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“Alicia!”
Clea frowns as she marches across the landscape of her brother’s childhood Canvas, searching for her baby sister. She finally gave into to her siblings’ badgering to spend a day in the Canvas with them, despite all the work she has to do, but Alicia slipped away at some point while she was talking with François. And now it’s nearing her little sister’s bedtime. If she doesn’t find her and send her off to bed soon, one or both of their parents will be entering the Canvas, asking why her older siblings weren’t doing so, and then demanding to know how they had lost her.
I’m too old to be playing babysitter.
She finally finds her baby sister tucked away at the edge of their coral forest, kneeling over something on the ground. “Alicia! It’s bedtime.”
Alicia squeaks and wraps her arms tightly around whatever she found. “Five more minutes!” she begs.
“Absolutely not. You’ve already stayed in here longer than you were supposed to. Maman will be quite cross if you stay up much later.”
Alicia pouts at her sister in a desperate bid for sympathy, but Clea is unmoved. Her parents might sometimes be swayed by her little sister’s attempts to mimic a begging Noco, but she refuses to be. She circles around to try and get a better look at what Alicia is clinging to. It’s… a misshapen lump of red clay? “What on earth are you doing with that pile of mud, anyways?”
Alicia scowls at her. “It’s not a pile of mud! I’m making a friend for Franfran and Esquie! Only…” She looks down at it sadly. “I can’t make it work like you or Maman or Papa or Verso do.”
Clea kneels down to examine it closer. It’s not just mud, she realizes, but mud and Chroma kneaded together into a odd, thick, claylike substance. She raises an eyebrow. “A little small to be making an entire Esquie by hand, aren’t you?”
“I’m not small! I’m a whole six years old now! That’s nearly as old as Verso was when he made Esquie!” She emphasizes her newfound maturity by sticking her tongue out at Clea.
Where Verso finds the endless patience for Alicia’s antics, Clea will never know. “What put this idea in your head anyways? François and Esquie already have each other, why would they need another friend?”
Alicia’s whole face immediately drops and she looks down at the misshapen form she’s cradling. “You have Franfran,” she mumbles, “And Verso has Esquie and Monoco, but I…” she sniffles, “I don’t have anyone special here for me!”
Clea winces, regretting her blunt words as her baby sister starts crying, squeezing the lump of mud even tighter. Much as she hates to admit it, she’s never really known what to do when Alicia cries, preferring to let her father or brother handle things. If she gently pushes Alicia out of the Canvas right now, it would only in more tears and a likely tantrum – her family would never let her hear the end of it. Or, she finds a way to calm Alicia down.
Carefully, she places her hand atop her flame-red head. “Alicia,” she tries, than again more firmly over her sister’s wails, “Alicia. I’ll help you make your friend.” Alicia’s cries cease and she looks up at Clea with huge, watery, hopeful eyes. “On one condition. You step out of the Canvas and go to bed like Maman wants you to.”
“B-but…”
“No buts. It’ll take me some time to come up with something anyways, so we’ll do it tomorrow. Understood?”
Her strength is a quiet source of pride for her, well-earned by hours of molding clay and hefting art supplies, but she’s still nearly bowled over by forty pounds of excited, happy, muddy girl. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Alicia babbles excitedly, clinging to Clea like a barnacle.
Clea sighs and pries her baby sister off, lightly rapping her on the forehead. “Go.” she chides sternly, “Before our parents get cross with you.”
After Alicia dissolves into petals, returning to reality, Clea looks down at herself. Her clothes are now covered in splotches of reddish mud and black earth, and she’s never been more glad that her body in the real world remains pristine. She spares another glance at Alicia’s attempt at creation. Where on earth did Alicia get the silly idea to try and knead Chroma into clay?
Has she been watching me sculpt?
With a groan, she pushes herself to her feet. She has about a day to come up with a creation that will please Alicia. And her pride will not allow her to go to the rest of her family for assistance.
What have I gotten myself into?
Hours after Alicia’s gone to bed, Clea sits in front of a canvas, pondering what to make. Her usual style is full of sharp edges and alien shapes; hardly something a six-year-old girl would appreciate.
What does Alicia like, anyways? Horses and birds and flowers and all those dull, inane things that little girls enjoy? Perhaps she should just paint her a stallion and be done with it. Except, Alicia has a fear of heights and excitement, and a horse’s novelty would wear off quickly. (Clea privately thinks that their parents coddle her too much, but it’s none of her business.)
The door creaks open behind her and she hears familiar, uneven footsteps. “Wasting time staring at a blank canvas is so unlike you.” Papa steps up next to her. “Usually, you only stay up this late when already captured by an idea.”
