Work Text:
The steel of the paint can was particularly cold against Duncan’s hand as he sprayed the fraying walls of the alleyway behind the school. A bitter breeze stung his eyes through the slit in his balaclava, but he soldiered on. There was no better time to paint than on a night so spiteful that not even the bravest jogger or dog-walker would dare face the elements. He continued to spray the neon green paint, tracing the lines he had laid down on a previous night transforming the cracked red brick of the laneway, covering old stains and the lazy tags of others.
‘Fucking toys,’ he remarked to himself in a whisper. Hacks who held no artistic talent, and clearly not even a desire to learn the craft. Duncan unaffectionately referred to them as toys. Scribbling tags in paint pens and sharpies or sticking throw ups – stickers, often headed with ‘HELLO! MY NAME IS’, with the uninspired designs slapped underneath – around the place was just a waste of the urban canvas. He felt no shame or remorse in layering his own artwork over theirs.
Duncan stood back to admire the large, neon green and red skull and crossbones he had created. He particularly liked how the green glowed reflectively in the light beneath the dim streetlamp, just as he had planned it to when he’d found the spot last night. He grinned at the detail in its bony face as he snapped a photo of the work on his phone, before rounding it off with his tag – the initials ‘D.K’, sprayed through a stencil of his own creation in his signature colour: neon green.
This one’s a keeper, he congratulated himself as he inspected the image. At the top of the screen, the time glared back at him: 1:23 AM. Time to call it a day, he decided, satisfied with what he had already achieved. He packed his cans into his ragged JanSport backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The fog had thickened, swallowing the alley in pale haze. The streetlamp flickered with a low, insect-like buzz. Something dropped from the mist above – a dull thump – making Duncan jolt. He bolted, rounding the brick corner into the school grounds, only to trip over a forgotten lunchbox. He struggled to his feet, hearing a faint mew.
‘You’ve got to be taking the fucking piss,’ he moaned to himself angrily as the small black cat padded into view. The situation was so goddamn absurd, he allowed his anger to fade and saw the humour in the moment, giggling a bit through his balaclava. The cat wandered off into the school. Duncan followed it with his eyes, which then met a sight that to him, was more beautiful than anything he could possibly fathom: the newly rendered, freshly painted white wall outside of Mr Middleton’s art classroom.
Middleton was a toy in himself – talentless and underqualified, and not to mention an A-grade cunt. Duncan recalled how Middleton had refused to allow him to take 11th grade art – all because he’d handed the theory component of his sophomore art project in late and half-written. Middleton had denied his appeal for a re-mark, stating that somehow, theory was more important than the piece itself. Because that made sense, right? Art was the only class outside of P.E. that Duncan actually excelled in, and Middleton knew it. He just didn’t like the fact that Duncan could fuck around all day and still produce amazing pieces while he sat there at an easel painting the same Bob Ross-esque landscape for the 8th year in a row.
It was for this reason, Duncan was adamant this wall, this beautiful new canvas, would be his. He knew that his work would last less than a week before Dean Gates had it painted over, but the message would land regardless. Tonight had been a Saturday, so he’d even have tomorrow night – or rather, tonight – to come by to finish it off before the grand reveal on Monday morning. The look on Middleton’s face would be worth dragging his sorry ass out of bed for. It’d be the first day this semester he hadn’t received a late notice.
So, bursting with creative passion and rage, Duncan got to work. He’d only brought with him a small selection of sprays and colours, as well as a few pens buried deep in his bag that he never actually used. He’d have to make do, but he was resourceful and seasoned. In just under an hour, he’d worked up a huge painting of Middleton, in all his scrawny, ugly glory, towering over a small group of scared students, lifting his intentionally oddly shaped foot as if to stomp down on them. ‘Damn,’ he said to himself. Turns out it’s much easier to get shit done when you’re motivated by a very justifiable hatred.
