One Person Party, Thanks {Tuesday}

[MATAHARI PETROVA]

The backpack bounced against Mata's spine while she boogied her way through the somewhat damp streets of New York City. The lights were all but dim, the sky turned off and giving way to starlight. The best time of night, actually. It meant that no one wouldn't think much of the girl dressed in black, dancing to the pulsing beat in her ears. Just another one of those crazy club kids--they'd never even begin to assume that her backpack had business. Not too far from Central Park she had found a perfect alley with a perfect patch of untouched wall. To which she was going to devirginize. She was gonna pop that wall's cherry in the best way possible. Mata had watched it for a few days, making sure that it was unclaimed--by the third day, she decided that she would be making it hers.

So armed with a bottle of booze, cans of spray and a good time--she made her way to that hidden alley. She carefully slid her bag off her shoulders, and crouched down before starting to unzip it. She laid out the several cans of spraypaint she had...stumbled upon. Gold. Black. Red. Pink. Green. Blue. Basic colors, but she only needed the basics for her masterpiece. Out next came the rasberry vodka to which she jumped to her feet with the headphones still over her ears. She yanked the cap off, lifting the bottle to her mouth while her hips shimmied from side to side, teetering on the platform boots while her pigtails swung heavily around her shoulders.

Just because the world was silent around her didn't mean she couldn't turn the party on in her own little bubble. She carefully set the bottle back down onto the ground, and pressed her back to the untouched wall, continuing her unrhythmic gyrations. Her body squirmed like a snake while she trailed her fingers over her head, sliding down the wall with her thickly lined eyes shutting. It was a Matahari party, and so what if it was a one-girl show? She was...relatively in private, and worst case scenario she could get away fast if she needed to. She was invincible! Untouchable, and by god, she was going to make artistic love to this wall.

Stuck in a crouch, she halted. She was thin, flexible, strong for her size. But there was nothing like being stuck when you were in an awkward sort of shoe and fabric that didn't like moving with you. "Fuck noodles." She grunted, before ungracefully clawing at the wall to push herself back up. Perhaps it was for the best this was a one girl party. Either way, she grabbed the black can of spray, and yanked the cap off and held her arms out. "We's gonna make some booty-ful art, yous and me. Watchoo say, baybeh?" She grinned, her perfectly straight teeth shining in the moonlight. She glanced up--not even close to a full moon. So she didn't have to worry about those itchy feelings taking ove rher body. Perfection.

"The first mark of the devirginitization of this beautiful unmarred wall." She declared as her finger pressed down on the white tip of the can, making a single line across the bare patch of wall. Matahari grinned, and tapped her iPod one more time, starting her party song over while her arm swept across the wall, leaving trails of paint. Only she had totally forgotten how the smell was, and it caused her face to wrinkle most attractively. "Ugh, shit. That was dumb." In order to hopefully stunt her senses, with one hand she dropped the cap of the spraypaint, and grabbed for the bottle of raspberry vodka, lifting it back to her mouth as she continued to work on her masterpiece. However, the boogie couldn't be removed from her nearly impossibly thin body, and she continued to shimmy, wiggle, and boogie as the music blasted away in her ears.

One woman party, admit none.

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Tags:

[/color] Monica / Tuesday / Olley / Matahari
Notes:[/color] Lemme know if I need to fix anything!
Words:[/color] 666
Outfit:[/color] Click meh.
Song:[/color] Professional Griefers by Deadmau5 ft. Gerard Way.
[/left]

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

LIVING ON THE UNDERGROUND
------------------- guess it’s time to put you down-------------------
Tagz:Matahari Wordz:467 Lyrics: Living on the Underground-Alex Day Clothez:here Notez:Sorry for the wait ugh life
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This was totally the night. This was the night. This was the night he was going to do it.

He’d had this mural thing planned out for ages, and by “ages”, he meant “doodled on the back of a binder the other day”, but yolo, man. He’d had a patch of wall reserved with his tag for the past few days, waiting patiently for inspiration to strike. At last, while he was reclining at the back of his Intro to Criminology class, pretending to pay attention to whatever dumb stuff the teacher was saying at the front of the room, he’d felt his fingers seize control of his pencil and swirl designs across the page. By the end of the class he’d had his design complete. Yes. This was going to be awesome.

