One room on the upper floor of the building has larger and more numerous windows, including skylight ones on the sloped roof to let in as much light as possible. Inside, this room is packed with painting supplies. The walls are covered in sketches and test drawings, and a pile of canvases in one corner are the pieces that just didn't come out right. There are easels set up to face the windows, many showing variations of the same person - but not quite self-portraits of the artist. They outnumber the other painted subjects by a wide margin though.
The artist sits on her stool in front of a fresh, blank canvas, a pristine palette in her lap awaiting the colors she wants to use. A cup full of brushes sits at one side of the easel, and a glass of water at the other, but so far Tasha hasn't done more than flex and relax her mismatched left arm, which sports four scaled and taloned fingers to her other hand's five.
"Hmmmm," Tasha murmurs as she eyes the canvas, head tilted and right hand resting against her chin. She studies the endless white, thinking about what next to paint but also how much life has become like the blank canvas. A sea of endless white, changed only by her imagination and the fleeting glimpses of memory that come now and then. "Ah.."
It's not a new idea, but it does fascinate her; the endless faces of the woman she resembles. Like a diamond, the same core with infinite facets of light and color. She knows that somewhere in those facets is who she used to be, but the memories come and go; sometimes she remembers, while other times the woman feels like another person. It's happened so many times she simply gotten used to it, deciding that maybe she's yet another facet of the same face.
Most of the pallete is already mixed from the other paintings; she keeps ample supply of golds, reds and whites in assorted hybriizations, having improved them with time. "Again then, from the beginning," she whispers as she puts brush to paint and starts. This time, she decides, she'll try putting the facets together.
A shadow passes across the canvas. It's a big one, like an eclipse. Only an airship can do that, and Tasha can't really remember the last time one came to the island. But time is a bit odd anyway for her.
"A visitor?" The woman wonders aloud, placing her brush in to water and beginning to clean it as she looks out the window. Even as time has blurred, so has her mostly isolated, peaceful existence. In some ways, she feels like she's always been here. If not for the memories and the reminders from Melchior and her infrequent visitors, she might believe 'here' is all that needs to be.
Time isn't the only thing blurry for Tasha. There's always a slight lag between her left and right eye when she looks at something in the distance now. The airship that approaches the dock is something that could never really exist - the envelope is shiny silver, and undercarriage is a golden mishmash of clockwork, steam and a riverboat paddlewheel. The flames painted on the sides of the envelope are a bit garish, too.
For some reason, the strange airship makes Tasha smile. She decides she'll have to try painting it later, but for now she has guests to tend to. The brush is put aside as she stand and soon her painting apron is replaced with a frilly-edged suitable for cooking and waiting on guests.
Tasha hums a little to herself as makes her way down stairs, then pauses to lean over the railing call out, "Melchy, we have guests."
The big Vartan behind the bar in the main tavern room waves to Tasha as she appears. "So it would seem," Melchior agrees. "Shall I assist in the docking?"
The woman pauses for a moment, muzzle twisting before she nods. "We probably should," she says at length before waving the man to follow her out the door.
The walk leading to the dock is clean, of course. When the hooves hit the wood of the dock itself, it lets out a deep thumping sound. The fanciful airship hovers at the end, mechanical winches extended to lower the mooring ropes.
While she waits for the mooring ropes to come in reach, the tavern keeper dusts her apron off with unnecessary fuss, then checks herself for rogue paint.
When the line is close enough, she takes it and begins securing it. "It's a nice day for a visitor, isn't?" She asks the black Vartan, smiling down the dock at him.
"It is always a nice day, Tasha," Melchior points out as he secures the second line. Once both are tight, the winches begin pulling the airship in line with the dock. It meets with another deep thump, and the gangplank folds down with a ratcheting noise. A burst of steam obscures the interior, and then a figure steps through. "Oh my," Katherine Vesuvius says, wearing something like mechanics overalls but still having her signature metallic-silver hair and tail. "It really is.. real.."
Tasha wags her tail at Melchior's remark as she twists the line around her arm, relying primarily on her right hand to do all the work. She's gotten used to the dark Vartan's lack of humor; even straightman responses make her happy.
