Sketchbook

Vermillion stumbled down the stairs, clutching his head, trying to remember what had happened. Blood pounded in his head, and the somehow familiar fog to his vision was starting to clear. He groaned and walked into a sitting room downstairs, and collapsed onto a sofa. He groaned again, feeling a pain in his hips. His mind was starting to clear and he could start to piece together what happened. Vermillion felt tears spring to his eyes, and he choked back a sob, biting his lips.

Sitting up, he pressed his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes and taking out a long drawn-out sigh. This had happened before, so why should he care? Why should it bother him? Then why did it still hurt? The man sighed again, and lifted his head, straightening his rumpled clothes. Then he leaned back, and stared at the timbered ceiling. 

After a few minutes of silence, the redhead shook himself and reached for a mostly empty bound book and a charcoal pencil sitting atop the end table beside the sofa. Running one of his hands through his mixed colored hair, Vermillion opened the book and paged through it. 

It was just one of his sketchbooks. Nothing all that impressive on the outside, just tanned leather tied together with twine, but inside, a whole world awaited. Drawings of crashing waterfalls of Virindi, vast plains of grass with herds of all sorts of animals grazing, a tranquil pine forest from Serendipity, desert monoliths from the deep south. These were records of all the places Vermillion had travelled to, and occasionally a face of someone he had met. Vermillion smiled seeing a drawing of a chubby toddler, a sweet girl he had met in Okra. These pages all contained memories, memories of happier places. Vermillion picked up the pencil, and began to draw on a fresh page, capturing his recollections of a bog some miles east.

He was making good progress on the grass until he heard soft footsteps approaching. His head whipped around in panic, only to see a face just as surprised as he was. A dark-haired boy was slowly backing away from him.

“S-sorry I didn’t know you were here, I’ll g-go some, somewhere else.” The twelve-year-old whispered, turning around.

Vermillion sighed. “You can stay, Ebony. You’re not bothering me.” Vermillion turned his attention back to his drawing, frowning slightly as to what his son was doing awake at this time of night. He felt the couch shift as Ebony sat on the opposite side. Vermillion looked over at him with the corner of his eye, noting the boy was clutching a small (and rather dirty) leather blanket. He heard Ebony sniffle, and realized there were tears in his eyes.

Vermillion just sighed and turned his attention back to the sketchbook. He’ll calm down in a few minutes. Probably just another nightmare. Vermillion thought as he rounded out the tops of some bushes in his drawing. He was starting to finish with most of the leaves when he swore he felt eyes on him. Vermillion glanced over to his left where Ebony was sitting, and saw the boy looking at his father’s work with curious dark eyes, having crept closer without Vermillion realizing it.

He sure is stealthy, I’ll give him that. Vermillion stopped drawing, unnerved at the fact he had an audience.

Ebony quickly moved further away again, realizing he had disturbed the man. Vermillion just sighed, this was going to be a very awkward silence if he didn’t do something.

“You know, drawing really helps me get my mind off things.” Vermillion spoke up, moving beside Ebony. “All my worries and fears just turn into lines on the page.” Vermillion stopped his drawing and reached into a drawer on the end table, taking out another charcoal pencil. He handed it to Ebony, who looked up at him with wide eyes. Vermillion promptly tore out several pages from the back of his notebook, prompting a gasp from Ebony. Vermillion chuckled to himself. He had plenty of sketchbooks, it didn't matter if this one was missing a few pages. He handed the pages to Ebony, then continued with his drawing.

After several moments of staring at the page, Ebony picked up the pencil and began to draw too. Vermillion eyed him, noticing that he was drawing a dog or a wolf. Or maybe some sort of weasel, the boy was only twelve, he wasn’t that good at art at this point in his life. After several minutes Ebony sighed.

“I wish I could draw backgrounds like you do,” Ebony stopped his drawing, looking up at Vermillion. Vermillion just laughed.

“You know it took me years and years to figure it out,” Vermillion smiled, “And I still have trouble with branches. Just takes practice, and I practice a lot.”

“To get the worries out?” Ebony asked softly. Vermillion just nodded.

“Yes, all into the lines and pages. You know, the people of Hilltop believe that pieces of an artist’s soul go into their art. Which is where…” Vermillion flipped through previous drawings, settling on one of houses scattered among hills with tall mountains behind them. “This drawing is from.” 

Ebony’s eyes grew wide and he practically tried to crawl on to Vermillion’s lap to get a better look. Vermillion smiled, feeling rather proud of his work. He started flipping through more pages, showing Ebony other places he had been, and occasionally divulging a fact or two about them.

“You like landscapes, I like heads.” Ebony said rather bluntly and abruptly, causing Vermillion to look over at Ebony’s papers, noticing there were in fact a lot of heads, and one drawing that looked like a crude (but cute) attempt at Vermillion’s bog. 

“Well, you can draw eyes better than I can.” 

“I can?” Ebony’s entire face lit up, and he beamed up at Vermillion, who just nodded.

“Yeah. They’ve got life in them, that’s a tough thing to draw.” Ebony just smiled more, partially covering his mouth with his hand, trying to obscure his emotions, as many northerners did. But, as Vermillion noted, he was failing, and couldn’t hide the happiness in his eyes from the compliment.

“How about you teach me about eyes, and I can teach you how to draw a better tree, huh?”

Ebony rapidly nodded in response, and they both started showing off their pages.

~~~

What was probably a half hour later, Vermillion wasn’t sure, he didn’t have a clock handy, Vermillion felt Ebony lean on his shoulder. The kid had stopped drawing a while ago, and had settled for just watching Vermillion, but it seemed tiredness had overtaken him, and he lost his battle against sleep. Vermillion looked down at him, then, trying not to disturb him, rolled up his sketchbook and put it in his clothes, then gently picked the boy up, hearing a soft sigh come from Ebony.

Vermillion stood, and made his way to Ebony’s room, then set him on Ebony’s bedroll (Ebony refused to sleep on an actual bed, and preferred just a blanket on the floor with a pillow). Vermillion turned around to leave, then realized something, and kneeled down to set the sketchbook on the floor beside Ebony, figuring he’d like a proper sketchbook to draw in, not just those random sheets of paper he found. Vermillion stood and went to the door, turned around for a quick glance back, then left. Being a father was the scariest thing that had ever happened to him, but at least he felt he could do some things right.