It was late now, and Duncan was feeling the volatile effects of the cold. It was time to go. For the second time that night, Duncan brushed himself off, chucked his shit in his bag, and stepped back to admire his hilarious, albeit unfinished work. As he stencilled his tag, he was distracted by a faint scuffing noise behind him. It was probably the cat again, but to be sure, he craned his neck, peering back down the eerie, fog-filled alley. For a moment, all he could see was the flickering of the light illuminating the grey mist, but then, the figure emerged. Short, and slim, but still enough to make Duncan’s heart leap. Who could that be at this hour? It didn’t look like someone out exercising, and no dog accompanied the figure in the fog. Could it be security? As far as he was aware, there was no alarm or CCTV system in this end of the campus.
His heart raced more than it ever had – in all his years of doing graff, he had never been caught, and didn’t want to start now. The figure neared, and Duncan turned on his heel and sprinted through the outdoor verandas of the school, leaping up onto a picnic table and launching himself over the low fence that surrounded the grounds. He rolled over the wet grass and laid low for some time, ensuring the figure hadn’t tailed him. When his safety was certain, he slowly rose before darting into the street, keeping in the shadows as he made his way home.
The next night was equally as foggy and somehow even colder, but it wasn’t the conditions that put Duncan off – it was the figure in the fog. Last night’s encounter had really spooked him, almost to the point of not wanting to return. But the sweet sight of Mr Middleton’s distraught face pulled at him, urging him to brave the cold streets, and the possibility of the mysterious figure, once again. Besides, the painting was almost finished anyway, with just another half-hours work to round it off. So, once more, Duncan dressed into his dark, warm clothing, threw a black hoodie over his head and pulled on his balaclava. He quietly eased open his window so as not to wake his parents and popped off the flyscreen, before slipping into the night.
Duncan smiled at his skull and crossbones from last night as he passed. Damn that’s good. As he rounded the sharp corner into campus and approached Middleton’s art room, he stopped in his tracks. His heart lurched at the sight of the completed painting before him. Middleton’s rude head was coloured in completely, the details on the students were finalised, and the black outlines had been finished. He pressed his nose to the wall in disbelief, admiring the artistry, before noticing a small tag in teal paint. Vampyra? Who the fuck’s that?
‘It looks good, right?’
Her voice cut the silence of the night, causing Duncan’s stomach to backflip into his chest. He flung around, startled, his back pushed against cartoon-Middleton.
‘Who’s there?’ he returned, straining his eyes.
A figure – the figure – emerged from the fog. She was short, with pale skin and dark makeup. Duncan noted the colouration of her hair – black, but with highlights of teal. She stood smugly, leaned against the wall with her knee stuck out. In her arms, she held the black cat.
‘That your cat?’ Duncan asked. The girl smiled as she placed it down on the pavement. It ran instantly, disappearing into the fog.
‘Nah. Just a stray. She hung out with me last night when I finished your painting.’
Duncan shifted uncomfortably, but was intrigued at the mysterious, beautiful girl before him. ‘You’re Vampyra?’
‘I am,’ she smiled. ‘And you’re D.K.’
Duncan smiled back. ‘Guilty. So that was you last night? You scared the fuck outta me.’
Vampyra giggled. ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t mean to. I came out to get some shit done myself but ended up stumbling across you.’ She waltzed over to the painted wall and, standing mere centimetres from Duncan, tapped her finger on cartoon-Middleton’s nose. ‘Nice work, by the way. It’s accurate.’
‘You go here? You know Middleton?’
Vampyra giggled again. ‘Glad to know I’m so forgettable,’ she retorted banterously. ‘Yes Duncan, I go here. I’m Gwen? We have history together.’
Duncan stared at her until it clicked. Gwen! The quiet chick who spent all her time drawing in the back of the class yet somehow still managed to ace every exam. Just that tonight, she was so dissimilar to her school self. She looked the same, but her energy was just... different. She certainly wasn’t quiet, and she had an aura about her that Duncan had never encountered before, not in anyone.
‘Sorry Gwen. I spend most of my time in history asleep.’
‘I know,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve noticed. That’s how I knew you were D.K.’
Duncan raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
‘A few weeks ago when you were asleep in class, the substitute teacher couldn’t get you to wake up. Remember?’
It did ring a bell. ‘And then I got sent to the Dean’s office, right?’
Gwen nodded. ‘Mhm. He dragged you out by your collar and you left behind your shit. At the end of class, none of your friends grabbed it for you, so I piled it up and took it to the office.’
