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 Graffiti was an art of spontaneity. The quick act of rebellion and the explosive creativity that would appear upon a wall at a moment’s notice, usually with a splash of colour or an intricate symbol. The difficulty to graffiti was that there was no erasing. Every stoke was intentional, and even if it was a mistake you would have to make it part of your piece, because God forbid you get caught as you’re trying to wipe a mark off a wall. 

  For Nitrous, this was the challenge he faced on a daily basis. In his mind was angular perfection for each glyph he slammed against a wall. It took ages to find the right nozzles for his paint that would perfect his straight lines and create the right markings in his pieces. The largest one he’d done had taken three hours, which is an eternity in the time of a Tagger. The first mistake you could make was getting too invested in one piece when there was still an entire blank canvas waiting throughout the entirety of the city, so he’d learn to leave his mark and then move on.

  Like now. Nitrous inspected his work one last time as he tossed an empty can to the side of the wall. He was getting really good at this “spontaneous” art form, despite his inner love of perfection. He could scratch that itch when it came to upgrading his site later. The puzzle blocks of code would be the perfection he needed.

 But this was pretty damn close.

[center][img]http://www.kox.sk/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/infinity-triangle1.jpg[/img][/center]
 
  Total time… fifteen minutes? Sounds about right. Nitrous wasn’t really worried in this area. Underneath a highway bridge, far out of sight of the ivory obelisks that would stare at him from above. He tapped his mask ever so slightly as he stepped back and stared. 
  
 “…Good enough,” he muttered under his breath as he grabbed a metal thermos off the ground. The coffee inside was still warm due to the heat-storing technology in the cup, which was good because it was getting pretty late at this point. His phone’s flashlight poked out of his pocket just to get one final look at his piece in the depth of night.

   How’d it get so late already? He glanced at his watch as he pulled that letter out of his back pocket one last time and compared the two.
 
  The meeting time was fast approaching
 
  Taking one last breath, he stomped on his left heel, and the wheels popped out of his Gear once more. Neon lights flickered to light within the heavy-duty wheels. A couple LED lights strapped around his waist on a heavy belt flickered to life as the colors started dance around on his mask. His wheels spurred to life as he flew forward, taking a fallen piece of concrete to ramp up onto another road with an easy turn. The emptiness of the underpass soon faded away to the ever-vibrant city as he passed white wall after white wall… it frustrated him to no end. He shook his head as a gloved hand reached for a spray can from his bag.
   He had to stop himself.

  [i]Hold yourself together, Rowan. [/i] He chastised himself, [i]you have other engagements. [/i]

   Soon those buildings were struck with shades of gray and the dirt and grime became apparent on the concrete walls. Trash flocked to the decrepit slums that tumbled into the corners of streets as he passed a man leaning against a wall in a torn up hoodie.

   Around that corner was another one of his glyphs, and another one a couple streets down. His art pieces were like his children, and he had to know their location at all time. He’d probably wander back to one later this evening.

    He spotted the warehouse out from behind another building. A metal roof rusting quickly from days of rain, and old concrete that had graffiti all over it. Tags smashed together and squeezed over each other. Rowan furrowed his brow. The chaos of it all was… despicable. There was a whole canvas of a world out there, yet all these people were crowding around the same walls…

   Pathetic.

   He shook his head as he stomped the heel again. The wheels shut back into the shoes as he kept walking without losing any real momentum. Then, he saw it. The mark on the door matched the symbol on the invitation, if not a little… lopsided. It was clear that it was hastily done, but, to be fair, the symmetry was fairly close for something that was probably only made in a few minutes. It wasn’t [i]flawless[/i], but it would do.

   The door creaked open, and he came into the wide room of the warehouse. There was another room in the back with the door open slightly, but otherwise the first part was just a grey, empty factory. He heard feet fall to the ground behind him, but paid no mind to it. Perhaps it was another person with an invitation, but their presence wasn't important at the moment.

   For a moment, Rowan was thankful that he’d kept his mask on. For the next little while, he would have to be Nitrous, and he was more than okay with that.

   He pushed open the door, and his eyes fell on the man sitting there. A heavy gas mask covered his face, which was pretty common gang symbol around here, and his whole persona seemed rather lax. 
  
 [color=lightgreen]“I’m assuming you’re the one who sent this,”[/color] Nitrous spoke in a flat tone, purposefully avoiding emotion from the equation as he pulled the dark letter from his pocket.
 
[color=lightgreen]  “Your work that I’ve seen is… acceptable. I understand that time is limited in this medium, so it can be difficult to work out geometry and angles with spray paint. Then again, your art form is likely not trying to be as flawless as mine.

 If it wasn’t clear, I’m Nitrous. I haven’t decided if my future is within this… group, but I’ll wait and hear you out.”[/color]
 
   He went through this whole short monologue in as flat a voice as possible, placing his own back to the wall near the door as he adjusted his mask ever so slightly. There was a small part of him wondering what the Big Three would do if they heard about this group forming…