Participants:
| Scene Title | A Dreamer's Anarchy |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Everyone has a type. Rebel with a heart. Some more rebel, some more heart. |
| Date | April 8, 2019 - April 13, 2019 |
Anarchy Customs II
Located in the northern part of the Sheepshead Bay, the immortal sea offers a lapping, timid and yet relentless, resonance from somewhere nearby… until it's interrupted by the banging, crashing, or booming that usually emanates from the nearby garage. Set into the crumbling brick structure that looks like one of many in this barely rehabilitated region are two large, rolling bay doors. The corrugated metal entrances are framed by the copper-green patina of rust around the edges.
Just inside, the large garage is already home several vehicles with varying numbers of wheels; parts in different states of dismantling, repair, reconstruction, or destruction; and some things that are simply unidentifiable in their current state.
A small, unassuming, black-painted door with an obvious deadbolt is set off in the back corner.
Everything is draped in clear sheets of plastic.
April 8, 2019
“Looks like a kill room.”
Devi stands beside Caspian as the large bay door finishes rolling up out of sight with a rattling clang. The woman’s wavy locks are haphazardly clipped up at the crown of her skull, whisps forming a dark halo. The charcoal sling around her left arm is a stark reminder of recent events and contrast to her hot pink tee and pale flesh. The tee, as well as her slimming leggings, are already splattered with what appears to be multi-hued sprayoff from airbrushing.
“You ready to make a fucking masterpiece?” She turns her grin to Caspain.
Deliveries had been made over the past week.
Boxes arrived in twos and threes, brought in via truck or van and, once, by a guy named Ringo, and deposited in an unused corner of the garage. Addressed to Caspian, each plain cardboard box was labeled with the logo of a paint company based in Australia along with a wildstyle approximation of their logo in swirling, looping strokes, that made it appear more avant garde modern art than anything else. Paint specific for Graffiti, with names like Valentine, Phat 1 Tru Royal, and Sniper lived inside, waiting for the day that they’d be brought into the game and used for their intended purpose.
Caspian was nothing if not methodical, either. It was something he learned that made him work better, despite the intrinsic nature of Graffiti being haphazard and spontaneous. Knowing he had a good surface, good paints, and all the color he needed let him relax and fade into the zone of painting and enjoying the work, making sure lines and flows were done in a pleasing way. After all, this was a paying gig, and he wanted to put his best foot forward.
“What, you don’t want paint all over your lathes or tools? A splatter or two’d give them some character, and make sure that Rooster didn’t nick something that wasn’t his out of the other guy’s box.” The guy’s name he can’t remember offhand, but he is teasing a little. He steps into the workspace and studies the walls, blank canvases ready for the artist’s touch, grinning a little, looking back over his shoulder to where Devi stands. Shrugging out of his jacket, his backpack placed on a plastic-covered table, he does a little digging to reveal the bottle that they shared when he first came over, along with the two cheaper glasses he brought along with him.
“To fucking masterpieces.” he offers her a glass, lifting his in a toast before killing the entire thing with one quick slug, letting out a cheer and stomping a foot. “Woo!”
Devi raises her glass, but waits to watch Caspian with a thoughtful sort of smile before indulging in a shot of the fine liquor. She closes her eyes, breathing out slowly and giving a shake of her head.
“Following your lead, Dreamer.” She gives a wink.
Devi sits on the plastic-draped arm of the sofa that’s been moved akimbo to make room for Caspian’s work. With her boots on a cushion and her knees drawn up, she watches with interest but her gaze seems to follow the man more than the art. Occasionally, she reaches up, usually with a drink in hand, to motion to one part of the wall or the other, providing input where needed as the image of the majestic Raven slowly starts to take form.
Painting is, by default, a thing of unbridled creation, and doing so does require a little chaos to be sown into the world around it until things seem to magically come into view. Most of the things in the garage have been covered with plastic or moved to the center of the space - out of the way of flying paint, giving Caspian and Devi plenty of room to move near the walls. The Raven, as Caspian has started to call it, is going to be the centerpiece of the murals and was going to take the most time to paint, so this was where he started, peeling off to the other murals. Breaking it up like this allowed him to stretch different muscles and, in the case of one mural near the mechanics bays, draw an image that, if one looked at it the right way, had a rooster peering out from behind some foliage in the back - an homage to the man who wasn’t very into graffiti. Still, the Raven called him back again and again, broad strokes from a paint roller transforming the prepared and cleaned wall into a shapeless splotch that, as of now, appeared to be more of a mess than anything. As Devi watches over the first day, though, colors layer over themselves, darks blending into lighter ones, blues and violets and reds complimenting each other to add amazing depth to what intrinsically is a two dimensional image, almost making it look like the Raven is peering out of the wall. He’s really taking his time with this one.
