Kita in Color

The sun was low in the sky, giving off a faint yellow light when they saw the Village. Kita and her ward had only taken a few steps past the gates, but already there was an ominous weight hanging in the air. The streets were nowhere near empty, but there was a curious stillness that went beyond the lack of population, like a blanket had been draped over the town and been tucked in so tight that it muffled all sound.

"I need a bed. A real bed, one fit for an evil overlord." Glenda complained, stabbing the silence around them sharply with his griping. Kita tried to block him and the unfortunate state of her hair out and studied the few villagers around them. They didn't seem all that wary of two strangers coming to their town, though Kita normally got at least a few second glances once they caught sight of her dark skin. In fact, the villagers seemed more concerned about a quiet artist who sat in the center of town.

He was a small man, no taller than Kita’s waist, with beady eyes and a long beard that hung down over his tunic. He smiled pleasantly, nodded at those who passed by, yet no one would make eye contact and even changed course to avoid getting close to him. The people bustled and hurried past without looking in his direction, as if they were afraid of what he might do. 

"Here, we'll ask him!" Glenda went stomping through the middle of the square without looking around for so much as a second. A few villagers gasped and hurried along faster as the buffoon approached the artist.

The artist himself looked up, took in Glenda's ridiculous appearance, and smiled. "Aren't you colorful today?"

It wasn't an unfriendly statement, but Glenda bristled all the same and ran a self conscious hand through his garish hair. He pointed gruffly at Kita, whose own hair was just as bright, but in a more fashionable manner: fewer polka dots, and all the same blueish color scheme. "This is all her doing."

With that confession, the painter turned his attention to Kita. His gaze was invasive and chilling, and far too calm as he took in the way the light caught on her travel-weary curls. "Well done, miss. Would you like a painting?"

Kita held up a hand to stop Glenda as he opened his mouth again. "Actually, I'd like some cake. And maybe a place to spend the night. Can you point us in the right direction?"

The painter nodded, and turned back to his canvas. "I can, if you'll buy a painting. Hard times, and all that."

"Hard times." She repeated casually. Nobody was buying this man's paintings. If the paintings were his talent, it could be he just didn't have any other skills to offer. With a life like that, of course he would take advantage of tourists however he could. If painting was not his talent, then this man was more dangerous than he appeared.

Kita studied the man for a beat, then yielded to her empathy. "Sure, I'll buy a painting."

The artist smiled and turned back to the canvas. "Blessings. I'm nearly done with this one."As the pair watched, the artist put the finishing touches on the canvas that bore a landscape with a woman in the foreground. The woman looked uncannily like Kita, but she was depicted as a figure of destruction. Her carefree curls were braided tightly to her scalp and fell down her back and the expression on the painting was one of curiosity and calm, belying the chaos of the rest of the scene. Instead of giving and changing colors as the real Kita did, it looked like she was sapping the color from the landscape.

"Interesting," She mused. "You painted me like a villain. It's Glenda who's the villain by the way. I'm just his babysitter."

She glanced at Glenda as she said this, and noted that despite his bright green skin, he looked shockingly pale. Before she could ask what his problem was, the artist chuckled and waved a small board back and forth in front of the painting to dry it faster. "Oh no, he's not with you at this point in your future."

"What does that mean?" Glenda's voice cracked as he asked the question, sounding genuinely shaken by the man's painting. Kita had forgotten her momentary concern over Glenda’s pallor and returned to examining the painting, taking in the dark surroundings, her bright blue hair almost glowing as she sucked the color from the rest of the canvas, leaving the area in a sad gray theme even as buildings and people crumpled around her.

"Oh could be anything really," The artist told Glenda calmly, "Maybe at this point you've simply gone to the loo or something."

"The-- the loo? You expect me to believe that? I won't--"

"Shut up, Glenda, I like it." Silence finally fell as the two men looked at Kita, the artist with gratitude and Glenda with disbelief.

"You do?" Their sudden synchronous question launched at her from two fronts, and she nodded.

"Yeah, okay. I like the painting. And I do have some coin, but my talent lies in color." She lifted the canvas, careful to touch only the edges and not entertain even the whisper of a thought about changing a single stroke. "I can buy this canvas from you with money, or trade it for turning any of your paints into a color you're missing."

"I will sell it to you today, colorful one." The artist said with a smile, "and perhaps I will trade in the future."

She paid the man, and he dutifully pointed the pair to an inn that offered food. He didn't guarantee any cake, but it was a dry place to sleep after camping in the marshes.

As Kita and her ward walked towards the inn, Glenda’s pallor was still chalky and he was visibly shaken. "What's wrong with you? You've been acting strange ever since the artist showed us that painting," Kita said, eyeing him curiously.

He hesitated before replying, "It's nothing. I just don't trust that painter."

She snorted. "He's a seer who can paint. And a talented one at that. But just because he painted something doesn't mean it'll come true."

"Oh," Glenda muttered. "So you promise not to suck the color out of my kingdom while I'm in the bathroom?"

Kita stopped suddenly, catching her boot on a loose stone, and turned to him. "That's your kingdom in the painting?"

