victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

Victor led Rico over to the Muse's studio, bypassing the welcome mat and walking right in.

The Muse didn't take his eyes off of the painting that he was currently working on, containers full of paint scattered all around him. It looked like he was painting a person walking out of the water, but it was too early to be sure. His third arm painted wildly while his other two remained still at his sides. It was rather unnerving, even to Victor, who had watched him paint quite often.

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"Anti-Violence Field. Someone took a liking t' the idea of me dyin' a while back. Foun' out I'm still immortal th' hard way."

"Fun," he remarks drily. "How are we getting to Taco Bell? We gonna walk?"

He nodded, making a face. "I don't know any other way." He gestured to a door nearby. "This is th' YMCA. I get in t' use their shower after-hours so no one c'n walk in. I think there's a Taco Bell aroun' tha' area."

Rico heads to the door. "You know I don't have any money, right?"

"I don't have much American money. But I have enough for both of us." He opened the door for him. "After you." It opened up directly to the showers.

Rico looks around as he walks through the shower room. He can practically feel the athlete's foot gnawing at his shoes.

He grinned sheepishly. "What can I say. 'S home."

"Its cool," he says, aware he might have been a little rude. "Home is home."

He led Rico through the showers and over past the front desk. A tall man with a yellow, faded YMCA t-shirt cleared his throat, gesturing to his membership card.

The Muse winked. "Left it in my other pants." They had an understanding.

Rico keeps close to the muse, hoping not to draw too much attention from Mr. YMCA over there.

"I take it you're familiar with these guys, then?" he asks softly.

"I'm on call to paint murals for 'em, an' they don't question my coming and going. It's a helluvan arrangement," he explained quietly.

"Sounds like it." He hangs back to let the Muse lead the way.

He laughed and headed out of the door, grinning at the woman there. "Look lovely today, Miss Dolorous."

He held the door for Rico.

"Why thank you, Morrie," Rico says, grinning as he walks through the door. "How polite."

"You're quite welcome. I like the name Morrie. Thank you." He looked around, and up at the gray sky. "I try."

"You look like a Morrie." Rico looks up at the sky too. "Gonna thunder later," he says with absolute certainty. "Better grab the tacos and run."

He scanned the sky, spying the edge of a Taco Bell sign. "You think that's one?" he asked as he pointed.

"I'd bet on it." He starts walking down the street towards the delicious wafting scent of an American fast food chain.

"Groovy." He sauntered along, tightening his hold on his jacket.

This time it's Rico who holds open the door. As he waits for his companion to go in, he studies the menu thoughtfully.

"How much money did you say you had?"

"I've gotta twenty," he said glancing up at the menu.

Rico does some quick calculations in his head that are probably more or less correct. "All right, get me a number two and a five and a Coke. I'll go find a table."

"I'll have th' same." He twisted his head after him. "'Kay." He stood to the side and waited for their order to come up.

Rico finds a table and loads it up with napkins, straws, forks, and those little hot sauce packets. There's hardly enough room for the actual food.

((Mun need to work on a project. She'll be back later.))

((Sweet. What sorta project? Have fun!))

He balanced a tray over to the table with little difficulty; he was used to carrying things in spite of the obstructive bottle and cigarette.