Once the ship is secure, Tasha walks over to meet her guest. She smiles in a rather maidenly way, offering an bowing her head a bit as she walks up to Katherine. "Hello, welcome to our little island," she offers, the greeting sounding practiced but warm. "Please follow me ... and ... " the half Vartan pauses, cocking her head to the side, then exchanging a look with Melchior before asking, "Have we ... met?"
"Tasha.. it's me: Katy Kaboom?" Katherine says uncertainly. "With the motorcycles? And the posters? And.. uh.. Mr. Invention?"
"I ... see," Tasha replies in a polite but dubious tone. "Um, well, anyway, why don't you follow me? We have food, drink, and I paint if you're interested in that. Oh," she smiles down the dock to the waiting man, "And this is Melchior. We live together."
"I thought he would be taller," Katherine says, and follows the apparent bar wench. "How long have you been here?" she asks.
"He's tall in spirit," the tavern keeper assures her guest as they walk along. Instead of answering, she pauses to stop and check some wild flowers before continuing on.
It takes some time, but she finally answers about half way back to the quaint looking wooden structure ahead of them. "Oh, well, it's been a while. I don't really know. I try to know some times, but it slips away. It's not really important, is it? I mean, why worry about such things?" She stops infront of the door, opening it and stepping aside. "Welcome to our tavern."
Katherine walks inside. She doesn't have any bags or personal belongings aside from what she's wearing, apparently. And she looks a bit in awe, marveling at all of the wood in use. "Are those candles in the wall lamps?" she asks, almost timidly.
"They are," the younger woman replies as she shows Katherine to a table, aiting for her to take her seat and hands folded infront of her. Her rigth hand covers her left, partially concealing it. "I've thought about replacing them, but it doesn't feel right to do so. Do they make you uncomfortable too?"
"No, they're just.. new. Or old. It's hard to explain, and not why I'm here anyway," Katherine says, and smiles to Tasha. "Are you sure you don't remember me, Tasha? Do you remember anything before coming here?"
The hostess squints at Katherine, muzzle twisting and ears flattening. "Ummm.. I feel like I should, but it's hard to remember." She then cocks her head to the side and smiles. "You're very pretty though, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Well.. I guess that hasn't changed at least," Katherine says. "I.. don't know if I can eat in here? Do you eat?"
"I'd be pretty skinny if I didn't eat," Tasha replies with a laugh. She then winks, and asks, "What would you like? He may tough, but Melchior's become a wonderful cook."
"I'll have.. uh.. whatever your favorite is," the visitor replies. "What's the name of this place?"
"That'll be thick-sliced bromthen hog between a softroll served with beer in a clean mug," Tasha answers, turning to wave to the big Vartan in tavernroom code before looking back. "Oh, the name is Tasha's Paradise. It's kind of a funny name, isn't it? But I like it here, and I hope you do, too."
"Is there an option for a dirty beer mug?" Katherine asks with a chuckle. "What do you do for fun here in paradise, Tasha?"
"Some tavern owners are less than cleanly about how they keep their mugs," the younger woman explains, clucking her tongue as turns and walks back to the counter. The tavern isn't so large she needs to yells as picks up two filled mugs and carries them back, saying, "Oh, I mostly paint. We hunt to keep the larders up and occassionally we explore the forest. There's always housework to be done, of course, and we also have some old books. And every so often, you know, we get visitors."
"Are there any interesting spots on the island?" Katherine asks, eyeing the beer. "I noticed a lot of waterfalls. Are there springs and grottos and such?"
"We have canyons that stretch for miles in addition to springs and grottos. That's where Melchy and I go for a wing," Tasha explains as she arrives. Katherine gets her mug first, then another is set across from here where the woman takes a seat. "The updrafts and sharp currents are wonderful for gliding but of course you wouldn't be interested in that sort of thing."
"I wouldn't?" Katherine asks, and has a sip, looking surprised that she can actually taste it. "I'd love to go flying."
