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Everyone shared a cabin now.
Paintbrush still ended up with a top bunk, how did that happen again? Was it some kind of sick joke from MePhone? They swore that there was a permanent bruise on their scalp from smacking their head on the ceiling. Whatever.
Candle was right underneath them, with translucent purple curtains tucked under Paintbrush’s mattress, making a safe, independent space out of her bed. Across from them, Silver. Again. Then under him, Cabby.
Test Tube deserved–
On the other side of the room, Nickel and Bot had the lower bunks. Above them, Balloon and Yin-Yang. Floory had an area near the common room, a thick fuzzy carpet surrounded by a manner of pillows. Bot had gotten a big glittery extension cord, something they could use if they wanted to be in their bed, as opposed to their big charger. It was very accommodating. Paintbrush found comfort in that.
What would Test Tube have–
Paintbrush stepped back out to the common area, having taken inventory of everyone’s new space. This is how it would remain, right? Things were about to get a lot tighter. A lot more fickle. Cabby, Yin-Yang, and Silver had been so eager to get the team back together. Of course, Paintbrush was eager, too! Sure, Silver was insufferable, but he had good ideas, a nice creative flow. A good work ethic? Ehh, maybe that was pushing it. And Yin-Yang, childish and loud. But they weren’t fighting anymore. Their laugh was contagious. The genuine excitement they carried was hard to criticize. They had grown, so much.
Cabby. Cabby. Paintbrush didn’t know. She had files on Paintbrush, a thick manila folder with boxes and titles and graphs. She had called them obsessive. She had labeled and highlighted every mistake and wrongdoing.
“Careless. Shows an effort to change that yields little results.”
“Unintentionally(?) dismissive of others, making them standoffish.”
“Believes that being blunt means being correct. Is remarkably bitter at times.”
Paintbrush had poured over that file, analyzing every word, every connotation. This was a great way to learn more about Cabby, in turn. How she wrote, how she thought. Days and days were spent in the old cabin, jotting notes about notes, filling notebooks with worries and reactions and critiques. Silver had come in, had made some comment about Paintbrush having the gall to ignore the present situation for so long.
“Goodness, me,” he had gasped, clutching his hand to his chest like he had been personally attacked. “Are you still on about those files?”
That night Paintbrush got it.
The obsessive thing, it made sense all of a sudden.
They gave the file back to Test Tube and said they were done with it. They never saw it again.
Still, other parts of that information echoed in Paintbrush’s mind. It was quieter than the perceived negatives, but would occasionally remind them,
“Detail-oriented and sharp memory! Makes a highly competent leader.”
“Their vulnerability is admirable. They aren’t afraid to admit their mistakes.”
“Wants the best for themself and their team. Made their way through a lot of the game via their bonds with others.”
Cabby. No, no they had no clue what to make of her. There wasn’t hate behind any of what she said, surely. They didn’t know what had happened during her elimination. They didn’t know.
But, that was just it, wasn’t it? They liked Test Tube! They really liked her! She was the last piece of Fan and Lightbulb. The old game, the old family. They would play games around the island with Bot, sharing ideas and art and numbers and memories. Why couldn’t they bring themself to vote in her favor, and yet, refuse to vote against her.
It damns her either way, why did it matter? Why was that the final decision?
…
They were doing it again, weren’t they? Ugh. What were they even trying to accomplish? What were they doing here in the cabin?
“Paintbrush?”
They turned to the front door as it creaked open, locking eyes with Candle. She stood in the doorframe, dark fingers curled around the wood like they had always been there. Her hair was a bit messy, falling in and out of her braids, and her skin was flush with activity.
“Hey.” Paintbrush waved, shoving one hand into the pocket of their shorts. “What’s up?”
“You told us you would be right back. I was just ensuring your whereabouts.”
“Oh, have I–?”
“No, no, you haven’t been gone for long. I just feared you were distracting yourself into unintentional dishonesty.” She slipped the rest of the way in, her jewelry clicking like a wind chime as she moved.
