My Art Girl. (Skeleton Staff x Reader)

My Art Girl

A/N: Hey guys! This is my first skeleton staff one-shot (and also my first published one-shot) and will probably be really bad, but I'm a big fan of this band and want them to be a little less criminally underrated. Please go check out their music, comics, and videos!! Love, MR 💕

The museum's air conditioner was cold, blowing on your neck, and you hugged your jumper tightly around your body. Brushing your dark, disheveled hair out of your eyes, you turned to glare up at the ugly fixture hanging from the ceiling, its slotted mouth gaping at you and blowing frigid air. Why did they have to have that thing on directly pointing at the spot where you'd stand for the perfect view of this piece?
You gazed at the painting in front of you. You'd come to this gallery every day for the past few weeks just to stare at it, and it had become a familiar friend and a puzzling enigma all at once. You were sure it meant something big...but what?
Suddenly, you heard a sound in the otherwise empty hall, and you started. Turning, you noticed a security guard enter the room—a kangaroo, at that!

That's interesting, you thought, frowning. You turned back to your painting, oblivious to another set of quickly approaching footsteps.

"Hello, darling!" A smooth voice boomed next to your ear. You jumped at the surprise and glared at the boisterous man who'd interrupted your train of thought.

"Why are you wasting your time staring at that old thing? My five-year-old niece could make something more realistic."

"It-it isn't about being realistic!" You huffed indignantly. You hadn't planned on talking back to this rude man, but felt a sudden need to defend the art like it was your own. "It's abstract expressionism—it's the artist's interpretation and expression of the world around her! It doesn't need to be realistic to be good."

The man across from you shrugged. You noticed that he had unusually full lips, sported a garish purple suit, and wore his red hair slicked over in a way that was probably supposed to look effortlessly suave, but clearly used up a whole tin of pomade (Babylonian Musk scent—he absolutely reeked of it!) and three hours each morning.

"Those abstract expressionistic things are pretty useless. No purpose except some bloke saying what's in his own head. We've got music for that! And speaking of music, here's a really worthwhile piece of art for ya!" He took your arm and dragged you around the corner, planting the two of you square in front of a large construction-paper poster that announced, "SKELETON STAFF! PLAYING TONIGHT AT THE SYDNEY OREPA HOUSE & TOPLESS BAR". The poster looked sloppy, and you frowned in confusion.

"Isn't it spelt 'Opera House'?" You inquired.

"Nope! We're playing the Orepa House. It's on a houseboat three miles offshore from the actual Opera House."

"Uh huh. And who is this...Skeleton Staff? I've never heard of them."

"This is my band!" The red-haired fellow grinned with pride. "We need at least four people in the audience tonight, and I only have three members in my family. You should come see us—take a break from this dusty old place and put something on instead of that moldy old jumper!"

Your lip curled in anger, and you were just about to retort in defense of your favorite worn-in sweater, but then a furry hand came down on the man's shoulder, and a deep voice said, "Sir, you're being quite loud. I'm going to have to ask you to leave this section of the gallery."

You looked up—it was that kangaroo security guard again! You made eye contact and smiled gratefully, but instead of returning the smile, his mouth pulled down and his face turned bright red.

Oh, gee, I misread that guy. I guess he's angry with me too, for being so loud.

"Uuugh, Godfrey, come on! Im just trying to get a new audience member. Why do you always have to be such a sourpuss?" The redhead complained.