Ante Up and Play God in a Poker Game.

[Merry Walker]

Merry would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. If anyone happened to ask, of course he would lie. A casual ‘No, Pippins fine. You know how he gets.’ Brushing off anyone else’s anxieties about the eldest Walker sibling, but Merry knew better. Day one had been alright. At least then the window had been open and Pippin hadn’t seemed too stuck on what he was doing, but by day two the curtains were closed and Merry had begun holding space in Pippins room, bringing in books or his own sketch pad to keep himself occupied while his brother took out whatever it was he was feeling on the canvas he was working on. By day three, Merry was feeling rather anxious about the whole thing. He’d gone on a walk with Annie and Baby early in the day which had sort of made him feel better but really only served to be a distraction because the second they were home and Baby was out of her harness that anxious feeling resurfaced. 

That was how he wound up knocking on Pippins door, a large canvas under his arm and a bag of oil paints. He didn’t wait for Pippin to answer the door, he rarely ever did to begin with but he knew that Pippin more than likely wouldn’t answer the door right now. Too focused, too busy, too stressed out. Merry didn’t blame him. “Pip?” Merry asked as he walked into the room, setting the bag of paints and the canvas on the bed as he turned about the room. It was clean, he didn’t expect anything different, but he was sure that the overhead light and lamps being the only light was giving Pippin a headache. “Cover your eyes, maybe.” It was a suggestion more than anything else because without any follow up Merry pulled the curtains back on the windows and opened them to let some air inside before shutting off the overhead light in the room, not really caring if he caught any disgruntled words from his brother at the moment. 

“I had an idea for this canvas but I need you to do it with me.” Merry explained as he sat himself down on the bed and picked up the canvas looking it over. “I want to do a lot of colors with a woman’s face-…” he trailed off briefly as he set down the canvas. “I don’t know. I can’t verbalize it. But I want it colorful and you’re not allowed to use a paintbrush I hate the fiber strokes in the oil.” He explained, hoping that frankly he’d hit Pippin with enough all at once that he’d be distracted enough to set his own painting down and maybe take a few breaths. 

[Pippin Walker]

Sometimes, things just didn't feel right to Pippin. No matter how much work he put into a piece, how many sleepless nights went into a painting, or how many sliced fingers he contributed to a carving, it just wasn't right. He hardly noticed when a day blended into the next; the passage of time eluded him when he got like this. On some level, Pippin knew his family worried, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He couldn't stop, it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't that would just be another failure he couldn't have crop up. Every time Pippin failed at something, his world curled in on itself and ate its tail. It was like his failure and the subsequent need to fix it was Ouroboros because it would just end in self-destruction.

Barely noticing Merry come in was probably his sign that it had gone on too long. He scratched his fingers through his hair roughly, uncaring of the paint he was no doubt getting on it, turning to actually look at his twin for the first time in who knew how long. Merry probably knew. He'd probably been counting the minutes since Pippin's self-isolation began. It certainly wasn't his proudest moment when he flinched away from the natural light spearing into his room, unrelenting despite the throbbing behind his brow.

Pippin paused, mind taking too long to process what his brother had said. There was a canvas and paint and- "Merry." he began and was relatively unsurprised when his voice was rough with disuse. It wouldn't be the first time. "Merry, you can't use oil paints on bare skin or in this room-" Pippin took a breath- too deep and too fast, it hurt his throat -and then turned to his drawers to pull out sponges and gloves. "Alright, let's... Let's go outside then, I'll help you."

[Merry Walker]

“Ohhh, it speaks. I was starting to get concerned.” Merry grinned at Pippin, picking up the canvas under his arm, and grabbing the bag of oil paints, pulling it up to his shoulder as he waited for Pippin to get ready. Part of him had figured that if he brought up using oil paints in Pippins room, it would make him want to leave and he was more than glad that it had been true. Pippin needed to spend some time outside. After they were done he could try and make him sleep for a bit. He was scrunching his face in the way that he did when he had a headache anyways. “I’m pretty sure I can use my bare fingers, I haven’t died yet.” That was a lie. Not the dying part but he definitely used gloves when he used oil paints. They irritated his skin. 

