Portraits

Posted on 17 Jun 2023 @ 5:59am by Crewman Recruit Zuzal & Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:30pm

Mission: M3 - Into the Deep
Location: O.C. Station - Promenade - Arboretum
Timeline: M3 D11 - Late Afternoon
2383 words - 4.8 OF Standard Post Measure

As often was the case, Kyrill went directly from the Treasure Art Gallery to the arboretum. It wasn’t far from his parents’ quarters and it offered an ideal refuge from the Promenade and its busy people. He found his favourite bench under a magnificent tree with red and yellow leaves. He liked the way some of the long branches nearly touched the ground. It looked to him like they were animated by an inquisitive spirit, throwing its tentacular ‘limbs’ in all directions, in search of something special. Something that would change its stagnant life.

After a few minutes enjoying this peaceful oasis, the distant sounds of quiet conversations, and the soft breeze, Kyrill took a large PaDD from the portfolio case that he always had with him, and he continued to work on his newest project: his first attempt at creating a ‘bright-light’ image. No more grimdark for him, at least for now.

Soon, who he was (15 years old, without a clue who he would become, as if it would take a magic spell to change him into an adult, with a perfect career plan) didn’t matter anymore. He immersed himself in his notes and his sketching: A dark forest gradually becoming brighter.

A shadow cast itself over one side of his drawing pad.

Kyrill froze. Against all odds, someone had noticed him. Someone with authority no doubt. Someone who will tell him to focus on something less futile, like his homework. A teacher, maybe. Or worse, the grimdark thought of the day: his mother...

"Sorry." The timid voice of a young woman apologized. When Kyrill turned to look, he found an Orion girl a little older than himself; her dark hair was cropped close, and she wore a teal sciences service jumpsuit, a single slash of the crewman recruit for her rank insignia on her collar. Her combadge had a medical insignia. "Please don't stop drawing." She insisted. "I was just curious. Are you an artist?"

Although hugely relieved to find someone he had never seen before, at first Kyrill kept quiet. Her question echoed in his mind. He wondered the same thing. Was he an artist? Or rather, how long would it take to be accepted as one? Five years? Ten? A lifetime? He then compared her uniform to his own clothes: black pants, white jumper. Banality embodied. This was the uniform of sorts that his parents insisted he wear for school.

“I’m trying to be one. But it’s complicated... So much can be said in a painting. And then there is recognition, or rather the lack of it...” On his PaDD, he sketched a little path in the forest he had drawn. “Are you training to become a doctor?”

"Oh, no." She blushed. "I could never be a doctor." She was awestruck just being in the room with doctors while she herself felt invisible. "Maybe a nurse. One day. I'm just a health aide. I help people eat and change their socks. Things like that. "

“Ah.” Kyrill blushed too, mostly because in his sheltered world, he had no idea that people might need help to change their socks. “Every work is important and makes a difference. Do you like what you are doing, though? My parents, they see me as an engineer. But this is not happening fast. I make sure of that.” He added with determination. Under his stylus, the forest path became more concrete. It meandered from left to right, going nowhere in particular.

"You don't want to study what your parents want you to?" She asked, sympathetically, watching the way he over emphasized the curves in the walking paths with keen interest.

“Who would?” He sighed. “I know what they have in mind. They want me to work on their ships. They keep saying they have my best interest in mind. But why should their dream be mine? Why can’t I have my own dream?” He tapped his stylus on his PaDD. “I know some people, they make a fortune selling paintings. I want to be like them.” He looked at the young woman. “What’s your take on that? Do you think art can only be a hobby?”

The orion girl's head quirked. The boy's parents owned ships? Plural? But then she remembered that she'd surrendered her own land rights to escape her temple mothers' idea of her future, and it no longer seemed as absurd. "If you already know people who are living well by making art, then obviously you could too." She said, reasoning along with him.

Kyrill brightened up. “Exactly! We should all be allowed to do what we want with our life. But adults...” He sighed. “They are all about sacrifices and doing something valuable for the community.” He put his PaDD aside and he observed the Orion teen for a couple of seconds, wondering what sort of portrait he could make of her. “You never said, do you like working in sickbay? Is it a line of work you chose, or was it imposed on you? My name’s Kyrill, by the way. Reluctant future heir of BlueJay Import Export. That's my parent's business.”

"Kyrill." She repeated, committing his face and name to memory. "I'm Zuzal. I don't have a last name. Just Zuzal. But not Not Zuze. Or Zuzie." She hated it when people did that, but she didn't usually correct them. "I like my job." She said, looking at her fingers. "I like seeing when people get better and are released. I like making a fresh bed, cleaning out the bins. Taking away the food trays. Holding people's hands." She thought about her latest assignment to the neonatal unit. "It feels like I can make a difference. No one's imposing anything on me. I turn eighteen soon, and I won't be a ward any longer. It's actually a little scary," she admitted. "It's a little easier when someone else knows what you should be doing, I think. Even if it just gives you something you can disagree about doing." She scrunched her nose at the last, thinking it was a little ironic and funny.

Kyrill stayed silent for a few seconds. He found it impressive that Zuzal would soon be 18. Adulthood. Envied and feared at the same time. “I know what you mean. Nicknames are annoying. At school, they sometimes call me Krill and I hate it. When that happens, I put their heads on pikes, in my paintings.” This sounded childish even to his ears, so he moved on. “Well, at least, you like your job.. From the way you’re talking, I take it you don’t have parents to guide you? Not even a mentor?”