"But you don't have any wings," the hostess points out, sounding apologetic. "You could only fly if one of us carried you!"
"Really? I need wings here too?" Katherine asks. "That seems an oversight. What do you paint?"
The young woman simply gives her visitor an odd look, but soon she's smiling again. "Oh, I paint this and that. I do a lot of Noras, but I've also been working on landscapes and some more technical -- in the mechanical sense -- works. The visitors here say I should paint 'memories,' to help me "focus," so I try to do that too." She then gives a friendly shrug. "I can't say as I'm very good, but I hope to be some day. Do you want to see them? My works, I mean?"
"Of course! But I suppose I'm not in any of them?" Katherine says, standing up with her mug of beer.
Tasha pauses at the comment, head tilting head. She watches Katherine for a moment, then admits, "I think you might be, come to think of it. Follow me, I'll show you you." She stands, then waves to Melchior and notes, "I'll be upstairs, just bring the brom-on-brea when it's ready," before heading upstairs.
Katherine follows up the stairs to the studio. "You've been busy," she notes.
"Well, we don't get many visitors and once the chores are all done, there's a lot of time to paint. It may sound boring, but I find it relaxing," the younger woman explains as she cross the room. She stops, then gestures expansively with her right hand. "Here we are!"
Laying through the upstairs are a host of works, paintings ranging from simple tests, to child-like renderings, to the more focused and technically superior work of a apprentice well on her way to becoming a journeyman at the art.
By far the most common among them are renditions of a a woman that looks very much like the hostess, but the details are off. There's not Vartan features to be found on most of the women and most appear to be older, while a few are considerably younger. Some are hooded, others seem like they might be Vartans if not for their intimidating armor, imperious stance and wild, fire-like hair. And for as many that seem usual, there are nearly as many that seem plain. Woemn dressed in uniforms similiar to the one Tasha once wore, another sitting hooded atop a rock, and so on. When taken as a whole, it's like looking at the a reflection cast from a shattered mirror.
But those aren't the only paintings, even if they're the majority. There are many landscape of Tasha's Paradise, but also of places clearly on Abaddon, such as the Pit, and a few that feature sky islands that must be from Sinai. there are night skies -- possibly space -- and all sorts of ships. Melchior is featured in both avatar and Titan form. There's also assorted miscellany, such as forks, fruit, and others.
While most are facing outward to the air, a few face away, hidden. they're pushed in to a cornr, partly covered by a tarp.
"It's a bit of a mess," Tasha admits, looking over the selection.
Katherine looks around at everything, smiling a bit sadly. "So.. are any of these portraits actually of you?" she asks.
"Oh, um ... a few," Tasha admits, ears flattening as she looks away, embarassed. "I know a lot look like me, but they're not me. I don't think. But sometimes, I think they are. Oh!" She points at one, then hurriedly rushes over to pick it up. "This one might be you." She turns around, holding the paiting infront of her. Sure enough, it's a rather stylized -- and somewhat indistinct -- rendition of the famous biker. She isn't on a bike, but she is sitting and reading with her glasses on. "What do you think?"
"Wow, that's.. actually touching," Katherine says, coming closer. "The most distinct memory you have is of me as.. just a regular woman."
"You seem regular to me, if very pretty," the hostess confides, offering the painting over. "I always thought this one was very welcoming, but also quite austere. There's meshing of elegance and refinement, and yet the model -- well, you I guess? -- is at ease and smiling, showing a softer side to the glamor she radiates."
"Now that I look at both of you, I can see I wasn't mistaken to think that way," the youner woman adds.
"A nice way to be remembered, certainly," Katherine says. "I don't think anyone's seen me that way since I was a little girl. Do you have anything from when you were a little girl?"
Tasha lets Katherine take her painting, then turns around and eyes the sea of artwork. "Hmm, you know, I think so. Lets see ... " She bends over and begins pushing paintings aside. A rendition of a twin-enveloped prop powered airship is nudged away, while several Noras get scooted aside and, finally, she pushes aside a child's rendering of what looks like her holding hands with Melchior and a grey-colored Karnor before pulling another work out. This one seems to be one of her earlier works in her more detailed style, showing a puppy-like version of herself with fluffy wings, waving from the back of a mountainous red feathered Vartan woman.
