Spray Paint [open]

[truth2]

OOC: get your portrait painted?
MOOD: artistic
WE|ARE|NOTHING|BUT|NUMBERS: 668
CALLING YOU: open to anyone
CALLING ME: Hocus Pocus -Insane Clown Posse

[size=1LEAVE it to a guy like Icarus to be painting in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard. It was something that, not surprising to those who knew him, he did often; paint in random places. He did so to keep him musing. It fueled his artistic drive and inspirations thrived in places like these. Besides, it wasn't only the canvas he was painting on. Often times, he found it more fun to paint on the walls themselves. Of course, that would mean he had to carry some mean luggage with him; which he did. Anyone who knew Icarus, knew that whenever he had a backpack and utility belt; he was about to create a public masterpiece. Graffiti was barely a word for it since he made sure to repaint the building it's own color as soon as he was through; therefore, not only was his face well known in the streets, he stayed out of trouble as well. Occasionally he had a ladder, but not today. Popping the top of his can of red paint, he stared at the blank building in concentration. Usually he didn't plan out what he would paint; he would simply put his brushes and spray cans to work. No gimmicks, no thoughts. Opening a can of yellow, blue and green, he stood up to begin. First, it starting with a black spray can. It was easier to maneuver and more freebound than a paintbrush. He started spraying wildly; layering line over line; loops, zig-zags and waves. It always started out looking like a mess. A child's messy scrawls on a notebook paper, but it slowly evolved into something more. At first, he himself didn't know what he was painting. Anyone who got interested in his work would stop by him: "Oh, hey, I've seen you around before." "Oh yeah? I get around..." He would say without even glancing back at them, brush or spray can still running in a concentrated manner. "Yeah, I've seen your work. It's really good. So what are you painting now?" They'd ask, and he'd be distracted for a few moments before looking back at them with an innocent and blank face; very boyish-like. "Mm...? Oh... Well, we'll find out later, eh?" He would reply with a half smirk, then continue working. Some stayed around and watched; sometimes even dedicated enough to wait until he was finished. Others detached themselves to go on with their lives, though somewhat hesitantly, due to their gnawing curiosity. Then there were those who gave him a strange look and brushed him off. Those kind; he presumed, were the ones who always planned everything. Nothing was a surprise to such people, and if they were surprised; they got angry. They were, in other words; Kill joys... Not that he cared as long as it didn't affect him. Icarus was spur of the moment; he liked to get up not knowing what he was going to do for that day. It kept him living; living on edge. It wasn't like you could plan everything anyway. Time and fate had a way of changing things. He continued with his painting, throwing colors around any which way that suited his fancy. It was then that the piece started coming together. A series of faces; much like the 'laugh now, cry later' masks (those in which he thought were both cool and creepy in a macabre way.) He stepped back, looking at them with a few nods. There were some applauds and distant comments though no one addressed him directly (as of not to disturb his 'artistic zone'). They were good, but they didn't satiate his unusual yearning to paint. He turned around to face the crowd, swiping his hand down his face to wipe the sweat. They were pretty random people. After thinking for a while, he picked up a fresh canvas and set it down in front of him, propping it up with one hand. With the other he brought out a stool. Only Icarus knew what he was going to do next...

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