A/N: Gosh, let's just pretend this disaster never happened. Written at 3 AM. I'll just sit in a corner now.
Somewhere in the heat of May, Yamaku High School was cordially invited to take a field trip to the town that now lies atop Detroit.
Somewhere else in the heat of May, Rin Tezuka found herself wandering into the dirty walkways of a strange part of the city that she'd never seen before. She'd never actually seen any part of the city before that day, and certainly still hadn't seen everything in Deluxe, but with all of the plain colors up top, she could assume, but her friends always told her not to assume, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea.
You could guess, and likely guess right. Abraham Kane looked desperately to avoid publicity, but the time comes when you need at least a bit of it. So, let the kids in, show them only what you want them to see.
If you were to ask how she got to where she did, she couldn't tell you. She got lost. That's all.
Saying "no turning back now" wouldn't work - she could literally turn back now. Probably. Maybe. But she couldn't. Maybe her feet could turn back, but she couldn't. Just...wouldn't let herself. It was better for her, better for her eyes, the colors and shapes and words and letters and individual symbols with their individual meanings and a certain style that she could place and recognize somewhere else and a certain color scheme and sometimes this weird feeling that "the person who painted this also painted this" without any real reason, but even that alone was a reason.
Paint is the painter, and paint belongs specifically to that painter, and only the painter can find that specific, perfect color to paint with, and that's what they all found. Maybe a place like this was where she belonged, the contrasting forms blending together to create a masterpiece, but also standing out on its own, telling its own story. Rin was a painter, yet she didn't have any paint. Her expression turned mildly unhappy, contrasting the eyes that reflected apathy and intellect. She stopped on her tracks, unaware even then that she was previously moving. With her eyes...
Oh, a person. They might tell her where she's going. The last two didn't know.
Without hesitation, she stepped onto the platform and almost felt punched in the face, or maybe vomited on, with pigments and shades and a glowing intensity of a strange tale ready to be told. Her back hunched instinctively and she shuffled her feet, unfocused on the person now. Out of the corner of her eye, they turned. He. He turned. Very big hair. She wondered how he could keep it afloat - no, wait, wrong word. Up. That word was stupid. But there wasn't any other word, not that she could think of. Up would do fine.
His eyes shifted to her torso and his breath hitched when they reached her arms, or where they were supposed to be. Immediately, he looked up to her face, which was facing everywhere except for him. Confused and slightly amused, Dutch raised an eyebrow. "Hey! Who...are you?"
Rin caught his voice, or her ears caught it, and her head turned towards him. It was almost as if she was looking straight through him, and he was very quickly beginning to get weirded out. Still, the girl didn't look like any threat, not any major one. Was that a uniform? Looked too dark to be from Deluxe, but too clean and bright to be from Motorcity.
"Rin," she said simply. "Tezuka."
Her last name came out somewhat forced and late, almost as if it were foreign.
Well, foreign to Dutch, at least. He smiled, at least happy to see a friendly face - or...an indifferent one. Hey, indifferent was better than evil. "I'm Dutch. You, uh..." he trailed off, seeing her eyes crawl upon the various pieces of what he likes to consider art, his art, with a calculating vacancy. "...You interested in art or something?"
Rin almost snapped up at this, if that were even possible for her. It was more like a fast, mechanical movement of strange aloofness. Which shouldn't have even existed or been a conceivable thing, really. She calmed herself and closed her eyes, giving a little nod with her words. "I'm a painter. I paint...things." She looked around, apparently just now getting something. "Except I don't have any paint, so I guess I don't."
A weird girl, but he could feel for her. Not being able to express your feelings through what she apparently does enough to call herself a painter without hesitation must be tough, and he's nothing if not willing to help an artist out. Maybe she had friends that, well, sometimes got in the way. Or maybe just no idea what to paint. But her eyes look at him expectantly, like she's stubbornly refusing to say anything else. It's actually a little funny, so he lets out a laugh, to her confusion.
He gestures for her to join him.
"I don't mind you using some of mine if you want."