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"This is all your fault," Clea grumbled.
Verso grunted and pulled himself up onto the dock, sopping wet. He flipped his sodden hair from his face and shook himself like a dog, spraying water over his similarly-soaked sister.
"EUGH," Clea shrieked. "VERSO! Grow up!"
Verso said, "Again."
"No way," said Clea. "Not again. We’ve been here for ages. You don't know how to jump."
"I know how to jump," Verso protested. "I just— bounced off the column. A bit."
"You don't bounce off a column in real life," Clea growled. "Paint it better."
"Nuh uh," said Verso, who knew full well they were not allowed to jump on the architecture in their manor in Paris or in any of their weekend-slash-summer estates. "You don't know that."
"Yes I do," said Clea.
"Nuh uh," said Verso.
"Would you like to try again?" the gestral asked, unknowingly breaking up an long and imminent argument.
"Yes," Verso and Clea said at the same time.
Clea, however, continued, "but this time I'm doing it alone."
Those words hit like a punch, as anything that implied Verso's inadequacy did. He didn't allow the strike to show, instead pouting theatrically.
"Aw, come on," he complained, making sure to swing his arms around petulantly and raise his voice. "You're not going to get to the top anyway."
"Watch me," Clea declared. Without waiting for a response, she marched towards the pile of furniture and began to climb.
-
Verso and the gestral stayed behind and watched in silence as Clea scaled the little tower of debris.
"So," Verso said. "You're still playing with this? Even after Golga's done with it?" He gestured at the tower.
"Oh yes," said the gestral. "It's fun."
"Fun," Verso echoed doubtfully. "Is the volleyball fun?"
"Oh yes!" the gestral exclaimed. "It's a blast!" He chuckled at his own pun
Verso began to wonder where he went wrong when he made the gestrals.
Gestrals liked a good fight, so he supposed that the explosions in volleyball were fun for them (maybe they didn't mind losing?) The platforming, though...
"Why is it fun?" Verso probed.
The gestral shrugged. "I dunno. Why is anything fun?"
Verso frowned, the question a bit too philosophical for his ten-year-old mind.
Luckily, his ruminations were cut off by a shrill scream and a "MERDE." Verso and the gestral turned to watch as Clea lost her balance on a haphazardly placed sofa and fell down, hitting various other pieces of furniture, walls, and carousel along the way, before smacking into the water with a magnificent splash.
"Maman and Papa hate it when we swear," Verso informed the gestral.
"Do you hate it when we swear?" the gestral asked.
"No," said Verso. "I think it’s funny."
Clea clawed herself up onto the docks.
"I told you so," Verso said to Clea, who gave him a truly impressive glare in return.
"Fine," Clea snapped. "You made the gestrals. You do it."
"I will," Verso said, filling his voice with entirely faked confidence. "It's easy. You just have to lock in."
Clea pushed him into the water.
"That didn't count," Verso said, when he climbed back up.
-
The start of the tower wasn't hard. Boat, floating suitcase, boards, rope, grapples... was that a section of the manor's staircase? How did the gestrals get that here?
Up, up, up — here was a narrow plank, a blade of a windmill. Verso jumped to it and automatically tucked into a roll, only for the momentum to carry himself off the plank and into the water.
He pulled himself up.
"Just lock in, huh?" Clea said, dryly.
"I wasn't locked in enough," Verso said. "Again."
This time he ran too fast on a narrow sawblade and tripped off the side.
"You can't run in a straight line?" Clea asked.
"Again," said Verso.
This time he got higher, past the carousel (when the gestrals asked him to Paint another carousel, he did not think this was what they were going to do with it) and onto a boat. There was a small sofa — the one that Clea fell from — which he slowly clambered on. Luckily, he was small enough to stand on top with ease.
"Ha," he muttered, at having beat Clea's best.
Up and up he went, the platforms getting smaller and smaller, until —
"AUGH," Verso yelled, losing his footing on a rock. He bounced off of a hot air balloon and smacked face first into the water.
"Again," he said.
