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Who is this sassy lost child
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Maxim looked melancholy, as he often did. It was something that had concerned Cristóbal during the early times of their friendship, but questioning it had only gotten him rebuffed again and again that Maxim was fine, nothing bothering him besides the little everyday things that got to everyone from time to time. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that Maxim preferred that it not be brought up in the first place, so Cristo didn't ask.

He sat and enjoyed the sun and the quiet for a while longer, before sighing and getting to his feet.

"I should go, sorry. I probably need to apologize to Coach Parkinson for running off and I've got class soon. It was nice talking to you, though. Georgia Lee too," he added as an afterthought. He'd have to catch up with her some other time.

Cristo smiled down at Maxim, and it didn't feel forced. "See you later, Maxim."

Lots to think about today, lots to do. It might not be such a bad thing, after all.

((Cristóbal Morales continued elsewhere))
"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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