“I needed a breather,” they said plainly. No point in skittering around the truth when they everyone already apparently knew their every move in advance. “Wanted to see the set up, and. Y’know. Just…thinking.”
“About Test Tube.”
“About Test Tube,” they repeated. Candle rested a hand on their arm. “I just…I dunno. I’m not sure I made the right decision.” There was a beat of silence, the kind that makes the reassurance a little more tense. All they needed to hear was someone validating their choice, and, well, Candle had said that she would follow their lead.
“You didn’t.”
Paintbrush jerked away, eyes wide. Their mouth opened and their brow furrowed, then they closed their mouth again. Candle giggled at their shock, and suddenly their cheeks felt hot.
“What?” They sputtered, not being able to stop their pitch from rising.
“You didn’t make the right decision because there was no such thing.” She swept across the room like a spirit, sitting down on the little common room couch with a single smooth motion. She left tracks of sand on the carpet, taking care not to step in Floory’s designated area.
“Oh…” Paintbrush deflated. “I…guess you’re right. Neither was…good. Either way, something bad happens, and…I don’t know.”
“You misunderstand me. I don’t mean to suggest that both choices were wrong, simply that the concept of correct and incorrect don’t quite apply as you’d like them to. You made a choice of company, of familiar grounds versus new adventures. You drew your next card of fate, and sketched out a basis for your future.”
“It could still be a good or bad future.”
“But that doesn’t equate to objective truth, does it?” She hummed, twisting a ring on her finger as she smiled up at Paintbrush. “Life is a work of art. Can art be wrong?”
Paintbrush rubbed their arm with a sigh, turning away. They traced their goosebumps–the cabins had always been really cold–and bitterly considered the hand-tailored analogy.
“I’m mad that Cabby’s here and Test Tube isn’t.”
“Test Tube seemed unconcerned.”
“I’m mad about that, too! Just! …ugh. I don’t know.” They flopped on the couch, landing beside Candle. She rested her hand over theirs.
“New experiences will not harm the authenticity of old ones. Good terms are waiting for you in so many places, and you have the power to establish many more.”
“I don’t want to lose what I have again.”
Silence crept into the room after that, both an invitation to continue and a suffocating pressure to stop. Against their better judgment, they went on.
“Marsh…I started getting new friends, new…priorities. I left her in the dust while chasing after…new experiences…And now she’s gone. She didn’t tell me anything she just…vanished. Years of company just…thrown away…A-and then I nearly lost Lightbulb when…” They trailed off and couldn’t find it in them to pick back up again.
Candle stood up and Paintbrush pushed their gaze to their knees. This wasn’t like them; they didn’t really like to talk about this stuff. This was dumb and useless. And dumb. What use was it, fussing over stuff that already happened? People that were already unreachable? Change that couldn’t be made?
“The dice are rolled. The stars are in motion. What’s set is set.” She offered her hand. “All we can do is move forward. We learn, predict, and act. We will be subject to a current of experiences. How about we do what we can to ride it?”
Paintbrush looked up.
“Like…” they chuckled. “Like a waterslide. Instead of trying to climb back up or whatever, just have fun.”
“A cheerful analogy.”
“It’s something Lightbulb would probably say.” They sighed. Candle wiggled her fingers, still with an outstretched hand, and Paintbrush groaned with theatrical resistance. “Fine I guess I’ll do something other than sit here. Until they invent time travel, I guess I’m gonna have to do things your way.” They took her hand and she pulled them up with surprising ease. Her rings felt cold against their fingers. Her skin was soft and warm.
“If we hurry…” Candle hummed thoughtfully. “We may be able to still enjoy some of those yummy treats? And if not, at least the company of our peers.”
“Yeah, let’s see if Yin-Yang and Floory actually left us anything.” Paintbrush chuckled. Candle squeezed their hand.
“You’re not alone.”
“Despite my best efforts, yeah. You’re right.”
She broke out into a grin, and suddenly yanked Paintbrush out the door, running like petals riding a wayward breeze.
“Then let’s go!”