Conversation · Cindy the SKULL

Her voice sounds different when she speaks this candidly. Older somehow.

Better not to.

She'd never admit to it anyway.

In this vision of hers, you are mutually opportunistic organisms. Growing like mould on the streets.

What is it with these SKULLS and cooperation? They have to be the nicest violent street gang in Revachol West.

She's probably not a good example of the gang either. Or maybe these SKULLS are more of an art movement than a gang.

"SKULLS are cool. Can I be a SKULL?"

"Fat chance. But you can still do your part to revitalize the neighbourhood."

"Okay then. How's that?"

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."

"But I really want to be a SKULL."

"Maybe it's just SKULL solidarity."

"I made up the sending their best part. But I did talk to them."

"Figures. All of you are liars. They're such sweet boys, though, aren't they? My sweet, sweet wannabe-SKULLS. They'll never be accepted. But their hearts are in the right place."

"I think they're afraid of you."

"I found some drugs in the coal room. Yours?"

"They just might be. Rough stuff. If you take the ride, you'd be wise to buckle your little pig-belly up."

Her neurons must be on fire, the heat creating waves and ripples in all she sees -- above all, in her painting.

"I'm gonna have to take you in, kid. For possession of drugs."

"In which case, they are not mine, and I have several witnesses who will corroborate my statement."

This battle is not going to be worth your while. Let little miss sass here be.

"Does it make you see everything all... art-like?"

"You really think I need to be high to see the world as art? Poor unimaginative piggy. How I wouldn't want to have your peepers."

To hell with the art part, man. It's all about the high anyway.

"I like bumpy rides. Know where I can get more?"

"We apologize, but we're currently not buying the entrapment you're selling. Please call again later. Thank you." She smiles at her own joke.

"If you're really interested then I'm sorry," she whispers, "but I don't do anti-radiation drugs anymore so I don't know where to get them."

"Where did you get these then?"

"From a guy on Boogie Street. Porta Rosa. Go there after midnight and you can get all kinds of funny things. Veterans of the People's Pile selling their stash."

She immediately regrets telling you -- but it's too late.

Damn me and my affinity to farm animals, she's probably thinking. She hopes the information is useless.

"Cindy, I need some paint. And your brush too."

"What for?"

"I'm doing renovation. It's boring, but necessary."

"But boring. You're not using my lovely brush to spread boredom."

"For art. It's for art, okay?"

"Well, if it's for art... But..." Her eyes narrow to slits. "What kind of art are we talking about?"

"To be honest, I haven't really thought of anything yet... But I'm sure I will."

"Then you have time to find your own fucking brush."

"You'll see. You will all see and tremble."

"Yeah... Not gonna hold my breath, piggy. You look like you'd suck. At... everything really," she quickly adds.

"To crush a man's dreams like that... I hope you're happy."

"There, there, piggy," she says in mock compassion. "I guess art just isn't really you. Cause you suck. In life. And in everything."

"Cool. No brush then. Not a problem."

"You're about to cry internally, aren't you piggy?" She utters a disapproving grunt. "Pathetic. Just give up, art isn't for you."

"Grand art. Art DeLuxe. The artsy-est, the most ground breaking, the..."

"Let me stop you right there, piggy," she interjects, raising her hand. "You have no idea, do you? No idea -- no brush. Fuck off."

"Everything is sad and shit and we need art to make it okay. Just give me the brush."

"Sounds like you're just about to live out your self pity, not make a statement. I can't have shit art on my conscience."

"The apocalypse is coming. I need to warn people."

"What do you think I'm trying to paint here -- a mural for a better tomorrow? Why do you really need it?"

"For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."

"I ain't helping no pigs fool honest, upstanding citizens. I'm not an antisocial element."

"I'm looking to acquire some original art. Do you have anything?"

"What's that? The piggy's looking to get into the art market with a snappy business pitch?" Her eyes light up. "Watch out or you'll be auctioned off and face the chop!" She draws a line across her throat with a thumb.

The lieutenant straightens his back, waiting to see where this is going.

The happening, it's happening!!

Are we witnessing a performance, perhaps? Play along.