Glenda hesitated before answering, "Yes, it is. But that's not what bothers me. It's the fact that he was able to paint it so accurately. It's almost as if he's seen it before." His voice trailed off as he looked away, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

Kita followed his gaze and saw the front of the village's inn. It looked like the run-down establishment had seen better days. The paint on the walls was faded and chipped, and the sign hanging above the door creaked in the wind, but the building itself was still standing and it wasn't a tree in the swamp. All the same, Kita’s fingers twitched with the sudden impulse to brighten up the facade.

"Come on," she said instead, grabbing Glenda's arm and pulling him towards the inn. "Let's get some food and rest. Stop worrying about your little hamlet, I have no intention of taking it over."

Glenda let out a huff of relief as they went in and Kita waved to the elderly woman at the front counter.

"Hello there, children. You've come a long way from home."

Glenda gasped and stepped back. "Another one!"

Kita’s eyes rolled and she shook her head. "Sorry about him, we just bought a painting from--"

"Ah, is Thomas still out there? He's my husband, you know."

Kita nodded, trying not to stare at Glenda as he fidgeted with his gloves. The woman didn't seem to notice, too busy staring at Kita with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. In an attempt to be polite, Kita said nothing and bore the itchy study of her brown skin silently. They were far from home, in the kind of small village people were born and died in. It was likely this old woman had never seen somebody who wasn’t pale and flushed, like Glenda was naturally.

"Well," the woman said, breaking the silence. "What can I get for you two? Do you want to buy any pots?"

"Any... no, I don't think we need any pots, ma'am. Food if you have it, and a room, please." Kita replied. Now that the subject of pots had been brought up, Kita noticed the shelf behind the counter lined with various sized pots. They had similar shapes and colors, and as far as anyone  could tell from only a glance, they didn't tell the future.

"I also have cake."

Kita perked up at that. Glenda had lost the last of the cake Kita had so carefully packed in the swamp. It wouldn’t take much to convince her to kill for some, if it was the right flavor. "Cake does sound amazing, actually. Can we have some of that too?" she asked with rigid politeness, her mouth already watering at the thought of sweet, sugary goodness.

The old woman nodded and bustled away, returning a few moments later with a small plate piled high with cake. "This is your favorite kind, is it not? The kind that you always crave but it never fills you. Not since--"

"Okay." Kita said quickly, a little sharper than she meant to. She winced and fixed her tone. "I'm sorry. Yes, the cake looks delicious. You're psychic, but you don't need to go advertising anybody's lives."

The woman nodded. "Of course, dear. The room I'll give for free for one night, because of the painting you bought from my husband. How would you like to pay for the cake?"

Kita gave her the same deal she gave the painter outside. The woman looked at the shelves behind her, and picked one of the clay pots off of the shelf and brought it down. "I'm afraid the glaze on this didn't come out quite right. It's meant to be blue, like..." She glanced at Kita’s hair, then thought better of it and looked around the room, then pointed. "Ah, blue like that flower over there!"

Kita stepped over and studied the flower. It was a deep and dark blue, highlighted with small streaks of navy that gave it depth and life. She went back over to the woman. "I can do that, no problem."

She ran her fingers over the pot, but instead of it turning a vibrant and lively blue, the dark, shiny paint suddenly seemed to melt off the pot towards her fingertips, leaving behind an empty gray color.

Glenda let out a loud, dramatic gasp. "It's happening!" he wailed.

Kita closed her eyes against his idiocy and apologized for him again. "That... I usually get the color right the first time. I’m just a little worn out from traveling." The woman nodded patiently and Kita let out a slow breath, brushing the pot with her fingers again and this time seeing it bloom with rich, dark blues.

Kita handed the pot back to the woman and she put it back on the shelf, then returned with two keys that she set beside the cake. "Here are your rooms. Feel free to ring down for any more cake or dinner."

"Thank you." Kita turned and grabbed Glenda by the collar, yanking him toward the stairs before he could act like a pompous spoiled kid. "We won't need anything. Isn't that right, Glenda? Carry the painting."

Glenda opened his mouth, probably to complain that he was being made to walk the way an unruly pet would, but that was a battle neither of them were in the mood to fight. He shut his mouth and followed Kita dutifully up the stairs.

"Here's your key. Don't make trouble for the psychic spouses while we're here. It doesn't take a psychic to know that it wouldn't end well for us." Kita threw one of the brass keys in Glenda's direction and walked towards her own door.

"Wait." Glenda said, reaching out to her. "Can you... what about my... color?"

Kita turned back to him with a glare. “And what about my life before you came and made a nuisance of yourself?” Glenda pursed his lips in resignation but brightened when Kita sighed. She reached up and poked him in the forehead, turning his skin back to the boring pale white color it was before and then tugged on his hair rougher than she needed to. Most of it turned back to the natural black she met him with, except for the tip that had met direct contact with her fingers. That bit was a lifeless gray color.

"There. Happy?" She asked, rolling her eyes to avoid acknowledging the mistake. Glenda nodded eagerly with a glimmer of relief in his eyes. He finally went into his room and passed the painting over to Kita before she went into hers. Once she was alone, she set the canvas and cake down on the nightstand and looked at her hands. The black that should have been on Glenda's hair had bled instead into her nails. Kita rubbed at the darkened fingers until the black color seeped into her skin and it all looked normal again.

"We need to get out of this village." She mumbled, stubbornly ignoring the small rush of power flowing in her hands after they took color instead of giving it. A pathetic and tired curl fell over her forehead and Kita twisted it gingerly, her gaze falling to the painting. “But braids aren’t a bad idea.”