She grimaces, habitually reaching up to chew on the end of her pencil, but catching herself before biting down and pulling it away. Her pride keeps her from admitting her conundrum. Finally, she says, “I’m trying to design something outside my usual style. Maman says it’s good practice.” There. Vague enough to explain away any questions, and Maman has said such a thing before.
His hand comes up to rest on her shoulder. “I fail to see why you would need such practice. Your work is impressive enough as-is.”
She refuses to acknowledge the faint warmth suffusing her cheeks. Her father is as free with his praise as her mother is reserved with hers, and yet she still cannot control the sudden pleasure that rises up every time. “Regardless, it’s still a skill I should cultivate.”
“Ever the perfectionist.” He chuckles. “Far from it for me to dissuage you from improving your skills. Still, the canvas will be waiting for you tomorrow morning. Rest.” When she opens her mouth to protest, he continues, “You may have reached your majority, but I’m not above telling your mother. You can start bright and early with a new perspective.”
With an irritated grumble, she sets down her sketching pencil and pushes herself off the stool. Eighteen years old, and yet her parents still fuss over her like she’s a rowdy teenager.
She corners Verso next morning, before Alicia has woken up. “I need your help.” She hisses.
Her idiotic sixteen-year-old brother leans back and raises an eyebrow. “You must be desperate to come to me for help.” He drawls in his insufferable way.
“You owe me for last month and you know it,” she retorts, “I need you to keep Alicia distracted for the day.”
He shoots her a quizzical look. “Why would Alicia be bothering you? You’re usually the last person she goes to for anything.”
“I…” She hesitates, then reluctantly admits, “She wouldn’t leave the Canvas yesterday unless I promised to help her with her project.”
“Her… project?”
Clea gives up on any attempt at subterfuge. “She was trying to make herself a friend like Esquie.”
“And she asked you for help? What, does she want a hedgehog made of nails to go with François?”
She will not punch her annoying brother in the face. “I volunteered,” she grits out, “And I don’t need a lecture in design from someone whose best friends are a wineskin and a wooden mannequin.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Touché! You need me to keep her distracted until you’re done, right?”
“Yes. Otherwise you know she won’t leave me alone, and it’ll only slow me down.”
“Fine. I can do that.” He hesitates before he asks, “What are you planning on designing, anyways?”
She still doesn’t have the faintest idea. “It’s a surprise.” She lies through her teeth.
There’s that annoying smirk again. “You don’t know yet, do you?”
“…I’m still figuring it out.” She can feel the final scraps of her dignity fleeing her body.
Oddly enough, he doesn’t continue to tease her, his face falling back into seriousness. “Alicia likes Maman’s gardens.”
“She does?” How had she never noticed?
“She does. I’ve seen her going up to the glasshouse or following Maman in the gardens.” He tilts his head. “You really should try and spend more time with her – with us.”
She has a thousand projects to work on and a family legacy to learn. “I’m busy.”
“I’m serious, Clea. Yesterday was the first time you’ve visited the Canvas with us in months. I miss our adventures together.” There’s something vulnerable in his eyes – hurt? Sadness?
Her jaw tightens. She’s grown too old for childish pursuits like their Canvas, but – “I’ll try.” It’s all she’ll bring herself to promise.
Once again, she sits in front of her easel, considering what Verso told her. She likes Maman’s gardens. And she knows that Alicia often prefers quiet corners and make-believe to going on any sort of adventures.
A gardener, perhaps, content to work while Alicia chatters and tells it her stories. Something that could create a garden of her own.
Beginning with the background to set the stage, she paints out a rough impression of the underwater landscape that they had created years ago. In the center, she begins to paint her creature. She shapes him similar to Esquie, with a body larger and rounder than she usually prefers. Long arms reach nearly to the ground, perfect for digging in soil. Tough, denim work trousers protect its stout legs, while its upper parts and arms are covered in leather. She doesn’t know what to do with the face, finally opting to paint in a round mask with geometric designs on it. Leaning back, she considers it for a long moment.
It's… unique, but she highly doubts it’s something her sister will enjoy. Its bulky form and long arms are more reminiscient of a fairy tale troll then a gentle giant, and the white mask stands out too much. She needs to soften it somehow. After careful consideration, she paints a long, flowing mane of red hair around the face, not unlike the lions that decorate the manor. As a final touch, she adds bunches of flowers growing atop its massive shoulders. A bit on the nose, perhaps, but their family has never been known for subtlety.
The sun is setting by the time she’s satisfied with her work. It’s far from finished, the background still missing a lot of detail, but she can go back later. All that matters is that she’s finished the creature enough to recreate it easily in Verso’s Canvas.
