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When he recreates The Great Wave Of Kanagawa, Tom Nook is less than impressed. Redd can hear it in the tone of his voice, the way it's all high pitched and snarling. When Tommy starts to get angry he sounds wild, like an animal. Like he's meant to sound.
It's intoxicating. Really. Redd could lie—but in his subconscious mind, he never chooses to. Why would he? Be in denial about himself, that is. He's plenty aware.
He's always painfully aware.
“I thought I told you no.” Tom says, hisses—wild and feral.
A raccoon.
As a kitsune, Redd partly understands feral behavior. As a being stuck inside his own body—even though he's very much capable of free will—he's all to familiar with feral behavior. With wild, feral, hissing tones.
“But if we change the art up a bit—.” And as a fox, he's all too used to scamming.
Running a scam is natural. It's a simple feeling underneath his fingertips that Redd has always had. It's secure, it brings in coin—it's something Redd can always rely on, guaranteed. He trusts it, god does he trust it. He trusts it more than anything.
And he wants to lie to himself and say he trusts Tom Nook just as much as he trusts his scams—but maybe that's just a lie. Or maybe he's in denial. Maybe years down the road he'll regret pushing for this.
Future him already knows he does.
Yet it's never that simple, and you can never truly reverse time—only tell a simple story. And Redd knows how this goes, god can he remember every line and crease on Tom Nook's young fragile face, already filled with so much stress just because of him. Him, just him, him and him alone.
He's not proud of it. Really, he never is.
“You're trying to sell- it's way too much, Redd.” Tom says, he sounds breathless and clueless and—god, Redd doesn't want to have this conversation. He undercharges severely compared to real artists! Even when running a scam! It's—
It's not his fault that some people are sheep! He's quite literally a fox! Sometimes, he's just got to sink his teeth in—sometimes, he's just got to chase that high.
“For art? i think- I think not.” He says calmly. “Do you know how long this takes, Nook, I mean?” He tries—because, God, it's insufferable. Oil paintings especially aren't quick to do.
Later, he begins to cheap out, switch to acrylic. That– really, it doesn't change the fact that his heart used to still be in it. In a sick and twisted way.
After all, scamming was like breathing. Air wasn't a drug, just something he needed.
Scamming was just something he had always known, growing up on the streets of The Big City.
“Maybe if they were original pieces, Redd, then I could see the-..” Tom shoots, trails off—hands nervously rubbing together. He's always been a nervous individual. Always. It's why him and Redd work so well.
He can do the talking. Tom can sit back and be the brain. It's a fifty fifty work relationship that works flawlessly, that has Redd knowing he's gone and met his soulmate, his number one.
So, yeah. It hurts. Fuck, does it hurt. His chest aches when he has to go and say; “Are you telling me just because my art isn't original, it isn't worth something?”
And Tom's face is small and shocked and scared. And Redd had always been quick to run. After all, it's fight or flight—and he never truly wants to fight with Tom for long.
He's scared of losing his best friend, yet his best friend seems to make his heart ache and his head hurt. And yeah, he knows he's in the wrong—but in the bigger picture, Tom's always known.
He doesn't hide himself away. He's not flawless. He doesn't claim to be. He has a small art studio in their shop, in a spare room, where they currently stand.
“Redd, that's not what I-.” He tries, god does Tom try. But Redd has made up his mind, and that's a fate that no one can risk breaking up, slowing down or stopping.
“Listen, Nook.” He says, tries to sound alright when he shrugs it off. He doesn't. He instead sounds bitter. “I'm gonna go have a cool off. Have a - have a good night.”
And he's out of their shop and heading down the street before he can hear Tom calling out; “Redd, Wait—.”
***
He thinks about it, sometimes. That memory, oh so distant and far away—the boat rocks at night, he fears God and what his creator might do—and stares towards The Great Wave Of Kanagawa. A recreation. He does it every now and then. Sells to an island representative, or some other obnoxious term—pisses off Nook every goddamn time.
It's become routine.
Redd's never been good at routine. Yet, if it's something involving Tom Nook—well, suddenly, he seems to consider.