Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

The Finale (2)

(3rd person POV)

"That's it?"

Wilbur glanced up from his instrument with furrowed brows. "What do you mean?" he asked as he lowered the violin from his chin and gazed at the woman sitting across from him, her heavy skirts spilling around her in a cerulean tide.

She did not meet his confused stare. Her attention was fixed entirely on the easel in front of her, turned slightly away from him so all he could see were random splotches of color. Paint stained her hands and hair and skin: deep indigos and soft blues and the dark browns of the eyes that were his inheritance from her.

Mother considered her canvas in silence for a few seconds before making a gentle stroke with her brush. "You stopped playing all of a sudden," she murmured absently. "I thought the song was finished."

"It's not," Wilbur said. "Just like your painting isn't, either."

She shot him a rueful smile. "When did you get so cheeky?"

"When you weren't looking, I suppose." He pointed his violin's bow accusingly at her. "And I only stopped because you interrupted me."

"I did not interrupt you! I would never." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear—leaving a golden streak of paint across her cheek in the process—before turning back to her painting. "You remember the rules for the Art Tower, don't you, my boy?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes affectionately at her. The 'Art Tower' had been his mother's idea, and her first mistake had been allowing a ten-year-old Wilbur to name it. It was the east tower of the castle, and it was meant to be a place just for the two of them. 

A place where Wilbur could play as loud and as badly as he wanted, and where Mother could accidentally spill jars of paint without ruining some random priceless artifact. A place where stringed instruments hung on the walls instead of morning stars and swords, and worn easels stood in place of suits of armor. 

It was a tower. And it was full of art. Thus, following young Wilbur's stream of consciousness—the Art Tower.

Older Wilbur would have chosen something a bit more tasteful. He would name it after the massive arched windows that let in the soft morning light, or the daffodils that grew at the sills, or the white lace curtains dancing in the breeze like the veil of a bride made of air. 

But, it would be Art Tower, now and forever.

Tommy would never let him live it down.

"I'm not hearing any music," Mother hummed.

Wilbur sighed lovingly as he put the violin back under his chin. "The things I do for you, Mother."

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she gave him a dazzling smile. "If you finish your song," she said, "I'll let you peek at the canvas."

"That's bribery. You are bribing your son. Your own sweet boy!"

She tossed her head back in a laugh, brown and gray ringlets falling over her shoulders. "Dance for me, my puppet!" she chortled. She waggled the fingers that weren't holding the paintbrush in some vague approximation of puppetry. "Dance!"

Wilbur shook his head and raised his eyes to the heavens. "Alright," he said. "From the top, then."

He put bow to string and began to play again.

A shadow fell over Techno as a giggle interrupted the sounds of the forest, chasing the birds back to their nests. Without opening his eyes, Techno said, "I know it's you."

Another giggle, quieter this time, as if she were trying to swallow back her childish glee.

"Papa wants you home," she said cheerfully. "You're in big trouble."