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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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Raina did a full 360, turning all around to look at the room they'd picked. Johnny had made himself comfortable immediately and she didn't feel like more wandering, so she supposed this was it for now.

"I guess so."

She could have done without all the dust and the bars on the windows, but this would do for now. This was a room for planning and thinking, not relaxing. Raina set her bag on the floor and crouched next to it, pulling the zipper open. "We should see what we've actually got in these." She rooted around in the bag, pulling things out and setting them aside. Assorted dry foods, water, map, first aid kit.

Grenade.

Raina stopped with her hands halfway in the bag, hovering over the small, greenish-gray object sitting innocuously inside it. There was no mistaking what it was, especially not with the slip of paper confirming it.

Holy shit, Raina had suddenly gotten some serious fire power.

"Hey Johnny," she said in a low voice, "close the door, will you?"

She had a grenade. She had a weapon. Anybody else they came across could have something equally, if not more destructive.

All of a sudden, the idea of being clearly visible from the outside didn't appeal to her.
"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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