Paint-Splattered and Miffed (OPEN)

[Simon Wells Pendergast]

Simon was not happy. No, that was an understatement. He was supremely pissed. If there was a strange beauty-pageant-like competition for states of mind, he'd be given the sash of Ms. Pissed. His mother's Pomeranian, Missy, had apparently grown opposable thumbs and the ability to walk on stilts and had opened the door to his bedroom and completely destroyed the latest painting he had been working on and two tubes of his oil paint.

His mother had freaked out, naturally. She had been alternately yelling at him for leaving his door open—which he hadn't—and then speaking almost normally on the phone with a vet, all the while holding a squirming black and blue rat dog. It was like a bad vaudeville routine.

After the evil dog had been rushed to the vet and they determined that she hadn't gotten the much of the paint in her system—apparently she had just busted the tubes open then rolled around the mess like the spiteful thing that she is. Despite the stupid dog being just fine and Simon clearly the victim, his mother had just subjected him to a lecture when he asked to be reimbursed for his paint.

Angry, he had stomped out of the house with a “I'll see you in small claims court!” yelled over his shoulder, he doubted his mother had heard him over Missy's yipping as she got a bath.

So here he was, wandering around Rodeo's answer to Target, still royally miffed—not even the jumbo Dr. Pepper he had bought at the small food court not helping his mood any—and very pessimistic about his chances that they would have the usual brand of oil paint he used.

[gaire pierce riley]

Gaire sighed as his older brother screamed at him to wake up. "Your gonna be late you lazy little ass!" Everyn yelled at Gaire as he jerked the covers from the boy's body. Gaire grumbled as he got up without a word, pulling a pair of Leather jeans on his slender legs and grabbing a simple black hoodie. "Oh no! You put a shirt on young man!" Everyn barked at the man.

Gaire only groaned as he rooted through his closet. He held up a leather vest as his brother tapped his foot on the ground. "Oh FINE then Mr. I Cant Let My Brother Be Happy!" He shouted as he pulled on a skin tight Nine Inch Nails tee. He jerked on the hoodie as he stormed down to the front door. He jerked on his black combat boots and slammed the door on his way out. He grumbled the whole way to his car as he sped off.

"Oh yeah, Lets set up a freaking job interview for the day I dont want to go." He grumbled as a thought struck his head. He turned off to one of the shops. He shook his head. He would prefer a target, but this would do. He parked the car as he closed the door, he walked in the store as he made his way to get himself a large cup of black coffee, then he would be off on his shopping spree. He sighed as he walked aimlessly around.

He stopped before a shelf of assorted paints. he did like to paint, not very good at it though. He noticed a section of Gouache paints, his mixture of choice. He stood there as he sipped at his coffee. He had no real place to go but here, so why not. He hadnt planned on going to the interview. He picked up an assortment of colors, a few different sized brushes even. He didnt really know why.

[Simon Wells Pendergast]

Simon quickly located the crafting area, not caring that there was someone else in the aisle as he flipped the bird at the many sets of mindless prepackaged crafts. He hated those things. And no, he didn't care that they were for kids, that made it worse in his opinion. It was pandering and limited a kid's creativity. After all, what kid in their right mind would want to turn lame clothe loops into ugly ass potholders. He was pretty sure most kids didn't know what a potholder was. Lame crafts should be confined to summer camp.

Or that just could be his bad mood talking. It wasn't helped at all by his quick scan of the pathetic paint section. Mostly primary colored bottles of water based crap. For a second, he just stared, then he took a deep breath. With the air, he let out a noise that sounded like the dying whine of angry badger (the only kind of badger, really).

“My kingdom for good paint!” He said, definitely not in his indoor voice—still not caring that there were other customers about—with an angry heaven-ward shake of his mostly empty soda cup. He thought the rattle of ice adequately expressed his anger at the gods.

That done, he set the cup down on an empty shelf, deciding that if the establishment didn't have the decency to carry the things he needed that he might as well litter all over it. He vengefully wished that he had a gum wrapper. But no, he didn't since he couldn't stand the taste or the consistency of most gum for long.

He was without adequate recourse and defeated once again by a three-pound fluff ball. It was sad, really. Tired, he rubbed his face, belatedly realizing that he still had splotches of paint all over him. It wasn't exactly a new occurrence. Whenever he painted, he tended to get it all over his clothes, his hands, and his left wrist (which he used to wipe off his brushes). But even he was able to keep it off of his face most of the time. At least his glasses had escaped the mess, even if they were smudged to hell.

He took them off and looked down at his shirt—almost stiff in some places from the paint—no help there. Then he turned his attention to the other person in the aisle, a young guy. Not caring if it was weird (which was the motto of his life), he asked “Can I use your shirt to wipe off my glasses?”

[gaire pierce riley]

Gaire sighed as he heard a boy yell, he couldnt really have cared less what he was saying, so he put the paints and the brushes down in his cart that he had snagged from the front of the shop, it wasnt a cart with wheels, only a handle that he may carry the things he so liked in. The brushes he chose made of actual hair and in eight different sized. The colors all shades of Blacks and gray with three red tubes. He was a mostly abstract painter when he actually got the desire to.

Then again, him actually painting would require work and some amount of effort on his end. Then again, it was something that could be done sitting down, only his hands moving. Ah but the process of sketching out a design on the canvas and then the decisions of the color pallet that he would use. What would be black what would be grey and of course, what would be the rare splotch of red. He was the laziest painter that probably lived. But they always came out very well, shockingly. He sighed as he heard a voice asking a question.

