In the 1980s, artist CB achieves unbelievable fame and success with portraits of Japanese girls with beautiful eyes. However, no one realizes that his adopted son, Yakko, is the real artist behind the pen.
Disclaimer: This fic contains references to...
“We’re never gonna have our shot!” CB complains to Yakko, as they’re sitting at a table at the bluewhale, listening to jazz.
Yakko doesn’t reply, just takes a puff of his benzene cigarette.
It’s the 1980s, and toons aren’t considered people.Let me partake in my sin and debauchery in peace. Yakko scolds the readers.
“All the gallery owners and critics are conspiring in Laguna Beach, deciding what’s ‘in’ right now. ‘This is good. This won’t last five minutes.’”
Yakko finally says something, “Honestly, I think people have a right to decide for themselves what’s good. They don’t need a critic to tell them. If it means something to them, they’ll buy it.”, then takes another puff.
But instead of agreeing, CB says, “That’s nonsense. No one ever finds things on their own anymore. They buy it because it just happens to be there right when they were looking for it.”
Right then, the song ends, so they both stop the conversation to applaud, right as the owner, Jaypac, announces the next show will be starting at 1 AM.
But as Jaypac walks off the stage, Yakko watches as CB follows Jaypac’s gaze, then appears to get an idea, standing up.
“‘Scuse me for a second.” is all he says to a confused Yakko.
“Hey, Jay! Loving the music! It’s a ball!” CB claps a hand on Jaypac’s back.
Jaypac nods politely, “Thank you. Hope you enjoy yourself.”
But CB’s not looking for exchanging small talk, and throws out a hand, “Name’s CB. I’m an artist.”
Jaypac takes it, not entirely sure what this guy’s deal is, but CB just gets right into it.
“Couldn’t help but notice your walls are pretty bare.”
Jaypac considers it, then nods, “You might be right. What color would you suggest?”
CB laughs, “No, no. I mean I’m an artist. Used to live in Yoyogi. Now I’m back in the States, and looking for, uh...”
Yakko just sips his wink daiquiri, making some small talk with the other patrons.
“Somewhere to display my work.”
Jaypac shakes his head dismissively, “I think I’ll keep my club as it is. If you were actually any good, they’d hang it in a gallery.”
CB knows better than to give up that easily, so he sits down next to Jaypac, and says,
“Hey, I respect that. You’re running a business, not a charity. What if I rented your walls?”
Jaypac considers that too, but once he looks at him again, CB knows he’s got an in.
CB finishes signing his newest street painting with his calling card, then wipes the paint off on his pants,
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