Yarva Demonicus Etrigan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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taxonomites2013-04-30 01:32 am
personaldemon) wrote in taxonomites2013-04-30 01:32 am
Entry tags:
[location- Sanctuary] [The day after Etrigan is summoned]
Morning dawns bright and sunny over Taxon. The spring weather is holding, the blue sky is filled with puffy clouds, and oh yeah, there's graffiti over much of the Sanctuary.
It's 'art', if you can call stick figures and vulgar caricatures in spray paint 'art'.
Some, but by no means all, features of this impromptu all-night graffiti session feature the following:
There's a vampire being kicked in the ass by a blond girl. Subsequent doodles down one side of the building seem to involve the use of stakes as impromptu sexual aids.
There is a crude rendition of a woman reclining amid skulls and demons, with an even cruder sidebar of a stick figure stubbly man in a costume apparently fapping away at the sight of her, captioned with a thought bubble saying 'close enough!'.
Two men, one wearing a cowboy hat and an outsized star stuck on his chest, and the other waving a gun wildly in the air, are engaged in very pornographic stick figure sex.
There's an obscenely well-endowed stick figure Catwoman being leered at by a drooling man in a sort-of bat costume, as the kick-off of a sequence that gets less and less G-rated (not that it ever was to start with) and winds up being apparently bondage with a pearl necklace. At least that might be a pearl necklace. (The artist got bored with detail, and the art on this one gets increasingly terrible.)
Not all of the drawings are sexual: there's a cartoonish vampire with an apparent collar of bones that leads back to the hand of a dour-looking figure wearing what might be a suit, who is tossing a (lovingly-detailed) femur and saying Hol, Bruder! in the speech balloon over his head.
Here's a curly-headed man with a vacant smile and a jagged line on his head, hands holding it open to reveal nothing inside, multiple question marks hanging in space above it. At his knees, a long-haired boy is kneeling, mouth open in a vapid, receptive 'O' that seems to be ignored by the man above him.
Here's a skull-- the artist spent time on this one, it's one of the better images on the wall-- with a cartoon heart above it and the words "KEEP TRYING!"
Here's a pointy-eared, long-haired man bent over with a doctor behind him, peering through an exaggerated monocle. Caption: "NO WAY WE CAN GET THAT STICK UNJAMMED, SORRY YOUR HIGHNESS"
A messy-headed, lanky youth uses an oversized magnifying glass to follow, hunched-over, a series of footsteps; he seems on the verge of walking off a precipice, but too caught up in his clews to notice.
A stick-figure girl with a sword walks away from a blob that, on close inspection, might seem to be a swaddled infant.
A dog, perhaps a dog anyway, howls at the moon while scratching at fleas with a hind leg. A collar around its neck reads REMUS.
A scrawny looking dragon snores at the bottom of one 'panel', oblivious to the sexual shenanigans happening above it.
An unkempt man with a fro and exaggerated pot-belly wanders around through the entire multi-character tableaux, with dotted lines showing his progress like a Family Circus strip; ever so often his uncertain progress is punctuated with a "WEED?" speech bubble.
Finally, there's a cheerful doodle of a man with a skunk-stripe in his hair blowing his brains out with a gun.
The artist has not bothered to sign his or her work.
It's 'art', if you can call stick figures and vulgar caricatures in spray paint 'art'.
Some, but by no means all, features of this impromptu all-night graffiti session feature the following:
There's a vampire being kicked in the ass by a blond girl. Subsequent doodles down one side of the building seem to involve the use of stakes as impromptu sexual aids.
There is a crude rendition of a woman reclining amid skulls and demons, with an even cruder sidebar of a stick figure stubbly man in a costume apparently fapping away at the sight of her, captioned with a thought bubble saying 'close enough!'.
Two men, one wearing a cowboy hat and an outsized star stuck on his chest, and the other waving a gun wildly in the air, are engaged in very pornographic stick figure sex.
There's an obscenely well-endowed stick figure Catwoman being leered at by a drooling man in a sort-of bat costume, as the kick-off of a sequence that gets less and less G-rated (not that it ever was to start with) and winds up being apparently bondage with a pearl necklace. At least that might be a pearl necklace. (The artist got bored with detail, and the art on this one gets increasingly terrible.)
Not all of the drawings are sexual: there's a cartoonish vampire with an apparent collar of bones that leads back to the hand of a dour-looking figure wearing what might be a suit, who is tossing a (lovingly-detailed) femur and saying Hol, Bruder! in the speech balloon over his head.
Here's a curly-headed man with a vacant smile and a jagged line on his head, hands holding it open to reveal nothing inside, multiple question marks hanging in space above it. At his knees, a long-haired boy is kneeling, mouth open in a vapid, receptive 'O' that seems to be ignored by the man above him.
Here's a skull-- the artist spent time on this one, it's one of the better images on the wall-- with a cartoon heart above it and the words "KEEP TRYING!"
Here's a pointy-eared, long-haired man bent over with a doctor behind him, peering through an exaggerated monocle. Caption: "NO WAY WE CAN GET THAT STICK UNJAMMED, SORRY YOUR HIGHNESS"
A messy-headed, lanky youth uses an oversized magnifying glass to follow, hunched-over, a series of footsteps; he seems on the verge of walking off a precipice, but too caught up in his clews to notice.
