[ That gas mask must be a pretty everyday thing for her, which brings more questions. Even before Delsin actually covers his mouth with her scarf, he can smell the ash, dry and dead, heavier than thirty years of chain smoking and not a hint of nicotine. Yet more questions. He wonders if all the stains on her are ashen like her scarf, which is only the latest thing he wants to ask on a long list, but now isn't the time for it.
She's done with the red before he even has the first stencil in place-- little bit of arranging here and there. It's careful work for him, even though with the noise he makes ripping off the tape, it might not look it. But once it's done, he can't fix the angle anymore.
If she's still busy with the white by the time he's done, he'll reach for the spare in his backpack, before he pulls the scarf over his mouth properly and gets going.
He's not aware there's anything she's worrying about. Art is better than worrying, he finds, and it provides a much-needed sense of normalcy in a place that is, well, literally alien. Even without anything dire that he needs to get back to, he feels off-kilter and wrong being here, and this is his kind of band aid for homesickness and displacement. It leaves him raw, but it also gives him an out by letting him focus. He swallows thickly and makes sure he gets the edges clean. White, white, white, and thinking of the marks he left on Seattle instead of-- instead of the billboard back home right before this mess started. Anything but that.
Even getting caught now would somehow be right with the world. Not that he'd go easily. He steps away, once the first layer is done, lowering the scarf again and giving Geo a smile. ]
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She's done with the red before he even has the first stencil in place-- little bit of arranging here and there. It's careful work for him, even though with the noise he makes ripping off the tape, it might not look it. But once it's done, he can't fix the angle anymore.
If she's still busy with the white by the time he's done, he'll reach for the spare in his backpack, before he pulls the scarf over his mouth properly and gets going.
He's not aware there's anything she's worrying about. Art is better than worrying, he finds, and it provides a much-needed sense of normalcy in a place that is, well, literally alien. Even without anything dire that he needs to get back to, he feels off-kilter and wrong being here, and this is his kind of band aid for homesickness and displacement. It leaves him raw, but it also gives him an out by letting him focus. He swallows thickly and makes sure he gets the edges clean. White, white, white, and thinking of the marks he left on Seattle instead of-- instead of the billboard back home right before this mess started. Anything but that.
Even getting caught now would somehow be right with the world. Not that he'd go easily. He steps away, once the first layer is done, lowering the scarf again and giving Geo a smile. ]