I took all of my art off of the refrigerator.

[finewithhalf]

Who: Maya Hart and you, perhaps? [Open to everyone. COME AT ME.]
Where: Moving around the hallways, eventually at the Entrance Hall
When: 8/1, all day
Rating: Probably G, maybe up to TV14 if things escalate.
Summary: Bored teenager is playing with spray paint. Where it goes from there depends on how your character feels about that.
The Story:



[Maya Hart has been a resident of Wonderland for almost a whole month. And in that month, next to nothing has happened. There's been some exploration, sure. But the rumors of Wonderland being full of Wonder have been greatly exaggerated. It's been like a long summer vacation. Normally that would be fine, but it's left a lot of idle time wide open. Idle time is time to be bored. And there's really only one way to stop being bored.

Just before the sun comes up, Maya will be making her way down the halls with full armloads of spray paint. She takes multiple trips from the fourth floor to the entrance hall, setting up a collection of cans and supplies in the foyer. And then, with a telltale rattle, she begins work on the side of the broad marble, tagging liberally.

And maybe that's when someone interrupts her, or moralizes at her, or tells her that she's doing a bad, bad thing. Maybe the interruption costs her an hour or so. But she'll be back eventually, and pick up wherever she left off.

It might take some time. She might have to sneak back at midnight or later. But but eventually, she'll finish her piece. Art can't stay inside an artist, and that pattern of shapes and colors needed to be released, regardless of who it bothered.

Enjoy your new mural, Wonderland.]

{{OOC: Feel free to interrupt Maya at any point in the process! Tell her she's doing a bad, bad thing, or goad her on. She'll gladly accept help if anyone wants to offer it.}}

Comments

[catchacold]

[Obviously Leonard wasn't about to tell her that she's doing anything bad, especially not with that. Instead he simply comes up behind her and ends up sitting on the ground and leaning back against a wall, so he can watch her in silence. And when Leonard Snart is silently sneaking up behind someone and watching, they don't tend to notice him. He's had practice.

Finally he speaks up, but only as Maya seems to be taking a break, stepping back to look her work over.]

You've a good eye.

[He knows art. Mostly from and for stealing it.]

[finewithhalf]

[Maya's fairly observant for a civilian, but isn't skilled or trained in any formal capacity. So she'll simply paint on, growing increasingly messier herself until she settles back to grab for a bottle of water. When he makes his presence known behind her, she jumps and yelps. For a moment, raw panic flashes in her features, but it quickly dissolves.]

What the heck, Lenny?? You can't just sneak up on people like that.

[HMPH HMPH HARRUMPH.]

[catchacold]

[Len's eyes narrow, just a little, when he notes the panic on her face. He doesn't want her to have any reason for that to be her first reaction and he wonders why it is. But as she calms down he simply smirks.

Heck? Adorable.]

Seems like I can.

Tell me about this.

[He indicates her art, waiting to hear whatever she has to say about it.]

[finewithhalf]

[Sneaking up on people is something she does to other people. As tends to be the case when others reverse the natural order of things, she lapses into sulking.]

There's not a lot to tell you about. I just paint what I need to paint.

[catchacold]

That's already telling a lot.

[That said he leans back, one leg pulled up so he can rest his arm on his knee, looking at the wall in silence and mostly ignoring her sulking.]

Need to get it out?

[finewithhalf]

Only if you're fishing for subtext where there isn't any.

[That's a lie. There's always subtext. She's just too busy watching him watch her art to say more than that.]

I don't know. Maybe. I'm not doing anything like real artists do. They've all got stuff they want to say.

[There's a reason "what does it mean?" is always the first question. She's positive that she's doing it wrong somehow.]

[catchacold]

Either there ain't a thing like 'real artists' or everyone who creates art is one.

[There they are, him sitting on the floor, her sulking in his general direction and they are discussing art theory.]

I'm no expert on you, but from what I glimpsed so far... You? You always got something to say.

[He produces a packet of gum from his pocket, holding it out to Maya.]

Want some?

[finewithhalf]

["Art theory" makes it sound like school. Maya doesn't talk theory. She just talks about the way things feel. That's totally different, right?

She takes the gum with a snatching gesture, careful as a wild animal being approached with a steak.]

I don't think that's right. Real art has... It's got this passion, you know? It's got someone reaching down in their soul and sharing something important.

Not everyone's got something important to give.

[catchacold]

[Hence why he's not about to mention "theory", he's just talking. And watching her take the gum, eyebrows arching a little.

He notes the way she moves and he wonders.]

Who does it have to be important to? The person looking at it or the person creating?

[finewithhalf]

I don't know. Someone, I guess. Sometimes you look at good art, and it makes you feel something. Someone's sharing an experience, or a feeling, or... I don't know.

[It's a challenging conversation to have.]

It's expression. And if you're not expressing anything, then it's just. There.

[catchacold]

Then this is art.