"That's my mother," the artist explains needlessly, pointing at the larger Vartan woman. "I suppose I rendered her that way because she always seemed big. Big as a person, that is."
"Is she still bigger than you?" Katherine asks. "Where is she? I always assumed your father was a Vartan, not your mother."
"Oh, my mother is Nora," the other woman notes casually. She then pauses, staring off across the room with a perplexed look and her ears askew.
"But.. your mom here has feathers.." Katherine points out.
The artist reaches to brace herself on one of the wooden beams that support the roof. "Ah, there we go again," she breathes, her tone pained as she winces. She takes a deep breath, then twists, back falling against the support as she looks up atthe roof.
"Sorry," she apologies. "The doctor told em that will happen. That's why we came here, because of an accident. It was to help me recover, and, sometimes ... Sometimes I remember things or, um, say things and then the headaches start." She looks over, giving a weak smile. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to say crazy things. Of course my mother has feathers. It's just for a moment, I was sure she didn't."
"Hmmm, you have a complicated mind," Katherine points out, and gestures to all of the Nora pictures. "Maybe you shouldn't focus too much on these different versions, and just.. focus on yourself. It's like you're getting lost with all these others that aren't quite you."
"Sometimes they feel like me," the woman admits as she pushes off the support, standing straight again. "I keep thinking about them over and over, like I can't stop thinking about them. I feel like there's something important about them, but I can't sort it out. I try, and I I keep painting, and I feel like I'm a little closer before I lose it all again." She glances towards the sea of Karnor faces, then shakes her head. "Maybe you're right, maybe I should just let her go. Even if it feels terrible, I should just ... Just stop."
"I don't know about just stopping," Katherine says. "But.. if you're struggling.. sometimes it helps to go in a different direction. Focus on that, and let your mind work out the other stuff behind your back."
"Hmm, a different direction ..?" Tasha turns back to face her guest, ears perking as she asks, "What do you have in mind?"
"Well...uh.. Hey! I could pose for you," Katherine offers. "You've never painted from life before have you?"
"Noooo," the artists admits, though she sounds uncertain about it. After glancing around the room, she walks over and pulls a stool over next to her easel.
"It's not very comfortable, but it will help with my sense of depth and perspective," she explains, gesturing at the seat. Many of Tasha's paintings do seem to contain a strong talent for perspectives and distant, likely an attribute of her Vartan visual focus. A few even show widely zoomed viewpoints beyond the visual experience of Karnors.
Katherine sits down, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap. Melchior also comes up the stairs with the sandwiches.
Tasha points the black Vartan to a nearby table. "No food next to the easel," she reminds him, though given she's talking to an AI with perfect memory, it's prbably done out of affection. She then smiles at him, then Katherine in turn. "Sorry, it's for your own good. You can smell it, right? These paints aren't something you want to eat. Anyway, just sit still for a while and I'll try to finish before it becomes too uncomfortable."
The golden Karnor sits and smiles enigmatically. She does sniff the air a bit though.. but virtual fumes shouldn't be a problem.
At first the artists fusses over paints, mixing them by eye, and also by nose, until she seems satisfied. Then she prepares the canvas, which seems to require a preperation coat. It takes a while. The sun never sets on Tasha's Paradise, but the mechanical clock turns, and clouds drift ever by.
It's nearly an hour and a half -- if the clock it to be believed -- before Tasha finishes. She brushes her hair from her face, inadvertantly smudging some gold on her forehead and muzzle, before turning the easel around. "There! Here you are!"
The painting uses Katherine's pose but also incorporates a book and a scarf, with the rays of the sun casting light and shadow behind her as she sit serenely upon the stool, yet there's a hint of mischief in her eyes. The book is worn, reddish-brown with gold bindings. The cover reveals it to be one of technology, with a motorcyle made entirely from gears enclosed in an oval frame beneath the title, "The Iron Horse."
