"There's just something missing," she said, tugging at the collar of the jumpsuit she'd donned for the evening. It was a practical outfit, durable yellow fibers to keep her safe from the wear and tear of the maintenance work she was supposedly there to do, along with brown work boots and a matching yellow cap to help hide her face from the cameras. The Senate District was well surveilled, and though the people from this part of the city would certainly pretend like they didn't see her, the surveillance droids were less likely to miss even the lowliest of maintenance workers. Still, she was an artist. The monotony of her clothing grated at her creative soul. No profession should have uniforms, she thought. Well, maybe some. Nonetheless it was that monotony that gave her access to the heart of Galactic City, going largely unnoticed by the CSF patrols and other 'do-gooder' citizens who might question why she was where she was. Not that it was especially unnatural for a maintenance worker to be at this particular apartment building. Pipes burst, wires burnt out; the owner had sky-high rent, and the young party-people who inhabited the complex were willing to pay it for the best view on Coruscant. Her audience was the kind who'd take pictures, share them, maybe even petition to keep the art up -- but there'd be an impact, no matter how long the paint lasted. It was just past midnight, so she had a little while to get her work on her canvas before the more responsible ravers started to head home, or before anyone had time to call the cops. The droid beside her whirred at her comment. The astromech's top spun around a few times. She laughed. "Probably." Soon they reached the base of the building. She set down her work bag, checked her surroundings; once they were clear, then got to work. She planted the sound-suppressor by her feet, then the stencil by the wall -- it sprung up nearly thirty feet. Her astromech's top folded open, giving way to a little platform filled with spray paint. After one last review of her concept she started to paint, soaring to the top of the stencil on a portable repulsorlift platform. Her strokes were quick and wide, but the stencil was plastic and laser-cut; the lines were sharp, focused, just as she wanted them to be. She started with the figures at the top -- first was the stormtrooper. His helmet was on, his 'armor' gleaming the same metal as the building's side. He raised his foot, his hands balled in fists, preparing to stamp something out below him. The second figure held the same pose, only this one was dressed in Alliance battledress. His face was clearer, as was his anger. The third subject was a baby; humanoid, still wearing a diaper. He had his little hand raised in fear, as though it would protect him from the soldiers's stamping. His other hand attempted to cradle pieces of glass, emblazoned with stars, in the likeness of the galaxy itself. With the linework done she breathed life into it, adding color and little bits of flair -- most notably, the blood dripping from the baby's lowered hand, cut on the galaxy's glass pieces. Finally she dropped to the floor again, staring up at her work... The droid whirred a warning. Heka spun, catching someone close by in her peripheral vision. "Oop-" She snatched her things and bolted the other direction, not keen on sticking around long enough to be recognized -- or worse, caught. Her droid rolled after her, whirring as it went. Spoiler: OOC Kind of shooting for a first reply-style thread, but I'm not gonna like, fight you if you post after someone else. Have fun, do some writing.