Private A Picture Tells A Thousand Words

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

It had taken Phillip a short while to make his most recent piece of art. Whereas most things he made were a simple sketch or a small little sculpture to keep himself busy, this had been a direct request to him. The Hollund range of mountains om Mirater. He had tried to do as much research as he could on the specific range, even begging his father to take him to the planet so that Phillip could at least get a view of them in person. It would help him to make the most accurate painting he could. It had been interesting to be on a new Planet whilst focusing on his artistic endeavours. It also gave him a chance to at least try and learn some more about the people...It had been a struggle, but Phillip had managed to find out a bit that he planned on incorporating into the painting.

It was a new experience for him, mostly because he wasn't painting something to be perfect, or to be the best. He was painting something that he thought his friend would enjoy. The sense of the mountains being there was what he tried to focus on. A rigid landscape that wouldn't move under any circumstance. Yet he also had added extra to it, after learning more about the Mirater people. Of course, he was assuming that Isla was born and raised on Mirater and was someone who took part in their culture. The young Lad had made a small face out of the details he had included into the mountain, as if to represent a spirit that would reside inside of the Mountain range. It was an interesting belief to Phillip. The idea that spirits could reside inside of natural things. His family would have thought it was a foolish thought, but Phillip thought it was eye-opening. It pushed him further into his endeavours into the art. The idea of having spirits and memories stored within the art he created...It had helped make painting something that brought a smile back to his face.

For now, he went off to try and find where Isla was. Carrying the painting frame in his arms as carefully as he could, wanting to make sure that it was well-kept for. Of course he could have just had it delivered to Isla instead of doing it in person, but there was something different about delivering something in person. Isla didn't seem to be someone who had quite...expressive reactions. They were always slightly subdued, so he wanted to see her original reaction to it. Not to hear what it was like...Though that would have been much easier than lugging an entire frame on his shoulder. At least he could think of it in the way that he was getting some good exercise.

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor of the Shirayan Temple, her back straight but relaxed, her hands resting on her knees as if she might begin to meditate - but she didn't. Meditation had felt strange today. Like wearing clothes that didn't quite fit anymore. She could hear the quiet rustle of leaves just beyond the temple's threshold, the gardens swaying lazily in Naboo's afternoon breeze, but it wasn't the wind she was focused on.

Her eyes, deep brown and flecked with thought, were fixed far beyond the horizon. Or rather, beyond this world. She was looking at Mirater, even though it wasn't there.

The landscape here was beautiful - idyllic, even. Curved hills with long shadows, rivers that moved like silk, and flowers that bloomed as if competing with each other. But it wasn't jagged like home. It didn't scrape the sky like the Hollund mountains. It didn't echo when you shouted. It didn't carry the ghosts of your ancestors in the quiet.

She missed the way the air on Mirater always seemed colder than it should be, like the planet itself hadn't quite warmed to you yet. She missed the old people who never answered questions directly.

And she hated that she missed it. It wasn't her home anymore.

She blinked, and for a moment the Force pressed gently on the back of her mind - like a suggestion rather than a vision. Something was coming. Someone, actually. She could see the shape of it: a careful presence, fumbling but sincere. A boy. Phillip. The painting.

She exhaled through her nose, not quite smiling, not quite not.

Isla stood and walked out of the temple slowly, her bare feet brushing over the smooth floor. She could feel the exact moment when he entered the garden. She could picture him already, stubbornly refusing help, acting like carrying that thing was an epic trial of will instead of a dumb choice.

When she saw him, she tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"You look like someone who made a bad decision and is pretending it was on purpose," she said. "That's brave."

Then, softer - because she really did feel something twist in her chest at the sight of him standing there with it, like a story she hadn't realized she was part of until now-

"…Is that for me?"

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Maybe I did it on purpose, because it was a bad choice."

Phillip grinned at that. It wasn't like him to actively make a bad decision. He'd normally think through his choices and decisions. Yet this one had been one he barely put any thought into. All he had wanted to do was bring the painting to Isla. If he had thought more about it, he could have found some easier way to carry the painting. It was too late now however as he lifted the painting carefully off his shoulder to hold in his hands, nestling the bottom of the frame in the palms of both hands.

"Of course it's for you. You asked for a painting, remember? I did my best...not to make it perfect to me, but perfect for you."

Of course, he didn't know what Isla's opinion of art was. What colours she liked, the type of art. Was she more of a surrealist fan? An expressionist? Or did she prefer more of a realism? Phillip had no clue. But those were details that weren't important. Focusing on things like that would just diminish the work in his eyes. This wasn't something for an art critic. It was a gift to a friend.

"When you're ready, just take the sheet off. I'd do it myself...but I'm afraid that I'll drop the frame. There's some bad choices I won't make."

