A Miscalculation In Space

Chapter 10 (The Meaning of Family)

He doesn't really mind, since this is pretty reminiscent of his minimalistic furniture style that somehow still ended up being messy because he bought (stole, usually, in his (not) previous multiverse) too many things and too little furniture. Granted, he's been cleaning up more due to excess energy and boredom, but he is running out of storage space. Ink has been complaining about the room being too empty, too, so maybe he should get some new furniture with whatever money he makes off of the online store.

It'll probably be a while before he makes anything substantial, something Swap made sure to tell him in whatever little business talk they actually did at the zoo, a day that just ended up as a fun hangout, really. Miscal didn't really mind, and he doesn't Swap did, as he had been fairly cheerful with a constant smile on his face despite his and Outer's pun barrage.

Well, whatever. He should focus on the present now. He hums, and after taking another glance at his plushie designs, he shoots a quick text to Swap before getting up and approaching where Ink is laying on the floor. Despite him having a perfectly good desk he literally dragged in for art purposes, he doesn't actually use it often for anything besides storage. It's why his floor is covered in paint practically everywhere. Even the lower part of his walls weren't spared.

He shakes his skull. Well, Ink did promise to paint over them, which is why his dresser is currently removed from the room and why he'll be temporarily moving his other furniture out later on too. He's sleeping in one of the other guest rooms until the paint dries.

(... should he really be adding 'other' now?

Yes, yes he should. He isn't staying here permanently, after all.

The more he thinks about it the more his mind registers it as a lie.)

He just wonders why he has to paint it black. It reminds him of the Void a bit, though the Void is significantly darker in a way he isn't sure he fully understands. It's strangely... comforting? And haunting, at the same time. He thinks it's more a case of Ink needing the paint for something else and happening to conveniently make his promise when he had it than it being the only paint at the store that didn't feel yucky considering the variety the large chain store nearby had.

He probably would have questioned that statement more at the time were it not for the fact that his mind automatically registered any strange statements from Ink, especially paint related ones, as completely normal and had instead just indulgently nodded at him and handed him one of his latest batches of double chocolate chip cookies.

Ink had actually been making good on his promise, having nearly completed a wall, before he got distracted by a flash of inspiration and promptly abandoned the wall painting. Miscal curiously eyes the scattered papers on the floor, some slightly crumpled as a sign of the artist's dissatisfaction, others carefully placed far away from where he's currently sketching and swinging his legs without a care in the world. There's colouring pencils to his right, some he obviously knocked into by their distance away from him.

More time must have passed than he initially thought, considering how most of the drawings were half coloured in and there was eraser dust everywhere. He must have been watching nature documentaries recently, because most of the sketches are centred around cool plants and forest images, with a few animals scattered in. Some of them look a bit weird though, more dangerous than they should probably look like. Why is he currently drawing something his multiverse's Nightmare would secretly inflict upon Fresh whenever he invaded Miscal's boundaries too much and he managed to catch him sleeping???

...The secret part is pretty moot considering the tormented himself complained about how 'totes unrad!' it is literally every time.

Seemingly done with the dark green pencil, Ink reaches out for another one only to blink in confusion at the pink one he snags. He turns his skull around to realise the current state of disarray of his pencils and does his best to reach out towards a particularly far one, tongue stuck out in concentration before giving up and staring up at Miscal with big puppy eyes. Miscal huffs and rolls his eyelights but obediently picks up the dark blue one. He pauses and raises a browbone, non verbally asking if this is the right one, upon which Ink eagerly nods.