Zuzal hid a grimmace with a smile as Kyrill described how he handled his feelings through his art. "Um, no, not exactly. I'm a Ward. Officially Captain Hawthorne has custody, since I first left my world with his crew. But he assigned me other carers. I have my own quarters and a tutor. I have managing nurses who look after my work. I even have my own cat. Although, he's something of a hand me down. I do love him. His name is Mr. Nurbs. I think he's older than I am." She realized maybe she was over sharing. "On my homeworld I was already considered an adult at fifteen. I just didn't want to marry, and my temple didn't need any more unwed marms. And I wasn't chosen for the Apogees. So." That meant nothing to him either. "How long have you been drawing? You're very good, I think."

While Zuzal spoke, Kyrill had drawn a humanoid silhouette in his forest scene. It appeared in the distance, on the path, and was so far too shadowy to have any specific features. Her world was so far remote from his, with travels, the potential of marriage and her own quarters, that he felt a little embarrassed by his own nondescript life.

“I’m just fifteen myself,” he said, his voice less enthusiastic than before. “I still live with my parents.” The way he thought of that now, it made him feel like a little kid. Overprotected and, come to think of it, with probably as much freedom as Mr. Nurbs... “Your species do things very differently from mine. If I was to mention the idea of marriage at home, my mother would have a fit. And then she would kill me - with words. I was born on the Ryazan. It’s a cargo ship owned by my family. I’ve always lived on ships or stations. I guess that’s why I like to paint landscapes. I get to explore views my eyes have never seen." A new idea entered his mind and he brightened up. "Zuzal, tell me what your cat looks like, complete with his mood, and I’ll draw a portrait of him!”

"A portrait? Of Mr. Nurbs?" She came around and made a space to sit for herself as she thought, eager to talk about her pet. "He's white and grey, and he looks like a rug or a hairy throw pillow with little ears poking out of his long hair. He always has sleepy half closed eyes, and he's got big long whiskers and whiskery eyebrows. He reminds me of a wise old man in a grotto. He's always sitting with me when I do my studies and lets me read out things to him. He's very lazy. And very friendly."

Kyrill smiled when he heard the description. He opened a new canvas on his PaDD and he started to sketch the wise old cat. “I’ve never had any pets, so I don’t know much about them, but it looks like Mr. Nurbs is a perfect companion. Makes me wonder what cats would say if they could talk. Although I guess their purring is a language in its own right... for those who can decipher it.”

Zuzal mostly looked on quietly as Kyrill made the sketchlines, curious how the beginnings would make a cat in the end. Any time she drew a cat it was just made of circles and triangles with little whisker lines on the face. Kyrill's shapes were different and she couldn't understand them as a cat for a while. "I like to think Mr. Nurbs is talking to me. He helps me feel like someone is listening, even if he can't tell me so." Zuzal shifted closer. The lines were starting to look like something now, and she realized he had chosen to fill the canvas with the head and face of Mr. Nurbs, and so most of the lines were parts of his fur. He had a thicker looking stroke he was laying on top of the undersketch that made the patches of hair stand out with light and shadow.

Sleepy eyes, little pointed ears and long black and white hairs appeared on the canvas, and it wasn’t long before the face of an old cat filled the screen. Once he was satisfied with the black and white image, he showed it to Zuzal. “What do you think? Maybe he looks too grumpy? I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. I find it relaxing, and it makes me happy... Happiness, that’s the purpose of life, I think.”

Zuzal laughed, amazed. "That's him! That is my cat! How did you draw him without even seeing him! I saw you do it, but I can't believe it!"

Kyrill continued to smile, rather pleased with himself. “Well, your description was quite revealing. Besides, drawing is what I do best. With everything else, I’m afraid I’m rather clumsy.” He glanced at Zuzal. “You can have this picture if you want. Just tell me where I should send it and it’s yours.”

He blushed a little, because with her contact details, Kyrill would be free to send her as many sketches as he wanted...

Zuzal took his padd and entered her contact line in the notes.

"I'm going to put it in the viewing frame in the living area in my quarters," she said happily. "I think Mr. Nurbs will be satisfied with his portrait." She handed him back his art tablet. "How much do you want for it? I have some stipend credits."

Kyrill scratched the back of his head. “I can’t possibly accept money, when I was the one to suggest I draw a portrait of Mr. Nurbs. I’m sure he too would frown at that. Please, accept it as a gift - from a friend.” To solve the matter, he sent her the image right away. “Do you often go to this arboretum? I like how being here is like stepping into another world. When you look at those trees, it almost feels like we aren’t on a station.”

"I try to take a walk everyday. The trees where I grew up were hundreds of years old. The oldest tree on my temple grounds was said to be three and a half thousand years old." Then added under her breath with a giggle. "So maybe a little younger than the temple priestess. I'm not sure why I'm whispering! I'm pretty sure she can't hear me from here." She added the last as if she could still get into trouble for making fun.

Kyrill smiled at Zuzal’s quip. “Old wise people like that, I’m sure there is not one thing they don’t hear or see. Maybe we’ll be like that too when we are as old as trees...”

"Thank you for the gift. " Zuzal stood back up. "I have to go back to my shift. Maybe I'll run into you again." She started back the way she had come, but turned slightly and gave a timid wave goodbye to Kyrill.

“I’d love that,” Kyrill said as he also got to his feet. He waved back at her and then he sat back. He still had some 20 minutes of spare time and he continued to work on his forest landscape. The figure he had sketched was going to be a Slavic Goddess of forests. So far unnamed but coming from the distant land called Russia, just like his family.