Tuesday Davenport had never been particularly good at anything. He’d always been too clumsy for sports, math was much too complicated for him to understand, and he was far too lazy to take notes or do any sort of homework. But if there was one thing in the world he was better at than anyone else he knew (besides his brother, and even that was debatable), it was spray painting. Street art was his life, his world. Well, that and pranking. And eating Doritos. Well, whatever. It was up there, okay?

He strolled down a sidewalk along Central Park, whistling a cheery tune that echoed through the humid air. The streets were rather quiet tonight, which was good, because noisy distractions always jerked Tuesday’s hands in their designs, which caused little blip-things in his letters, which usually meant he had to go back to his dorm and get a different color of paint to paint them over with, and that took like seven hours, which meant he always missed Once Upon a Time, not that he watched that show, but anyways. Quiet was good. Quiet meant good designs, and a few peaceful hours with his favorite patch of wall that he’d totally res—

"The first mark of the devirginitization of this beautiful unmarred wall."

Whoa whoa whoa. Now just hold the phone up a sec.

”Ey! That’s my wall!” Tuesday hurried over to his wall, where some girl was painting away, carelessly, the way you would like, pick flowers in a meadow or something. ”My tag’s on here! It’s…” His eyes scanned the wall in panic. ”Well, I guess the police must have sprayed over it or something. But it was here. Totally. I swear. Scout’s honor.” He raised a two-finger peace sign, because that was the scout thing, right? Or it was definitely something like that. Whatever. Anyways, he strode quickly forward, yanking a can from his backpack and beginning to spray deftly. Jeez, people needed to learn some manners around here.

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------------------- never gonna let you out-------------------

[/size]
NOBODY CAN MAKE A SOUND
------------------- shake a little longer and you’ll lose your mind-------------------

this template is by monica of OUAC, don’t be stealin’ now, ya hear[/center][/font][/b]

[MATAHARI PETROVA]

The music blasting away in her ears numbed one of her senses. Granted it was much quieter than what would be considered loud for a normal person--Matahari couldn't hear shit over the sounds in her ears. She waved her hand in front of her equally sensitive nose, trying to get the sharp smell of paint out of her nostrils--but that's when she smelled something else beneath the paint. A person, male, young. Her pale eyes glanced around, before staring at the strangely attractive boy mouthing words at her, and looking at the wall. She slid the headphones off, just in time to hear the words painted over, and swearing, and scout's honor.

She reached into the waistband of her skirt, and pulled out her iPod and paused it. One brow lifted up slowly, "Dude, you're totally ruining my jam. It better be for good reason too." She shook the can of spraypaint in her hand, the small ball inside rattling noisily. Though she halted yet again when he pulled out his own can, and began to assault her wonderful masterpiece. "OY! WHAT THE PUMPERNICKLE?!" She dove forward, and grabbed at his arm hold the can, and attempted to aim it somewhere else. "Dude, respect the art. There's a million other walls, I'm workin' here." Her painfully feminine voice had lowered, and there was a quiet rumbling growl layered beneath her words.

Matahari had perfect control over her wolf, but that didn't mean certain aspects didn't come bubbling towards the surface when her moods swung into their high points. "Seriously, kid. What is your malfunction? Don't you see that?" Her finger pointed at the wolf that she had drawn on the wall, her high-positoned pigtails rippled as she pointed angrily. The smell of his paint hit her nostrils, and she was forced to lean over, sneezing towards the ground several times--much like a dog that had just slammed its nose into a wall. "Oh my god, could you get any cheaper paint?" She choked, and gave his arm another tug. She could very easily dislocate it without a single thought--but the wall wasn't really worth sending a little boy to the hospital.

It was however worth releasing his arms, and giving his shoulders a rather demanding shove to push him out of the way. Afterwards, she crossed her arms beneath her chest, and stood defensively in front of her now marred artwork. "I am very busy, so why don't you go graffiti your girlfriend's name into the slide at the park or something?"

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Tags:

[/color] Monica / Tuesday / Olley / Matahari
Notes:[/color] ughhh, short. Sorry Monicur
Words:[/color] 424
Outfit:[/color] Click meh.
Song:[/color] Professional Griefers by Deadmau5 ft. Gerard Way.
[/left]

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

LIVING ON THE UNDERGROUND
------------------- guess it’s time to put you down-------------------
Tagz:Matahari Wordz:467 Lyrics: Living on the Underground-Alex Day Clothez:here Notez:Sorry for the wait ugh life
-------------------------------

"Dude, you're totally ruining my jam. It better be for good reason too."