"I call it, "The Lady and the Iron Horse,"" the artists explains, ears canting back and sounding embarassed.
"Wow, that's great!" Katherine says. "And my butt didn't go numb! I wish I could pose here for everything.. But more importantly, did it help clear you head?"
"Clear my head of what?" Tasha asks, canting her head to the side. "Did you mean, 'was it relaxing?' Oh, you mean, because of my illness? I usually enjoy painting, and you're such a good model," the other woman answers. She then gestures to the canvas and explains, "You mentioned your name is also 'Katie Kaboom,' and that you worked with motorcyles, which made me think of the book and, um, well I remembered ... something. I feel like we've done this before."
"Well, do you remember when you had your makeover, and were all shiny like me?" Katie asks, and swishes her silver hair around.
"Shiny like..?" Tasha eyes the woman a moment, really looks her over, but then she frowns and shakes her head. "All I feel is that I feel like I should ... /feel something more," she says, apologetically. "It's something I get a lot when painting, but it's stronger when I look at you, and when you talk. Like there's smething /there/ and I just can't /grasp/ it. Like ... /like/ ... " She scrunches up her face, balling a fist and thumping it against her head. "Nnngh, it's so frusterating! Everyone keeps visiting me and all they want is /the past./ Is the past /really/ that important?"
Katie stands up and hugs Tasha! "It's the foundation that we build on, Tasha," she explains.
The younger woman looks surprised at first, but doesn't resist. She lays her head against Katherine's tummy and sighs as she looks down at the floor, dispondent. "I like it here," she says, head shaking against the woman's chest. "But the visitors keep coming, and they keep telling me, "Tasha, think about yourself," "Tasha, do you remember?" "Tasha, what happened?" "Do you know who I am?" "Where have you been?" "Who are you?" and it's so frusterating. Even the painting, it asks the same questions with different faces that don't speak. But I know. I know. And Melechior, he knows too. Even this worlds knows. Everyone, except me."
"Tasha.. the next time someone comes, they're be here to take you away from this," Katherine says. "Back out to your real life. So.. they keep asking, to make you think about it, because you need it all to be you again."
"I know," the younger woman admits in a quiet voice, sounding miserable. "I know it's all going to end. I know this world isn't real. Sometimes I forget, but I do. In here," she reaches up to touch her heart. "Melchior told me, so did the others, and I can't forget. And I can't remember. I just know it's the world all my paintings come from, and the world that has those, too." She nods her head towards a collection of works that lean against the wall with their canvas turned away, the lot partially covered in an old tarp.
"Are those bad memories?" Katherine asks, looking at the tarp-covered stack.
"They're uncomfortable," the half-Vartan answers, and Katherine can feel her body quake. "Sometimes I remember people like you, but I also remember things I don't want to remember. Sometimes I paint them, to try to understand them, but they hurt. They hurt my head and they hurt my heart, so I put them over there. I want to throw them away, but I can't. I've tried, but they just come back in my head and they won't go away."
"Sometimes you just have to accept the bad with the good," Katherine says, and releases Tasha to go take a peek under the tarp.
Tasha drops back in her chair, rubbing her face with her ears back. She rocks back and forth, her ears flattened against her skull.
When Katherine pulls the tarp away, the disturbing images hidden underneath become visible. Completely at odds with this serene, pleasant world, the images range from simply gloomy to the disturbed and the outright gruesome. A broken Silent-Ones mask lays in the red dirt of Abaddon, cracked through the center, a river of blood flowing in between. Gabriel sits with his head bowed, miserable in a grey room. The skull of a Karnor lies shattered in a grave. Pieces of metal, fire, and blood. Tasha, dressed like a prostitute. Dead people Katherine does not recognize. A tube full of gruesome murk. A man of fire, looming, with eyes full of malice. Many are damaged, torn or smeared from when they were probably shoved from the easel.
"These are your fears and demons," Katherine guesses. "Why do you hide them?" she asks.
The list goes on. Many do not make sense as a whole, simply clashes of unsettling colors, unpleasant faces or looming monstrocities that are too ill defined to identify. A few contain random assortment of items: here are shattered skulls, there blood ID tags alone in the void, and broken metal. One shows a line of burial mounds.