Duncan’s eyes widened. ‘That was you? I just assumed it was DJ or something.’
‘Nah, it was me. But in doing so, I accidentally caught a peek of your notebook and saw some of your designs. They were great by the way. But I recognised the skull and crossbones, and the green colour you use in everything. I knew you were D.K.’
Damn. This girl had Duncan all figured out. He was almost scared of her.
‘I don’t know how the school hasn’t figured it out, you know. The green matches your hair, and the first initial, D, stands for Duncan. I don’t know about the K, though. Isn’t your last name Jackson?’
Duncan stared off for a moment. ‘Kade. It stands for Kade.’
‘Who’s Kade?’ Gwen replied.
‘An old friend. The guy I started graff with. He moved away. I don’t talk to him anymore,’ he said, sorrow coating his voice. The mention of Kade brought back a familiar pit on his chest, so he changed the subject. ‘Besides, your tag matches your hair, too. But what’s “Vampyra” all about?’
Gwen smiled. ‘It’s the name of my pet lizard. I have two. Vampyra and Angus.’
‘You have pet lizards? That’s awesome, bro,’ Duncan exclaimed. He took another look at the girl. She was intriguing. Excitement brewed within him. He wanted to know more.
‘What’s your deal with Middleton, then?’
Gwen’s smile dropped. ‘He’s just a piece of shit. Me and him have a long history.’
Duncan pushed her to explain.
‘Pretty much, in ninth, I made a piece for my final test that Middleton really liked. He talked about it for days, and I got a great mark. I was so happy, until I saw it, or at least, a cheap copy of it, as the runner up in the summer art contest.’
Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he felt the anger brew. That fucking cunt.
‘I was too young to apply at the time, but clearly, Middleton wanted a shot at the cash,’ she continued. ‘He placed second and walked away with 500 bucks, made off a copy of the piece I had submitted to him for assessment.’
Duncan stared in disbelief, with rage bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly, the night air didn’t feel so cold against his hot skin, his boiling blood fighting the elements for him. ‘You’ve gotta be shitting me.’
Gwen smiled a sad smile. ‘Nup. And I was 14 and scared and I didn’t want to say anything that could get anyone in trouble, so I left it. Until last week, when I saw this wall.’ She brushed her hand over the painting. ‘I guess we had the same idea. What did he do to you?’
Duncan explained his encounter with the treacherous teacher, and the two bonded over their shared experiences, both with Middleton and with graff in general.
‘So yeah. Art was my thing, but after that, I felt so uninspired,’ Gwen said. ‘That’s why I turned to graff.’
Duncan nodded. ‘Same.’
Gwen fell silent and Duncan observed her. Her breath was visible in the cold night, and she carried a backpack similar to his, stuffed with cans of paint.
‘Would you ever wanna collab?’ Might as well throw the line out.
Gwen’s face lit. ‘I think we already did, D.K,’ signalling toward the Middleton painting. ‘But yeah. I’ve wanted to ever since I saw your designs and figured out who you were. Only I didn’t know how to ask. You seemed a bit of a lone wolf.’
Duncan considered this. ‘I am. Was. After talking to you, and seeing what you can do… I might be willing to make an exception.’ He grinned.
She grinned back, her white teeth glinting in the dim light. Duncan admired her smile.
‘Yeah? Okay.’
‘I saw a huge wall at the highway overpass on my way over here,’ Duncan responded. ‘Perfect place for a blockbuster.’
An apprehensive look washed over Gwen. ‘T-the highway…?’ she stuttered.
Duncan giggled at her, before standing to his feet and stretching out his hand for her to take. ‘Unless you’re scared.’
Gwen slapped away his hand and rose to her feet unassisted, before giving him a small punch on the arm. ‘Shut up.’ She turned on the heel of her platform boot and started toward the alleyway toward the direction of the highway. ‘You coming?’
Duncan watched her for a moment. The excitement bubbled within him, but was it for the graff, or the girl? ‘You know it!’ he responded and sprinted after her.
The black cat’s eyes glowed though the misty haze that enveloped the two teens, tracking their laughter as the fog closed behind them like a curtain on the first act of something bigger.