Once in a while, two people meet
Seemingly for no reason
They just pass on the street
April 9, 2019
Devi stands in the open bay, framed by gray skies and the winks of drizzle outside. Her dark hair is plastered to her tattooed features and the shoulders of her jacket, through which only her unslung arm has been fed, the other hugged uselessly inside the drape of the dark, rain-kissed leather. She lingers an extra heartbeat to watch Caspian work, her expression strangely absent its devilish charm or cheshire grin. When no one is watching, she appears almost pensive as she considers the artist in his element once again.
“I brought grub.” The smile flawlessly arranged, she lifts a flimsy plastic bag and crosses the garage. “Chinese.”
With the weather outside the garage cool, bleary and gray, the inside is a riot of colors and warmth. Two large fans have been set up, one to draw air from one door in the back of the garage, the other blowing out into the weather to try and mitigate some of the accelerant fumes coming out of the cans. Even with his respirator mask at full tilt, Caspian sometimes got a nice little buzz from the stuff so it’s better to make sure it’s all out of there. When Devi comes in he’s working on the Raven - again - with his hoodie tied around his waist. His work shirt had been discarded a while back, leaving him in a white sleeveless undershirt with a stencil of a graffiti artist blasted on with a can of krylon some years back. It’s well worn and paint-splattered, indicating that he’s probably had it for a while. One can is held in his right hand and a Bic lighter in his left, allowing him to spray color and then, with a flick of the lighter, set the rest of it alight to burn off the chemicals, giving it a crackled finish that adds even more depth to the piece as well as drying it that much faster.
Caspian’s head rolls back to regard her for a second when she speaks, his headphones dangling around his neck, the music tinny before he hits pause on the ancient iPod and blows out the flames licking over the wall. Her pensive expression had been missed entirely, so engrossed with work, Caspian was. “Thanks.” He sounds quite grateful, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin, the snap of his gloves coming off echoing around the space. “I’m starving. Let me clear a spot and let’s see what you got.” It’s quite possible he came directly from a job to start painting without grabbing dinner, since his van is parked out front in the third spot from the left again. The tool box used as a makeshift table is cleared, a plastic drop cloth draped over the top to act as an impromptu tablecloth, and two of the hard plastic high-school chairs are found - one for each of them - and are placed opposite each other.
Chinese food in the Zone is a treat, too. With basic supplies difficult to get, finding someone to supply a decent meal was difficult, but when it happened, it was a source of great joy and celebration. “Oh, rice! God, it smells like fried rice. And I smell wontons…” He’s almost swooning there.
The biker indulges a clandestine, albeit soggy, smile - giving no hints as to how she acquire the treat or how much effort may or may not have been involved. She takes the offered seat, her husky voice giving a playful tilt, “Oh, how thoughtful.” Then the selection is laid out, each dish separated into its own reusable tupperware as opposed to the disposable paper of pre-war time. She digs out a couple of paper plates, chopsticks, and the backup plastic utensils.
“I think I could live off soy sauce,” she admits. She pulls over the tub of wantons and starts to dish them out evenly, using her nose to nudge towards the rice and indicate her own plate as well. The two work in an easy, casual tandem to fill up their plates. Before either can take a bite, though, Devi tips sideways on her chair and bobs back into view with two bottles of beer, fresh and cool condensation clinging to the glass. “Now we feast.” There’s a clink of glasses before she bends over the low, toolbox-table to eat.
There’s time enough to enjoy the food and the quiet hum of the fans droning alongside the patter of the rain. Eventually, though, Devi looks up from her food with a few wet tresses stuck sharp and dark across her brows. “Tell me a secret,” she says, more casually than demanding the way her airy tones play over an easy, tilted smile.