Once Pippin had gathered everything he needed, Merry interlocked their arms and started tugging him towards the door, leaving Pippin to close it behind them if he chose too. “I made some food earlier, I wrapped it and put it in the fridge if you decide that you want something to eat.” Merry said as he led Pippin down the stairs, mostly trying to get him out of the house before Pippin could second guess what they were doing and decide he didn’t want to go outside. Last thing he needed was to get this far this quickly and have to backtrack but he also sort of assumed that the threat of using oil paints in Pippins room was a good enough threat that he wouldn’t try to go back. 

If he’d had actually thought about it he’d have grabbed both the food and some water because he assumed that Pippin had neglected both of those things over the past three days. Oh well. He’d figure it out once he deemed Pippin fully and well distracted, right now he could practically feel Pippins anxiety and that was a recipe for disaster. 

[Pippin Walker]

It was a lot. Maybe if he had a clearer head, Pippin would realize his brother had just played him expertly, but when Merry had to interfere like this, he was already too far gone to capture two whole thoughts in his head to rub together to create friction. Still, he could muster up a withering glance at his twin, eyes narrowed to both block out the light and express his exasperation. "Merry, if you used it that much with your hands your skin would not look good at all."

He could probably make a joke about how Merry rarely looked good, something brotherly and teasing like that, but he didn't have the energy for it. Didn't have the mood for it either. Pippin felt raw, exposed, and almost delicate. He hated it. It felt like he was somehow failing at something else, at being a brother. At being Merry's twin. It was too many failures, combined and weighing on his shoulders, dragging him down. Maybe trying to drag him back to his room with that stupid piece he couldn't finish because he was shit at everything he did, apparently.

If he had been sitting, his leg would bounce. Instead, all he could do was focus on the task Merry had set out for him. Paint, save his brother from irritation and possible scarring via said paint, and eat? Apparently. "You made food?" It was a random thing to focus on, but something other than just simple instructions to distract him, working just that tiny bit better.

[Merry Walker]

Oh thank Merlin, He’d caught Merry mentioning food. That did take a lot of stress off of him, assuming he could actually talk Pippin into eating. He paused at the kitchen and let go of Pippin’s arm so that he could set the bag of paints on the counter and prop the canvas against the side of the counter, before moving back to his brother and collecting the few things he’d grabbed from his hands and setting them on the counter. “I did make food. I’m still sort of hungry, if you want to eat something before we go outside.” He hadn’t actually eaten any of the food he’d made, he’d been much too anxious when He’d come back to learn that Pippin still hadn’t come downstairs, he still was a bit too anxious to really eat anything but he would do it if it made Pippin feel better about actually sitting down for a little bit. 

He seemed to be doing okay so far at holding Pippin’s attention, which was all he could ask for right now. The hard part in general was getting him from his room and keeping him from going back while they were still in the house. Once they were outside it should be a little better, especially with the threat of Merry using his bare hands to paint with oils, couple that with the additional threat of Merry doing that inside of Pippins room and well… he was pretty sure that he was in the clear for the time being. Plus! Pippin was actually getting a few words out which was always good. More often than not if this went on for too long Pippin would go border on being nonverbal which usually made Merry more anxious than he was now. All things considered they were doing well. 

“It’s just Cawl. Made from some leftovers. It’s not… great but it’s okay?” That probably wasn’t true. Despite his drinking Merry was still a perfectionist at heart, most things he did he did well, even if that meant that he had to have a few drinks after he was finished so that he could ignore whatever mistakes might have been there. Like he’d done when he’d thrown everything together to make something quick, only to then shove it in the fridge so he could pretend he hadn’t made it out of anxiety based around what his brother could and could not stomach right now. “Or we can paint first?” He offered as an alternative.