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The funny thing about alizarin crimson was that finding actual alizarin crimson was like pulling teeth out. See, there were two types of alizarin crimson: lake pigment, or synthetic, alizarin crimson, and alizarin crimson, which was organic, and only denoted by the fact that it wasn't created in the laking process. It was so easy to reach for the organic alizarin crimson and end up with a tube of lake pigment alizarin crimson, which was why the local art supply store had taken to labeling lake pigment alizarin crimson 'lizard christmas'.

Aleksy didn't get the joke, but then, it wasn't very funny.

Anyway, alizarin crimson was still a b***h to get his hands on. Aleksy needed the fugitive properties of the organic paint; he used it for his underpaintings and let the color be leeched away by the sun. Uneven aging added shifts to the palette he couldn't predict or replace, and he enjoyed the effect besides. Unfortunately, he was almost out, and that was why he was arguing with a salesperson about why 'lizard christmas' just wouldn't work.

It was probably a weird situation to walk into, but Aleksy couldn't find the ******** for the sleepy-looking art student who'd just slouched in. "Lizard Christmas," he said, making the air quotes, "has as much a place in my art as cucumber does in borscht. Will you please check your shipping inventory?"

Aleksy jerked away from this person invading his personal space, and frowned mightily at being interrupted. The clerk seemed to relax, though, at having such a familiar question asked.

"Quinacridone? I mean, it's only like, the one red shade that every paint kid taking a high school arts class wants. You want oils or acrylic or watercolor? I know where they all are."

Aleksy pressed his fingers to his temples. "Do you mind," he hissed to the interloper. "I am busy!"

"Alizarin crimson," Aleksy said to the counter clerk, who nodded in a frazzled kind of way before darting off into their back room. Honestly! What a man had to do to actually get paint! It wasn't like he was entirely out or it was an emergency, but damn.

He frowned at the boy, mightily, though the effect was lessened by the fact that the blond was only shorter than he was because he was flopped all over the counter. "Get your face off there," said Aleksy, "you have no idea who or what has been there."

"No!" Aleksy looked up, haphazardly checking for cameras. Seeing none, he took Will about the shoulders and straightened him up as best he could, poking and prodding until the blond was at least... sort of upright. "It's, it is inconsiderate to put your face on something other people must clean," he seethed. "Stay upright!"

There were so many reasons to not do that even if the counter would inevitably be cleaned anyway. Aleksy frowned harder still at being identified as the flower guy, which was backwards, as far as he was concerned. "I own a flower shop," he said. "And your face carries bacteria. As does your mouth. And it will pick up bacteria as well, so," here he paused for emphasis, very emphatically, "don't do stupid things like that."

"Thanks," said Aleksy, a little disarmed by the compliment. And then--

well, the attendant returned before Aleksy could shout some more at the collapsing Wil-sculpture. "Organic alizarin crimson," said the attendant, holding it up. "And, uh, we've sold some tubes of quinacridone oil paint to a dark-haired girl. She paid cash, so I don't have her name."

Aleksy took the tube of paint and paid for it, then looked at Wil. "Be careful about what you put your face on," he said, finally.

Aleksy pushed Wil upright, not unkindly but also not very gently. "Yes," he said. "Careful."

Then he backed away. "Thank you. I'll see you."