He had thrown a small cloth over the frame, to make sure no dust or dirt had gotten on the actual painting whilst he carried it. Sure, it had added to the weight and made it a bit more cumbersome to carry but Phillip hadn't put that much thought into it. It was strange how he'd be so anxious about making something for himself, or for his family, things that had to be perfect. Right now though? He wasn't anxious. He was happy with what he had done.

"It's a gift. Remember that. Like...I don't expect anything for it. You're the first person who's directly asked me to paint something for them. It was...fun to work on."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla stared at the covered frame like it might breathe if she looked too long.

She wasn't used to people making things for her. Not really. Not with her in mind. Not without an agenda folded inside. And certainly not things that took time and effort and were carried across temples like sacred relics.

Her fingers hovered over the cloth. She hesitated - not out of doubt, but out of something harder to admit. She was afraid she might like it too much. That it might feel too... kind.

"Of course I remember... I just didn't think..." she murmured, glancing up at him, squinting just a little like he might be trying to trick her with some elaborate emotional trap. But he wasn't. That was the problem. There was no trap. Just Phillip. Standing there. Beaming like a dork.

She pulled the cloth away slowly, her breath catching before she even saw the whole thing.

And then she did.

Her mouth opened slightly but no sound came out. She didn't gasp, because Isla didn't gasp - that was far too dramatic. But something soft and quiet and invisible curled around her heart.

It was the mountains - hers, unmistakably - but they were more than just jagged edges and snowcaps. There was depth. A presence. A face, half-hidden in the peaks, formed from the shadows and folds in the rock, like a spirit watching over. Like something ancient that knew her. Like home remembering her back.

She blinked hard, too quickly.

"This is..." she started, but then stopped, her voice catching on her own honesty. She swallowed, then finished, "...better than what I see in my own head."

Which was, for Isla, about the highest possible compliment.

She looked at Phillip again, and this time her smile actually made it all the way to her eyes.

"You didn't even get the clouds wrong," she added, stepping forward, gently running her fingers just above the surface without touching it.

She stood there a moment longer, then - because she couldn't not say it -

"I kind of hate how much I love it."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Didn't what? Didn't believe I'd actually do it? Here I thought you'd have some kind of vision of me showing up with this. Or of me being on Mirater, to get actual personal experience. I could have looked at pictures on the Holo-Net, or paintings there were already, but it wouldn't have been the same. So...I went to see them myself. Tried to learn more about the people there to include in the painting."

He knew he was talking too much, so Phillip let himself go silent. He let her take in the details and say what she wanted to say. There was a lot he could see going on in Isla's head, but he wasn't going to try. She could say what she wanted to say. The fact that apparently it was better than the image in her head made Phillip's confidence soar. It was as if the grin he had on his face was starting to glow out of happiness but once again he stayed silent. Until she was finished, and ended it with how much she hated the fact she loved it. A soft chuckle escaping his mouth at that.

"There's some people in the Galaxy who don't want to be reminded of their home...They want to run away from it. In a way, I'm one of them...but for you? I wanted you to be able to feel...at home. Even if the surroundings are different. If the people are different. You can look at this, and feel like you're home again."

It was not a hidden secret, at least to Phillip, that he wasn't fond of his family. His home. He had always wanted to leave Naboo. But slowly but surely, through his interactions with the Order...He was finding reasons to want to stay at Naboo. His education. Master Alince who'd potentially be his master next time he saw her. And his friends. More specifically Isla, because Phillip didn't think he had that many friends in the first place.

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla scrunched her nose when he mentioned the vision.

"I don't get visions for everything, you know. I'm not a weather forecast." She gave him a mock-serious look, then ruined it with a half-smirk. "Besides, if I saw this coming, it would've ruined the surprise. And apparently, I'm allowed to have those now."

She stepped to the side of the painting again, looking at it with new intent - as if it might blink, or speak, or tell her something she didn't already know. And maybe it did. The spirit-face he'd hidden in the mountains looked like one of the elders back on Mirater - stern, quiet, always chewing dried roots that smelled like regret. She liked that. She liked that it wasn't just her mountain. It was a shared one.

When Phillip mentioned not wanting to be reminded of home, Isla looked over at him sharply, the grin fading just a bit.

"You know... you say you want to run away from home, but then you go and do something dumb like make someone else feel like they belong again," she said, giving him a small side-eye. "If that's not the most backward way of caring about a place, I don't know what is."

She reached out with one foot and gently poked the toe of her foot against his boot. "You're not subtle, Phillip."

And then she did something she didn't usually do. Something she didn't think about, didn't calculate, didn't even argue with herself over first.

She hugged him.

It was quick and a little awkward - because Isla was all elbows and honesty - but she hugged him anyway, arms around his shoulders, head tilted just slightly to the side so she didn't bonk him in the chin. She didn't say thank you, because thank you felt too small and formal and not nearly enough.

