Artworks II

Sleep had not come quite so peacefully the second time around, but it turned out to be for the best as some dastardly villain was lurking about in the darkened outer rooms.

It was by some force - likely self-preservation – that Meu was stirred from his slumber to sudden alertness, sitting upright in bed and looking around. He himself looked rather disheveled, robe threatening to slip off one shoulder and hair a fluffy mess on the pillow side.

The Greed blinked once. Twice. Turning his head first one way and then the other, a befuddled look fell upon his features. Why was he awake?

He neither saw nor sensed her entering his bedroom. With his guard completely lowered on top of the initial confusion, Myut was just about to call it and let himself fall back against the sheets when suddenly, from the darkness to his left, came some UNHOLY whisper that had him snapping his neck with a strangled yelp. Said yelp only deepened when his eyes beheld the unspoken eldritch horror beside him.

Teeth crooked and sharp like that of a crocodile – offset in only the worst way imaginable –, a fiery red raging inferno of a rat’s bramble upon her head, and meat hook swinging what he assumed to be toward him, Meu startled backwards in vain attempt to dodge the little Wrath demon. He swore there was some bit of drivel upon her lips - a slavering rabid beast! Death had come for him?? Had to be. THESE WERE NO EMBELLISHMENTS. Truly, a nightmare to behold.

It was during his evasive maneuvers (or attempts thereof) that his brain caught up enough to identify what was in front of him.

Still an accurate description.

“Good- Hells; Fuck, ERIS,” he could not help prevent from escaping his throat in some manner of squeaky, manly, winded exhale and then raised voice on her name. Relief wasn’t quite the right word, but he wasn’t dead just yet. He came to his senses swiftly thereupon as it would not do to anger Eris, gods forbid. She was holding something in her other arm. “Why,” he whispered defeatedly under his breath, sucking the air back in with a, “Hoooww can I help you?” that was assuredly very neutral. 

How she could help him? He felt like a tiny fieldmouse beheld in the gaze of a starving wolf what with the way her eyes were boring relentlessly into him – unblinking, unwavering. Thankfully she saved the both of them from Meu’s sputtering confusion on what she could possibly mean by that when she continued right along.

Painting? Heart palpitating frantically in his chest, he tore his eyes away from her face to glance down at her hands for a split-second before returning watchful vigil on where those fangs were. That she made? Right, she was a painter, okay. A gift??? Well, but maybe not directly for him- oh, no, it was.

FRIENDS!? It took every last ounce of strength in Meu’s body to resist the look of utter horror from escaping onto his face due to being so defenseless because of this rude awakening. Oh gods, the teeth were back – was that supposed to be a smile? Meu’s chin was tucked back against his neck, eyes slowly moving this way and that, questioning whether she could truly be referring to him and not somebody else that was somehow also in his room instead (with this crowd he wouldn’t be surprised).

But no, she was most definitely speaking to him. And there she was, waddling further into his room with said gift outstretched in her arm for him to accept. Well Meu sure as hell wasn’t going to say no to her. He did his best to muster his well-mannered charm and return the smile, albeit still very awkwardly, and reached out to accept the item.

Once it was safely in his hands, Myut definitely wasn’t sweating bullets at the expectation he knew was bubbling in Eris for a response. He looked down at the canvas. What the fuck was he looking at? And no, it wasn’t just the poor lighting, though it certainly didn’t damn help. With an eyebrow raised and that same awkward half smile, he nodded his assent at the object. “I… can’t quite find the words….” He started as he pored over the image(?), survival mode going into full throttle.

“It’s… one of a kind,” the Greed demon lifted his hand to rest loosely over his lips as though he were absolutely taken by the offering. “To contain such a work in so small a vessel…. And the gentle gradient between the hues? What a mixing technique…. And you’re giving this to me? What have I done to deserve such a… distinctive token?”

Eris wanted to be friends, he reminded himself. This was absolutely huge, no matter how non-existently his sin of Greed stirred for this object. The gratitude and awe that had been falsely threaded through his tone during his art appraisal turned genuine in that moment. Gratitude that Eris wouldn’t eat him. This is what it meant to be ‘friends’ with Eris. Huge.