So directed, Caspian dishes out the rice from their plastic Tupperware containers to the plates they’re going to use, making sure that each person gets an equal share. Rice and wontons are the filling bits, but the little dish of what appears to be slivers of beef in a dark sauce with sliced green peppers and another of chicken with a reddish sweet sauce are divided out more sparsely. This could be lunch for tomorrow if things work out right. “I could too.” He admits. “Thankfully, the stuff doesn’t go bad, and you can find pre-war bottles here and there for sale in the market. As long as the seal’s good, you can get just about anything and it won’t give you any stomach problems.” The beers are cold and welcomed. Caspian takes a second to study the hand-drawn label before the bottle opener comes out and the cap on both bottles are removed. He’s careful to fill her glass first, making sure that there’s a head but not too much of one before he serves himself. The bottlecaps, once discarded, clatter against the concrete floor of the garage, one rolling and resting against Devi’s foot.
The pair eat in comfortable silence surrounded by broken machinery and Caspian’s art. “A secret?” His chopsticks still halfway between his mouth, a bit of beef still clenched lightly between the lacquered sticks. He tilts his head lightly to the side before finishing his bite. “Do you want a serious secret or silly secret? I’ll bite if you do and you promise to keep it between us.” Tit for Tat is expected in the secret game, you see, as well as secrecy, the chopsticks turning into impromptu pointing devices. And without prompting, he offers up his secret.
“Silly secret - I used to skateboard, and I was pretty good at it. Never made the magazines or anything like that, but I could do a kickflip and grind a staircase just as well as most people. Got the scars on my knees and elbows to prove it and the ache in my hip where I landed wrong once that still hasn’t gone away.” Caspian chuckles. “I even built my own skateboard when I was nine out of plywood and roller skate wheels. Broke my arm riding down the driveway before my dad could catch me. He made me work all summer to make up for scaring him and Mom to death and gave me a real skateboard for Christmas that year, once I was healed, along with all the safety gear.” The chopsticks move deftly, stirring the rice together with the sauce before he reaches over and, in a daring move, snags a pepper from Devi’s plate with a smirk. “I looked like a medieval knight, with all the pads. Finally just settled for the helmet and knees.” The pepper is popped into his mouth.
“Now your turn…what’s your silly secret?”
“Oh, I’ll bite,” Devi agrees with an cheshire grin. She listens between bites, pausing only to feign a half hearted attempt to rescue the stolen pepper. Foiled, she snaps her chopsticks like a tiny gator in front of Caspian’s nose before returning the wooden tips to her plate and mixing around some of the fried foods.
“Hang ten and all that, hm?” She leans back, pursing her lips as she lets her gaze peruse Caspian’s for in a languid, appraising way. “I can see,” she surmises with a smile. She leans back in, resting her elbows on her knees and spearing a breaded chicken finger on one end of a chopstick. “Silly secret, hm? Let’s see…” She snatches the morsel off the chopstick, chewing in as thoughtful a way as one can. Gulp! “Oh! I got it…”
“Hang ten is traditionally surfing.” Caspian corrects, letting her continue.
Devi snorts, “Same difference?” she remarks skeptically and teasing in regards to the surfing v. skateboard topic. Without pause, though, she delivers her silly secret: “I used to sleep most night on the floor beside my parents’ bed, on my mom’s side.” She smirks and pushes her food around more before setting the chopsticks aside and exchanging them for the beer. The lip of the bottle hovers before her lips as she adds, “Till I was like 15. I only stopped because Ma threatened to not let me get my license unless I slept in my own bed.” She quickly indulges a big sip, but it doesn’t stop the chortling sound from coming out of her nose as she watches for Caspian.
It is not the same difference, but it’s not worth protesting when there’s pepper beef to be had. Caspian snickers at the thought of Devi curled up on the floor next to her mother’s bed. “Probably put a kink in her love life.” Caspian observes with a grin, fully expecting to get some chopstick flung into his face for putting that image into Devi’s head, even leaning back to better avoid whatever’s thrown his way. “That’s cute, you wanting to be with your momma so much. And don’t worry, I won’t tell. It wouldn’t be right to go and ruin your good reputation, can I?”
The two comfortably converse for the rest of the meal…
Suddenly, thunder showers everywhere
Who can explain the thunder and rain?
But there's something in the air
April 11, 2019
The murals are coming along splendidly now, with two showing signs of near completion and the other two in stages of production that shows that despite some detail work, they're close to being buttoned up. On the street these would be just fine, but this is a job, and this takes some more effort. Cans of paint are put in various spots near the murals he was working on, the intimacy of a brush taking over for the brashness of the spray can in some places.
