Disclaimer: If I was the genius that came up with PJ, HOO, or anything else, I would have done something successful with my life. Instead, I'm wearing nothing but sweatpants, wrapped in a blanket, avoiding people, and playing with other people's toys.
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Part 1.
"You're kidding me." Grover's voice was tinny in Percy's ear, coming through the cell phone. Percy, at the moment, was standing on the sidewalk in front of their building.
"Mycenae's Coffee", read the sign a few feet above the door. Percy and Grover own this coffee shop. It's a great shop, fantastic, even, between Percy's great skill at running a coffee machine and Grover's great skill at picking out different cupcakes and stuff (most of which gets taste-tested all too frequently, but what are you gonna do?).
But the problem, the problem that had been annoying the two for a month now, was the vivid, intricately detailed mural of unnatural proportion, put on their store front without their permission or desire for it to be there.
Graffiti.
From an objective—and artistic—perspective, Percy saw the sheer beauty in the work. Their sign declaring the place "Mycenae's Coffee" had been left alone, as had the window panes. What was colored, covered, in fact, was the brick front of their coffee shop. That was coated with ivy trails of greens—olive, meadow, Kelly, and the occasional stripe of lime or pastel green—and dancing skeletons in stark ivory, crisp edged and delicate boned. It was a playful, morbid art. It was a scene of the long-dead dancing in the woods, in this kind of freeing, contemplative, exuberant way.
From a subjective, this-is-my-business-and-my-motorcycle-needs-gas-damnit perspective, this mural was no good for business. Most of Percy and Grover's clientele were lawyers or students, snagging a coffee before a long day of work or a longer day of studying. And for some reason, it didn't seem they were all that happy about the creepy bones grinning and frolicking among the background of foliage. Grover had picked up the phone the first day to find complaints from the neighboring stores, and a couple of costumers and passersby.
The biggest perspective was the one that sent a chill down Percy's spine as he looked at the sprawl. It was creepy, demented, with the same slightly terrifying feel of a morbid picture, where you know you're missing something, and can't finish the puzzle and smooth out the hairs on the back of your neck.
Then there was the off thing, the thing that threw Percy for a loop the first time he had run his hand along the wall, to feel the texture of spray paint, the drawing had smeared through a skeleton's ribs and Percy's hand had come away powdery, chalked up with white and creams.
Chalk. Whoever came to their storefront on random nights, spent a long time drawing these things that spanned the wall, from the ground up to above eye-height, he used chalk.
It washed away with a hose, a rain, or a splash from a puddle as a car drove by a little too close to the curb. It was nothing but a temporary veil over the front of the plain reddish bricks.
"Well, our elusive painter strikes again!" The chipper voice came from behind Percy, just as the owner stepped into view. Red curls, plaid shirt, leggings in an entirely different plaid pattern: Rachel's clothes appearance was as eclectic as ever.
"Yeah." Percy grumbled half-heartedly. He disliked the graffiti—he'd even go so far as to say he hated it, sometimes, but he didn't begrudge the painter his due. He wanted to be mad at whoever chose their store to deface on a near-weekly basis, but since they'd gotten complaints, his heart wasn't in it. He liked rebelling too much. The cops dropped by and said something about security cameras, about stopping the criminal, which just made Percy applaud the guy all the more internally. He had guts, hitting the same spot repeatedly, for something that washed away.
Rachel took a step forward and ran a finger along the edge of a leaf, bringing it away with green under her nail.
"I think it's pretty." She declared.
"It is." Percy agreed. Rachel was an artist; she saw the appeal of the art, even if it might bring down her store's value.
Percy and Rachel (and Annabeth, Rachel's partner) had been hanging out since the girls bought the store directly to the left of Percy and Grover's. They ran a bath and body shop, the store filled with clean shelves of pots and bottles of good-smelling things. Annabeth had a knack for the chemicals, for figuring out what combinations would make what smell. Rachel was the one who sniffed it and said, 'more lemon, or, 'less sweet', correctly guessing what was going to sell and keep them in a steady income.
