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Who is this sassy lost child
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Cristo paused, letting that sink in. "Well," he started and then stopped himself again. Maxim the Matchmaker, he thought briefly, and couldn't hold back a soft breath of a laugh. "Maybe I should, then."

He leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, letting the sun beat down on him. He'd always liked the feeling of being in the sun, and considered himself lucky to live in a place where the feeling was so common. Hearing about places where the dark and cold and rain were nearly constant always sounded miserable. Cristo closed his eyes and sighed, soaked in the sun and let the tension slip away from him. There was no need for that. He had his friends here, didn't he?

And he had something to think about now.

"Thanks, Maxim." He wasn't quite sure what merited a thank you, but it felt appropriate all the same.
"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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