Right now, Caspian is sitting on the couch, a battered laptop set up next to him along with a printer that's steadily humming as individual pages of thick cardboard squirt out in various fonts. Hunched over a plastic cutting mat, Caspian is painstakingly slicing out printed letters for a stencil, a small plastic trash can next to him filled with the already used or badly cut out already discarded. He holds it up to the light, nods, and sets it aside, standing to make his way to the Raven, past the plastic covered couch. Stepping up on his invisible steps, the stencil is positioned in a feather and a few soft blasts of spray follow. The dark letters are imposed in the feathers near the beak - “To achieve greatness, one should live as if they will never die.” - and when it's placed just perfectly, the stencil goes to join the others in the dustbin.
A setting sun cuts sharp streams of light into the bay doors and across the open floors. Layers of light reflect the slanting illumination into a hazy glow. At the back of the shop the “Employees Only” door is left ajar. Inside, raven hair shimmers almost purple in its reflections, but the woman’s face is hidden behind the door of a small, black cupboard. A set of keys hang freely from a small lock set in the cabinet.
Devi’s hand reaches for a small roll of leather. Black fingernails flip back a strap and the soft, well-worn hide scrolls open to reveal a small, glowing syringe inside. That same, gentle touch hovers…
The cupboard door slams shut; the keys given a vehement twist.
Devi rounds the doorjamb and catches Caspian’s eye. She holds up a bag of chocolates in her unrestrained hand, her smile as undeniable as the sweets dangled out temptingly between them.
Halfway up his invisible ladder with another stencil, Caspian pauses and leans back, looking down when she emerges from the secret garden of the private office. “You weren't kidding when you said you had a treat back there, were you?” He sounds happy about that, sliding deftly down to land directly in front of Devi, trying to snatch the bag with a playful grab before stepping back. “You know, if you keep feeding me like this and I might stick around after the murals are done.”
Don't get me wrong
If I come and go like fashion
I might be great tomorrow
But hopeless yesterday
April 12, 2019
“Like this?” The words are muffled by a paper face mask.
Working on one of the side walls under Caspian’s instructions, Devi makes a sweeping gesture of a can. The result is a blooming blob of scarlett paint at the starting end that thins out in a fluid line. Her dark locks are knotted up in a messy nest atop her head, her left arm in a sling freshly spattered with paint ricocheted from the colorful wall before them.
Painting lessons always take a good amount of time, but as a wise dog once said, the first step in not sucking at something is to suck at it for a while and then you get kind of good at it. The inside wall of the barn that Caspian grew up near was painted over at least a hundred times over the years, probably shrinking the barn’s square footage by about six inches, give or take. It’s the third can she’s gone through since starting on her section and there are several cans resting on the floor behind her, ready to be taken up once Devi’s done with this first coat.
“Yeah, just like that.” Caspian says from behind his mask, crouching next to Devi, giving his can a rattle, aiming away from the wall to spray a little out and then mirroring the scarlet with a bloom of yellow right below. “It’s a good line. You need to start moving the can before you press the button, otherwise you get streaks and blobs like that. Plan your motion, start moving, and then spray when you hit the spot that you want. Like this.” Another outlined line of color, this one a brighter line blooms from his spray can as he moves his arm in a quick movement, the paint starting exactly where the bottom of her line starts and then following it up alongside. There is always the option to tilt the can or aim up or down, or use different shaped nozzles, but that’s advanced, and right now they’re just working on a small portion of the wall.
The raven gazes balefully at the pair as they work on the wall opposite it, the feathers and quotes mostly taken care of, with Caspian returning every ten minutes or so to add another saying or two that fit the theme of the mural’s words. “No Time Like the Present.” “The Most Dedicated.” “Question Everything.” Caspian returning to check on the progress being made..
Chocolate eyes narrow as they observe the line - masterful for it’s clean, precise simplicity.
“Plan.” Devi, considers the wall and the two conjoined lines of complimentary colors.
“Move.” The biker woman steps a little to her left and gives her can a quick shake.
“Paint.” The paint can moves along the wall, her line starting a bit short of the mark and spray off shooting up over the yellow line - she must have found one of those fancy angles by accident.
