The mixing ball rattled about listlessly inside the can before more paint wheezed from its nozzle. He stepped back and smiled as his eyes roamed along his canvas.
He was suddenly roused from his daze when he felt an eager tugging at his coattails.
"What are you working on, sir?" the young boy enquired in his tinny, pre-pubescent voice. His attention seemed to be too slippery to be held for more than a moment as he looked from the wall to the man towering above him to a can of soup rattling along the alley floor in the gentle breeze.
The artist smiled broadly and knelt down to be at eye-level with his little fan. He responded to most people with unfriendliness to the point of hostility, but he'd taken a shining to the boy. He mussed his curly hair with a gloved hand and said, "Now, milenki, I told you to just call me Ivan!" He sighed lightly. "I'm not quite good enough to be a 'sir', I don't think."
"Yes, you are!" the other exclaimed, sounding almost scandalized. "You're the nicest, coolest person ever and you're, like, the bestest artist, too, and-"
"I get it, I get it, I'm great," he interjected in a joking tone. "Don't have much to show for it, though," he muttered under his breath.
"Someday, your stuff is gonna be super famous, just like daChichi's, I know it!" he exclaimed with a smile.
"daVinci," Ivan corrected, chuckling. "And yeah, maybe someday. Gotta dream, right?"
The boy giggled before querying, "So, do you wanna play with me? Sash gave me this really cool board game she didn't want anymore. It's super fun!"
"Ah, sorry, but I really want to work on this right now," he replied, gesturing toward the wall with a jerk of his head. "Go have fun with your friends, da?" He patted him on the shoulder endearingly.
The boy nodded excitedly before running off into the labyrinth-like system of alleys. The Russian grinned and waved the other goodbye before rising to continue with his work. He had just finished shaking the can of yellow paint when he felt a presence behind him, which spoke but moments later.
"Hello," the person said in an airy, faint voice.
He huffed and spun around, having lost all his patience by that point after all the interruptions he'd had. "Shto?"he barked.
Daylight was beginning to burn out, but the faint glimmer of the streetlamps permitted him to see the man before him. With timid posture and bright, violet eyes, his flaxen hair reflected the reluctant glow of the nearby artificial light, giving his delicate visage an angelic glow. A red-and-white plaid shirt, faded jeans, and a white coat hung off his thin frame and a warm smile graced his almost feminine features. He extended his arm in greeting, seeming to disregard the Russian's earlier rudeness, and said, "I'm Matthew. Matthew Williams. You're Ivan Braginsky, I take it?"
He reciprocated the gesture dejectedly. "That's me," he replied. "Do you need anything? I'm kinda busy." He paused for a second. "Wait, how do you know my name?"
"You're quite famous around here, sir," he explained encouragingly.
"Look, don't call me -" He tutted. "Whatever. Again, what do you want?"
Matthew began to wave his hands nervously. "Oh, it's not urgent; take your time. I'll wait." The man then squatted, shooed a few papers on the ground below him away, and sat down with his back against the brick wall.
Ivan continued to stare at him for a few moments, somewhat perplexed by his hesitant behaviour, but eventually took the opportunity to continue working.
Once his last can had emptied and its quiet hissing ceased, he heard a quiet skritching, like a rat trying to claw its way through wood. He tossed the empty object into a nearby bin and lumbered over to the other man, who had pulled out a sketchbook and was presumably drawing in it. His pencil stopped its dance and the blonde looked up. "Did you finish what you were doing? Like I said, take your time."
"I ran out of paint," he said. Matthew nodded and patted the asphalt next to him; the Russian followed instructions and looked at the opened page in his book to satisfy his curiosity. His silver eyebrows instantly rose as he took in their contents.
It appeared to have been a study of the human hand. The appendages were in a number of poses- some were clenched into fists, some signing various letters, others seeming to try to claw at the viewer- and were of sundry ages, skin tones, and sizes, and were all meticulously shaded. There was also writing in what appeared to be German on what Ivan could make out of the inside front cover which read "Sie sind erstaunlich, Matthäus!", and another sentence in different handwriting which read, "Toi, aussi!" There was a small heart made from red paint near the text. He wondered what that was about.
Ivan's little moment of rumination was cut short when the other man intoned, "Well, I suppose I should let you know why I'm here." He closed the book gently, and that was when the Russian noted a plain silver band around his right ring finger which glinted in the moonlight. Good for him, he thought almost sardonically.