He turned his head to the boy and looked him up and down. He smirked as he actually heard the question “Can I use your shirt to wipe off my glasses?” That was quite the strange question. But well, Gaire would be able to undress, which was what he loved to do. The boy would walk around Naked at all hours of the day if he was given half the chance, so it led to only one reply. "Well, Sure, Why the Hell Not." He spoke, his voice a low sexy rumble.

Gaire tossed his hoodie in his shopping cart and pulled the skin tight shirt from his torso, the glint of silver on his body, the many piercings. He handed his shirt over to the boy, it was black so it couldnt really matter what he would do to it. Plus, the more messed up it was, the more Grunge it was. He smiled at the boy as he pulled the hoodie back on his body, not bothering to zip it, he just let all his manly paleness hang out. "Im guessing your adept to asking perfect strangers to use their Shirts?" He asked with a low chuckle.

[Simon Wells Pendergast]

Simon was surprised when the guy not only didn't walk off with one of the usual you-are-so-odd looks he was more than accustomed to, but took off his shirt entirely. He couldn't help but smile. For the obvious reason that he loved it whenever people just went along with him and the stuff that came out of his mouth. And also because...Well, he was a gay teenage boy, and damn if he wasn't getting a show.

So distracted was he, that he almost forgot to grab the shirt from the guy. Luckily, his brain kicked in before it left him standing there like an idiot. He had to look at the shirt before he used it, of course. Nine Inch Nails. He gave a little shrug, he wasn't too crazy about the band...er guy, but he didn't dislike them...him either. Had it been a Rush t-shirt, he would have refused on principle.

He laughed at the man's question as he wiped his lenses. “Ah, nope. This is the first time it's actually worked. You totally deserve of gold star of awesomeness. Thanks.” Glasses clean, he popped them back onto his face, then handed the shirt back to the guy.

“Are you generally in the habit of stripping whenever someone asks?” Simon couldn't help but ask with a teasing smile. His bad mood was suddenly lifting.

[gaire pierce riley]

Gaire raised an eyebrow as he chuckled to himself, the boy had been very cute in his own opinion. Gaire wasnt gay, but hell he wasnt straight either, he was one of those "If you pay me any mind i'll do it" type of guys, but he did have his standards. He looked the boy up and down, like he was a meal and Gaire was a starving wolf. He shrugged lightly at the boys words. "Well, thanks, I do deserve a gold star, but I would take a conversation as payment." He said softly, in a very flirtatious tone.

He couldnt help but laugh as the boy asked the question. "Is féidir liom ach le do thoil..I can only please. And really, would i ever refuse a chance to take off my clothing in public, i like my body damnit." He said softly, the language was Irish, his own home language, granted it lost most of the accent but it was still very sexy on him.

He smiled at the boy as he took his shirt, draping it over his own shoulder. He smirked as he looked at the boy, figuring he probably didnt know Irish. "An-tarraingteach" He said softly, his voice rumbling. Those words meaning Very Attractive. He felt like playing today, and once you let Gaire play, god knew what the beast would do.

[Simon Wells Pendergast]

When he woke up this morning, he definitely hadn't expected to enjoy some light flirtation with a hot guy. A hot shirtless guy. A hot shirtless guys who spoke to him in a cool-sounding language that he knew was not French and that was about as far as his language-deducing abilities went. Simon laughed at the aforementioned hot shirtless guy's answer to his question.

“I can see why.” Simon agreed, not at all abashedly. Well, it wasn't like the boy ever did anything abashedly. Of all the things that went into making a Simon W. Pendergast, shame wasn't an ingredient.

When the guy said something indecipherable, Simon could only smile and nod, offering a “Parlez-vous français?” in return. It was the only bit of French he had actually learned during his short stint in that class.

Simon was distracted from his inability to speak any language besides English (sort of) when he noticed what was in the guy's basket. Paint and paintbrushes. “Oh, my god, do you paint?” He asked excitedly. Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed the paints from the basket to get a better look. Like shame and Simon, rules they generally teach kindergarteners—like no snatching—and Simon were not on familiar terms.

“Oh, you use gaucho paints?” His term for gouache paint, because if anything looked remotely like it said gaucho, he was referring to it as gaucho. And, no, he really didn't care if anyone else understood or not. “I use it when I paint doll faces, but that's about it. Do you use it on canvas? I tried using it on old book covers, the like cloth ones, you know? But it was too water color-y for me.”

And yes, he was aware he practically derailed the flirting train in order to talk shop as it were, but talking shop with a hot shirtless guy pleased Simon more than any what's-your-sign small talk could.

[gaire pierce riley]

Gaire only laughed as he shook his head slightly, he wouldnt even touch french he felt it a filthy language that people used to make an attempt at sounding refined. He hated it with a burning passion. Now Irish, the little Gaelic boy spoke it almost better then he did English. "No, I speak English, Gaelic and a small bit of Russian dollface." He said softly with a smirk on his beautiful lips, he stared at the boy, his eyes seeming to glitter in the store light. Then the boy ambushed his basket.

He couldnt help but laugh as he placed one hand on his pale belly and the other on the back of his unbrushed hair. "Oh my god, you are more hyper then a Fae on Mabon!" He said as he shook his head, his inner dork coming out as he smiled. The Fae were something Gaire loved, he himself often being called a little Fae devil by his older brother. The Fae of his knowledge werent the cute small creatures, they were evil little demons that caused mischief and a slight of chaos, and would steal your soul if given the chance. He totally bought into Mythology.

He only smiled at the man's question."Yeah, i love to paint on canvas, i mix gouache and acrylics together, it gives a bold contrast. I mostly paint the Fae and Dragons, a few Goblins and Elven on occasions, so the contrast REALLY makes things pop out of the image." He said softly as he leaned huis weight onto his left leg, the smile never going away.