“Aww. Come on!” Her husky laugh is made only warmer by the paper mask over her lips as she turns to regard Caspian. “You make it look so damn easy. Show off.” To emphasis her point she reaches out and makes a shorter, sweeping gesture and paints a smooth line - right across Cas’s middle. “Oh! See, I work better with people as my canvas.” Despite the mask, the soft wrinkles around her eyes and the devious glint within them give away her cheshire grin.
The paint that Caspian chose was considered a fairly nice one by writers, with less of the harshness that you would get from stuff you’d find at a hardware store. Called ‘Sugar,’ it had a lot more pigment and a lot less acetone. It’s not something you’d want to eat, of course, but it’s still healthy compared to some of the other stuff out there. It also sticks to walls and clothes just about as well as anything that there is.
Devi can tell Caspian’s grinning behind his mask as she sweeps the can across the wall. His trained eye can tell when she’s twisting her wrist to get the fluttery effect on the end of the line, but he doesn’t point it out. It’s something that he worked hard to learn, getting a laser-straight line, and that’s something that’ll go away with practice. “Well I…” He stops, looking down at the bright crimson streak going across his middle from hip to shoulder, then up at Devi. “Hey!”
At least he decided to wear an old work shirt today - the paint won’t kill him, and hasn’t yet. Caspian rattles his can in a warning gesture, kind of like a rattlesnake would, before sending a streak of yellow across Devi’s shirt in a matching mark. “I see. The line did really, really well with that one. You started here and swept up…” And he makes a second matching mark across Devi’s chest -again-!
As the can is rattling, Devi’s matte-pink lips purse in playful disbelief. “You wouldn’t…” Oh, but he would. And he did! The first bright yellow has her lips parting but smile stuck fast. The second sprayed stripe, however, has her jaw plainly dropped.
“Ohhhh. You no you di-int,” she wags her spray can side-to-side in the sassy fashion that befits her dragged out statement, the ball bearing inside grinding back and forth with the motion. “Attacking a cripple,” she comments, adding in a tsk-tsk-tsk for good measure. “Shame on y-” Shccctt! This last swipe of paint meets the other to form an X across Caspians body.
Devi tips her head as if to marvel at her good work. “X marks the spot and all that.” She waggles her brows and grins. “Bring it.” She turns, boots bracing on plastic and concrete with a crinkling sound, and slips behind one of the vehicle shells with a whoop of laughter.
“Oh yes I did.” Caspian teases. “I hope you can take all you dish out, ‘cause it's coming.” Cripple or no, Caspian's sense of fair play means he won't go double-guns on poor one-armed Devi. All through the week of painting and working together, sharing food and laughter, he's never thought any less of her for just having the one functional arm and has treated her limitation as something to simply deal with when it comes up, and even then, not something to bring attention to or exploit in the case of a spray paint fight. “One rule, though.” He calls, grabbing a second can, stuffing it into the back pocket of his jeans. He stands up to peer over the roof of the car, pulling his mask in place before he stalks over to the second shell that Devi just slipped behind. “No eyes.”
Ground rules laid, Caspian gets to bringing!
The crinkle of plastic beneath boots does mask movements slightly, as does the rattling of his can as he mixes the pigment into the propellant and the laughter. The merry laughter. Caspian moves carefully around the front of the car’s body, pausing to glance into the empty engine bay, just in case Devi decided to secret herself between the two fenders before jumping around to the passenger side. She's probably sneaking up behind him as he moves, using the missing doors to slip through the body, but sadly, only having eyes in the front of his head means a flanking maneuver, performed quietly, will probably get him in the back with some paint. If not, Devi’s going to get more yellow on her shirt.
Graffiti might not be her thing. Normal social interactions might not be her thing. But, a friend roll of paint wars, and on her home turf even? Oh, now that’s her thang. Devi peeks out from the shadows cast by workbench and creeps up behind Caspian. Just as a rustle of plastic and the grinding ball bearing shifts in her can, she sprays a swipe at her prey’s back and side. “Aha!”
The childish joy of the paint battle continues with varying degrees of success. In one chase Devi slips on the clear, plastic sheeting and nearly falls, but Caspian is there to right her balance. It’s an kindness that earns him a quick scrutiny and another point of red paint, but then the duo continue on until exhausted, giggling like new-found friends staying up too late during a sleepover.
Don't get me wrong
If I fall in the mode of fashion
It might be unbelievable
April 13, 2019
Sun streams into the wide open bays, reflecting a prism of extravagant color from every painted angle within the garage.