Matthew turned his head to face him. "I own a local art gallery- it's the only one around here, perhaps you've seen it?" He paused for a brief moment, something of a twinkle in his eye, and continued, "We generally do exposés for individual artists' work around this time of year, and... well, I was wondering if you would be interested in being showcased."
Ivan thought about it briefly before asking, "What is the pay like?"
The blonde giggled nervously. "Well, it's community-run and funded, so you don't get any money directly. However, you will get recognition from people around here and you could -"
"Not interested," he interjected flatly, looking to the street, fixated by the passing of cars and noting in his head which ones were not obeying the speed limit.
"That boy earlier said that you would eventually become very famous for your work," he pressed on, tone becoming sterner. "I understand that you won't get any pay for it, but think of all the work you could get after people learn about you!"
"I was just entertaining him," he explained. "There's no way someone like me, some homeless Russian graffiti artist, is ever going anywhere; the only reason I said that was so that he didn't feel any worse about himself, what with him being just as bad off as me. He wants to be an astronaut, the poor kid. He can't even read.
"Besides, recognition in a town like this means a bunch of old bags asking you to paint tulips for them. I just want to do my own stuff. If I get paid, that would be best, but I don't want to change what I do just for that."
"That doesn't necessarily have to be the case," Matthew replied, voice lighter and smile returning timidly. "You could just sell what you have."
"Yes, but..." he sighed. "I'm very attached to everything I do, you know? I wouldn't want something that has deep meaning for me to be hung up in someone's living room just because it matches the furniture."
The blonde nodded solemnly. "I understand. Well, if you ever change your mind, just swing by the gallery and let me know." He rose and began to walk away, but his body tensed and he let forth a small gasp. "Hide," he whispered, not turning around.
"What is it?" he asked, becoming concerned. "Cops?"
"Yes. I recognize his figure; it's Beilschmidt. Take your things and go. Hurry."
Ivan quickly followed orders, beginning to quiver for reasons irrelevant to the cold weather. He kicked the empty cans under a bin and stood next to the blonde, looking at his own work to not make eye contact.
"Hey, Ludwig!" Matthew exclaimed.
"Oh, Matthäus, it's you!" he replied, accent still quite thick despite his many years of having resided in Canada.
Since they seemed to be on familiar terms, Ivan made the sound decision to keep his mouth shut and let him handle it.
The blonde giggled. "I see that neither of you can get my name right." The German laughed in reply.
"Say," he said after a moment of silence, "do you know who did this, by any chance?"
"I've no idea, really," Matthew replied in an innocent voice. "We were just looking at it. I know it's illegal, but it sure is pretty, eh?"
"Hm," the officer replied. He sounded almost disappointed about it. "Tell me if you see anything, ja?"
"Of course." They both paused and Matthew continued, "You're still coming over tonight?"
"Right after my shift is done. I just hope the child will be on his best behaviour."
Matthew chuckled heartily. "Don't worry, I'll have him on a leash. Besides, he's more mature now; puberty does that to you, I guess." They both laughed at that for a while, occasionally making more chides at someone who he could only assume was the same man.
Ivan felt bad for whoever was the butt of all of those jokes.
After a few more minutes of their stand-up, Ludwig turned to face the Russian. "You look familiar; you live around here, right?"
Ivan immediately straightened his posture and proudly gazed into the German's icy eyes. "Yes, sir."
"You don't have to look so scared, boy," he said, tone still fairly stern despite the reassuring remark. "Do you know anyone in this area who might be responsible for this?"
The man bit his lip and looked skyward while humming, pretending to think. "No, sorry."
"It's alright," he replied. He looked to Matthew again and smiled. "Well, I should be off. I'll see you later." He turned away with a wave, gait incredibly robotic.
"Abschied!" Matthew exclaimed in what Ivan could only assume was very good German pronunciation.
Ivan waited until he was out of earshot before saying, "Why did you do that? If they find out that it's really me, you'll be in trouble, too."
He shrugged. "It's not a problem. We're good friends, so I think he'll let me off pretty easy if I give him a good explanation."
He thought it might be a bit of an invasion of privacy to ask how he knew him, so he didn't say anything. "How can I repay you?" the Russian enquired.
"You don't have to. Really, it's not a problem at all."
"Are you sure?" Ivan ruminated for a moment. "What if I do that gallery thing? Would that be good?"
