A Gamer's Guide 458 (Patreon)

Hilarious! Love this guy. But I’m too excited to see his room to let him stay like this. “Myrt, if you don’t open your room, I’m gonna have Gecko break it down, and then she might see aaaaaaaa~ll of the fun stuff you’ve got on your walls!” I grin. “Even that stuff under your bed…”

He shoots to his feet, fumbling the keys off of his belt as he does, going so far as to stick them into the lock on the room before his mind catches up. FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS IS IT. THIS IS IT. I’M GOING TO DIE NOW. GOODBYE, MOTHER! YOUR SON WILL SOON BE A SMEARED STAIN ON THE WORLD. AH, TO DIE AT THE HANDS OF MY MUSE! A FITTING END FOR A PATHETIC ARTIST SUCH “May I ask” AS MYSELF! “that the Hopeful One should take a step back? I am… quite self-conscious of what I harbour inside.”

“Sure thing,” Gecko says, taking a few steps back, going so far as to turn her back on the door. “Have fun in there!” If you need me, just knock the door down and I’ll help you, okay?

“I will,” I say, and then I turn back to Myrt, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, okay, open it, gosh, I’m so excited.”

He wipes the sweat from his brow. FUUUUUUUU “Yes,” UUUUUUUUUU “my” UUUUUUUUUU “God.” UUUUUUCK. OKAY HERE WE GO I GUESS WHO CARES ABOUT LIVING OR DYING HAHA CERTAINLY NOT ME YAYY HE’S GOING TO SEE MY ART HOORAY THIS IS GOING TO BE GREAT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT JUST DO IT YOU FUCKING COWARD HRRRGGGHHGHHGHGG With the exertion of the most mental strength I’ve witnessed in a very long time, he somehow convinces himself to turn the key, open the door, and then step to the side, waving me inside. 

Oh, I am so excited.

But before I can go inside, he catches my arm, gripping it with the strength of ten men, sweat pouring down his face as he says, gravely serious, “My god, if I should die at your hands, it would be fine. I would understand. All I ask is that you do not condemn my eternal soul to some afterlife I do not deserve.”

Well, I don’t think that’s something I can even do, so… “Sure thing!” I flash him another thumbs-up, and with his blessing, I step inside. He follows me inside, clicking the door shut behind us.

Oh, man, it’s dark in here. And what’s this smell? It’s sharp, and kind of pungent, but I can’t seem to place it at all…  

Teeth chattering, he steps around me as I stumble in the dark, striding across the floor over to the other side of the room, where he grabs hold of a pair of curtains before dramatically splitting them, letting light flood the room and reveal exactly what he’s been hiding. 

It’s hundreds of drawings of me, most of them nude. 

…Huh.

Okay, so, quick inventory… The walls are all covered in pictures of me. Oil paintings, charcoal, gouache, sketches… Whatever pose you can imagine me being in, it’s up there, and I’m probably naked in it. Me posing for the artist. Me, taken unawares, smelling the flowers. Me holding some goblin like he’s a very big fish. Me, me, me, me, me. Even the roof has a humongous half-finished mural of me, painted like I’m some sort of descending goddess pouring milk and flowers onto the world, with the sketch poking through the unfinished art.

The only piece of furniture not completely covered in sketches of me is his bed, which is unmade, lacks covers, and also has no pillow. Hmm.

The floor is covered in discarded sketches and every kind of painting supply you can think of, all tossed to the side or otherwise forsaken. Off in the corner, piled on top of one another, stand mysterious half-filled jars and cans and beakers, filled with an unknown liquid in them, some of them white, others half-translucent with some sort of white-ish powder at the bottom. The stink in the room might be paint thinner, or it might be whatever’s in the jar.

Either way, never before have I seen so many paintings of myself. I really thought the one Simel did was going to be the only one, but… Here we are, I guess.

I sneak a glance at Myrt. He’s holding himself together pretty well, I think. Chewing nails is a pretty normal way to pass the time. Oh, no, wait, he’s barely got any nails to chew on. In that case… Ah. Yeah, okay, he just bit through his skin. Doesn’t seem to bother him. Blood’s pouring down the side of his face but his big eyes are focused on me. 

FUCKFUCKFUCK HE’S NOT SAYING ANYTHING THIS IS IT I’M GOING TO DIE QUELL YOUR BEATING TRECHEROUS HEART 

Ah, shoot, yeah. He’s drawn me like a gazillion times and so far I haven’t said anything. Well, um, I think it’d be rude and insincere to just say a flat they look nice, so…

Cautiously, hands clasped behind my back, I walk up to one of the walls, taking care not to step on the discarded sketches and supplies below. Alright, let’s see here, if I just pick one at random… Hmm…

Okay, so, there’s a pretty elaborate piece here, showing me, in a deep, carnal embrace with a goblin who looks an awful lot like Myrt. Of course, it’s not really a normal picture, because we’re both naked, and my teeth seem to be in his neck, tearing out the flesh and making blood go everywhere. “It doesn’t really spray that much,” I mutter. And… Oh, gosh, this would be awful to say. But he wants my honest opinion, right? I glance over at him. 

I didn’t think he could sweat more than he already was, but here it is! He is positively shining in the dawning light. Wow. 