[Challenging, but Len isn't in the habit of talking down to anyone, just as he doesn't censor his words. As she'd know, having heard a bit of the prison background already.]

It means something. You felt driven to it. I get it when I look at it. Art. Now you just gotta frame it in a museum and get some snotty asshole to think it's important and suddenly it'd be worth billions.

But that's politics, the price says nothing. This says enough as is.

[finewithhalf]

[He says the kind of things that people normally use for real art. He says really highbrow things about her garbage graffiti. He says things, and it makes something flip over in her gut. She stays silent, mouth twitching. And when he stops saying things, she lets out a high- pitched noise, face pinching and twisting. Her cheeks turn dark, and she buried it in her hands, shoulders trembling.

Hope Len is okay with crying kids.]

[catchacold]

[He kind of is, even if he hasn't quite expected that. So he stares for a moment, just to make sure she's not actually having a panic attack or whatever, then he looks past her at the wall again, since it's probably best to pretend as if she's not crying.

All right, it might be best to offer to hold her or whatever, but that ain't really him.]

If we weren't stuck in Wonderland, I'd make sure you got stuff at a museum, just so I could steal it.

[finewithhalf]

Nobody's ever said that about my painting before...

[The words are buried in a whining moan, and she closes the distance between them, sobbing into his shoulder. She doesn't ask if he's into hugs; this is happening whether or not he wants it.]

[catchacold]

[Oh.

See, the problem with crying child? He can't just punch her for touching him.]

That they want to steal it? You clearly need more kleptomaniac friends.

[Maybe he can just pretend this isn't happening.

And maybe he can slowly lift his hand and pat her back. Just for a moment.]

[finewithhalf]

[Her grip tightens substantially when he comforts her; it's another rarity. She does her best to squeeze her eyes shut and memorize everything about this moment so she can return to it at a later date.

It isn't long before she pulls away on in her own, wiping her reddened eyes and clearing her throat.]

Um. So. Thanks I guess.

[catchacold]

Don't mention it, princess. Nothing to thank me for, I don't do favours. Just said what I think.

[And he could tell her that he's not the touchy-feely type, but for some reason he doesn't. She has needed that, he can tell that, and he's reading her the best he can. If he has to be a bit touchy-feely for this, he can put up with that.]

You keep doing what you want. Seems to be working for you.

[finewithhalf]

Yeah, well... I don't think anyone's ever really said that the things I want are okay to do. Not like, people your age or anything.

So. That means a lot.

[catchacold]

Really? Not anyone?

[He tilts his head to the side, absently picking on the fabric of his shirt with one hand, twisting it between his fingers.]

I mean, the same was true of me at your age, but I wanted to steal whatever the hell I wanted and get away with it, yours seems kinda harmless.

[finewithhalf]

There aren't a lot of people who call me harmless. [She drags a sleeve over her eyes, then just flops down and settles on the floor. They're probably going to have a Talk now. It's hard to paint through those.]

I don't think your stuff is all that terrible. People don't appreciate what they have sometimes. They don't even miss it when it's gone.

[catchacold]

Wasn't talking about you, princess. People are never harmless. Just you doing that, doesn't seem much of a national threat.

[He glances at her from the side, then pats himself down until he finds a pack of cards he pulls out of the inner pocket of his coat. There is also a quick glance of the gun he carries in a holster hidden under said coat, in case she pays close attention.]

You play?

[He's already shuffling the cards, watching his fingers.]

I've done awful stuff, Maya. I ain't gonna deny that. Anything you'd wanna deny?

[finewithhalf]

[She always pays close attention to the things he does. She's fascinated by his ease and his poise. He's absolutely messed up, but in a way that doesn't seem forced or pained at all. He's just himself, and he's found peace in that.

It's reassuring in a lot of ways.]

I've been known to handle a hand or two. What's your game?

[The metal catches the light and Maya's attention both, but she doesn't comment on it just yet.]

Denying stuff is kind of cheating, don't you think? It's not like any of it can go away just because you want it to.

[catchacold]

Worth a try. I'm a liar and a cheat, just so you know.

[He says, as he's passing out cards to them.]

Five card draw. Need to exchange any?

[He glances down at his own cards, then quickly exchanges two of them while waiting for her to make up her mind.]

So. Tell me your awful, I'll tell you mine.

[...maybe a bit censored.]

[finewithhalf]

[She returns two cards to him and adjusts herself until she's seated more comfortably.]

What, like the time I tried to start a homework uprising? I set some assignments on fire. Got pretty far with it, until the sprinklers went off.

[It's really hard to keep a mob focused when they're being rained on.]

[catchacold]

[That's adorable.

But teenagers generally don't take well to their actions being called adorable and so Leonard schools his face and just hands out the two cards to her, his hands moving quickly.]

Did it do any good or did you at least get into big trouble?

[How can he actually tell her his in comparison to this?]

I took off in my principal's car once.