Chapter 8

The Fantastical Armory, Roya Lane, London, England, United Kingdom

When Gen entered the strange shop of oddities and weapons, she halted both because of the strange sounds and sights around the Fantastical Armory. Violin music filled the air, creating both an enchanting and haunting tone to the place. But even weirder was that Father Time was standing on a paint-splattered tarp in front of an easel with a canvas. The tall man known as Papa Creola, who had created space and time and governed both, was holding a brush and palette and studying the painting before him.

Gen glanced at Mother Nature who was working behind a nearby counter, mixing what appeared to be herbs. She didn't look up, intently focused on her work. Gen's gaze flickered to Papa Creola and then his assistant, Subner, the Protector of Weapons. Both men, similar to Mama Jamba, didn't acknowledge Gen, one continuing to paint and the other reading his book, per usual.

Stepping forward, even with the handsome man with silver hair and a distinguished appearance, Gen looked sideways at Papa Creola. "Ummm…what are you doing?"

"He's painting," Subner answered in a dull voice, not looking up from his book. He was positioned where he could almost always be found, sitting on his stool behind the glass counter at the back of the Fantastical Armory.

Gen's eyelashes fluttered with annoyance, used to Subner's bad attitude since she'd spent the first week here at the Fantastical Armory when dropped into this timeline. That was when her modern-day family were trying to put her back in the 15th century, but it didn't work because she apparently was never meant to go back. During that time, Gen was confined to the Fantastical Armory and spent all her time with the Protector of Weapons, Mother Nature and Father Time. As if her life hadn't already gotten hugely bizarre with the new timeline, she had the company of two gods and a demi-god.

"I might be new to the modern world, but I know what painting looks like," she replied to the man with shoulder-length greasy black hair.

When Father Time did the hard reset to try to put Gen back on her timeline, he and his assistant and also the Protector of Wealth's appearances changed. However, despite going from being an elf to a fairy, Subner still had managed to keep his appearance by getting rid of his wings.

Papa Creola however, went from looking like a long-haired elf to a handsome halfling, sharing both the qualities of a magician and a fairy. He appeared both charming with his intriguing smile and twinkling eyes and intelligent with his studious nature.

"I don't know what you know," Subner muttered. "And you asked a question and I answered it."

Gen cleared her throat, looking just at Papa Creola who was tilting his head and regarding the canvas with a concentrated expression. "I guess my question is, why are you painting?"

"To express myself," Papa Creola replied brushing blue paint across the canvas. "To experience my creative side. To give color to my emotions."

Subner looked up from his book. "Because he's half fairy and they are compelled by their feelings. It's really gross."

"You're full fairy," Gen pointed out.

"I severed my wings before they could poison me with emotions," Subner replied.

"Yeah, that seems sane," Gen mused. "That had to be incredibly painful."

"It was excruciating," he answered. "And I'd do it a thousand times over to not be clouded by repulsive feelings that compel us to create artwork or sing songs."

"Yeah, that would be horrible," Gen said dryly, turning her attention back to Papa Creola and his painting. "So what are you making?"

"The heart only knows to express itself, not what its expressions will become," Papa Creola answered, smearing more blue paint across the canvas.

"Right," Gen said, drawing out the word and turning her attention to Mama Jamba working at the glass counter, curious what she was doing. The old woman with a head full of bluish gray curls and wearing a pink velvet track suit was smashing herbs with a pestle into a mortar. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm making new colors for Papa's paintings," Mama Jamba chimed in her thick Southern accent.

Gen glanced back at Papa Creola's palette, full of an array of colors. "Oh, he's got lots of paints. What color are you making him?"

"A brand new one," Mama Jamba replied. "One that has never existed before. Ever."

"Of course," Gen said, realizing that she should have expected this answer from the creator of…well, everything. "I can't wait to see what it looks like when you're done."

"You won't be able to see it with your eyes, dear," Mama Jamba stated matter-of-factly. "You might be able to taste it or smell it, but it very well will be outside your sensory awareness."

"That makes sense," Gen said, turning her attention to the grumpy Protector of Weapons. "I need your help and I really hope that you can help me." She withdrew Bellumferrum from her pocket and held it out in her hand for Subner to see.

He flicked his gaze to the small, black cube and shook his head. "I can't help you to fix that, only you can…"