Stealing My H̶e̶Art

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[[include component:preview text=A pair of diaster lesbian anartists try to stop a museum heist without saving their marriage in the process.]]

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=--
|name=GreenWolf]]

**SUGGESTED LISTENING:** [https://youtu.be/5cvEVivHVsU "Your Time Is Gonna Come" by Led Zeppelin]

A Christmas gift for Ethagon, a tale about Backdoor Soho and a pair of disaster lesbian anartists trying to stop a heist without saving their marriage in the process.

-- GW

[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source end=--]]

**Backdoor Soho**
**Submetropolitan Institute of Anart**

"I hate you."

"I hate you too."

The two anartists continue to glare at each other as the limousine comes to a stop, right up until the moment the driver opens the door.

Lisa is the first one to exit the limo, long limbs unfolding with grace and elegance. She stops and turns to offer a hand to Annie, playing the part of the gracious partner. Still holding hands, they both offer waves to the crowd.

The Submetropolitan Institute of Anart is the premier museum of anart in the world -- not that there's much competition for that title. Every year, it hosts the Submet Gala, the most prestigious event in the world of anart. One part auction, one part party, the Submet invites the richest bastards in the world to come gawk at genuine miracles, and to bid on the works of up-and-coming anartists.

For one night only, the Submet Gala turns starving artists into celebrities. And Annie Wormhole and Lisa Moan are its power couple.

Or at least, they were. But the only person who knows the truth is their agent, and he has a financial interest in helping them keep up the pretense. The patrons of the Submet Gala are mostly old white men who find the idea of a star-crossed lesbian romance to be titillating and non-threatening. Ever since the two went public with their relationship, their income from commissions has gone up almost 35%. That kind of money is too lucrative to jeopardize with a messy public divorce.

Besides, hate is almost as good of a muse as love. Maybe even better. Spite and mutual contempt have pushed them both to new heights of artistic expression, each one trying to one-up the other.

They kiss for the benefit of the crowd, each one loathing the taste of the other's lips, each one daring the other to be the first to break away. The spiteful display of fake romance is interrupted by the coughing of their agent.

"Ladies, so glad you could make it." Quinton Wright deftly inserts himself between the two artists and shepherds them inside. "I have a good feeling about tonight. I've been scoping out the patrons--"

"Anyone good?" Lisa asks, barely paying attention. She is glaring over Quinton's head at Annie.

"Jericho T. Hill, Iris Dark, I think I even saw the Critic," he says, chattering away excitedly at the prospect of a 15% cut.

"Felix, you mean," Annie says. "Don't indulge him with that pretentious title."

"I think it's rather charming, in a sort of ironic way," Lisa lies, purely to antagonize Annie.

Quinton expertly intervenes before the two of them can escalate further. "Why don't Lisa and I go check on your piece and make sure it's ready for the auction, and Annie, you can stay here and mingle with the donors."

"Great."

"Fantastic."

Annie watches as the pair make their way through a service door to the basement, then turns and approaches a familiar figure.

"Miss Wormhole, where is your lovely wife?"

"She's making sure our piece is prepared for the auction." Annie tries not to grimace at the CEO of Marshall, Carter, and Dark. She may be the physical embodiment of capitalist greed, but Iris Dark is also one of the most important sponsors of the Gala.

"Oh? Is it elaborate?" Black eyes gaze at her with naked avarice.

"Just a little delicate," Annie explains.

"Tell me about it. We're looking for a new piece for our main boardroom, and I would love for it to be one of yours."

Annie nods. "It's called //Macroplastics//. It's sculpted entirely from plastic litter."

"One man's trash is another woman's art?"

"Something like that."

Iris smiles magnanimouly. "I can't wait to see it."

----

**Meanwhile, in the basement...**

"It's gone!" Quinton Wright stares in dismay at the empty pedestal where there's supposed to be a sculpture.

Lisa sighs. "Heist or performance art?"

"It looks like there's a note."

[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
**JIMMY SAINT-JAMES**
Backdoor Soho, 2018 – Present

//Artistic Void//, 2018
Crime
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

Lisa sighs again. "Goddammit. It's art."

----

**Shortly after, at the Gala...**

"The sculpture is gone."

"What‽" Annie's outburst is loud enough to draw stares from a few nearby patrons, at least until she stares back at them.

"What do you mean it's gone?" she asks, once no one is paying attention to them.

Lisa hands her the note.

"Oh. Fucking theatre kids." Annie rolls her eyes. "There's no way they've got it out of the museum."

