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Who is this sassy lost child
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Cristóbal jumped slightly when the door opened again, heralded by the screech of metal. Light from outside sliced through the dimness again, and he squinted in its direction, trying to make out the figure hesitating by the entrance. "Tara?" The silhouette wasn't right for Tara, but it felt appropriate to ask anyway. Even if it also sort of felt like he was a dumb kid in a horror movie, calling out for someone familiar while a monster bore down on him.

Cristo rested his hand on Abby's arm and swallowed, trying to push those thoughts away. There were no monsters here besides the people who had left them in this place.

"Um..." he began again when the figure in the door didn't call out a response. "We're not going to hurt you. Say something, please." He wondered if he should go for the spear he'd left on the floor a few steps behind.

He wondered if it would make him feel better or worse to hold a weapon in his hands when he'd never done so before. He couldn't decide which one was a more desirable outcome.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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Prepare to Burn · The Warehouse