Clea sighed.
And he tried again and again and again, avoiding Clea's increasingly judgmental look each time. If nothing else, at least Verso could say he was getting further and further along with each attempt.
Until, that was, his rising frustration caused him to do worse. After tripping off the suitcase at the bottom of the tower, Verso stopped and just stared at his foe, wondering if he could Paint a set of stairs up to the top. Maybe if it was high enough up... Clea would never know.
"Are you thinking about cheating?" Clea asked.
Verso flinched. "No," he lied.
"If you cheat," Clea threatened, "I will also cheat. And I am better at Painting than you."
"Are you going to change stuff?" the gestral asked. He wringed his hands. "We spent a lot of time on this."
Clea waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine. We don't need to erase anything and we can remove anything we put in after."
"No, no," Verso said hastily, sensing the gestral's discomfort. Clea never did care much about the inhabitants of the canvas (except François and maybe Esquie), but Verso did. "I'll go up normally."
Clea rolled her eyes again. "Don't take too long. I think the servants are almost finished dinner."
Verso nodded. Squared his shoulders. Climbed up, up, up... past the carousel, the boat, past his previous best. He held his breath and carefully navigated the floating boulders until finally he reached the top, a large wood board made up of individual planks outlined by dancing gestrals.
He took one look at the dancing gestrals and faceplanted straight onto the floor, gasping dramatically for breath. Through the planks, he could see a small dot of red amidst the blue sea. Clea, probably.
"You made it! You're cool too!" a gestral shouted.
Verso groaned.
"Here's your prize," said another gestral. He threw a small striped swimsuit at Verso, which hit his back with a weak thump.
Right. He was doing this for clothing.
"How do I leave?" Verso asked, voice muffled by the planks.
"Jump!" the gestral responded cheerfully. He jumped in place, making the board rattle ominously.
Verso groaned again, struggled onto his feet, and, for the last time, plunged into the water below.
When he got back up on the dock, Clea was watching him with a small smile. She raised an eyebrow.
"Congrats," she said.
Verso puffed up his chest. "Told you I could do it."
Clea narrowed her eyes.
"Your turn now?" the gestral asked Clea.
"Are there more swimsuits?" Verso asked.
"I am not doing that for a swimsuit," Clea said.
At the same time, the gestral said, "No."
"Well, there's that," said Clea.
However Verso, with dawning horror, remembered this was not that.
"We never finished the last round of volleyball," he said, eyes wide, lips twisted in a grimace.
"I would rather die," Clea informed him primly.
"Actually," the gestral began, but he was cut off by a ripple in the air and the golden glow of a swirling chroma as a portal opened on the docks.
The silhouette of a tall woman with long hair appeared through the portal. She was quickly painted in with auburn hair, pale skin, and an elegant dress. Her face was painted last, a curious smile on her face as she looked upon her children.
"Maman!" Verso cheered. He began to rush forward, remembered he was soaking wet, and screeched to a halt, arms held stiffly at his side.
"Hello Maman," said Clea, much more reserved. She did not move from her position.
"Hello, children," Aline said. "Playtime is over, I'm afraid."
Both Verso and Clea nodded.
Aline's eyes roamed over her soaked and rumpled children. "Do you remember how to clean yourself up?"
Clea nodded immediately, looking almost offended; Painting a set of clean clothes was much easier than creating her nevrons. Her dress was dried and pressed in a flash. Verso followed, only slightly slower.
"Good," said Aline. She held out a hand, beckoning. "Come now."
Verso bounded over, taking Aline's hand. Clea followed behind at a more sedate pace.
"Did you have fun?" Aline asked.
"Not really," said Clea.
Verso nodded in agreement and launched into an explanation of the mini-games, lamenting about the difficulty and the falling and the volleyball.
"You don't know how easy you have it," Aline said, once he was finished. "When I was young, we had to dodge two hundred lightning strikes and win a race with negative time."
"Of course, Maman," said Clea, a twelve year old girl's skeptical condescension dripping from every word.