"That's what Quinton and I thought," Lisa says. "It's probably stashed somewhere among the regular installations. He'll probably even return it after the Gala -- this is just about making a statement."

Annie shakes her head. "After the Gala isn't good enough. I've got interest from Iris fucking Dark. We need that piece to display during the Gala."

"Fuck." Lisa runs a hand through her hair. "Alright. Quinton, can you try and stall the Gala while we try to find our art?"

The agent nods. "You won't kill each other if I leave you unsupervised?"

"Eh, maybe, maybe not."

"No promises."

He looks between the two of them, then sighs. "I guess that'll have to be good enough. I'll do what I can, but please try to be fast."

----

**Subsequently, in the museum's sculpture gallery...**

There's really only one place to hide a sculpture in an art museum, and that's with a bunch of other sculptures. They find their wayward art piece tucked between a non-Euclidean hypercube and a pile of bricks collected from Hiroshima five seconds before the city was nuked.

Jimmy Saint-James is waiting for them.

"Bravo ladies!" He slow claps. Like an asshole. "Very good show. I didn't think you would find it this quickly."

"The jig is up, Jimmy!" Annie calls out.

"Seriously?" Lisa glares at her. "How cliche can you get?"

Jimmy smiles. "No, please, the classics are classic for a reason. Your performance is impeccable, Miss Wormhole."

"Shut the hell up," Lisa snaps at him. "Not everything is a performance, you goddamn nerd."

Jimmy doesn't say anything in response, but instead pulls a paper airplane from his pocket and sends it gliding across the room towards the two women. Lisa plucks it out of the air and unfolds it.

[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
**JIMMY SAINT-JAMES, ANNIE WORMHOLE & LISA MOAN**
Backdoor Soho, Various – Present

//Heist Interrupted//, 2018
Live performance
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

Lisa screams in rage. Annie starts laughing, which just makes Lisa scream again.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" she shouts.

"I have a degree in performing arts," he explains. "And I was bored."

"What is even the point of all of this?" Annie asks. "You don't even have an audience."

Jimmy shrugs. "Does art need an audience to be worthwhile?"

Lisa stares at him. "Yes. Obviously. Otherwise it's not art, it's just creative masturbation. And I don't appreciate being involved in your artistic jerk-off without my consent."

"Yeah, she's got a point," Annie says. "Art is all about expression. It's supposed to convey //something// -- an emotion, a message, an idea. That means you need someone to view it."

Jimmy frowns. "Nah. Art is about expression, but it doesn't matter if anyone else sees it. Sometimes you just gotta get something out. Or do you want to argue that Goya's //Black Paintings// aren't art?"

"Maybe you're right," Lisa says. She walks over to stand in front of Jimmy. "In fact, I think I have something I want to express right now, without an audience."

She slaps him across the face with enough force to send him staggering backwards.

"I call it, //Punk-ass bitch gets his shit rocked//," she says, then punches him in the gut.

"Lisa, what the fuck?" Annie looks at her, aghast.

"Someone needs to teach him a lesson," Lisa replies. She turns back to Jimmy and kicks him in the shin. "Nobody messes with my art, and nobody messes with my wife's art."

Jommy raises his hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! Take your fucking plastic trash and go, just stop hitting me. I bruise easily."

Lisa stares at him contemptuously. "Get the fuck out of here. And come up with a better stage name than Jimmy Saint-James."

"That's my actual name!" he protests.

"Change it." Lisa raises a fist and Jimmy flinches. "Go!"

They watch as he scrambles off, darting away deeper into the museum.

Panting heavily from exertion, Lisa turns back to look at Annie.

"I didn't realize you cared that much," Annie says.

"I don't," Lisa replies. "It's just about the principle of the thing."

"Oh." Annie looks down at the ground and scuffs her shoe against the floor. "Well, still, it was kind of hot. You know, in a crazy psycho bitch kind of way."

They stand there in awkward silence for a full minute.

"I still hate you," Lisa says.

Annie nods. "I hate you too."

They do not kiss.

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/stealing-my-art/macroplastics.jpg|
caption=
**ANNIE WORMHOLE & LISA MOAN**
Backdoor Soho, 2000 – Present
 _
//Macroplastics//, 2018
Plastic polymer|
align=center|
width=500px|
]]

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]
=====
> **Filename:** macroplastics.jpg
> **Authors:** [[*user GreenWolf]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [[[https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/stealing-my-art/macroplastics.jpg|Link]]]
=====
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

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