The silence is everywhere, with the sounds of the city muted in the background due to the early morning hour. It was the end of the crunch - of the final push to get things done and now, standing in the open bay doors, looking in at the murals covering the walls of Anarchy Customs II, he marveled at the amount of effort that had gone into making this place beautiful, that he and Devi had put in. It was something that Caspian hadn’t done in many years - pulling an all-nighter for a piece. This was something he didn’t have time to do anymore, but this all seemed to be worth the effort. Taking a drag on the last of his cigarette, the butt dropped to the floor and put out with the twist of his foot, Caspian seemed to be exhausted, but triumphant. His nerves were shredded with expired energy drinks and coffee, his fingers trembling, clothes stained with the evidence of his effort. It was an insurmountable task he was given and here he is, standing on the other side, successful. After a moment he glances over to Devi.
“So.” His voice is quiet. “What do you think?”
Devi’s dark eyes wince subtly at the sound of Caspian’s voice, as if even his hushed, deep tones has cut physically the same way they had pierced through her wandering thoughts. She doesn’t respond right away, but lets her gaze glide from one side to the other once more. She stands just behind and to the right of the artist, her sling bearing the marks of defeat from the previous day’s paint war.
Finally, “I think-,” but it’s not bubbling to the surface - her thoughts. Her lips move, but then it’s only to pass her tongue along the tiers. She clears her throat and tries again. “I think, it sucks-” Dark eyes flick towards Caspian, taking in his silhouette against the artistic backdrop from this angle. “-that it’s done.” Her serious expression quickly and carefully takes on a playful tilt and she averts her gaze back to the central wall - the Raven.
“It’s amazing. You put dreams in color, and it’s fucking mesmerizing.” … “Thank you.”
Caspian’s head inclines slightly as he finishes his umpteenth Red Bull of the evening, tapping it against his lower lip as it's emptied, the can clattering as he tosses it into the bin. He takes a moment as she speaks, giving Devi a sidelong glance over his shoulder, his attention turning back to the murals, already picking out things he could do better if he just had more time. “Hey, Thanks.” The cigarette and exhaustion really mellowed out his voice, giving him a lower register without really trying. “I really had a good time painting your walls. And fighting with paint.” He looks down at himself, striped like a harlequin, almost every inch aside from eyes covered in paint splatters. “Let's call it a draw.”
He shuffles to turn and look at her, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the encroaching sun that's glaring down like a priest or judge accusing him of being the sinner that stayed up all night. “I just took your inspiration and ran with it. I didn't do it alone, either. You did help.” He looks over at the mural, still striped in crimson and yellow from their efforts, chuckling. “I kind of want to leave that one like it is. A nice memento of the evening you can look back on and remember.”
The halo of sunlight behind her gives a marked darkness to her raven locks and attire, but as she lifts her chin to meet Caspian’s gaze, the light play enough on her pale flesh to illuminate a warmth beneath the usual toying nature of her ever ambiguous grin. “A draw this time,” she comments. “And don’t you dare touch that masterpiece over there - I worked damn hard on it.”
A husky laugh punctuates Devi’s statement before she steps and turns in to face Caspian, allowing them both to stand with the sun shining in on one side and on the other the cool safety of the garage done up in miraculous colors. “But, uh, that whole ‘remembering’ part is only a big deal if you don’t plan on comin’ round too much…” She cants her head to the side, quirking a brow before a few wild stands of dark hair fall across her face.
“I suppose I could come around a bit more, if you didn't mind. I mean….” Caspian gives a one-shouldered shrug, shuffling from one foot to the other, looking into the garage to study a far-off point as he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks, he turns to look at her, his teeth a Cheshire grin in a face full of paint. “You've got a great attitude, lots of cool stories, and you're interesting to boot.” Her being his type really isn't mentioned, and thanks to the paint, the quick blush is remarkably well hidden.
“And if this is a draw, I'd hate to see what a loss for me entailed. I'm going to be scrubbing paint out of my hair for the next week.”
Devi’s smile deepens. She reaches up and brushes her long fingers over his paint-dusted hair. “I can help with that,” she comments in her husky, enigmatic way. What is not so cryptic, though, is the way her hand falls down, entwining her fingers with his. She turns and leads him off towards the light filling the bay doors.
But let's not say, "so long"
It might just be fantastic
Don't get me wrong