She finds her two siblings standing in front of the Canvas. That makes things easier. Stretching out her arm, she lets herself fall into the familiar painting. On her way in, she plucks at the Chroma like she would a harp string, sending ethereal vibrations across it and announcing her presence to her brother. Materializing once again at the edge of the underwater forest, she crosses her arms and waits.
Scarcely a few moments pass before they arrive, swooping in on Esquie’s back. “Clea!” Alicia chirps excitedly, “Verso showed me snow!”
“I thought you didn’t like heights.” Clea points out.
“I don’t! But we stayed on the ground and made snow angels and Monoco and Noco helped us build a big snow Gestral! And heights aren’t quite so scary when Esquie’s nearby to catch you if you fall!”
“Mmmm.” She glances up at Verso, who’s leaning casually against Esquie with his arms folded. “Are you going to–”
“Stay? Absolutely.” He flashes her one of the cocky grins that she hates so much. “I’m not leaving without seeing this through.”
With a sigh, she drops the matter. She knows a lost cause when she sees one, and her family has a stubborn streak a mile wide. She turns back to her little sister, who is currently hopping from one foot to the other excitedly, her head turning as if on a swivel. “Where? Where is he?”
Clea drops her hand on Alicia’s head. “Settle down.” She says firmly, “Be patient for a moment and watch.”
Stepping back, she places her hand on top of the mound of red clay, feeling for the Chroma within. Lifting her hand, she pulls her sister’s weak, unformed Chroma up and out, separating it from the older Chroma that made up the dirt. It wraps around her hand like a friendly animal, a whirl of pale golden petals. In the other, she summons her own Chroma, aquamarine petals drifting lazily to the ground.
She doesn’t need to use her sister’s Chroma, but she’s always appreciated a touch of flair and theatre. With a single motion, she flings them both out, winding them like threads around each other as they form the image she holds in her mind.
The external is the easy part. As Chroma coalesces into solid form, she extends her will, weaving the strands of personality into its being. Gentle-protection and flower-love are pressed deep into the heart of it, with listen-care and shy-strength and defend-garden surrounding those. She completes it in less than a minute, working at a speed that comes from her years of practice.
When the smoke and petals dissipate, the creature looms over them, as tall as Esquie. Alicia stares up at it, her eyes huge. Verso makes a choked noise and takes a step forward. “Clea, that’s not–” He starts, but Esquie places a hand on his head, muffling whatever he was going to say.
“New friend looks like me!” He hums happily, “Is new friend Esquie’s sibling like Alicia is Clea’s sibling?”
The creature says nothing, staring down at little Alicia. Giant and child look at each other for a long moment without moving, then the creature tilts its head. Alicia mimics it. She reaches out a hand, and it does the same. She looks down at its hand, nearly as large as she is, and she starts giggling. “You’re so big!”
Gently, the creature scoops her up, cradling her with both hands, and she squeals in delight. Smiling, she reaches out and combs her tiny fingers through its thick mane of hair. “You have red hair, just like me!”
Verso finally extricates himself from Esquie’s grasp, smiling helplessly. “Not quite what I was thinking you’d make, but all’s well that ends well, right?” Running his hand over its thick leather arms, he frowns. “I haven’t heard it speak, though.”
Before Clea can respond, Alicia rounds on her brother. “He doesn’t need a voice! He’s perfect and I love him just the way he is!”
“Okay, okay! Whatever you say, Alicia.” Glancing at Clea, he raises an eyebrow. “I fail to see how this fits my suggestion, however.” He says in a lower voice.
She folds her arms. “Ever the unobservant one, dear brother. He’s a gardener.”
“A gardener without a garden.”
She gestures to the wide, flat area around them. “Giving a fully-tended garden to a gardener would be like creating a painter with a completed painting.”
“I see your point.” He looks back up at where the creature has lifted Alicia closer to its shoulders, allowing her to touch the flowers on its back. “Have you decided what his name is?”
She hums, burying her face in the sweet-smelling petals, then announces grandly, “Goblu. His name is Goblu.”
A silly, childish name, perhaps, but Clea doesn’t say anything. As she watches Alicia chatter happily at her new friend, she clings to the warmth that threads its way through her, tucking the memory away for safekeeping. She never asked for a baby sister, but perhaps… it’s not so bad as she thought.
Goblu never really forms a bond with Esquie or François, preferring instead to remain in his little patch of garden and grow flowers. Alicia doesn’t mind; she prefers sitting with him and making up stories.
It doesn’t last. As she grows older, Alicia’s interests turn to ink and page over pigment and canvas, and she spends less and less time in any Canvases.
But she never forgets.
Even after fire and smoke claim her voice, even after she is swallowed whole by what used to be their childhood playground, she never truly forgets.