Not that it mattered much to Roselia, but the shortest route to the local elementary school was through the more dilapidated area of town. The stone bumped into an issue where rewriting the minorities of this region to be European style princesses would technically fall under the Metamagical Cultural Genocide Atrocities Act first written after a British carpenter wished to invent the spinning jenny. The stone would be quarantined in deep space as an extremist device seeking to racially homogenize the universe, and this instigated the closest thing magic stones have to nervous sputtering. The easiest way to adjust this area into a "pretty" one would be to rewrite or erase the hundred year old housing covenants that racially locked the city into poorer regions, but in its panic it took a more convoluted route.
Ignacio was tagging the brick wall outside the old man's car workshop. The old man's kids were running with some small nothing serious clica and it was time to lay down the law and show who really owned this turf. Ignacio learned in school that his neurons and shit hate paint fumes and that they don't grow back, but he decided he hated the high school that much more. All bland white kids who were handed the world and no ideas what to do with it, vapidly trying to transform these streets with some pretty talk about the value of being a depressed white thinker or office worker who never gets laid. He breathed in heavy feeling the sting and felt a slight shift.
The schools infected his people and the talk was spewed by that race traitor "Sergente" Maria Montagana from the same Latin Kings Ignacio went with. She was never anything big, not really, but seeing his role model for taking back these cobblestone streets get institutionalized marry that white bitch and turn into an actual pig got his blood boiling. It's the blood, the heart he was really putting on that wall. He heard Roselia coming though and stopped the mural for a bit to wave as another shift came.
Roselia was alright, didn't talk much, not to cops, not much to anyone. Didn't have to. She was completely confidential and rarely asked to be paid. As Isa returned to her mural she remembered one of the other Aztec Princesses, Gabriela, telling her she'd actually sold to Roselia on more than one occasion. Gabriela also said she'd given her some coca one night as a gag and she kicked in a car window. No one bothered Roselia, and the Princesses were talking about taking her in to spread themselves into more lucrative territory. She knew all the paths and was familiar with practically everyone in town. The potential was huge.
"You have a permit to paint that?" the obnoxiously high pitched voice of poof-shouldered Montagana came. Isa dropped the can and bolted.