“It—it—ah,” he tries, but his lips just can’t say what his heart can. IT’S NOT WEIRD IT ISN’T ANYTHING WEIRD IT’S NUDE BECAUSE I HATE CLOTHES NOT BECAUSE I LOVE THE BARE FLESH NO NO NO AND IT’S ME BECAUSE YOU CONSUME ME NOT ANYTHING ELSE AND I MEAN CONSUME AS IN BY ART BY PROXY AS MY MUSE IT’S REALLY REALLY REALLY NOT ANYTHING ELSE I SWEAR IT “It’s not quite what it appears.”

“Ah, I see,” I mutter. Well, he’s the artist, so if that’s what he says it is, then I’ll trust him on it. I flash him another thumbs-up. “Cool beans! I just…” I glance back at the piece. It’s really good. It’s the kind of stuff you’d see in museums. Except, it’s me eating this guy. Which is fine! Not weird. However… “That’s not what I look like.”

He falls to his knees. I KNOW! his heart roars. OH HEAVENS DO I KNOW!! OVER A MONTH AND YOUR VISAGE ELUDES ME!! HOW I HAVE LANGUISHED, THIRSTING FOR A FACE CONTINUALLY REFUSED! TO HAVE MY HEART IGNITED BY A LOST FLAME! THIS FUCKING SUCKS SO BAD!! 

…Ah. Yeah, now that I look at them… None of these pieces really look like me. In some of them, my face is so elongated that it looks like a horse’s, and my eyes are like pinpricks and my ears the same. But in others, I’ve got huge eyes, and my ears are big and pointed, like a goblin’s. My body morphs constantly from long and lanky to more ordinary in proportions. And yet, the sum of it all: there isn’t a single painting in this room that actually looks like me. 

“I’m surprised you were able to draw me this much without knowing what I looked like.”

YES. YES. HOW? I ASK MYSELF. BUT I DID. EVERY NIGHT I LIE AWAKE THINKING OF YOU. COMPOSITIONS. COLORS. METHOD. I SEE YOU IN MY HEAD: ETHEREAL AND RAW AND PERFECT. BUT MY HANDS!! THESE DAMNED HANDS OF MINE!! Heaving himself onto his knees, face perfectly plain and normal, he raises his hands to the sky, damning them with his heart, wordlessly. THEY BETRAY ME, EVERY DAY!!

Mmm. I see. 

I pad across the floor, until I’m right in front of him, between him and the window, drowning his form in my shadow. His hands are still high in the air, trembling and half-curled, stiff in their emotion. But his face. It’s so neutral. Like no matter what his heart feels, he simply can’t allow himself to put it on his face, much less use his words to express it. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what,” KILL ME NOW “my god?” 

“Your mind,” I say, putting the tip of my index-finger against his forehead, “doesn’t seem to be aligned with,” I move my hand, down, down, until I’m pointing it straight at his chest, at his quickly beating heart, “that. How come? Your heart is such an interesting thing. It made all of this! This whole room!” I gesture at the lot of it, in all its odd glory. “But then, when you talk, you’re all like, oh, sir, and oh my goodness! except, no, you wouldn’t exclaim much of anything, would you?”

“Pardon, I’m not sure I” OF COURSE I FUCKING CAN’T YOU LANKY MOTHERFUCKER  “follow?” I’M SUPPOSED TO BE A MEMBER OF THE NOBILITY I CAN’T BE SHOUTING AT PEOPLE AND MAKING A SCENE I NEED TO BE PRIM AND PROPER SO PEOPLE WON’T LOOK AT ME WEIRD AND THEY’LL LIKE ME AND WE’LL GET ALONG AND I WON’T BRING SHAME ONTO MY FAMILY IS THAT NOT FUCKING OBVIOUS YOU DUNCE????

“Oh, that makes sense.” I nod. Mhm, mhm. “Okay, well, I much prefer the way you are in your heart, so, when you’re with me, how about talking like you do in your heart, okay? Shout! Be dramatic! Swear! It’s really fun.” Wasn’t there something else…? Oh, right! “And don’t call me any stupid titles. You wanted to be my friend too, right? And friends are on a first-name basis, which means I can call you Myrt, and you can call me Kitty!”

“What? My god, I couldn’t possibly” YAYYYY YIPPIEEE HE REMEMBERED I WANT TO BE FRIENDS!! HOORAY YAYAYAY I’M SO HAPPY THIS IS SO AWESOME ME AND KITTY YAYAYYYYY THIS IS THE START OF AN AMAZING FRIENDSHIP MY FIRST REAL FRIEND “do something as impolite as that.”

Oh, man. I love this guy already, but by golly do I wish I had the divine power to make him act like he thinks. 

“Okay, okay,” I say, patting him on his trembling shoulders. “Let’s do it like this. As your god, master and muse, I forbid you from talking with your voice while it’s just the two of us. That way, there’s no chance of anyone else getting their social panties in a twist about you talking poorly or whatever. It’s just the two of us. You want to talk normally. You want to be my friend. I’m your muse, aren’t I?” And now, for my grand effect, I cup his head in my hands, and angle it to look up at me. “So let me act like it.”

His vision trembles. “I—” 

I press a finger to his lips. “Bzzz. Wrong. With your heart.” Let’s hear it, Myrt! 

Ah shit

“I love when you’re crass.”

I… I….

“Yes? Yeeeeesss?”

His chest fills with fire, blazing up to his eyes, his whole face lighting up with passion and emotion as his heart roars, I NEED TO DRAW THIS RIGHT FUCKING NOW OR I’M GOING TO BURST