"Ivan, it's meant to be for your benefit, not mine. You said before that you didn't like the idea of it, and that's okay! I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do." He smiled and patted him on the shoulder, and gasped a few moments later, raising a finger in realization. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He rummaged through his huge tote bag and pulled out some plastic containers and cans of spray paint, quickly handing them to the other man. Ivan judged from the lingering warmth of the unlabelled boxes that they contained food.
"It's not a bribe," Matthew joked. He saw the hesitance in the other's face. "C'mon, just take it. I won't take no for an answer."
Ivan nodded in defeat and set everything down on the ground next to him. "Really, this is too much, I-"
"Don't worry about it. I figured you might need it, so I brought it along with me." The Russian's stomach growled and Matthew laughed at the perfect timing of it. Ivan did, too.
"I should get going: I need to start preparing dinner. Well, it was nice meeting you. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"
"I definitely will."
They exchanged goodbyes and other such pleasantries and Matthew left, taking an umbrella out of his seemingly-bottomless bag after hearing the grumbling of the clouds.
Ivan sat down and ate. The contents within the packages was revealed to be Chinese food: it was rubbery from having been cooked so long ago and was already fairly cold, but still filling and edible. He wolfed it down and sighed contentedly. It'd been a long time since he last ate so much. He left some of the containers for later.
Sleepy from his meal, he grabbed his things and limbered over to his spot where he slept with some other homeless people in the area. He smiled when he saw Sasha and his young friend, Connie, playing together. A trash can was alight and cracking soothingly to illuminate the dark and ward off the cold. They looked up and waved, grinning and showing off their missing teeth. He sat down and put a blanket over his body and a pillow beneath his head. They both immediately loomed over him like vultures over a carcass.
"Who were you talking to?" Sasha asked.
"His name's Mazh- er, Maff-" He continued to stutter like that for a little while, unable to pronounce the letters correctly, and eventually came up with a suitable alternative for it. "Matvye Williams."
"Whoa, doesn't he run the gallery?" Connie asked. He nodded languidly. "What did he say? Is he gonna use your stuff?"
"I told him I'd consider it," Ivan recounted.
They both gasped and exclaimed in unison, "What?!" The girl said, "That was your chance to make it big! You totally should have said yes." She pointed to nowhere in particular. "Go and apologize to Mister Williams right this second!"
Ivan chuckled. "It's fine. I'll negotiate with him later, probably. I just have a few... scruples about it." He doubted either of them knew what the word meant, but didn't give them time to ask; he was far too tired. Instead, he handed them the other boxes of food, much to their delight. Seeing them go at it like rabid wolves, he exclaimed, "Remember to share with other people!" They said something in reply that was left unintelligible by the foodstuff in their mouths.
The Russian turned onto his side and curled up slightly under the thin sheet, trying to get the most out of his own internal body heat. He could see his own breath, which came out uneasily due to his shivering form.
He stayed awake for a while, mulling over what he should do. Sure, it was an excellent way to garner recognition, but was it really worth potentially being arrested if local police recognized his graffiti? Plus, he wasn't getting anything out of it directly: a few "ooh's" and "aah's" wouldn't be able to get him out off his hellhole of a situation. He was certain that the blonde wasn't stupid enough to not have considered all of that, but he was still uneasy about it.
After all of that thinking, the cover and gravel beneath him had grown warmer. He nuzzled his head into the raggedy pillow and heard light footsteps beside him. Knowing who it was, he lowered the blanket and extended his arm, allowing them entrance. He turned to face the two children and propped himself up on his shoulder to kiss them both lovingly on their foreheads. Ivan looked down at their young, pure, sleeping faces and decided.
I have to do it. If not for anyone else, especially myself, I have to do it for them.
Translation Notes
Russian
Da - да - yes, okay
Milenki - Миленький - dear
Shto - Что - what
German
Sie sind erstaunlich, Matthäus! - You're amazing, Matthew!
Matthäus - Matthew
Abschied! - Farewell!
French
Toi, aussi! - You, too!
This was based on a request by canehdur (Tumblr), which was "RusCan street-artist AU". I'd been wanting to get to it for a while now! I hope I'll be able to update this regularly, but what with school and all, I can't make any promises.
If anyone would be willing to translate Russian and German for me, that'd be wonderful. Please let me know!
Also, I know that Canada is most commonly referred to as "Matvey" in most Russia/Canada fics, but that isn't really the correct pronunciation of the Cyrillic characters.
Thanks for reading!
