|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon May 18, 2015 6:58 pm
The can rattled as Matthew shook it, the little mixer ball inside bouncing around the nearly empty interior. It was, perhaps, a futile effort to squeeze out the last of the paint, but the teen had never been known to quit without knowing for damn sure he could do no more. The remaining aerosol hissed as he traced the last line the anarchy symbol he liked to paint for kicks and he flipped the can end over end when he was done. It smacked satisfyingly into his palm, the weight as much as the lack of paint telling him it was well and truly done.
The Theatre District was bustling at this time in the evening as people hurried about getting dinner at the food joints before heading to one of the shows. It didn't bother Matthew much, who enjoyed people watching when there was nothing better to do. Like tonight. A couple walked by arm in arm and he considered them out of the corner of his green eyes before dismissing them and focusing again on his tag.
Quota needed filled... but he didn't much feel like ******** up their night with an attack. They hardly seemed aware there were people lurking in the city to ******** up their everything, blithely walking towards The Grand with eyes only for each other and smiles on their faces. He could find a hobo later, or take a chance on a dealer. No one care what happened to them. Let the people with lives worth living go on living them... If he had to take from someone, he'd do it from the dregs of the city.
The loading dock where the teen lurked ran between an office building and a three story art gallery. It was wide enough for a truck and a half and took a curve around to the left to let out on the other side of the block. Made the area nice and private, but easily accessible, which was why it was so perfect right now. Lurk and be a creeper and nobody paid you any mind as long as you weren't out in their spaces.
Winding up, Matthew pitched the can at the wall across the dock, watching it bounce off the brick high up and arch back to bounce down the concrete. Chains around his hips, hanging from the belt holding up his skinny jeans, jingled as he trotted down the alley and kicked the can again with steel toed boots. It smacked into the stone on the other side before coming down to rattle again, bouncing far too close to the sidewalk and the light of down town and more populated streets.
Looked like that game was done... he didn't much feel like retrieving it and retreated instead to the beat up camo backpack he'd brought with its store of rainbow hued paint cans.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 19, 2015 7:40 am
He felt drawn to long walks through the city, Slate liked to say. The phrase sounded like a winning line for the next shitty dating profile, really, but his brother bought it easily enough - even encouraged it. Better to get out more and survey the lands he intended to rule over with pain and misery than discover it all within the throes of battle. Slate wasn't certain of his motivations to get out of the house beyond finding space and time to think, which urged him toward the quieter, more industrialized areas of town.
The walk itself demanded about an hour before he reached the heart of the industrial district, and even then, some of the stretches began undergoing regentrification. While he walked along the questionable paths, keeping careful clearance from the unsavory types that often roamed in packs, he saw loft apartments come of old warehouses and decrepit hotels undergoing a similar process. Some old store fronts combined in a process that would yield larger stores, the likes of which would draw in the target demographic for all this construction. In the interim, however, everything was torn to hell. Slate often needed to walk in the street to avoid the coned-off digs of mulched concrete and dirt while the city dug up pipelines. Some of the sidewalks needed rerouting for new buildings or badly-needed parking spaces.
And sometimes, his favorite times, he passed by a building that was cordoned off for the massive hole gaping out of its side. Those ones held the keenest stories that he could only speculate.
Going further, Slate's walk led him out of the regentrified industrial district and into the theater district, where far more browsed the streets. The increased presence left Slate at a loss, so he ducked through the designated route for truck delivery and rounded the corner that directed them toward the loading area. The graffiti sign received only superficial notice while his mind raced toward the Negaverse, powered life, what he wanted to do with it and how that sat at odds with his declared duties. The paint slowly dripped down from the sign itself, but he hardly noticed it.
He did, however, notice the young man who crouched over a canvas bag, who had his back to the redhead. In fact, Slate noticed him quite well. He was the only boy around in the loading area, the only individual beyond Slate himself, and Slate noticed him so well that an idea crept into his head the moment he recognized the rattle of paint cans. Unless the guy's packing something interesting, what's the worst that could happen? I'll get found out and punched. Best thing? He runs like hell and I get the place to myself so I can think. Worth the risk.
Approaching as quietly as he could, Slate slipped off one of his rings and pressed it to the nape of the kid's neck quietly. It teased the growing hairs, which hadn't yet been touched by dye. "Police," he mustered in his most authoritative tone. "Don't move."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 19, 2015 5:01 pm
The rattle of a new spray paint can covered the approaching foot steps and it seemed like out of nowhere, something pressed into the back of his neck and a voice spoke roughly from behind.
At first, Matthew froze with can raised, his eyes wide and shitshitshitshit running through his mind. There was no way he'd be able to pass this off as anything but what it was... the paint was still wet, he had a pack full of cans and there was paint splattered over his fingers and up his forearms in tiny drops. That didn't last long though, before he started wondering...
The... thing pressed against his neck didn't feel like a gun. Not that Matthew had ever been up close and personal with one, but he could guess. It wasn't a knife either, he knew what the hard edge of that was like and cops didn't use those. And why get up on him like this? Wouldn't a cop stand off a safe distance? Ask him to get down on the ground with his hands flat-palmed to it, or behind his head?
Whomever was behind him... He had the feeling it probably wasn't a cop.