Instead, she said into his shoulder, "You have no idea how annoying it's going to be trying to top this."

She pulled back, looking up at him with narrowed eyes and determination sparking in them like little embers. "I will find something. I don't know what yet. But it's going to make you smile like that. The stupid glowing way. So enjoy your emotional upper hand while it lasts."

Then she flicked his shoulder lightly and added, "And next time, let someone help you carry it."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"I know. I know. I'm just...teasing you about it. Trying to make it seem...normal, y'know? If I tease you about your visions...it makes them seem less scary I guess?"

He didn't want Isla to think that he was concerned about the visions. Some people might have been afraid of them. Even terrified about them. But not him. It was just...an ability Isla had. The visions might not come true, they might come true. That didn't matter to him.

"...Well. That's different. You do belong here Isla. It's not like...I want to run away from the Order. Just get away from my family for a while. They're too suffocating. They had to come with me to visit Mirater..."

He supposed in a way that was a bit backwards. It was typical teenage issues with their parents though. It was just typical. Normal. What wasn't normal was the hug however. Phillip hadn't expected it so he froze up at first. And then he returned the hug, carefully wrapping his arms around her whilst his face broke out into a proud grin.

"You've already topped it Isla. You're my friend. Like someone I can actually call a friend. Though knowing you, you'd say that's a cheap way of getting out of it..."

As Isla stepped back from the hug, Phillip couldn't help but roll his eyes at her comment about making him smile like that as he folded his arms along his front looking down at Isla.

"That's just it Isla. You already manage to make me smile. I'm normally all...brooding when I'm by myself. But I will try to enjoy this upper hand for as long as I can. And then once you've got the upper hand, I'll make you a sculpture so I can get the emotional high ground...and hey! Carrying it myself helped me work on my muscles"

Phillip gave a little mocking flex of his arm at that. He wasn't exactly the strongest guy around but he wasn't exactly the weakest. He had been working on his training. The Shiraya Order was a good way for him to actually get out and work on himself.

"I will say this though. It's nice to see you smile Isla. It's not something I expected to see."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla folded her arms as Phillip flexed dramatically, eyebrows lifting with all the theatrical skepticism a teenager could muster.

"Wow. I feel very safe now," she said dryly, nodding at his arm like it had just challenged her to an arm-wrestling match and lost. "Next time I'm being chased by a wild Tooka, I'll just shout your name and wait for you to flex it into submission."

But then, as he kept talking, her expression softened. Not in that dramatic holofilm way, but in the subtle shift of someone who was listening. Really listening. She rocked back on her heels slightly, staring at him like she was cataloging him for some future use - maybe in a dream, maybe in a vision, maybe just in her thoughts later, when the temple got too quiet and she needed to remember that not everyone was a ghost.

"Okay, first," she began, ticking the points off on her fingers like a list, "teasing me about the visions does not make them less scary, but... weirdly, it helps. So you get partial credit."

"Second - yes, your family's suffocating. I can see that. But don't be too quick to hate them for it. You're lucky, Phillip. Having people who follow you places is annoying, but at least they want to. All I have is... Lorn." Her voice tightened a little there, and she quickly looked away as if she could wave the thought off like mist. "And... he's like an old tree with roots too deep. Doesn't move. Doesn't say much. Kinda just... exists near me."

Then she paused and looked back at him with a slightly embarrassed shrug, her voice softening. "But there's Ala Quin . She's not blood, but... she sees me. Not just the visions. Me. So maybe that's what matters."

She nudged the painting again with the back of her hand, like she was trying to jostle herself out of getting too emotionally gooey.

"Third - you are absolutely trying to get out of the gift thing with the 'you're my friend' card, and I will not allow it. This is now a competition. Prepare yourself. I will win."

She looked at him again, this time with the ghost of a smile curling at the corners of her mouth, the kind that meant trouble was brewing.

Then she tilted her head toward the temple hallways. "Help me carry it to my room? I want to keep staring at it somewhere less... drafty. Also, I want to get to know you more. I've only had like two real friends before, and one of them turned out to be mostly interested in stealing things. So. The bar is low. Please clear it."

She bent down and lifted one side of the frame, giving him a pointed look. "Come on, Muscles. Let's go make you feel strong and emotionally validated."

And then she added, quieter, but not less sincere:

"I'm glad you're here, Phillip."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"I'll wrestle it down to the ground! And then I'll...speak Tooka to it. Tookian? And we'll all become friends at the end of the day."

It was a silly joke at the end of the day. A stupid one. Normally Phillip would roll his eyes at anyone who made that type of joke but there he was. Being one of the people to make that type of joke. He was changing. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was a bad thing. Then it came to his turn to respond to Isla's points as he held out his index finger.