”Uh, it’s totally for good reason, actually, so.” Now, Tuesday did not like to start confrontations or anything like that, but when it was about a patch of wall space for graffiti, like, come on, man. How could you not be confrontational about that? It wasn’t even like she was borrowinghis section of the wall that he’d reserved for his DaVinci-caliber mural, or had even like, asked politely. Nope, she had just sauntered up to the wall like she owned the place and up and started spraying…what even was she spraying right now? Anyways, she shouldn’t have been spraying it. Not cool. Not cool at all.

He felt a cold hand on his arm as he began to spray and jerked around abruptly. “Yo!” he exclaimed, as his spray paint fluttered off in the opposing direction. ”This is high-quality paint here! I stole it fair and square!”

"Dude, respect the art. There's a million other walls, I'm workin' here."

”Uh, I want this wall, though.” Tuesday was totally not a defensive guy. He’d never gotten this defensive about anything before. But…this was legit, man. This was spray painting. ”So, you can go find another one of those million walls, because, uh, I called this one.” He began to spray again, unfazed.

"Oh my god, could you get any cheaper paint?"

Oh. Really? Really, she was going to go there? Tuesday couldn’t even count the number of times he’d been poked fun at for this by other graffiti-ers, and he was just so, like, done with it. ”You know what?” He placed the hand that wasn’t spraying on his hip. ”Like, I’m sorry I’m not Oprah or whatever and the prices in the expensive section of Wal-Mart are like, more money that I’ve ever owned collectively in my life, okay? And it’s not like it looks any different anyways.” They were the words he told himself every day, whenever the usual insecurities about the cheapness of his paint threatened to overwhelm him. ”Like, sorry I’m poor, man! Girl!” Dang, he always messed that up.

"I am very busy, so why don't you go graffiti your girlfriend's name into the slide at the park or something?"

Girlfriend. That was a laugh. ”The surface of a slide’s much too slippery,” he retorted, continuing to spray. ”And it’s not a big enough surface area. I’d only be able to fit like, a quarter of the letters without having to distort some of the dimensions.” Check, he thought, grinning at the girl.

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------------------- never gonna let you out-------------------

[/size]
NOBODY CAN MAKE A SOUND
------------------- shake a little longer and you’ll lose your mind-------------------

this template is by monica of OUAC, don’t be stealin’ now, ya hear[/center][/font][/b]

[MATAHARI PETROVA]

Ooh, this boy was making her mad. Contain, contaaaaain the anger, Mata. Last thing you need to do is throw and temper tantrum and get all wolfy on his OBVIOUSLY dumb ass. At least he had stopped spraying for a moment. The smell of the paint was stuck in her nostrils something fierce. Normally, she could smell a fart off of a fly—but now that that canned poison was all up in her olfactory senses, she would have to snort water to get that out of there. Cool.

“Excuse me, not-cool-kid. But I don’t think there are actually set laws on wall claiming for an illegal activity, such as this one. Plus, if you’re gonna steal something, steal something of quality. It’s not like the decent sprays are bigger.” The back of her hand wiped at her nose, as she narrowed her eyes. He stopped spraying, which eased her temper. Now it was just sort of funny. “It don’t look different, but it smells different. Are you trying to like…erase my sense of smell? Are you trying to make me disabled?” Mata’s brows raised as she leaned in, her frightening blue eyes wide and piercing as she stared at him, unblinking.

Oh god. He started spraying again. “You asked for it—“ With a lunge, Mata made a grab for the spray. If she wanted to rip that spray from his hands, she could. Though, if he fought with her she might accidentally rip his entire arm off. No use in dismembering the human. Actually—maybe if she ripped his arm off, he wouldn’t paint on her wall anymore. Her own can of spray falling to the ground with a clatter, she attempted to bite down on his arm, a canine like growl emitting from her throat. “Mine!” She yelled around the growl.

“I was here first. Move your feet, lose your seat. All that shiitake and stuff!”

[/b] She wanted this wall. It was going to be hers. Even if she had to come out here day after day and paint over his crappy little doodles. This was the wall for a true master, one of artistic ability such as herself. Throwing off her groove. Messing up her art. Painting on her wall. Her eyes flashed gold for a split second as he encroached on her territory. He was not going to have this wall. Even if she had to make a chew-toy out of his arm.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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Tags:

[/color] Monica / Tuesday / Olley / Matahari
Notes:[/color] ughhh, short. Sorry Monicur
Outfit:[/color] Click meh.
Song:[/color] Professional Griefers by Deadmau5 ft. Gerard Way.
[/left]