Logs:Exposure

Exposure
cn: slurs/hate crime (vandalism)
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve	2020-08-17 "How often would you say this sort of thing happens?"
Location <NYC> Inkline Studios - Lower East Side
The front room of Inkline Studio is small, and does not, particularly, look like a tattoo parlor at all. Framed surrealist oil paintings line the walls instead of the typical flash ink, although interspersed are a handful of tasteful, artistic photographs of various people displaying their tattoos that might give away the nature of this business. Black leather armchairs cluster around a low glass coffee table; large black binders that sit on the table contain portfolios of the past work done in the studio. A glass counter stretches along the length of one wall, a plethora of various body jewelry on display; the 'front desk' sits at the far end of the counter, computer and cash register and large file cabinet making up the work space. The piercing and tattoo rooms are in the back, brightly lit and sterile, with doors closeable for privacy. The cool spell is easing up, leaving the balance of a perfectly warm summer's afternoon, the sky clear but for a few puffy white clouds. Even the passing pedestrians seem cheerful, though maybe that's more to do with the nearness of quitting time on a Monday. Inkline's storefront is not looking quite so dreamy, having been vandalized with the words 'DIE MUTIE FAG' in bright red, underlined with a very poorly rendered line drawing of a penis. Steve is in his painting clothes -- a black t-shirt, fitted blue jeans, and black combat boots, all spotted with many-colored paint -- but isn't doing any painting today. Instead he is applying a large, stiff-bristled brush to the graffiti on the wall of the shop. "How often would you say this sort of thing happens?" Jax is in black shortalls embroidered in iridescent purple-green stars, one strap buttoned and the other hanging loose to reveal half the illustration on his colorful Lorax-graphic tee, his sneakers black canvas with rainbow rose pattern. He's just shaking his floppy peacock-hued hair back away from his face, peering from behind large mirrored sunglasses at the crude graffiti. "Oh it's like weekly at Evolve. Out here or down at home or out Chimaera way we can go months tween any of this nonsense but then it kinda ramps up in bursts any time I'm in the news or -- Ryan or -- Shane -- there's cycles." He dips his own brush into their bucket of soapy water, leaning up against the wall as he scrubs. "They got all kindsa wonky aim, too," he says with a laugh, "shoulda seen the weird things we got hurled at us here after Ryan come out. He can't draw to save his life, we wouldn't never hire him." Steve shakes his head. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this -- all of you, really, but..." He tsks softly. "This vandal hasn't got any manners or artistic talent." Pauses in his work. Looks over at Jax, eyebrows slightly raised. "Do you think this might have actually been meant for Ryan?" he asks hesitantly. "Can't find where he lives so they figure you're the next best thing?" "Oh gosh, s'hard to say really. Folks do so love tellin' him to die." Jax rocks back on a heel for a moment, squinting at the words before he returns to scrubbing them away. "But I did just do an interview 'bout some of the art I done for his new video so it's kind of a coin toss if this was intentional." He sounds unbothered -- though his grip is hard and his scrubbing harder. "Don't get me wrong, it ain't just us. It's a real big city. Pretty much all the time you can find some kinda hate croppin' up somewhere, these bigots been gettin' bold. S'funny if you put up 'Die Nazi Scum' the city'll power wash it off by the next day but this kinda thing we gotta handle on our own." Steve's smile comes easy and guileless. "I'm glad your stuff is getting out there. Not --" he adds hastily, "-- that it isn't good enough on its own merits. But I'm sure it helps --" He laughs nervously. "It's as if I'm just bound and determined to put my entire foot in my mouth." He dips his brush back in the bucket and swishes it around, applying it to the wall again. "I've seen some 'ACAB' and the sort -- sometimes more elaborate -- true, never for long." His eyes flick to Jax again, appraising. "Not that you have to tell me, but do you do much in the way of -- protest art? I mean in the sense of -- well, I know you teach street art at Chimaera." Jax's brows lift, his lips twitching in barely repressed laughter as Steve continues. "Oh no please I was dyin' to hear the end of that." He bumps Steve's shoulder lightly with his own. Beneath the pink-red suds of the half-clean wall a distinctively stylized dragonfly appears on the wall, shimmers through a range of colors then peels itself off into the air to flit away. "I ain't sayin' I do, but if you see that tag croppin' up places --" A small shrug. His brows knit thoughtfully as he works. "Been a bit piecemeal, though. Sorta when inspiration strikes. Feel like if the bigots been ramping up their work, so should we." Steve blushes hard. "I don't really know where I was going with that." He runs a hand through his short, neat hair. The dragonfly that comes up out of the wall brings his smile back easily enough. "I'll keep an eye out for that," he says as he watches Jax's tag fly off. "Your art is sure to beat theirs out for quality, if not quantity." He frowns. "Is it more likely to be left alone if it's...pretty?" "Depends where it is, how obviously political it is, who it pisses off, but yeah. Lotta times they'll still take it down eventually, but if it's pretty, if folks like it, it'll stick around longer." Another image is spreading along the soapy wall -- a muscular orange-robed titan descending from a rocky mountaintop, though in place of a more traditional torch or handful of flame there is a Molotov cocktail in his hand, drawn back to hurl towards the window of a half-drawn police station. The illusory painting dissolves into a heatless two-dimensional flame and then nothing at all as Jax keeps scrubbing. "However long they last, I guess we'll just hafta make sure they're memorable."