Painting with Luci

[The Humble Sage]

“Oh? You aren’t planning to stick around? We were thinking of painting a lovely battlefield piece later on. Plenty of severed bits, maybe that would be more your interest?” The Sage asked Kuzuru with disdain. The demon simply looked at him with a smug grin, not even bothering to respond. The Sage stared back with an intense gaze. He knew not whether he was in danger currently, he had not yet tested the nature of his connection to whatever this place was, but this Kuzuru felt confident enough to make ideal threats at two primes knowing quite little of their abilities. His Arrogance was appalling.

“You carry a big sword, warrior,” the aging man sighed, “and in the shadows of twilight you think yourself tall. Know that night comes to every man. And what you have wrought so far…” He shrugged and turned away, moving to inspect his surroundings. “Your impact upon the world is but the scattering of a bloody drizzle. Within the hour all trace of it is gone from the earth it beat so futily. In the end your actions mean nothing.”

The Sage began to stroll a short distance down the street, staring idly at the architecture around him. It seemed to have shifted since his arrival. The remnants of Coasta del Sol and Cinnabar still shone through in the style, as well as the third method that was foreign to his palette. However another, angular style seemed to be growing more and more prevalent in the vague buildings that lined the streets. The world reflects the minds that inhabit it… he realized with a mix of fascination and concern at the implications of this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a fit of laughter from behind him. The Sage turned back to face Kuzuru, and Luci looked up from something she was painting on the street itself. “Mean Nothing?” the Demon repeated with an astonished grin, “Mystery man I just don’t think you understand me in the slightest! I right injustices across the land and bring order to a lawless world! In eight full worlds of self-absorbed brats…” Kuzuru raised his arms out to their impressioned surroundings, “I’m the one cleaning up everyone’s mess!”

“By hunting petty thieves and wandering spirits at the behest of those who reinstate our lawlessness?” The Sage asked with skepticism, “Your explanation rings false to me, Bounty hunter.” He pointed towards the defiled picture of Ballad’s corpse, still dripping red paint to form a pool only along the bottom of the wall… the Sage noted with curiosity, but continued before Kuzuru could interrupt. “That is not the face of justice, nor even one of vengeance. That is the work of pure malice.”

“Hey!” Luci called with a stern look, “Did you just call the Westside petty thieves, pal?” She looked like she was about to say more when Kuzuru cut her off with a short laugh.

“So you got me.” he said with a leer, “I don’t give a damn about what you’ve done, old man. The point of this is simple, so listen carefully. When I find you, because I certainly will, I will kill you. This will not be something that you can avoid. And when that does happen, you should know that I am the one in control of your fate.” The Daemon shrugged, “Or maybe I won’t! Perhaps you’ll get away! Wouldn’t that be an exciting turn of events? Point is, in that moment either I am in control, or I am not in control.” Kuzuru held up one finger in front of his face, eyes wide, “Whatever meaning you’re drolling on about doesn’t even matter.” The Demon inhaled sharply, eyes closing. “That’s called LIVING!” he said with gusto.

Luci watched the exchange from a short distance away, a pensive look on her face as she doodled with the spray can. The porcelain face stared back at her blankly. Luci stopped, sitting as she watched the painting trying to finish itself, its features contorting in an effort for wholeness. It was almost piteous. Relenting, Luci finished the piece, though she wasn’t about to let the painting have whatever it wanted. “Living is stretching.” She said softly to herself as she finished the can.