Chapter Text
GardenView has always been a bit more quiet once it had shut down.
That doesn’t mean that the noises of pipes flowing with ichor to fuel each machine won’t fill the facility. It doesn’t mean that the trains stop coming. It doesn’t mean that the toons stop living.
Abandoned and alone. They all had each other, but it’s clear they wanted something more. The idea of even trying to leave was abstract. Where would they go? What would they do?
The only two toons that knew remotely anything about the outside world were both Dandy and Dyle. They’re too shut in though, and the others noticed that too. Even Astro began to seem apprehensive with the thought of talking to Dandy.
Either this was progress to pushing for something new, or this is a major setback. After all, Dyle made sure they had supplies to eat everyday. Even despite his small jealousy.
…
Regardless, GardenView stays quiet.
That revelation ticked Brusha. It was hard coming up with ideas of anything, really. She’s supposed to be creative, but with how down everyone is as of late, even that was a struggle.
She’s not the only one aware of how Dandy caused the ichor-operation. Half a reason why they’re all stuck here. The other half being the shutdown. That’s why she can’t wrap her wooden head around.
Brusha chews absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, older marks already being there to show this isn’t her first time.
Maybe this is the inspiration she needs. The sorrow of them all combined into one monogamous painting. She leans back on her small stool, careful not to fall off.
No… That just won’t do.
Brusha is unaware of how Dyle and Dandy truly feel, but she feels that her opinions are the only right ones. So, she’ll come up with her own interpretations of them. Ones that she thinks are correct.
With a jab of purple paint on her brush, she rushes with long strokes onto the canvas.
“He’s selfish.” Brusha spat out, pulling the stool closer to be face to face with the painting.
“He brings us these supplies, but doesn’t bother to go on runs with us. He thinks his life is more important.”
Dyle, she thinks. She remembers being face to face with his twisted form. Who gave him the right to be upset as the others? Her brows furrow with a sense of hatred.
“And Dandy…” She continues on, “How could he do this to us?”
“To me.”
Her paintings are all left to collect dust in the art museum. She knows that they do, considering the last time she was there she saw the leftover paints of the crafts siblings section.
Brusha is quiet.
She stared back at the purple painting. The only color medium she uses. There lie two twisteds, snaked around each other by their bodies.
Twisted Dyle and Twisted Dandy, fighting over nothing besides the tapes. She uses her fingers to make a small picture frame, looking through it to gauge out what else she can add.
Dyle has mentioned before that all the tapes go to Dandy. Those tapes…
Another spark of idea crossed in her mind as she picked up the brush, coated deep with purple. It looked just like her, minus the face and body.
“He risks our life to try and get us to give him tapes… the currency we need to purchase his items.”
Brusha scoffs at the audacity.
“And the items—? They’re the same ones we find on the floors! So why does he.. make us…” She mumbles to no one.
Speaking her thoughts aloud helped. It’s something she’d always done. Brusha reached over for a smaller brush, stippling the sides of Twisted Dyle’s snake body.
The continuous taps filled the quiet room. Besides the toons outside of the room, it felt as if the brush and herself were the only living thing here.
Only she was correct. Her opinions, her thoughts, everything. She shouldn’t have to listen to those two twisteds. She’s the ruler of her own mind palace.
…
Brusha leans away from the stool again, wiping the excess paint back onto a palette for later use. She stands up, staring at the painting.
The full painting is of the two twisteds, Dyle and Dandy. They’re fighting one another. Dyle seems to be winning from first glance, but Dandy has his claw close to Dyle’s rib. It’s a close match.
There are tapes piled high. Whether broken or not, they seemed to be the reason they’re in a fight. It’s all for the tapes that don’t value anything.
It’s all colored in different shades of purple, but their eyes… Brusha is not the type to use different colors. The real art is keeping it in purple, the meaning behind it all.
There was only one time she ever used a different color. A shame.
With no more thoughts on the painting, she picks up the canvas from its easel. Brusha uses a thumb to wipe the paint off of its wooden frame.
She can’t help but keep it clean.
The brush lets the canvas rest with the others. All of her different emotions. Large sinister eyes mixed with tiny cowarding ones. Connected by strings.
Other paintings are simply bursts of purple. An expression that could be thought of as anger, but by more open minded people it could represent happiness.
Brusha hasn’t felt very happy for a long time though. Not after everything. The only thing that brings her an emotion adjacent to happiness is her, her brush, and her paintings.
It’s too quiet now. She knows GardenView is quiet, but this feels repetitive.
Brusha decides that today would be the day she shuts in for longer than she should. She’s not hungry, and the other toons don’t interest her. When she first debuted, she thought things would be different.
There was even a time she thought Scraps could understand her, but she couldn’t. No one could… No one besides…
…
She seethes, grinding her teeth together. She just has to be thinking about her at all times, doesn’t she? It’s always about her. About her feelings. Why didn't she just appreciate her efforts?
She just wants her to see her art one last time. Brusha knows she doesn’t even visit the art museum to clean, so she won’t even see it indirectly. Everything she did that she thought— no, knew was right.
Brusha’s fists clench together tighter, the thought of her just makes her sick. She’s always thinking about her, moment to moment. Even by accident, she finds her way to climb inside her brain and force her way in.
She just wishes that she’d leave her alone to her own things. Just like she did before.
…She just wants her friend back.
Her anger is replaced with a sadness like no other. Her loneliness would eventually catch up to her, regardless of what she thinks is right or not. Regardless if they’re toons.
Now, they’re real. They have more emotions than the ones pre-set into them. Things like excitement, bliss, inspiration. It can be positive and negative at the same time.
It’s just too much. All of this was too much. The shutdown, the self isolation, the loss of her.
Tisha.
Her previous rage has fully subsided and Brusha can’t help but admit she misses her. She admits that she purposefully likes to keep things clean, because it reminds her of Tisha.
She thinks about her on purpose and on accident, and she can’t control it. Why can’t things just go back to the way they were before, she thinks.
She misses her friend. She wants Tisha to come talk to her. She wants her around. She wants to show her paintings. The only one she feels can understand her is Tisha.
Her hands dig deep into her bristles, her grip is tight enough to threaten pulling out a few on accident. There has to be a solution to this. She just wants to resolve this.
Brusha gets up, wiping her face harshly. It won’t be clear if she was crying or if she just stayed up. Her hand reaches for the door knob and she yanks it open before running out of her own room.
She can’t stay here. She needs… She needs… She needs what?! Not even she can think properly, and that’s an insult to her character. Brusha just doesn’t care. It’s getting to her.
She never wanted this. She’ll fix this. But, even with that thought, anger gets to her again. Brusha is always fighting a losing battle with her own emotions.
She walks past Finn, ignoring his jokes. She shoves past the smaller Shrimpo, hearing his yelling behind her.
GardenView never really got quiet once it had shut down. Maybe she’s the one who’s been believing it’s quiet due to her own ignorance and anger. She bites down on her tongue harshly.
Has she been failing her world, or is the world failing her?