Rhapsody

constellations: pictor

the tenth night.
10:04 p.m.

i gasp when i see him,
and pull on his arm to make him
sit down.

he smiles without humor.

i was wondering whether i should
come tonight.
i knew you'd probably react like this.

for a good reason! what happened?

nothing.

i give him a flat look.

his right eye is swelling,
the skin around it
black and indigo.
and there are cuts on his cheeks
that look only a few hours old.
his expression is one of
exhaustion.
he closes his eyes and
leans back,
stretching his legs out.

i sit beside him,
cross-legged,
watching anxiously.
waiting for an explanation.

he can't give her the truth,
and some part of him feels bad for it.
but he knows
this is better.

he wants to know her,
and he supposes that
he should trust her;
but he doesn't not want to scare her
away
just yet.

orion. tell me.

he sighs deeply and watches my face
for a moment,
eyes narrowed. i stare at him
steadily, refusing to back down.

he sighs again
and gives in.

just a fight at school,
no big deal.

fighting at school isn't a big deal?

she's incredulous, and he can
hardly blame her for it.

depends on who it is,
aer.

so who was it?

a dickhead who
always talks too much.
he was insulting my mother.

well, that much was true, anyways.

her expression softened slightly.

but you still shouldn't -

i didn't throw the first punch,
alright?

he sounds irritated.

but i'm not going to sit there
and be some goody-goody
while a guy's beating the shit
out of me.

i stay quiet.
i shouldn't have acted so...
superior, almost.
patronizing.

he did what he should have.

did you get a few good hits in?

he stares at me, but i'm completely
serious.

he nods, slowly - warily, as though
it had been a trick question.

her mouth crooks up into a wicked grin.

good. i hope you hurt him.
he's a bastard for
trying to hurt you and your mother.

he grins back.
glad you approve.

doesn't it hurt, though?

it's fine.

i'm used to it.

he doesn't dare say that last part out loud, of course.

the only time i've ever
bruised my face was when
i hit it on the corner of an easel.

he makes a sound that's
half-snort, half-laugh.

what?

there's laughter in his voice.
i scowl at him.

i hit my face against
the corner of an easel.
it was one of thsoe heavy wooden ones.
stop laughing,
it hurt!

i'm sure it did.

she rolls her eyes,
but there's a smile playing on her lips.

it's just kind of funny,
because i was going to tell you
about pictor tonight.

who's pictor?

what, he corrects.

it's a constellation.
pictor is the latin word for painter,
but the name actually represents
"equuleus pictoris",
which means
"the painter's easel".
so it's the easel constellation.

he grins as she rolls her eyes again.

well, i don't think
i like this one very much, then.

they sit quietly for a moment,
shrouded in a comfortable silence.

how do you know so much about constellations?

he stiffens, but answers anyway.

my mother used to tell me stories.

his tone warns me not
to ask any more.

oh. she sounds lovely.
my mother was never...
the story-telling type.

i laugh a little to myself,
bitter at the very thought
of my mother.

well, that's alright.
you've got me now to teach your
poor, deprived little brain
all about stars.

and more, i remind him
teasingly.

he smiles at her.

and more.