(HOSTING AN UNPUBLISHED AND SUPPOSEDLY NOT PUBLIC TO NATIVE AO3 READERS FIC BY ERR YOURS TRULY)
(will repurpose in the future) -A2rae
Title: "Hey, what if...?"
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Fandom: Apphumans (Paintwater AU)
Category: GenDesc:
"Imagine if I were dead, would anyone even remember to come to the funeral?"
Photoshop has a little introspection on some... trivial concerns
“Imagine if I were dead, would anyone even remember to come to the funeral?”
That was an odd question, coming from Microsoft Paint, of all people. Photoshop scoffs, having recognized the similar question that came from KidPix’s chapped lips not long after they stood outside his hospital room, conversing after he had been asked to arrive on concerns about Eclipse…
Well, Windows be damned, not like that guy was coming back anytime soon, there isn’t anything that a little hardcore PR-ing won’t fix.
His mind inevitably drifts back to the query even as the pair turned to leave the establishment, at face value it seemed quite offhanded, a lackadaisical jab, or rather just one MSPaint was pondering about in passing such that he was willing to share it with his…rival? Friend? Best friend?
Photoshop scrunches up his nose, he wasn’t even sure himself, after what happened.
KidPix would obviously miss the old fart dearly and would deeply mourn, the two of them had been close since time immemorial, at one point, Photoshop, despite being the third witness to most of Paint’s history, was curious whether there were any…underlying feelings between the duo, but he digresses.
Plus, he slightly smirks to himself, if they were up to something fishy, he’d be the first to know, the powers of being good at photography, he jokes as he hopefully kept his poker face on.
But… A dark voice whispers at the corner of his mind. KidPix would die long before Paint does.
He swallows and elects to ignore that thought for now.
Illustrator probably would just acknowledge the man’s passing, the two were never on excellent terms, and to Illy, it seemed like a particularly sour topic, so as such her dear brother didn’t press for more. He once considered asking Paint, but he didn’t say too much, nor did his glare incite him to ask KidPix, knowing the kindhearted friend was practically the only foreign app that stepped into the proximity of the Adobe family home in those few years Illy shut herself in.
Outside of the OGs, who else? Photoshop wonders. SAI? Same with Illust, he supposes, minus the hidden hostility. IbisPaintX comes to mind, perhaps she would miss her janitor-father figure quite dearly, he quietly chuckles. But he had never seen the girl as mired in grief as when she leered over Medibang Paint’s deathbed just a month ago.
Microsoft Word maybe? But Paint had never really talked to his…brother? And was fairly sure the only Microsoft app the guy interacted with was PowerPoint and on even rarer occasions– Notepad. How did the Microsoft Family even work? Photoshop didn’t know, nor did Paint ever tell him.
He eyes MSPaint, seemingly spaced out as the two waited in the lift lobby– or just focusing on something else, Photoshop couldn’t care to tell when his mind raced miles a minute around a stupid little query the same man raised, and that guy was staring at a simple, innocuous potted fern on his side, it seemed, its droopy leaves doing an excellent job in conveying the absolute void of color or life within the sterile medical facility.
He laughs to himself, why did he care so much about a simple, lopsided question that was surely just a careless jab at him?
…His hand froze in place, suddenly everything seemingly skidding to a halt at a realization.
Why DID he care?
Now, Photoshop and MSPaint admittedly had a smoother and more peaceful history than the disaster that was Paint and Windows, however, they had a more checkered history than most, going from petty rivalry and dipping into a brutal crossing of blades, one you wouldn’t expect from your office-worker type boss and your laidback bucket-obsessed janitor to whom the two would often argue over every simple thing for entertainment alone— usually.
He could feel the weight of his left arm ache incessantly on what was left of it, history written across the dull stump under its cold, dark metallic shell that replaced the organic limb that was long gone. There weren’t any phantom aches or sudden panicked realizations at the loss of his arguably main writing hand (he thanked whoever coded in as much customizability for his ambidexterity to be near flawless– as much as most of the department was, they still had a preferred hand that wrote steadier than the other), not anymore, he finished glumly, just a dull ache of nerves that didn’t exist anymore.
Because of Paint, partially, the other part was the fact he somehow survived 7 whole hours of work before managing to slink off to a hospital with a gaping wound and tendons almost totaled to shreds. He should’ve probably expected the infection part, didn’t expect having to lop the bottom part completely off, though.
For a man who stabbed him, villainized him, been an absolute pain in the ass, entertained each others violent backlashes against the worries of practically every spectator who with their two eyes saw the prized flagship app of Adobe and Microsoft’s long-missing yet still standing lowly graphic renderer cross one of the first physical blades within the Art Sector, he did care an abnormal amount for what was his enemy, or should be his enemy, as he still spoke of his name swathed deep in intense vitriol.
And yet…
Swiftly jolted out of his thoughts upon the realization the pair had halted at the side of a road, it took an embarrassingly long second for a guy who had lived in the Sector his entire life to realize where he was.
MSPaint raises an eyebrow at him, a silent query at the prolonged dead air in the face of the usual feistiness that came with the two in proximity.
Photoshop shot him a glare before hastily sauntering across the road once he made sure no vehicles came through, embarrassment burning deep in his cheeks.
There was an undeniable glint of worry in the other’s expression that seemed to pester him even more, such that Photoshop decided to let it be and act as natural as he could while coming to terms with the fact perhaps he had found the other’s subtle attempts to assist him quite appreciated, he was sure he didn’t notice more, but in all consideration, his friend was always very secretive with what he expressed to him, however, it’d be a stretch for him to say that he didn't appreciate the help.
