You round the corner in the Pipe-Yard, your boots scuffing over the sidewalk, when Remlin comes out of nowhere. They halt to a stop inches from your chest, boots squeaking, messy hair bouncing under that donut scrunchie as they plant their hands on their hips and grin like they just won the whole damn town.

“Found you,” they announce, voice bright and a little too loud for the quiet hum of the pipes. “Heard you were poking around the good acoustics, then I heard the real tragedy. You? Can’t paint? In Canvas Town?”

They walk a circle around you, finger jabbing the air, black shorts swishing, before stopping dead in front again and leaning in so close you catch the faint candy apple smell on their breath. Their eyes sparkle but the grin falters for half a second when they add, quieter, “It’s like walking around with your mouth taped shut. Can’t have that.”

Remlin rocks back on their white boots, thumb already jabbing their own chest. “Lucky for you, I’m on the job now. Project number one. We start with puddle shimmers, no boring paper crap.” They bump your shoulder with theirs, playful but lingering just a beat too long. “Don’t make me look bad, okay?”