate in your chili.”
Now Val squawked indignantly. “How did you figure my secret ingredient out? You, who can’t even boil a pot of water without nearly burning my whole kitchen down?” The familiar consternation made the room feel easy again.
Io rolled their eyes. “I saw it on the counter. I’m weird, we both know that, but I’m not blind.” Io took another bite of chili, savoring it, adding each flavor up. Beans, something solid and earthy. Tomato, sweet and roasted. Carrots, celery, both nutritious, crunchy. Val’s special blend of spices to give it heat and depth and character. And amongst those spices, chocolate. Giving the appetite something surprising to figure out. Something it didn’t know it wanted.
“Congratulations. You’re not getting dessert.” Val huffed and turned back to their dinner, avoiding Io’s eyes. But after a second, they reached down and picked up the picture. They held onto it for a second, more firmly. “I hate it. It makes me want to puke. But…” They sighed dramatically and tossed it on the table, throwing themselves back against the cushion of the couch and throwing their legs out so wide they knocked against Io’s knees. “It’s pretty good.” They turned their head, looking at Io sideways. “You’re good at this.” They sat up, smiling broadly now, teeth gleaming. “Now, pinky promise me you won’t use your powers for evil. Or should I say, for any more evil.” They stuck their pinky out. “Or I’ll have to kill you.” Their eyes bright, sparkling. Like a promise.
Io filed Val’s expression away. Maybe they would try to draw that too later, especially if: “No dessert?” Io pouted. Val laughed their big laugh again and it made Io melt with pleasure.
Still, maybe they’d feel better going without tonight. It had been a long afternoon stuffed with different kinds of “too much.” They were sure they’d get hungry again. It had always happened before. And Val would relent, like they always did, probably, and make them something sweet, if they just asked with the right words. Dessert would taste better later, Io decided, having been denied now. They could wait. In the meantime, there was plenty of chili to share. As the evening stretched on into darkness.
i haven't arted in so long but reading this novel gives me a boost... i love how surreal the story is. io never feels corporeal to me (probably bcos i keep picking the options that lower their sanity) and i would love that to mean.. literally... io melting n feeling the fabric of reality fraying, needing val's embrace to feel whole again 🙂↕️
the concept of a needy io with what we know of val is sooooo 🙏 it's amazinf how peak sentience is