"First, I meant...more to show that I'm not afraid of them. That I'm not afraid of you. They're...just something that's a part of you. Same as like my hair."

He had gotten a few comments about his hair when he was younger so...that was the best example he could use. It wasn't like he had anything that would make people afraid of him. Though his face fell for a moment as he listened to the family comment. Isla sounded tense when she said all she had was Lorn. There was obviously history there. But Phillip wouldn't pry. It would come out naturally eventually. And then a comment about Ala. Phillip had encountered her a few times. She was...energetic. A bit too energetic for his liking, but that was a him issue.

"...I mean, I might not be family. But I'm here for you. To chat or complain. I've always been good at listening. It comes with the territory of feeling like you're never seen."

A small smirk played at his face once again at the mentioning of a competition. Phillip had never been a competitive person. Whilst he always wanted to do things perfectly, it was always for himself. Not for a competition or to do something better than someone else. Huh. Isla had a thief as a friend? That was always interesting to learn. He wasn't going to complain about that though.

But then Isla said something that made Phillip freeze. The hug was one thing. But being told that she was glad he was here? Phillip wasn't sure how to reply to that. He was speechless. And so...he just replied quietly, as they prepared to head off.

"...I'm glad I'm here as well Isla. It's feeling more like home for me."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla shifted her grip on the bottom corner of the painting as they started walking, already regretting not calling for some sort of repulsor lift. But then again, repulsor lifts didn't count as character building. Apparently.

"Okay, first of all," she puffed, adjusting her hold again, "you saying you're not afraid of me because my visions are like your hair? That's the weirdest compliment-slash-analogy I've ever received. But I'll allow it."

She peeked around the edge of the frame to shoot him a smirk.

"And… if you do wrestle a Tooka, I want to be there to see it. I feel like your face would be a combination of bravery and instant regret."

She wasn't looking at him when he said the thing about not being family but still being there for her. That was too heavy to look at. Too sharp. She just blinked and kept walking, letting the words land somewhere deep in the middle of her chest, where the quiet feelings lived.

And then, because she couldn't not speak for long, she cleared her throat like she was brushing something off and launched into new territory.

"Okay, your turn to spill secrets. That's how this works now. We take turns."

She glanced over, lifting her chin with challenge. "What were you like before you came to the Order? Don't give me the 'I was quiet and brooding' answer. I want specifics. Did you read weird books? Did you collect bugs? Were you one of those kids who narrated your own sword fights out loud?"

Isla nearly dropped her side of the painting at that moment - her grip slipping slightly as they rounded a corner - but she caught it with a dramatic squeak and a little dance-step to recover.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." she said, utterly breathless and not fooling anyone.

Then, after a pause: "But seriously, tell me something. Something real. You brought me a mountain. You don't get to be mysterious anymore."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"I mean my hair is the only thing people have been mean to me about. That I can think of at least. There's probably other things but I forgot about them. I've never been a...people person. I forget what people like. Their birthdays. I used to be really bad with names as well."

Where was he trying to go with this again? If anything, thinking about wrestling a Tooka had made him too distracted to focus on his own thoughts. What even was a Tooka? Phillip wasn't too experienced in wildlife. It was hard to be experienced when you spent most of your days inside painting. The fact that Isla said he'd be both regretful and brave if he wrestled one...Maybe it was like some kind of bear? Was it like a Wampa? No. It couldn't be a Wampa. If it was like that, Phillip wouldn't be able to have any look on his face...

Once again however, his thoughts were interrupted by a new distraction. A new topic to focus on. Secrets. What kind of secrets did he have to talk about? Phillip always saw himself as an open book. He was quiet. He was brooding. There was nothing special about him when it came to his life at home...but he felt like Isla wouldn't take that for an answer.

Before he could answer however, she nearly dropped the frame, causing Phillip to lunge his leg out for a moment to catch it with his knee, wincing ever so slightly. It wasn't so much sore and more the impact had taken him by surprise.

"Isla. If you need to take a break, tell me okay? And...give me a minute to think about something."

What could he talk about? He was going to need to dig deep into his head to figure out something that counted as a secret. What did he really do before joining the Order? Bugs were never on his list of interests. Too gross. Books were alright...but he wasn't much of a reader.

"Well first off, I never really did swordfights as a kid. I'm not cut out for it. I have the hands of an artist. Not a fighter. But for an actual secret?...I used to sneak out a lot of the house. At night. Just to get away from my family...I used to think they didn't know about it...I've always enjoyed the Night. Just climbing into a good tree to watch the Moons. Does that count as a secret? Or does it make me sound more "mysterious?"

That wasn't a word Phillip would have used for himself. Plain. Average. Normal. That was what he'd describe himself as. He didn't think he was special like the other Padawans. He didn't have Isla's visions, he didn't have Michael's determination and discipline. He didn't even have Aiden's charisma. He was just...himself.

