Burst of Color (CVU closed RP IC)

Portland, Oregon; Sometime after Midnight

A lone white figure stood in the streets, from a distance seeming like ghost. An odd pink and blue glow, around its head and feet, respectively. The white was almost too perfect, the black too empty. In front of this ghost was a canvas... well, actually, a wall. But it was her canvas. She worked with her homemade spray paint to turn one of the city's few unpainted, dull, red brick walls into a portrait of someone she saw as a symbol of her beliefs: James Boomer, the TNTank. A native of Portland, misportrayed by the media, a living catastrophe who only tried to do what was right. She squared her shoulders as she examined the finished work.

Most would see only the red and the brown, but not Rainbow. In her eyes, it was simple, yet beautiful. In the bottom corner she had painted a rose in the same colors, invisible to all but her eyes. They would see chaos and red, like blood, like death. She didn't. This was the most spectacular thing she had ever made, in her eyes. Literally every stroke was a different shade of color, a different material, a different flash of light. It was lovely, in her eyes. It embodied him. She took a deep sigh, and began reciting her customary poem, followed by Radix malorum est cupiditas. She stood there, watching the paint dry, proud of her work as always. It didn't occur to her that some people may take her image the wrong way, nor did it matter, really. What mattered was that she had created another masterpiece, and that it satisfied her.

@tntank

@stomatopoda:

Tank's routine didn't exactly force any sort of schedule upon his heroics, therefore witnessing the abrasive media-hating TNTurd performing one of his reckless outbursts as he restlessly chased off criminals at nightfall wasn't that much of an unorthodox sight. Garbing his conventional attire, the foolhardy alter-ego of James Boomer strode down the streets of Portland, sluggishly taking his time to breathe and think about his current condition. The odd-looking alien he had just developped a special bond with, even though he so desperately attempted to run away, his heart grew ever so slightly warmer whenever memories of her came to him. An evanescent smile would occasionaly emerge from his edging lips, being wanted by someone, even if solely physically, was a completely fresh experience to him. It somewhat eased his pain, albeit troubling his mind. It was like the weight on his shoulders invaded his head, sheltering itself on his many doubts.

Was she only treating him kindly out of pity? Did she act as if he was equally good to her? Did she enjoy his presence, or was spreading her legs the easiest way to get rid of his usually aggressive presence? Did... he like her? It had an indubitably positive result upon his life, his routine was no longer chained to the same conceptions of monotony nor was it bound to the gelid reception of the pedestrians whenever his mug went outside his door.

Slurping his protein shake, which only highlighted how preoccupied he was with his health, James eventually came to a full stop, observing the freshly sprayed wall. Had it not been an art of himself, he most likely could have overlooked it, yet there it was, his psychotic gaze emblazoned on a brick wall for all inhabitants to see, reminding them they harbored what could possibly be a bloodthirsty murderer in the skin of a hero. In other words, a symbol of disorder and utter disregard for anything but his own goals. He dropped his drink, now besprinkling on the sidewalk. Fiery eyes set on his target. "The front of my house just ain't 'nuff, is it, beach?" A warning came from his left fist, an explosion raising a rather think smoke curtain as it clenched. "Yer gonna clean dat shit up." He paused, cracking his knuckles. "I ain't askin' twice."

@tntank:

Rainbow turned towards the voice to see none other than her hero standing there. He wasn't pleased, apparently. Well, that's what heroes did. Stopped criminals. And she was very well aware that graffiti art was illegal. But the way she looked at it, it just added to the beauty of street life. Human vision was so bland, so limited, in just red, yellow, blue. She supposed his was, too. That was just the order of things. But she wouldn't just give in, even if he was her hero. Her symbol of misunderstood justice. Even if he was a cutie, especially when he was angry like this. Where had that thought come from? Who knew. Who cared. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Hmm?"

She looked back at her art, incapable of understanding what he disliked about it. Then she smiled under her mask.

"I won't. It's lovely. And I think it does you justice." There was childlike innocence behind the words, and her small form only enhanced the similarity to a kid who didn't know what he had done wrong.

She wasn't afraid of him. She knew what he was capable of, and she knew she could match it. And she was probably faster than him, considering her web-slinging skills. So she smiled under her mask, admiring her art, unfazed by his thread. She was gentle as a lamb right now, and frail as a flower. But if he started a fight with her, he'd live to regret it. Hero or not, symbol or not...cutie or not.

@stomatopoda:

"Does me justice? Don't flock with me, ya creep. Ya know ya can't go sprayin' yer shit 'round here, and yer doin' it with my image. It's bad 'nuff as it is, but ya just gotta shit on my day, don't ya?" James reluctantly stepped closer, his eyes focusing on the half-alabaster, half-charcoal hued criminal, soiling the wall with her so-called art, allegedly doing 'justice' to his ferocious nature and rebellious attitude. Was it an astonishing depiction of himself? Yes. Yet he couldn't possibly overlook a criminal, even if it was some sort of appreciation, or perhaps all she craved was to mock him and reduce his credibility to an all-time low, if that could even still happen. After all, it was already bordering null.

Frown intensifying, teeth tightly clenched, to most humans it would well-nigh seem as if an intense gust of wind came out of nowhere, blowing James far away, yet he merely leapt towards the street artist. All those explosions sometimes clouded his incredible physique, honed through years of practice and drove to achieve impossible deeds to even a great deal of the superhuman community, Tank's body was as much of an explosive-packed weapon as his mutation. Right fist reaching out as if to seize her arm, James used one of his trademark feints as it only crafted an outburst sending him slightly sideways. Another explosion, this time coming from his feet, would propel him further as he endeavored to grab hold of the arachnid-dressed woman utilizing his image for her own purposes, his hand moving toward her shoulder, if it was succesful, he'd slam force her to the ground, taking care to not harm her any more than necessary.

@tntank:

She didn't expect that, of that much she could be sure. She knew his reputation for being a ferocious enemy - it was part of the inspiration for his portrait. Instead of attacking him or waiting to be grabbed or body slammed, she used her web shooter and pulled herself straight up out of his way. Using the force from the somewhat elastic webbing, she leapt up into the air and landed nimbly behind him. She stood back up, straight as a board, and folded her arms. Arms strong enough to shatter a normal human like a glass window, without any training. Her muscular system was as strange as her eyes, and as with her eyes, she didn't question nature. She took a deep breath.

"I don't know what you think I did here, but you're probably mistaken. I know how people depict you and think about you and all that. Your work is questionable to a lot of people. I get that. But not me. You're a hero, you just proved that. And you keep it up even though they look at you that way. You're the real thing, man. I wanted to try to capture that. Is that so wrong?"

@stomatopoda:

"Tch, and whaddya know? Don't say shit like yer appreciatin' my work, I don't give a flock 'bout what all the discheads on TV say, but ya goin' outta yer way to put my mug on shit? Not makin' it easier, shit-for-brains!" James exclaimed, turning around to face the oddly dressed woman. Did she truthfully enjoy his heroics or was she merely playing with his insecurities, perhaps, so blatantly displayed through the many cracks of his emotional armor? James didn't care, yet having someone else recognize his importance to society, his unwavering resolve upon doing what he felt was right rather than following trends and institutions, it warmed his heart somewhat. He sighed, a crime was a crime, yet something so swimmingly solved by a bucket of water... Did he really have to wake up half the neighborhood for it?

"Ya have two minutes to bail, dis shit's still crime and what sort of shitty hero would I be if I didn't try to catch ya? Sayin' bullshit like ya enjoy my work, yer not very bright, 'cause gettin' flockers like ya is part of it."