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Who is this sassy lost child
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Raina didn't say anything in response to Darius. Everything he spewed was nothing but bile, nothing but nastiness, every single word he ever spoke perfectly encapsulating just what sort of person Darius was.

God, she hated him.

He was evil. A petty, irritating sort of evil, the kind that wrapped itself up in incompetence so it could take, and take, and take without ever giving anything of value back. Darius was no great historic villain, no matter how much he might have wanted to be. He was nasty and vile, but hardly a visionary. He would never accomplish anything, and someday, probably someday very soon, everyone would forget he had ever existed in the first place.

It startled Raina to realize how much satisfaction she took from that thought.

It startled her more to realize that as Darius spoke, her hand had crept towards the zipper of her bag, where the grenade lay within.

Darius storming out and Lili speaking up saved her from having to consider all the implications there. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, wondered why her heart was pounding. She spared Lili a glance, curious, almost interested.

"What kind of stuff and where?"

Johnny didn't add anything, and Raina didn't ask him to.
"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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Demons Dance Alone · The Warehouse