"I hate them," the younger woman replies, sounding strained. "If not for them I could live here! If not for them I would still have my face. And he wouldn't be upset!" The strain becomes cracked as the woman's voice rises, the hand that had been rubbing her face now digging in to her scalp. "But it's my fault. I let him down! With you. And I let Nora down, my mother! My mother ... the Noras ... I can't stand them looking at me. And him. I killed him! He should be dead. He made me kill him, he made me kill him! Why did I bring him? Why didn't I leave him alone ... Why couldn't I leave them alone?! I don't want to die, I don't want to ... Why can't I have my paradise? I'm a god, I should have my paradise!!"
"Hey, calm down, you'll blow a gasket," Katherine says, going back to hold Tasha again. "This isn't how you deal with ugliness, Tasha," she says. "You don't hide it away in the dark, otherwise it'll always be there waiting. You hang them up with all the others, out here in the light. You look at them until they don't make you ill any more. It's all one whole, not lots of little fragments that you can just rearrange how you like."
The patient squeezes her eyes shut, dislodging tears as she clings to Katherine like a drowning man to a life preserver. Her breathing is heavy, to the point of hyperventilation, though the environment seems to prevent it. She doesn't even respond for a while, just holding on with a grip that surely would be crushing if the limiters weren't in place. It takes some time, but slowly she seems to wind down. her breathing slows a bit, and her grip relaxes, until she just looks desperate and worn thin, like an addict quiting cold turkey.
"Katie Kaboom, Katie ... Katherine ... and ... Katie ... Katie, Katie ..," she repeats in a soft, strained whine. "Katie and Katie and ... and ... " Her eyes are wide, gaze shifting across the room until they fall on Melchior, where upon she reaches for him. "Melchior, please ... "
The big Vartan strides over and takes Tasha's hand. "Yes, Tasha?"
Tasha wraps her hands around the big Vartan's hand, laying her head against them. "Where am I?"
"You are aboard the Bellerophon, in the medical bay," Melchior tells her.
Tasha exhales at the answer, like it hurt. "The Bellerophon. And Balthasar?"
"Balthasar is gone," Melchior answers. "Caspar remains on Sinai, where you left it. I am the only uncorrupted Magi."
The patient nods, rubbing her head against the entwined hands. "Something happened, ... didn't it?"
"Balthasar was corrupted by the Seraphim modifications," Melchior explains. "You were trapped within. You were injured in escaping. Together we defeated the fallen Magi."
"That's right," the woman whispers. "And then we were here. Been here. Katie is here, isn't she? Am I dreaming or am I awake?"
"You are awake, technically," Melchior claims. "But also dreaming, in that your senses and environment are not connected to the real world. Katherine is here because she is connected into the system."
"They gave me a shiny collar," Katherine notes.
"Then it's true ... " Tasha takes a deep breath, leaning back and opening her eyes, though she doesn't let go of Melchior's hand or move away from Katherine. "I'm sorry. It's hard to remember. I might forget again -- I don't think I'm stable. Everything runs together and I forget. I'm tired now, but I'll try to hold on."
"Hi Katie," the hybrid woman adds a moment later, glancing over. "I'm sorry I ddn't see you there."
"The Chimera is Slain," Melchior says cryptically.
At that, Tasha winces even as she laughs. "Or am I Bellerophon? Ah, what depressing stories ... and they make my head hurt."
"I don't get the reference?" Katie asks, but then says, "You should probably rest then, Tasha. I'll come visit you again tomorrow if you want."
"I don't want to rest," the patient insists, frowning as she stares ahead. "If I rest, I'll forget again. I like this world, but it's ... It's not real." She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before her head hits Katherine's arm. "Damn it. Promise me you'll be here? Promise me you'll be here when I wake up ... If I forget ... "
"I'll remind you, Tasha," Katherine promises. "I'm a very memorable person, after all.."
"Thank .. you ... " The red woman says as the world fades with her, returning to black.