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Who is this sassy lost child
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"I don't know how much good it will do," Jae said in response to Kimiko's question. "But why not."

He decided he ought to try sitting up, leaning heavily on his good arm to lever himself off the ground. The shallow cut across his stomach started bleeding again with the movement, further staining the front of his already ruined shirt. The rifle slid down into his lap, resting across his legs. He didn't set it aside, but it was probably fairly obvious that he wasn't capable of handling it with his one good hand occupied with the business of holding him up.

"There's stuff in my bag."

Jae's hair was sticking to the side of his face irritatingly, plastered against the cut on his cheek with blood and sweat. Once he deemed that he was sitting up steadily enough, he pulled it back, wincing as it peeled free of his skin.

God, he must look like a horror movie. Night of the Living Goth.

His thoughts had taken on that detached, floaty quality again. Jae wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion and shock, or if it was a sign of something more serious. He didn't bother to spend time wondering about it.

<How are you?> He signed when he was sure Kimiko was looking at him again. It would be more accurate to ask how have you been, but Jae didn't quite have a grasp on tense in ASL at the best of times, much less when he was falling apart at the seams.

Awkward small talk between former friends. Like it was normal. Like nothing had really changed.
"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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Takasago · One-on-one Therapy