[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/4XVwGFUK.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #8A8A8A; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 5px; padding-left: 10px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase"]Secrets on Broadway to the freeway, you're a keeper of crimes; Fear no conviction, grapes of wrath can only sweeten your wine
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Maybe any other utterly disgusting Ferris wheel-residing couch potato would be so numbed to the bitter touch of scorn that they wouldn't notice a long, scorching stare directed at their nasty sweats, but Rialto was the utterly... That was a sentence that didn't benefit anyone from being finished.
He cracked the blood soda open against his thigh, one-handed - one of his only talents, Catheryn might say - and slowly turned to angle a very pleasant smile over at Mari. Not while she had been watching his back, but once she approached the pineapple with her own can of mass destruction, and mostly in agreement. 'Patience,' he said, sagely, 'is its own art.' That was before his eyes almost bugged out from holding in a wheeze at Alex failing to comprehend Rialto's kind-of warning, and he mercilessly trashed the wise facade to drawl, 'Sounds like what a loser who failed to catch it would say.' Rialto didn't even restrain his smug grin from spreading, and ducked under the flying can, where it then landed in the dirt and rolled into a little ghoul's bandaged foot. He took the time to glance down at his blood soda, checking that none had spilled. 'I fixed the flower for you. Now it has personality.'
As the greats had never said: to an artist, everything was a canvas. The admittedly very ugly big pineapple, for paint. Alex's notepad (well, they knew Rialto's handwriting/inability to spell - you didn't go fifty years together and fail at least three heist attempts because Rialto's secret message couldn't be deciphered without committing that sort of thing to memory), for Rialto's brilliance. Adrien's... Never mind, the canvas allegory wasn't going to work. The switch occurring right before them was certainly something, a shock seeming to go through the boy's spine before he straightened up with eyes distinctly different. 'I know Adrien, but not the kitty,' Rialto commented, as an unsubtle prompt for elaboration. He gave the boy a nice little fanged smile to greet him; you know, social convention. 'Also, one caveat.' He gestured in Cat's direction with his soda. 'We've found a party pooper.'
The surrounding energy trickled into him, down to his fingertips; the vampire flexed his hands and figured that, along with accidentally drinking his spray paint, there was probably going to be some point he splashed his soda itself on the pineapple. Some things might as well happen.
[ graffiti a wall 2/3 ]
He cracked the blood soda open against his thigh, one-handed - one of his only talents, Catheryn might say - and slowly turned to angle a very pleasant smile over at Mari. Not while she had been watching his back, but once she approached the pineapple with her own can of mass destruction, and mostly in agreement. 'Patience,' he said, sagely, 'is its own art.' That was before his eyes almost bugged out from holding in a wheeze at Alex failing to comprehend Rialto's kind-of warning, and he mercilessly trashed the wise facade to drawl, 'Sounds like what a loser who failed to catch it would say.' Rialto didn't even restrain his smug grin from spreading, and ducked under the flying can, where it then landed in the dirt and rolled into a little ghoul's bandaged foot. He took the time to glance down at his blood soda, checking that none had spilled. 'I fixed the flower for you. Now it has personality.'
As the greats had never said: to an artist, everything was a canvas. The admittedly very ugly big pineapple, for paint. Alex's notepad (well, they knew Rialto's handwriting/inability to spell - you didn't go fifty years together and fail at least three heist attempts because Rialto's secret message couldn't be deciphered without committing that sort of thing to memory), for Rialto's brilliance. Adrien's... Never mind, the canvas allegory wasn't going to work. The switch occurring right before them was certainly something, a shock seeming to go through the boy's spine before he straightened up with eyes distinctly different. 'I know Adrien, but not the kitty,' Rialto commented, as an unsubtle prompt for elaboration. He gave the boy a nice little fanged smile to greet him; you know, social convention. 'Also, one caveat.' He gestured in Cat's direction with his soda. 'We've found a party pooper.'
The surrounding energy trickled into him, down to his fingertips; the vampire flexed his hands and figured that, along with accidentally drinking his spray paint, there was probably going to be some point he splashed his soda itself on the pineapple. Some things might as well happen.
[ graffiti a wall 2/3 ]