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Andeon could draw about as well as he could sing, dance, or engage in manual labor that required more effort than a repetitive in and out (or up and down) motion. Which was to say, Andeon could not draw to save his life. Perhaps this utter lack of artistic talent was why he found the girl in the corner so very fascinating. Fascinating enough that he pushed himself away from the table to approach the young woman, his features lit up with his standard grin.

He leaned in to look over the edge of her sketchbook, observing with clear interest for a moment before making perhaps the most common of all 'we're in high school and you're drawing something' comments.

“She needs bigger boobs,” he pointed out, pressing his finger against the paper, “And maybe a robot.”

Andeon appeared confused. To anyone who knew him, this was not entirely (or even remotely) surprising. Between simply acting stupid so that people wouldn't ask him to do things like lame sketchbook homework assignments and just flat out being stupid when he forgot.. well.. everything, his confused expression got almost as much face time as his perpetually happy smile.

Because when you're Andeon Boskovic, your life was just ******** groovy.

“Well that sucks,” he replied flatly, pinching her edge of the sketchbook between his thumb and forefinger and attempting to quickly swipe it from her grasp. If successful, he would snap the book shut and tuck it under one arm, extending the hand of the other to help Yvette up off the floor, “You need to learn to have a bit of fun, Yvette, and I am going to show you how.”

“But nothin'.” Andeon finished her sentence as he lead Yvetter out of the lunchroom and off towards his locker. It was late enough that most classes had ended, leaving only a few people in the halls. Some received a slight nod, others a full-fledged fist bump, but all received the wide, happy-as-could-be grin that seemed to permanently linger below those rose colored glasses.

In his locker, Andeon simply withdrew his backpack, throwing it over one shoulder with a distinct clinking of metal cans coming from within.

“I was saving these for this weekend, but I will donate them to a good cause. If you could lead the way to the art room, my beautiful companion?”

“I will call you what I please,” Andeon said with a firm nod. He draped an arm around Yvette's shoulders as they walked, the other hand holding onto the strap of his backpack, “And I choose to call you beautiful.”

And, well.. that was just that. Andeon, beyond being a complete and total horndog, had a sincere soft spot for shy girls. Most of all, he found it an utter pity when they didn't understand true beauty when it was so blatantly obvious to him. Large, fake breasts and big lips were fine and dandy to take to the bedroom, but you didn't take that type of woman home to meet your mother. You bent her over the arm of your couch and bought her breakfast. Those were the Megan Foxes of the world.

Classy women. Talented women. Those were the women you wanted to marry and take back for Thanksgiving dinner. Those were your Natalie Portmans.

“And you're definitely a Natalie Portman,” Andeon said aloud, forgetting that the train of thought leading up to that comment had not been verbalized.

“Oh goodie,” Andeon all but giggled. Because men, even those who wore rose colored glasses, did not giggle. It was not manly. It was not macho. Would Brock Samson giggle? Would Chuck Norris giggle? Would Captain Hammer giggle?

No, and neither would Andeon (unless completely wasted). But he would come damn close to it.

The door, as expected, was unlocked. Their timing was convenient in that it was late enough for the room to be vacant, but early enough that the janitor had not yet made rounds through the building. Meaning the doors were unlocked, and they had a while yet before the cleaning crew swept through. Of course, Andeon knew this because this was far from his first excursion into classrooms after the last bell of the day had rung.

Hell, we was probably there more after hours than he was during classes, considering how many of them he slept through.

Depositing his back on the floor just inside the door, Andeon rummage about, pulling out one spray can after another. Red, black, white, green, purple, blue, and orange. He set them in a neat little row upon the floor, picking up the green and shaking it vigorously before popping open the top.

“They really should lock these doors before they leave,” Andeon mused, scoping out the walls for the most appropriate place to begin. “I recommend the purple. It will complement your eyes rather beautifully.”

Oh, Yvette. Sweet, darling Yvette. Andeon sighed, picking up the can of purple spraypaint, placing it in her palm, and wrapping her fingers around it. She could either hold it or let it fall, though if it was the latter, Andeon would be sorely disappointed.

“We,” Andeon stressed the word, strolling over to the farthest wall. Upon it were tacked numbers of sketches and paintings, completed works and those in progress. Were it any other school but Barren Pines, they would have been largely mediocre, if that. However, this was Barren Pines, which meant that a majority of the sketches were nothing short of brilliant, the paintings edging on masterpieces when taking into account the age of the artists, “Are going to be artistic.”

Masterpieces, many of which were wiped out as Andeon pressed down the nozzle and moved in arm in a sweeping arc across the wall. What he left behind was a thick, vibrant streak of green, dripping excess paint down over the unfinished works.

“You need to learn to live a bit, lovely Yvette. If this doesn't do it, well, the week you'll have off of homework while your teacher cleans up this mess just might. Could you pass me that black, please?”

Andeon was busy admiring the beauty of his handiwork. He stood back, folding his arms across his chest and pressing one finger to his chin in a thoughtful stand. His eyes slid over the garish green streak.

“I really think the juxtaposition of the neon green with the drab and dreary colors of the paintings really represents what we're going for here. Clearly the angle of the mark represents the uphill battle of life, the artwork in the background representing the hours of work we put into things we attach meaning to, but which truly have no meaning. And the mark is a wide gash in what we call 'life',” he curled his fingers in quotation marks. “It shows that in order to break free from our self-inflicted prisons of paper and paint we must be willing to let go of everything, to destroy the things which we attach meaning to. Truly, the artist responsible for this is a visionary. Wouldn't you ag-”

Mid-bullshit, Andeon turned around to see if Yvette had run off or not, and the sight that met him nearly broke is damn heart.

“Nonononono,” Andeon began, dropping the paint can and walking quickly over to her. “Don't cry! You're not supposed to cry! Ohgodohgod.” Andeon wrapped her in a hug, whether she wanted him to or not.

“Was it the comment about life's meaning? I understand art philosophy can be quite overwhelming.”