At the end of a sprawling, colorful room, an opulent window lets in simulated daylight from the bright, active park it overlooks. A tree, standing proud and in full bloom, showers the passers-by below in bright blossoms of all colors as it sways in the gentle breeze. It is an ideal backdrop for a portrait, deliberately so, in fact. Within the aforementioned room, a half dozen or so affini are sprawled out on cushions, holding proud, seductive, and adoring poses as their darling florets happily press delicate brush strokes across their adorable little terran-sized canvases. One pair, however, stands out. By now, dear reader, it should be quite obvious just who this pair is. Whilst her kin sit tall and still, each one basking in their floret’s adorable attempts to capture their majesty, Azalea is sprawled out on her belly, draped over her cushion with half her body precariously dangling off the edge. 

Rayne, of course, takes no issue with this. That is not to say, however, that she has been particularly productive. Her fellow florets trace idle brush stroke after brush stroke across their canvases, carefree smiles on their faces, but Rayne has yet to even put brush to canvas. Instead, she seems locked in a silent, tense battle with the blank space before her, daring it not to cooperate in the inevitable unveiling of her Mistresspiece. Several times, she picks up her brush, only to stare long into that off-white void, and set it down. The affini overseeing this particular art class, Brent (Fae / Faer), has come to check on her a few times now, to remind her that it’s okay if her painting isn’t perfect, she just needs to do her best. Each time, Rayne has replied with a bright smile, and a nod, then resumed her staredown. The stalemate is broken when, seemingly without warning, Rayne breathes a sudden gasp as her eyes grow wide and bright as her radiant smile.

“Mx Brent!” Rayne cries. Fae nearling jumps out of faer own vines at the sudden outburst, then darts over to Rayne’s side. 

“What is it, little one?” fae asks. 

“I’ve figured out my issue,” Rayne replies, pointing to the canvas with her brush. “It’s the paper,” she says, giving it a matter of fact jab with the handle. 

“The paper?” fae asks. “This is pretty standard paper for portraits, little one. I use it myself all the time, scaled up, of course.”

“I know Mx. Brent, the paper is perfectly fine paper for most paintings. But I’ll need something thicker, and with a bit of a heavier texture to the sort of depth and layering I’ll need to do.” 

Brent stiffens, then scratches faer head. “Well, I suppose that could be arranged, in that case I’ll head over to the compiler and—”

“I’ll also need a lighter brush, and a heavier brush, and a brush with stiffer bristles than this one please and thank you. This black is a good black but I’ll need a blacker black please. Also this red is going to run too much so can you get me a thicker red please? The green is good color wise but I’ll need at least three more greens please, two of them matte, one of them glossy, I’ll send you the exact hexcodes I need. I’ll need them in three different consistencies please. The indigo, yellow, orange, and violet are all basically a wash. I’m gonna need completely unopened cans for those please, and ideally if you could shake them a bit before opening them that would be good? Thank you!”

“I’m not sure that—”

“Can I please get an easel made out of a denser wood as well please? And also it’s a little too humid in here, maybe by a few percentage points? Would you please adjust the climate controls in here for me? Lastly, can I please have a little pet on the head? My Miss was so excited for this that she barely got a wink of sleep last night so I don’t want to disturb her.” She beamed up at fae; not a single affini in all the compact could resist that smile. 

“I—of course little one. How could I ever say no to such a precious, polite little pet?” Fae showered Rayne with affection, then scurried off to fulfill her request. 

Seven hours, and several snack breaks later, Rayne puts the finishing touches on her canvas. In her portrait, Azalea sits, poised, looking down upon the viewer with a gentle smile, the evening glow frames her perfectly, casting her in a gorgeous red-orange aura. Her flowers bloom, her hands sit neatly in her lap. Her eyes are attentive, and hold within them profound understanding and care which only a floret can ever fully grasp. The layers, the depth of color, the framing and gravitas, it’s all there. She has captured her Mistress’ essence and put it to paper—almost anyway, nothing can match the real thing, after all. Nonetheless, Rayne breaths a satisfied sigh. She wipes one of the many splotches of colorful paint which dot her face, and smiles to herself. 

“I’m done, Mx. Brent,” she calls. Fae sits up with a start from faer desk, hardly believing it, then rushes over. Fae comes to a sudden halt, and stares on in stunned silence. 

“Holy shit,” fae murmur, amazement impossible to mask, then stiffen. “Erm, s-sorry. I mean, oh my stars, little one! This is—this amazing. You say it’s your first time painting?” 

“Mhm!” Rayne gives a happy nod, not even bothering to look at the portrait, her eyes are now fixed on the most important person in the room—nay, the universe—still fast asleep on her cushion. “I decided to blend a few different techniques from throughout Terran history, as well as a few Groltir techniques from the Mid-Feruise Dynasty, then some pre-Milky Way expansion Affini techniques, as well as several more modern stylistic elements. Mostly stuff I got from watching vids I found after I booked this date night with Mistress a couple weeks ago. I’m sure it looks a bit amateurish but…” she trails off, stopping to stretch and yawn, which flows into a dreamy sigh. “I’m sorry, I know I kept you here late.”

“No, no, it’s alright petal I just—I’ve never seen such astounding work from a beginner.”

“Really?” A wide, but weary smile plays across Rayne’s lips, she doesn’t take her eyes off her Mistress. “Since we’re gonna be here tomorrow for Mistress’ turn to paint me, is it okay if I go nap with her here until she wakes up?”

“Sure thing, petal,” fae replies. 

Rayne has already begun crossing the room. She climbs up onto Azalea’s perch, nestles herself into her owner’s vines, and drifts off into a peaceful, contented slumber.