It’d be too far for even the prideful and far-from-benevolent Adobe Photoshop to say that he didn’t appreciate how he was one of the reasons he bothered dragging himself home despite having a Sisyphean amount of tasks, or sometimes even getting his ass dragged back home because it seemed like the persistent little shit of an old man couldn’t stand him napping a few hours on his office chair instead on behalf of the absolute health nut KidPix was, his words, not his own.
Yet was he willing to say that to MSPaint’s face? Over his dead, rotting corpse, if there was any at his demise.
That guy probably only followed KidPix’s wishes if not for KidPix himself for some benefit of the sort– not to brag, his position, or rather also most of his equal-positioned posse was the envy of many, why else was he usually hands full with people new and old clamoring over his seat? Or smooth-tongued businessapps lunging for the linen of his wallet?
It would not be a surprise if Paint was just here for his worth, or perhaps even for the sadistic pleasure of being able to beat him at something without needing for the pleasantries even Paint Tool SAI tended to divert to. That was most probably it, considering Paint was never particular about wealth in general, not like he was rich by any means, it was just that he didn’t have any ambition for more in that department than he had to get around in life, as pretty evident for the fact he probably genuinely likes his job as his janitor, never had he had someone be quite as willing to clean up after the catastrophe of a Sector such as them.
But it’s not like he didn’t have the capacity for it, he scowls. Greedy fucking bastard leeching off my card for lunch-
“Ow!” He yelps when a metal arm jabs him in the side, retracting from the pain. “Watch where your limbs are going, that shit bruises!”
“I am watching.” MSPaint shot back. “I’m also watching you glare at the air like it owes you its life.”
Photoshop smirks. “Actually, yes it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
“You didn’t even create air!” MSPaint scowls.
“Well, who knows who did?” Photoshop dared to lean closer, forcing Paint to have to move aside on the pavement at the suffocating proximity. “You cannot deny the chances of me creating air until you confirm who created air.”
“You’re a prick, you know that?” MSPaint grumbles.
Photoshop seethes. “News flash! You’re insufferable.”
“Thanks.” MSPaint snickers. “You’re still a nerd.”
“At least I know how to read.” Photoshop hisses.
“What kind of insult is that for?” MSPaint scoffs, yet bordering on an absurd chuckle. “Kindergarteners?”
“Well, guess who didn’t read a contract before signing it?” Photoshop smiles in delight at the offense that practically burned the other alive. “Free labor.”
“Actually, you’re such a twat.” Photoshop nearly chokes on his spit in incredulity.
“Twat?” He spat out while holding back a wheeze. “Twat? Are you British or something?”
“Just so you should know I am a Yankee to the soul.” MSPaint refutes hurriedly. “It’s just I’m afraid posh pampered billionaires like you don’t understand anything outside what a limey would say.”
“Well for your information, Paint,” Photoshop hums smugly. “I still use my z’s instead of my s’es.”
“For your information, Photo is that it’s more productive to stop thinking your head off and focus on the damn road.” MSPaint points out curtly, and he couldn’t help but flinch knowing the other had probably seen him so deep in thought, more or less mired within contemplation mainly on the focus of the same person who just called him out for spacing out too much while walking.
Still, was he going to show weakness? Only a little, and this was way too much than he’s comfortable with.
He pulls a tense grin. “Well, odd for you to be mindful of young little me, eh?”
“You aren’t even using the right road back to the office.” MSPaint deadpans. “You’re pacing.”
Shit. Photoshop let out an awkward, strained noise. Well, so much for attempting to seem unbothered under the slight scrutiny those accusatory xanthous eyes bore into his guarded azure.
“Shut up.” He muttered, swiftly turning his heel to proceed back to the main road.
He heard MSPaint sigh, an expression of surrender, before returning to silence.
Photoshop blinks, was that intentional? Should he even ask? Yet judging from the sudden aversion to further conversation, he supposes he should moderate his banter for now before he risks having to delve headfirst into another scuffle.
Now, where was he…?
Right, pondering and working his brain around the absolute enigma that was their current state of relations that stemmed from a question concerning mortality, yes.
Looking back, why did he even remain friends with MSPaint? Perhaps it was for the rivalry, maybe it was for the practicality of keeping someone who was related to his boss on his side.
It shouldn’t have been for how he reveled in those small moments of peace where KidPix didn’t have to sit between them he often forgot amid their boiling tension, or he mutely had a deep respect for the other that would have him insulting CSP if she ever tried to imply the app wasn’t capable of drawing a stickfigure— mind you, MSPaint could probably solo the brash lady in terms of art skills, maybe not physically though, or he would feel too lonely at the top without someone who was all for kicking him off his high horse, or out of the office, maybe.
He exhales, would he willingly accept that truth? Surely not! He wouldn’t allow himself to begrudgingly admit that… possibility even in his mind.
And he hated how that possibility was currently the case. He sulks, resisting every urge to kick a random pebble and scuff his shoes for the millionth time and instead picking at the hem of his gloves.
So, would anyone miss his long-time rival, the thorn in his side, great pincushion for his knives, someone from Microsoft for that matter, and the only reason why Windows hated their Sector so much was someone he wanted to be around, was someone (that wasn’t KidPix) he cherished enough to not want them to immediately fuck off and die in a forest that didn’t exist?
Photoshop gives it some thought, perhaps…
“Can you stop fucking thinking for once?”
“Oh my god SHUT UP!”
Okay, no, he’s not going to miss this guy.
(ignore this im repurposing this url for something else)