3. The Painter and the Patron
"You…"
"So you did come after all, scribbler. Here to reclaim this sorry excuse for a painting?"
"Please give it back. I painted that on commission."
"And you can paint this garbage without feeling a shred of shame?"
"…"
"You don't feel worthless? Does the thought never cross your mind — why do I only ever paint this trash? Ah, wait. Could it be this is simply your taste? Feeding your siblings on money earned from this filth — that doesn't shame you at all?"
The young painter hurled his mockery and contempt out in the open, plain as day. It was the very accusation Iris had heard at the audition — the fatal words she had failed to refute and silently accepted in her heart, the words that had left her no choice but to flee the room. But the Iris standing here now was different. Because this time, she had a reason to fight with everything she had.
"I am ashamed."
"…What?"
"I hate painting things like this too. It makes me feel worthless, and it's certainly not to my taste. But if painting them keeps my little siblings from going hungry, then I could paint them for the rest of my life. As ashamed as they make me, as humiliating as it is — however much it takes."
"You…"
"So please give it back. Do it now, and I won't say another word about it."
"You won't say another word? Ha!"
The young painter, who had been sneering with both hands in his pockets, twisted his face into a scowl. Then, apparently remembering that he held the upper hand, he went on talking as he prodded at Iris's painting with the toe of his shoe.
Every time the canvas rocked and nearly toppled into the filthy puddles around it, Iris's expression went rigid.
"Don't get any ideas. I'm the one who gives the orders here."
"…What is it you actually want?"
"From now on, whenever a commission like this comes to you, you turn it down. And you don't paint anything at all. Those are my conditions."
"What kind of…!?"
"Because the likes of you deserve to be cast out of the art world for good. Scribblers have no business overstepping real painters, now do they?"
It was, in effect, an order to lie down and starve — a demand past outrageous and into the impossible. Her shock at it lasted only a moment, though. For as Iris stared at the young painter, her eyes flew wide open.
"You… look familiar."
"What?"
"A while back, when I went to deliver a painting to a client — you're the one who was being thrown out of the office, aren't you? They said the client had sent your work back. Said it wasn't very good."
"Don't make me laugh! My painting, not any good? That bastard simply has no eye! I could barely stomach it, but I held my nose and painted one of those revolting beast pictures for him — and he goes and tosses it back in my face…!"
"So you've painted one too, haven't you?"
"…"
"You did paint one, didn't you? A furry picture. All this talk of the art world, of banishment — it's because I've been getting the very commissions you can't, isn't it?"
"Shut up."
"Which is why you've sunk so low as to make these pointless threats."
Iris glared at the young painter with undisguised contempt. Unable to bear the look in her eyes, he gritted his teeth and roared.
"How dare you! How dare a worthless little scribbler look at me with those eyes!?"
"Then what kind of painting did you make?"
"What?"
"I painted the furry pictures you call revolting and vile — because that was what the client wanted, and because that was how I could earn money. But what about you?"
"You…"
"If you were a painter with any kind of future, you wouldn't be standing here doing this. You've never succeeded as a painter, you're not famous, you occupy yourself with cheap thuggery like this, and you can't even paint what a client asks of you… so tell me — can you truly call yourself a painter?"
"You wretched bitch…!!"
"So please, give me back my painting. Putting your time into one more picture would do you far more good than pulling stunts like this."
"A scribbler dares say that to my face!?"
Snick!
"A pathetic little daub like this—"
"N-No, don't!"
"—has to be torn to shreds right this inst—"
WHAM!!!
Hurk!?
In the instant the enraged young painter drew a utility knife from his pocket and moved to slice the painting in two, Iris had already thrown herself bodily toward the canvas — but a figure closed in faster still, giving his wrist a light twist before driving a fist deep into his solar plexus. A full-grown man, if not an especially sturdy one, went floating up into the air like a rag doll. And while the young painter came crashing down into a heap of garbage at the back of the alley, the mysterious figure turned to face Iris.
"…"
"W-Wait, don't tell me — you're the one who was with the noble that day…?"
"I merely stumbled upon the scene while out on patrol. The question is what you're doing here. I thought the young master had commissioned a painting from you?"
"Ah — the painting!"
Her alarm at Claire's sudden appearance lasted only an instant; Iris rushed to check the canvas — and in short order, despair began to bleed into her expression.
"No, no!!!"
"What's wrong?"