"...Also. If I brought you a mountain...That explains why this painting is so heavy."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla huffed like a defiant creature and adjusted her grip again, digging her heels into the smooth temple floor as they rounded another corridor.

"I'm fine," she insisted, even though her arms were shaking just a little and her knuckles had gone pale. "This is character development, Phillip. If I let you carry it alone, how will I ever grow emotionally and spiritually and develop arm strength?"

She kept her face serious for a second longer, then let the corner of her mouth twitch upward in a grin.

But when Phillip finally answered, telling her about sneaking out at night, Isla's eyebrows jumped.

"Well, well, look at you. Sneaking out. Climbing trees. Watching the moons. Such a rebel." She glanced at him with mock suspicion.

Then she laughed - fully, for once, and a little too loudly for temple hallways. It was the image of Phillip balancing in a tree that did it. All quiet and moony-eyed with his hair sticking up in the wind like a poetic bird's nest.

"I think I saw that in a vision once, actually. A blonde-haired boy, lost in thought, stargazing. Then, boom. Tree betrayal. Right out of it like a sack of potatoes. Very graceful."

She snorted at her own joke and gave the painting a wobble in her grip for emphasis, then started to say something else, but the movement had quieted her laughter a little. Or maybe it was the moon thing. Or maybe it was that weird ache in her chest that sometimes showed up when someone was kind without realizing how much it meant.

She was still thinking about what he said: I'm here for you. To chat or complain. That had landed harder than he probably knew.

Isla looked ahead, walking slowly now, and after a long pause, she finally said, quieter:

"Okay. My turn."

Her hands tightened on the frame. She wasn't looking at him. Couldn't, not for this part.

"My mother and stepfather… used to use me. For my visions." Her voice wasn't bitter, just careful. Measured. Like she was pouring words from a fragile jar and didn't want to spill them. "They'd ask what I saw. Not... nicely. Not like you. Just: what do you see? Where are they? What if we attack here?"

She inhaled sharply through her nose, like the memory stung the inside of her lungs.

"I was good at it. Too good. And they used what I saw to decide where to strike first. What areas to hit. What cities to avoid. And when the battles ended, there were always numbers. Casualties. I used to memorize them, like that would help. Like remembering the deaths made it less my fault."

Isla blinked rapidly and finally looked at Phillip, her voice wavering just a little, like it was trying to stay brave but wasn't quite managing.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't… usually. But I want to. I don't want to feel like I have to hide everything all the time."

She gave him a small shrug that didn't match the weight of her words, like she was trying to make them lighter by pretending they weren't heavy.

"If that's too weird or too much, I get it. You can just say so. I won't be mad. I just…"

She looked down.

"I don't want to scare away the first person who's actually tried to get to know me without asking for something in return."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"You can grow emotionally and spiritually by listening to me not shut up. The Arm Strength part...I don't know how you can work on that."

Phillip couldn't help but grin at that. It was pretty nice if he was being honest. It was nice to talk to someone like this. Yet the lad broke out into a small pout as Isla spoke about a vision of seeing him fall out of a tree as he looked away for a moment down at his own feet.

"Don't remind me. I think that was the first time I broke my wrist. Wasn't the last time...but I had tried to keep it hidden for as long as I could."

It didn't last long. He had ended up getting found out when his mother noticed him painting with his opposite hand. Of course, he had lied and said he had fallen down the stairs and didn't want to worry his family...but now he felt like his family had known the truth the entire time and just let him go ahead with it. It wasn't a good memory either way.

Yet it would get worse for him as he listened to Isla's story. It was...clear that it aggravated him. That it made Phillip angry. But it was being held in. He didn't want Isla to feel awful for telling him this story. If she felt comfortable enough to tell him, he'd listen. He'd stay as relaxed as he could, even as his knuckles were slowly turning white as he gripped onto the frame of the painting tighter and tighter. The weight that was on Isla's shoulders...the burdens she held from the people who had died. How much she probably thought it was all her fault. What could he say to that? Nothing. He couldn't make her feel better. Not with words.

"...Isla. You don't need to hide anything. Not from me. We're friends. You...can't scare me away. I've fought against monsters in the Dark and..."

Phillip trailed off for a moment. He was about to try and act all tough once again, like when he said he'd wrestle the Tooka. But remembering that battle with the Netherworld...His face went pale as he stared off into the distance...It had been the first time he had actually be afraid for his life. He had managed to stand his ground...but that didn't mean he was brave. It didn't mean he wasn't plagued by those thoughts. Yet he tried not to think about it, turning his attention back over towards Isla. He could have shoved a fake smile on his face...but he knew Isla would see straight through it.

