Graffiti Casanova

The Implementation

The studio Mark had secured for them to work in was really a warehouse, stretching on so far that the guys working on the far side were barely distinguishable. Cas couldn't hear anything over the hum of electricity and air circulation save for the occasional clanking of the large machinery that bounced off the walls. He sat, sunken into a sofa that Mark had dragged inside, rifling through spreadsheets and plans for their upcoming projects.

He'd had more ideas in the last week than he'd had in the last year-- and good ones, Mark assured him. But he didn't want good.

He wanted perfect.

"Mark, what do you think if we switched these around-- Mark?"

Cas looked across the table at his friend, who was occupied by his phone. He had been all day.

"Something wrong?"

Mark looked up. "Huh? No, just keep getting this text about some band looking for a graffiti artist to do their album cover. They want an 'Easter lily,'" Mark crooked his fingers in an air quote. "Like, who goes to all this trouble for--"

Easter lily?

"Let me see it," said Cas.

Mark slid his phone across the table.

"You wanted to switch which two?" Mark grabbed some of the sheets off of the table, flipping through them. "I liked how it was, but-- oh, I see what you're saying. Yeah, let's do it." He looked back at Cas, who was now the one occupied by Mark's phone.

"Cas?"

"You should go."

Mark didn't answer right away. "Uh... what?"

Cas looked up. "It's a message for me. Obviously I can't be seen. But you should go. If I'm right, it's from a girl I met."

Mark leaned forward, eyes wide, accusatory. "You were seen?" He cursed. "Cas, this isn't something to be so calm about. We've gotta--"

"It's fine." Cas tossed Mark's phone back to him and leaned back on the sofa. He listed out the answers to all the questions he knew Mark would ask before he could get the words out, ticking them off on his fingers. "She didn't see my face, she didn't take any pictures or videos, we're okay."

Mark sat, stunned. "This is a huge deal. This is the first civilian interaction you've had on your own, we can't just let it go."

"It's fine, Mark."

"I'm going, alright." Mark stood, fist clenching. "Someone's gotta watch your back, clean up your messes."

Cas rolled his eyes. "She's not a--"

"You'll be okay with the rest of the crew tonight. I'll go make sure she won't be talking." Mark threw a jacket on and stalked out.

Cas tried not to smirk. "Whatever gets you there," he said to the air. Mark was a little rough around the edges, but he trusted him to find out why the girl was trying to contact him.

He couldn't deny, he was intrigued.

Claire

It might've just been a free show we were playing as a favor to a friend, but it was a huge deal to all of us. We were debuting a new set with a new lineup, and for the first time, my dad would be in the audience.

That made the guys nervous, but I'd been waiting for this day my whole life. I'd always imagined him in the crowd, but this time it was real and I knew I wouldn't be nervous.

I was nervous, however, about the message I'd sent out to Casanova. What if he didn't receive it? And if he did, what if he didn't realize it was for him, from me? It was totally stupid, it was such a long shot, and I was steeling myself to spend the evening fending off amateur graffiti artists from the guys. I didn't want to have to explain that to them.

I was distracted during the set. I couldn't help it; I was scanning the room. For all I knew, we were playing for Casanova. I was studying anyone who looked remotely artistic. Are you Casanova?

Our performance wasn't perfect, but our new songs were good. We'd have to polish them before the label rep came back-- our time was dwindling. But we could do it.

We segued from Sam's song into the tribue to Space Lovers, and I looked for a reaction in the audience as I sang the words over the ambient tones. I was on the synth, Jared was on bass after looping an ambient electric tone over my more rhythmic pads, and Davey joined in on drums. We'd perfected this song, at least, so we were closing the set with it, confident it was our strongest one.

That is, until the potential of seeing the real Casanova was added to the equation. I was so distracted, I fumbled over the synth part and even found myself singing the wrong words. I played it off easily enough as a repeated chorus, and the guys eyed me strangely but followed me, making my mistakes look seamless.

I avoided their gazes as we finished and tried to think of a way to avoid their questions, which I knew would be coming. Normally we'd congregate backstage for a short debrief, mostly just Jared saying how awesome we did. But I needed to make sure nobody came up to Jared asking about our album cover. That would prompt many more questions I wasn't ready to answer yet.

I mumbled, "Sorry, guys," as I brushed past them, stepping off stage and towards the bar. I could feel Jared's bewildered look burning into the back of my head. I strode towards Dad, who was sitting close to the stage.

"What was that?" he asked when I reached him.

My lips pulled into a grimace. "Distracted."

"By?"

I sighed. "It's a long story. For another time."

"Well, it wasn't terrible."

That got a wry smile out of me. "Thanks. It'll be less terrible next time."

Dad smirked at me. "These songs didn't exist last week. You're allowed to not be perfect tonight."

My eyes were scanning the room, but no one seemed to be looking for me. Maybe he didn't get the message. Maybe he did and didn't care. I'd probably been distracted for no reason, and now--

There was a tap on my shoulder, and I whirled to see Baldwin behind me.

"Hey, this guy was asking me about an album cover design, were you guys looking for an artist?"

My heart thudded in my chest. "Uh, who is it?"

Baldwin stepped aside to reveal a scrawny fourteen-year-old kid with an unfortunate haircut. He was holding a giant binder, drowning in his Star Wars T-shirt and pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

My heart sank. "Uh, sorry, we aren't even recording an album yet. Must've been someone else."

The kid's face fell, and I almost felt sorry for him-- until a pair of eyes from the back of the room met mine and latched on with a meaningful gaze.

My stomach did a little flip. This was him. It had to be.

"Excuse me, guys." I extracted myself from the conversation and took a deep breath, my feet automatically leading me to the back corner where those eyes bored into mine. They belonged to a stern face, framed with long, dark hair that looked like it hadn't seen a brush in the years it had taken to grow to the guy's shoulders. The olive skin of his arms was streaked with paint, confirming my suspicions.

His eyes never left mine, but the closer I got, the more I realized they weren't exactly friendly. They held a warning, and my step faltered for a second; but I wasn't backing down now. There were more people like Lana, and more people like Casanova, and if they worked together, Platt's war could end in their favor.

I stopped in front of his table, letting a slow breath escape my lips before I spoke.

"Are you--?"

"Casanova?" He didn't move from his relaxed posture, leaning back in his chair and looking up at me. "No. But he sent me. Have a seat, let's talk."

WHOAH. Claire met Mark, do you think he's going to help her contact Casanova?! Shout out your thoughts and hit the star :D

Chapter song is Used To by MUTEMATH.