Matthew scowled as he tightened his hand on the can. Taking a chance, he dropped a knee and spun, throwing his arm out as he did so. The elbow of that arm aimed to strike whatever was touching his neck while his finger hit the trigger on the can. It hissed as he swiped it backwards at whomever was trying to ******** with him, hoping vindictively that the ******** got a face full of paint for his ******** off, a*****e!" He snapped as he scuttled backwards and shoved himself onto his feet. Blue tipped bangs fell into his eyes as the teen felt his back hit the brick wall, can up defensively between them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu May 21, 2015 8:18 am
The reaction provided certainly wasn't what Slate had expected - the youth spun abruptly, elbow catching arm and sending one of his rings off toward the cluttered corners of the docking area. And with his mind on the gold ring he might potentially lose to this encounter, he hardly noticed the followup can of paint to the face. The hiss prompted him to close his eyes before the aerosol spray reached his face, but a good third of his countenance received a thick gout of white paint. Slate recoiled quickly, hands pressed to the assaulted skin, and groaned his displeasure on the matter.
Afterward he laughed - quietly at first, though the decibel grew. "I think I'm just ******** with you." He straightened, carefully withdrawing hands from his face. Both palms looked slick with white. "Not often you catch someone jackass enough to graffiti walls while other people are around. Takes some balls. Same with spraying someone in the face." It almost scares me to think about how much fun that was. Maybe the only jackass here is me.
Slate smiled broadly, posing slightly in a grandstanding fashion. "How sexy do I look?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 24, 2015 11:29 pm
It seemed his 'assailant' was a boy about his age and roughly his height, give or take a couple inches. Matthew scowled at him, letting the paint can dangle from his fingers as he crossed his arms over his chest. Green eyes narrowed, he gave the guy a long look over and an eyebrow arched high.
"Jackass, huh? You're the one pretending to be a cop. You're lucky I only hit you with paint, if I'd been someone else you could have lost your face." He snorted. It wasn't often he saw someone with hair that brightly red. That guy Orah had gone on a date with that once... Xander, something? But that guy's hair had been a bit darker. And those eyes... kinda creepy, how pale they were, even next to the white paint he'd smeared all over. Matthew's scowl eased into a smirk, his chin lifting. It did take balls to tag in such a public space. Whether or not the guy meant it as a good thing, he decided he was going to take it as a compliment.
"And you look like a dumbass." Matthew said as he pushed away from the wall, feeling the rough brick catch at his modified tshirt. It was maybe a little cool for it still, but it was warmer than it had been and that meant it was time to break out some clothes with less coverage. The missing sleeves and slits down the sides to the hem certainly were that. Orah would probably have a cow if she saw how he'd cut it up... but that was why he was wearing it here and not around her.
Keeping a wary eye on the stranger, the teen slunk towards his bag again, stooping to grab it by a strap and stuff the can he held into it. It was pretty obvious he wasn't going to be able to stay here. Whomever this guy was, it was a pretty good bet he was boing to narc on him as thanks for the paint to the face, and even if he didn't, it wasn't going to be any fun with him around cramping up his style.
"Sorry about the paint." He grudgingly offered as he backed towards the open air of the street. "But don't stick a pretend gun to a guy's neck and you won't get sprayed. You should probably go... wash that off, before it dries."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 2:31 pm
I could just drain him. The thought came while clean fingers touched the white paint, smearing sticky holes down to his skin. I could power up and drain him right now, middle of the day. Of course, I'd have to kill him for finding out, but small losses there right? I'm sure someone loves this little s**t, but maybe they won't miss him as bad as they think. Why consider that, anyway? Not like I know anyone here. Won't have much of an effect on me.
"Right, yeah, definitely lucky. Cuz teenagers carry guns around here, right?" The boy looked no older than he was, and doubted he could pass himself off as old enough to buy cigarettes. Swiping a piece entailed no legal routes, and as shown by his awful-looking graffiti he didn't care much for the law, but he sounded more like a posturing brat than anything serious. The anarchy sign supported his theory; who bothered to paint those things anymore? They looked more akin to a brand logo than any actual threat against the government. Lord of the Flies probably taught enough about how people shouldn't be left to create their own order out of chaos. Or had he not read that yet?
But the boy was retreating, and the paint stunk of heavy chemical that wrinkled the redhead's nose. Slate spared him a smile, but there was no honesty behind it - only a vagueness that left him wondering if he aired a subconscious threat. Maybe he did.
Would that be such a bad thing?
"Yeah, go ahead, keep deflecting. If we're gonna be all about the advice here, then stop painting your shitty signs all over the walls. Some gang's gonna get the wrong message and deliver you to your friends in pieces." He emulated the boy's walking backward for a moment before he turned toward the bustling street, where strangers hadn't taken notice to his introductory marking.
The Negaverse counts as a gang enough in my mind. It's got the hierarchy, the infighting, the weird sense of loyalty, the lawbreaking. If I catch him around again, I could mess him up a little. Doesn't need to be fingers to the nearest family, but if he happened to run into a youma on his own...
The thought left him smiling when he reached the sidewalks. Yes, maybe there was some advantage to this strange powered charade.Whimsical Blue fin? unless you want matty to pursue
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