"He agrees!" Rachel yelled across the road, back to the propped-open door of Sculpture's Bath and Body.
"Duh!" Annabeth yelled back. It was lucky the street was empty, this early. Annabeth was using the tone of voice she always used when talking about Percy: soft, but harsh, like she wanted to protect him from others but refused to pull her own punches, because her and Percy might have been more than friends, but that wasn't an option anymore, and they were just fine with that. "Percy's weird!"
Percy grinned as Grover hopped off the bus, using his crutches as weapons to navigate through Percy and Rachel, to get a good look at their building front, all grumpy and hard-edged before he got his coffee. Grover sighed at the staring faces of bone, chalked on their store like a demented advertising campaign, before unlocking the building and going inside.
"Are you going to wash that off?" Grover inquired from inside, as Rachel drifted back to her shop. He didn't sound expectant, or demanding, in any way that would have irritated Percy, just curious.
Percy stared at it. Removing it would be proof that it irritated him, and he didn't want the creator to know that, because that was obviously what he was going for. Could he deal with leaving it up, all Day-of-the-Dead-ish, until the rain came as it always did?
The answer was that Percy didn't know. He'd see when he was a little less tired.
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Part 2.
The day after the rain came and washed the picture of the bricks down the drain, Percy started up his bike and tucked a few things into a backpack. Percy had procured the three stake-out necessities, according to Annabeth, who fully backed his plan.
First: a thermos of coffee. Coffee didn't seem to affect him much, because he was ADHD or ADD or something, but Annabeth assured him it would be helpful if for the middle of the night, when he'd be tucked safely just inside the building, where he could see through the giant window and (hopefully) catch the guy.
Second: a warm woven-nylon jacket. The heater in Mycenae's got turned off during the night, so it got pretty chilly. Percy wanted to figure out who it was who was marring their building, not freeze to death in the attempt.
Third: IPod shuffle, man. He was going to be sitting there freaking forever.
As it happened, that was what happened. He sat there, imagining the cold seeping into his bones and turning them to ice (even though he really wasn't nearly that cold), listening to music (the same songs over and over), and drinking all the coffee (he had to run to the bathroom twice, darting in and out as fast and invisibly as he could).
"Guess he didn't show?" Annabeth prodded, sweeping in around noon to grab a muffin, and yelling extra loud just to mess with Percy's sleep deprived hearing.
"No." Percy grumbled, and Grover harrumphed.
"Are you going to stay again tonight?"
"Yes." Percy looked out the window at the street, at the colorful cars and bland people walking by. Someone, maybe someone walking or driving past, had picked their coffee shop to be the recipients of a dastardly game where dead people were chalked onto their front. It was a game, and Percy liked games, and he was going to win.
So that night he brewed two pots of coffee, and stayed behind, holding there early.
He put his earbuds in, listened to everything in his library, and waited.
Percy wasn't keeping track of time, so he didn't know exactly when it was when the flashlight pierced through the darkness in the shop through the window. Percy was tucked behind the counter, where he knew he couldn't be seen (he may or may not have had to hide from people here before, cowering behind Grover). The flashlight slid straight past him, and Percy heard a thump, like something was being opened.
Percy crept up, dropping his music and carefully picking his way to the door. He heard the shuffling of someone just on the other side of the door.
Percy slung the door open and threw himself at the person whose hand was brushing up against the bricks near the window. With an 'oof!' both people fell, in a tangle of limbs. Percy was pushed off, suddenly, but the other person seemed stunned slightly before he (it was definitely a he, and a shapely one judging by the muscles and lean limbs that had been tucked all up around him) ran off, zigzagging slightly.
Percy hefted himself up off the sidewalk, and swore, tripping over a pile of chalk, watching the figure in black dart away down the street.
Percy looked at the wall, saw a streak of grey-green, and decided he'd just have to try again, then.
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A/N: Fun, fun, coffee shop AU!
I want your reviews. If I get this one, it'll be put higher up on my priority chain.
Tobi.
P.S. Did you catch my (clever *pats self on back*) Greek myth or Percy Jackson references?