"...Your mother and step-father might have used you like some kind of weapon Isla, but you aren't one. You're...still a human Isla. It's...good that you tried to memorise those who died. It meant you have a heart. That you care. You aren't heartless."

His voice wasn't as...cheerful as it had been. It was hard for him to get his mind out of a dark place but that didn't mean he wasn't trying.

"...So lift your head up and look at me, okay? I'm not afraid of you. And I swear to you, I'll never be afraid."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla didn't lift her head right away.

She felt the words before she could hear them properly. The tension in his voice, the stumble when he tried to sound brave. That little pause, the way his grip shifted on the frame like he was trying not to break it in half just by feeling too much.

When he finally said look at me, she hesitated.

Not because she didn't believe him - but because she did.

Slowly, like she was peeling off some kind of heavy armor, Isla raised her head and met his eyes.

It hit her, then, in a way that made her throat tighten: he wasn't just saying those things because he should. He meant it. And he didn't look scared. He looked… stormy. Like someone trying to stay calm in deep water, not for himself, but for her.

She blinked once, then again, too fast. Her voice came out a little rough around the edges.

There was a long pause, not heavy, just quiet, as they walked. The kind of quiet where nothing needed to be said for a moment, because something had been said - and it stayed there, living in the space between them, like an invisible thread tying their steps together.

Then Isla cleared her throat and gave a crooked smile, the kind that leaned just slightly sad at the corners.

"I spent a long time trying to feel nothing, so I wouldn't be useful anymore. Thought if I went blank enough, the visions would go away. But then the Lorn found me, and now... now there's you. And you're saying stuff like that like it's normal."

She let out a breath and shook her head.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not a weapon. But it still feels like there's shrapnel in my chest some days. Leftover pieces from being one."

Then, because the silence was starting to press too close again, she added, voice a little lighter:

"If you're gonna keep saying stuff like that, you're gonna have to deal with me following you around and asking annoying questions and randomly getting quiet and then asking more questions."

She gave him a sideways glance.

"You ready for that kind of commitment, Tree Boy?"

And despite the ache still sitting in her chest, the smile she gave him this time was real. Whole. Like something had cracked open just enough to let the light in.

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Feeling nothing would be worse. It would make you into a weapon. A blaster doesn't feel anything when it's fired. A lightsaber doesn't feel anything when it's ignited. If you...let yourself go blank, you stop being alive. Emotions are important. Anger. Sadness. Happiness. It's...why I love Art. It lets you get those emotions out. To deal with them."

This honestly sounded like something Phillip should try to make a poem about some days. The importance of emotions. Of life. It was why he accepted the fear he had. He didn't believe himself as some brave warrior, or a noble Hero. He was just a normal guy. He wanted to live. He didn't want to sacrifice himself. But that wasn't important. It was something he could perhaps ponder in the future, but for now? He was in this moment now.

"I'm saying this like it's normal...because it is. For me at least. I've wanted to be numb. To just...do what my family wanted. To paint what they want. To be the perfect son. But it didn't work. My paintings lost their spark. They lost what made them...mine. You might still have shrapnel in your chest Isla...but I'll be here to help you get those shards out. Same with Lorn."

His voce was serious. There were times for teasing and times to be firm. This was one of those times to be firm. As the silence pressed on the both of them, he was doing his best to keep it at bay. It wasn't that the silence was bad. No, in a way it was actually good. It just felt like...the silence was confirming. He knew what he was saying was serious. Important. Even impactful. But the silence was just solidifying all that. It was like something he could feel in the Force. His eyes glancing over towards Isla, giving her a gentle smile as he tried not to focus on the silence. No. He focused on her, alongside the Force.

"I wouldn't say they're annoying questions. I like listening to them. I might hesitate to answer them sometimes...but they've never been annoying. Remember, I have a bunch of siblings. I've had to deal with more annoying people than you."

And with that, the teasing was starting to come back. Shifting the weight of the frame in his grip as his point was almost immediately made when Isla asked if he was ready for that kind of committment. It might have been her teasing him as well...but it was an important question all the same time. The silence was once again starting to creep back in, with how long he had been quiet before he spoke once more.

"Of course I'm ready for that kind of commitment Isla. I mean every word I say."

He left it at that. Letting his words settle in. He might not have said it directly, but it had been a promise. One he had made to himself. To Isla. To the silence. And finally to the Force.

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla was quiet for longer than usual after Phillip finished.

Not the kind of quiet where she was bottling something up - more like she was turning his words over in her hands, examining them, weighing them. Testing their edges like a blade she wasn't sure was hers to hold.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and steady.

"I think that's the best explanation I've ever heard for why feelings matter. That whole blaster-lightsaber bit? That was good. Might steal it." She gave him a sidelong glance. "I'll credit you, though. Probably. If I remember."