"…It can't be used anymore."
"What? The blade never even touched it."
"Oil paintings take a very long time to dry. Handled with care, they can be moved without trouble, but… it seems that self-proclaimed painter treated it rather roughly."
Oil painting — done by loading the brush with oil to keep the pigments fluid — takes an exceptionally long time to dry, anywhere from one to two months. A finished piece did not strictly have to dry through, but it demanded that much more caution in storage and transport.
Yet even though the shack was hardly any distance away, the paint had already smeared this way and that — heaven only knew how roughly the young painter had manhandled it.
She had been uneasy from the very start; the alley had simply been too dark to see it clearly before. Now, examining the canvas up close, she could tell it had been ruined for quite some time.
Repainting it from scratch was out of the question as well. Only two days remained until the deadline — and even if she devoted every hour of sleep to the brush, that would not be enough to finish.
"It's all over now, isn't it."
"…"
"I suppose this is simply the fate I was born to. The noble was kind enough to grant me a second chance, and I've gone and thrown even that away."
Iris laughed as though mocking herself. How bitterly ironic it was — that because of the very furry paintings which had kept her and her siblings from starving, she was losing the greatest opportunity of her life.
She laughed. So sad was she, so steeped in despair, that not even tears would come. Anger at the young painter, and contempt for her own pathetic self for fumbling away even this chance, engulfed her whole.
As she sat slumped where she was, stroking nothing but the ruined painting, Claire came up to her.
"…If it is no imposition, might I ask you one thing?"
"What… would that be?"
"The paint has spread too far to say for certain, but it seems to be one of those… beasts. A 'furry,' I believe it is called."
"…That's right."
"Why would you paint such a thing?"
"I'm sorry? Well… because that was the noble's commission."
"And what, precisely, did the young master say?"
"He, um… told me to paint the picture I am best at painting. And what I am best at painting is… this sort of picture, so…"
Claire's gaze settled on Iris. It was the look of someone asking, don't tell me you're serious. Caught in that look, Iris answered as though pleading an excuse.
"B-But surely the noble likes this sort of painting too, doesn't he? Why else would he give someone like me a second chance?"
"Since you seem to have misunderstood, let me make one thing perfectly clear. Beasts aside, the young master does not like paintings in the first place."
"I'm sorry? Then why commission a painting from me… a-and there is Miss Rin as well, isn't there? Patronizing a painter with no interest in art makes no sense at all."
"For most people, no. But the young master is one who transcends common sense in a great many ways."
Why was it that the voice in which Claire said this carried more warmth than exasperation or annoyance? Looking, if anything, as though she took pride in the young master — at the sight, Iris could only blink.
Claire let out a sigh, then continued with the faintest of smiles.
"So believe me when I say this — to you, at least, he certainly didn't mean it that way. That sort of thing could never be his taste. And it had better not be."
"Th-Then I just went and misunderstood everything all on my own…?"
"Even had you submitted that furry painting, you would have failed regardless. You started off on the wrong foot from the very beginning."
"…So it's all the same in the end. I'm just a scribbler who can't even call herself a painter, after all."
"Tsk. Do remember what the young master told you."
"I'm sorry?"
"How… strange."
"What is?"
"You speak of the noble as though you distrust him, Ms. Bodyguard, and yet in the end you believe in him. And not in any ordinary way, either…"
"I'll be taking this criminal back with me now."
Before Iris could even finish, Claire heaved the collapsed young painter over her shoulder and turned on her heel at once.
Her face was thereby hidden from view — yet somehow, Iris thought she caught the impression that Claire's cheeks had flushed a faint red.
"…Just as he did at the audition, the young master pays no heed to skill, nor to how finished a painting is. Bear that firmly in mind."
And with those words as her last, Claire disappeared from view.
Iris…
"The painting I am… good at…"
Quietly, and in perfect stillness, she turned her gaze upon the furry picture — its paint smeared beyond all saving.
The promised day had come — one week since I had placed my commission with Iris.
That much went without saying for me, but for some reason, even Claire looked visibly expectant about Iris's painting. Whenever I asked her why, all she would say was that I'd understand once we got there.
And so, at the shack we sought out once more—
"So then, Iris."
"Yes!"
"The thing you painted was…"
"A furry painting!"
And there it was. Once again, I stood face to face with a voluptuous fox furry.
Could it be that she actually likes furries…?