A stick-figure girl with a sword walks away from a blob that, on close inspection, might seem to be a swaddled infant.
A dog, perhaps a dog anyway, howls at the moon while scratching at fleas with a hind leg. A collar around its neck reads REMUS.
A scrawny looking dragon snores at the bottom of one 'panel', oblivious to the sexual shenanigans happening above it.
An unkempt man with a fro and exaggerated pot-belly wanders around through the entire multi-character tableaux, with dotted lines showing his progress like a Family Circus strip; ever so often his uncertain progress is punctuated with a "WEED?" speech bubble.
Finally, there's a cheerful doodle of a man with a skunk-stripe in his hair blowing his brains out with a gun.
The artist has not bothered to sign his or her work.
[voice; to Paul]
Because he can't stop giggling. Like a little boy.
"Listen, uh--" oh dear goodness "...just get over here, okay?"
[video]
Sanctuary. Okay. "Dare I even fucking ask?"
He is, however, moving for the door.
[video]
[video]
He pops the tablet back into his pocket until he reaches the Sanctuary; Paul takes a moment circling, examining some of the larger-than-life graffiti with a head tilt. Any humor he might find in some of the representations slithers away at the sight of others; some of these, Paul notes, are kinda fuckin' pointed.
Who knows so much, to hit so many points? Who but their captors? Sherlock Holmes knows a lot of shit but not everything.
When he sees himself and Wyatt he stares. It'll be a bit before he finds the humor, if he does; the graffiti is crude but clear, and the moment of his own pose he recognizes; hand upraised to shoot the gun at heaven, join a memory of violence. A street that was years ago now, but like he's going to forget jack shit from that day or any others with the Saints involved.
He's peripherally aware of Wyatt there and Wyatt finding this funny. Paul tries to respond in kind.
"I think I ought to be insulted at the artistic representation of the size of my dick," he says, accordingly, but he's not really smiling.
Hard-ons for justice. Yeah. Ha fucking ha.
[location location location]
Yes, on one level it's disturbing that someone knows all this stuff, but on so many other levels, Wyatt just can't let himself be weighed down by all the follow-up questions. It's stick figure porn slathered across the walls of the Sanctuary, and the thought of that is just glorious. It's fantastic.
He looks over at his partner with a grin, and nope, he's showing no signs of an end to his amusement. "Misrepresentation, you mean."
[location]
Maddy Pryor, maybe. She reads minds. That's another really good way to get information. 'Course, Maddy's on the wall too, and not represented that flatteringly.
He counts the illustrations-- one for everyone in Taxon, whether or not you want to play the matching game of who goes with what just now. Everyone's there. So maybe someone doodled themselves into it too to throw off suspicion or maybe-- hell, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and it's going to give him a headache, and the short hairy dude is fucking carving away chunks of the wall, what even, oh right, Taxon, why does he even blink any more, and Wyatt's grinning like a fucking lunatic.
Smile, Paul. (He does. Kinda.)
"I object also to the fact that you are wearing spurs."
no subject
"That I'm wearing them up there, or that I don't actually own a pair?" He teases for the simple sake of it. "You're the one always calling me cowboy. Giddy-up, agent. Yee-haw, and all that nonsense. I'm more confused about you waving a gun about. Sex with you is hazardous enough without involving gun play of all things."
no subject
He doesn't quite smile at the crack about the gun. "What, gunplay doesn't do it for you? --oh, public service announcement, never fuck someone while wearing a bulletproof vest, it gets really hard to breathe."
no subject
But he slides his fingers into his back pockets instead, and looks on over with a casual shrug that utterly clashes with the cat-who-got-the-cream look in his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," he says. "I've always thought breathing is vastly overrated."
no subject
no subject
"Wonder why this up-an'-coming artist didn't reference my love of fish tacos," he tells no one in particular (shh, you know that's not true at all).
"Or well-hung meat." He shakes his head (alas and alack). "Would've been so much more fitting."
no subject
"Because that would require actual wit?" he says with a shrug. Paul runs his hands through his hair.
"Look, hilarity aside and all-- I really am not happy with this bullshit."
no subject
...but he can't deny the scribbles aren't just silly doodles of a questionable nature. He just doesn't really want to admit that there's probably more to it.
"I know. But with this time of year, I...'m not wanting to jump to conclusions. If it's just stick figures, it's just stick figures, and if it isn't, I worry enough on a regular basis." He looks to Paul. "You know?"
no subject
"Yeah. Yeah, I know."
He looks back to the wall, then back to Wyatt, then gives the taller man a mock punch to the shoulder. "C'mon. Let's blow this popsicle stand. The artwork, while terrible, is giving me ideas."
Wyatt wants to go the distraction route? Paul can swing that.
no subject
Green hills know he doesn't keep tabs on this sort of thing, but it just feels good to see Paul following his lead-of-sorts.
If the stick figures aren't just silly, offensive doodles...then they'll deal with that in due course. No doubt about it.
"Yeah. We can do better than that any day." He holds out his arm like Ozians have done for their sweethearts since time immemorial. "Let's go, I don't know, shoe shopping or something. Find you something sexy, my treat."