Conversation · Cindy the SKULL

Oops, my apologies. I guess I was trying too hard...

You're a police officer and a grown up. Why are you trying to impress her? Maybe try a different approach?

You're a police officer and a grown up. Why are you trying to impress her? Maybe try a different approach? Like climbing up there...

"I didn't realize you were so petty and insecure."

"Insult me all you want. You're still an art cop sans art materials."

"But, Cindy, art is bigger than either of us."

"Then get your brush from fucking art."

"I'm sorry, was the image offensive? Did you survive an avian attack as a child?"

"Didn't we all?"

"What's your problem?"

They do say the painter always paints his own portrait.

"I'm going to paint a self-portrait, but sort of, you know, from the inside, to show people what it's like."

"That's pretty fucked up, even for you, piggo."

"What if I add some interpretive dance?"

She looks you up and down. "I think everyone would rather you didn't."

"Stop belittling me, Cindy!"

"Stop quivering like jello, then you won't get fucked."

But that would mean he doesn't say every pathetic thing that pops in his head.

"Okay, I won't do that. Please just give me some paint and a brush. I need to do some art."

"You're a real sad sack, you know that? Go ahead, then." She drops the paintbrush at your feet. "Art it up. Just try not to hurt yourself. And no self portraits."

"Thanks, Cindy." (Pick up the brush.)

"Sure, any time. Us shit artists have to help one another." She looks down at the wall and frowns. "Besides, I was out of fuel oil anyway."

She only gave it to you because she doesn't see you as competition.

The right idea is not coming to her. It's excruciating.

You know what you've got in that fuel canister you scavenged from your Kineema? Red-dyed heavy fuel oil. Paint and a brush -- you're ready to do this.

"Oh, but I'm all out of fuel oil."

You know what you should be able to find in your government-issued vehicle? Red-dyed heavy fuel oil.

Can't I just use paint?

Are you kidding me? Fuel oil is so much cooler. No way you're disfiguring that beautiful wall with something as pedestrian as ordinary paint!

"Hey, Kim. Do you think you could lend me some of your fuel oil?"

"My fuel oil is for my Kineema. Use your own fuel if you are unable to contain your artistic impulses, but please, leave my Kineema out of it."

"Kim, my friend. Would you be willing to sacrifice some of your fuel oil for art?"

Right on. No way I'm settling for paint if even children are painting with fuel oil.

That beautiful wall deserves nothing less.

"That fuel oil was marked red for use by government vehicles only." He looks at the empty bucket.

"Oh well." He shrugs. "Nothing we can do about it now."

"Fuel?" He looks at the empty bucket, then back at her, struck by a sudden realization.

"That wasn't paint. It was heavy fuel oil, marked red for use by government vehicles."

"What'd you think I was using, aquarelles?"

"Fuel?"

"Yeah, fuel. What'd you think I was using, aquarelles?"

"The government uses such a nice red colour to mark its heavy fuel oil. I simply couldn't resist."

"You're a real sad sack, you know that? Go ahead, then." She drops her paintbrush into the puddle below. "Art it up. Just try not to hurt yourself. And no self portraits."

Man, that's lame...

No-no. It's great.

"Pissf****t and Fuck the World send their best."

"I don't believe it. I've never known those boys to have manners."

The bemusement in her voice doesn't fully mask genuine tenderness.

"They seem to hold you in high esteem."

"They'll never be SKULLS. But..." She softens. "But their hearts are in the right place."

"Got it. Enough of that then."

"Thank you for passing on the message -- now run along, piggy."

"SKULLS are silly. What are you even trying to achieve?"

She throws you a conspiratorial glance, then presses her finger to her lips and squints up at the sky -- as though straining to hear something in the distance.

"Have you noticed the quiet? Every so often, you might hear a gunshot pierce the air somewhere in Jamrock. But in Martinaise? No gunshots, no sirens. The people are languishing in boredom and complacency."

"This place is a sepulcher. We'll paint it red. We bring the raucous -- you bring the sirens."

She's making a valiant effort to come off as a nihilist, but she's really just an angry little commie. No wonder she was talking about the streets flowing red -- that's what happened during the Revolution.

"So tell me, what's it like being a SKULL and a communist?"

She sighs. "You got me, pigshit. I don't make for a very good SKULL. I like animals too much. Simians and... pigs."

She shrugs. "But I'm still gonna write some damned good graffito on this wall."