She shifted her grip again, stubbornly refusing to hand off the painting, even though it was very clear from the slight trembling in her arms that her muscles were now screaming like tiny gremlins. But Isla did not back down from meaningful burdens, no matter how much her shoulders hated her for it.

When he said she wasn't annoying and then immediately compared her to his siblings, she made a mock-offended noise.

"Wow. You think I'm less annoying than your actual siblings? I'm touched. That's like, maybe the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." She rolled her eyes, but her grin made it obvious she meant none of the sarcasm. "And for the record, you should hesitate to answer some of my questions. I ask the weird ones."

But when he said he was ready for that kind of commitment - and said it like he meant it, like it wasn't just a throwaway line - Isla's smile softened again. Something about the way he said it made her feel steadier. Like the floor underneath her had just decided to stop shifting for a bit.

They finally reached her room, the temple halls narrowing into the familiar quiet stretch she'd claimed as hers. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Isla stepped inside first, motioning with her elbow.

"Alright, center wall. That one." She pointed with her chin to the largest empty space - opposite her bed, right above the low shelf where her datapads lived. "I want to see it every day when I wake up. Like it's staring me down and daring me to do something brave."

She helped him lift the painting into place, both of them fumbling a little as they adjusted the angle, Isla giving instructions she clearly thought were helpful but were mostly just chaos.

"Left. No, my left. Okay, up a bit. No, down a bit. That's crooked - wait, never mind, I love it. That's the face of the mountain spirit judging me for skipping morning meditation."

When they finally got it right, Isla stepped back and folded her arms. She was still flushed from the effort, her hair a little wild from carrying the frame halfway across the temple, but her eyes were locked on the painting with a kind of reverence.

She took a deep breath. Then another.

"I get to look at this every day now," she said softly. "That's kind of amazing."

Then she turned to Phillip and added, "You know... I've had a lot of visions about the future. Most of them are confusing. Sometimes scary. But this?" She motioned around the room. "Us. Here. This didn't show up in any of them."

She grinned.

"Which is probably why it's my favorite one."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Never expected you to be someone who steals ideas. Here I thought you were all innocent and sweet. Just goes to show how wrong I can be."

Phillip teased, even as he could feel Isla struggling with the frame. He didn't comment on it though. All he did was try to take some more of the weight. Though he looked down at her when she gave the little offended grumble, breaking out into a grin himself.

"I mean. None of your questions have been that weird. Sure, they could get worse. But they work as good...puzzles in a way. For me to figure out what answer I want to give you and what I want to keep quiet about. "

And with that, he let the silence return as they carried the portrait through the halls. Staying with his own thoughts as they made their way through. It was nice to have a friend like this. Maybe he wasn't as anti-social as he had expected. Sure, he was still going to be a bit brooding and awkward around people but Isla was someone he felt like he didn't have to worry about putting off. She wouldn't think he was weird. At least he hoped so. He didn't think she was weird at the end of the day.

Eventually they reached Isla's room, and Phillip prepared to put the painting up with Isla's...not so helpful instructions. This was the part of painting he hated the most anyway. Putting them up to make them look good. It didn't help that his house was nearly covered in head to toe with different paintings. Perhaps that was why he was enjoying this one so much more. Isla's walls were far more empty and barren than Phillip's family house as he took a step back once they got it up.

"...This is my first time being in someone else's room. It feels strange."

His gaze dropped to look over towards Isla, taking in the way she looked at the painting. It didn't matter what else happened now. Phillip knew what he wanted to be as he grew older. Being a Jedi would be nice...but seeing the look on Isla's face made him confirm to himself that he wanted to be a painter. An artist.

It was no surprise to him that some of Isla's visions would be confusing or scary. But to hear that this was one of her favourite moments? Well. That couldn't stop him from giving her a huge grin in response.

"...I must admit. I've enjoyed this more than I thought I would. I never realised how impactful it can be to give someone a gift and see them truly appreciate it."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla gave him a long, dramatic look, as if he'd just announced he'd never eaten fruit before or didn't believe in pillows. "Wait, this is your first time in someone else's room?" she said, eyes wide. "Are you... okay? Like emotionally? Did your childhood happen inside a broom closet?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She just laughed, warm and unbothered, then reached out to nudge his arm with her knuckles. "Well, congratulations, Phillip. You've now officially been indoctrinated. My room is your room. You can hang out here whenever you want. Just knock first, okay?"

Then, with a grin she added, "Also? That whole 'figuring out what answers to give me and what to keep quiet about' thing? That's adorable. But just so you know, that era is over now. Expired. Gone. Welcome to the new age. You don't get to keep secrets anymore. We're friends. That means I get your weird thoughts, your embarrassing dreams, your tragic snack preferences. All of it."

She tapped her temple. "I've got visions, Phillip. I will find out eventually. Might as well just surrender the intel now and save us both the time."

