Sybil stopped mid-bite at Quinn’s request, hesitated, then finished up the last quarter of her burger in no particular hurry, contemplating. Quinn was polite, which was fine, but it was Cyril’s anticipatory silence that irked her. She could see him in her periphery, wide eyed, stupid smile spreading slow across his face, masking his excitement with all the guile of a kindergartner waiting for recess. 

Eventually she caved, sighed, said, “[color=55cbcd]Fine,[/color]” and fished her phone out of her pocket. 

“[color=caffbf]Yes![/color]” Cyril hissed, gobbling down the last of his fries and scurrying over to the couch. It almost put her off, but that wouldn’t have been fair to Quinn. Not that she was sure why that mattered; she barely knew the girl. 

“[color=55cbcd]Okay, uh…[/color]” she flipped through her photos, regretting now as she did every time that she had no folders, no albums, no organization of any kind. Thumbnails of paintings amidst sketches amidst scenic photographs amidst memes amidst pictures of other people’s pets. “[color=55cbcd]Uh. Oh, here.[/color]”

She pulled up a painting from her first weeks on the Ange, [i]of[/i] the Ange. Minimalist in the fact that there was really just the station, and a brushy black void, and nothing else. A sharp white shape, like an elegant spinning top, edges fuzzing into the black around it. She hadn’t even put in stars, because there hadn’t been any on the exterior cameras. Space was scary like that. Full from afar, empty if you looked too close. Overall it was exceedingly simple; she hadn’t submitted it anywhere, though she was sure the CSC could have hocked it to some pretentious collector, or at least an opportunist in search of one. 

“[color=55cbcd]This was sort of an exercise,[/color]” she said. “[color=55cbcd]Did the black first, but left space in and kinda, like, shaped the station out of that, rather than put it on top. That’s why the spine looks so jagged, left all the mistakes in actually. Figured that’s what exercises are for.[/color]”

Cyril leaned over the cushion, pointed. “[color=caffbf]She added our rooms, too! That’s her, there, cause it’s by the lettering, and I’m one over. I think you’d be…there? No, wait, maybe you’re on the rounding side. Oh! Oh! Show her the cat! The cat![/color]”

Sybil sighed; of course he wanted the cat. She’d been about to show that one anyway, but, still. 

She scrolled and pulled up a wider canvas, another exercise she hadn’t sent anywhere, which was now collecting dust in the space under her bed. It was partially a subject of the cat, and partially a landscape. She’d caught the little thing standing on a railing overlooking the sea, at sunset, where the twilight turned its glossy black coat into an oil slick. Frankly, it looked a bit ridiculous; far too much rainbow on the pelt, and she’d taken liberties with the brightness of its eyes. But it was pretty, at least she thought so.

That had been two days before they came to the Ange. Cyril had pointed it out to her, and she knew that if he’d been faster, they would have brought the little stray up with them. Some days she wished he had caught it. The idea of a little kitten meandering around the pilot’s deck brought a little smile to her face, if only briefly. 

“[color=caffbf]Her name was Truckstop,[/color]” Cyril said wistfully. 

Sybil shook her head. “[color=55cbcd]You’re an idiot,[/color]” she said, and turned to Quinn. “[color=55cbcd]There’s a truck stop like, five feet off to the side. Worst one in Casoban.[/color]”

“[color=caffbf][i]Worst[/i] one in Casoban,[/color]” he agreed. “[color=caffbf]Rotisserie salmonella and rotten hotdogs. [i]No[/i] candy. Condemnable bathrooms. Cute cashier though.[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]Sure, yeah.[/color]” She put her phone away. Sharing her work, even the good, completed stuff, carbonated her stomach. “[color=55cbcd]Anyway, uh. Nothing fancy—at least that’s not already sold off somewhere—but there you go.[/color]”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “[color=caffbf][i]There you go[/i], she says, like she isn’t the most talented artist in the—[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]See? Idiot.[/color]”

“[color=caffbf]I don’t mind being proud for both of us,[/color]” he said, still grinning. “[color=caffbf]Back me up, Quinn. Right? Didn’t you just want to reach out and squish Truckstop’s cheeks?[/color]”