Isla let the teasing fade into a quieter smile again as they stood there together in the soft light of her room. The painting stared back at them from the wall - a quiet monument to something that mattered, even if they didn't fully have the words for it yet.

"You know…" she said, voice dropping to a softer register, "I've seen so many futures. Some where the Temple falls. Some where we're not even here. But this one? You and me and this painting, and me trying to tell you which side is 'my left'? That didn't show up. And I think maybe that's what makes it real."

She turned her gaze back to him, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to grin again. "We should watch the moons sometime. I bet they look different if you're sitting still long enough to really see them. And I bet you'd describe them in some ridiculous metaphor about lightsabers and brushstrokes and feelings, and I'd pretend to roll my eyes but secretly think it's the smartest thing anyone's ever said."

She paused. "Deal?"

Then she held out her pinky, like it was the most binding oath in the galaxy.

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Bedrooms are...sacred. They're where people can be themselves. They don't have to hide themselves in their room. It feels...how do I word it...like you're letting me in. To see a side that most people don't get to see. Or maybe...I just think bedrooms are more important than they actually are."

Heh. The idea of his childhood being spent in a broom closet was amusing to him. What next? He'd have some kind of Owl for a pet? No. He shook his head, listening to how he was apparently "indoctrinated" now. Isla's room was his room. The lad could come whenever he wanted...as long as he knocked. Well. He wouldn't just storm in without knocking in the first place. It wasn't his room, no matter what Isla might have said as he folded his arms along his front.

"Who's to say your visions will even be right? They might be me saying stuff as a lie to trick you. Even though lying isn't really in my skillset. I can lie to people who don't know me that well...but unfortunately, you're getting to know me better and better. You'll probably learn my tells for when I'm lying sooner or later."

At least his family seemed to know when he was lying. He must have some kind of tell. Maybe he always looked in a certain direction, or fiddled with his sleeves. It wasn't something he had quite figured out himself. For now, his gaze settled on the painting. It was interesting to hear that Isla hadn't seen a vision like this before. Which...gave Phillip an interesting thought, as he looked down at her.

"...Have you seen any visions of us just...hanging out? Maybe that's...something about them. Your visions only show you "big important" things. Not...these little moments."

He waved his hand over towards the painting for a moment, a frown slowly forming on his face as he thought about things.

"They might be important to us. But it's still a small thing. It's not like this has caused anything to change."

His idea trailed off there, as he glanced over towards Isla. A small grin spreading across his face at the offer to watch the moon together, as he tapped his chin in a more pleasant mood.

"I mean. The moon does show you certain sides of itself. I'm not sure how I could relate that to a Lightsaber...but with brushstrokes and feelings...It'd be like layering your thoughts in the paint carefully. The feelings that are most obvious, most apparent being represented through the lighter sides of the moon, whereas those more hidden under the surface need a closer look...Honestly? They remind me of you."

At that, he raised his pinkie up to wrap it around Isla's. This time it was a physical promise he was making.

"Deal. Just don't go falling out of any trees. I don't want to deal with an Angry Lorn."

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla's fingers tightened slightly around his pinky, her expression flickering somewhere between touched and amused and something softer she didn't have a name for yet. Then she scrunched up her nose.

"Ugh. That was almost poetic. Gross," she said, even as the edges of her mouth betrayed her with a slow, delighted grin. "You really are doomed. You're not going to survive being my friend. I'm going to make you say all kinds of embarrassing emotional things and then never let you forget them."

She bumped his shoulder lightly. "Also, I can't believe you just said the moons remind me of you like it was a normal sentence. You know people don't survive that kind of line, right?"

Still, her grin didn't fade. Not even a little. Because it was a good line. And he was kind of doomed. But maybe she was too.

She let the silence hang there for a moment, not awkward or tense - just full. The painting hung quiet and still behind them, watching, like some benevolent witness to this strange little moment in time that had managed to avoid all her visions.

Then Isla gave a theatrical sigh and looked up at him. "Okay. Official Friend Rule #1: If I fall out of a tree, you have to tell Lorn I was doing something incredibly noble. Like saving a baby bird. Or fighting a crime. Or both. I can't stand his judgy looks."

She leaned against the wall, the tension in her frame finally beginning to ease now that the painting was up, her room was quiet, and her world felt - for a moment - not like something she had to decode or brace against, but something she could stand in.

"I think maybe the little moments are the big ones," she said, her voice almost a whisper now. "We just don't always notice them in time."

Then she looked over at him, a quiet certainty in her expression. "But I'm noticing this one."

And that was how they stayed for a while. Two kids in a quiet room, bound by paint and pinky promises and the wide, impossible sky outside - where the moons were rising, slowly, waiting to be watched.

-End Thread-

Phillip Slate​