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Who is this sassy lost child
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Jae kept kicking at the overturned furniture, splinters of wood flying up with each impact of his boot, until the exertion caught up with him and he doubled over in a coughing fit, a friendly reminder from his lungs that he was both a smoker and definitely not an athlete. When his hacking subsided, all that filled the room was the sound of his ragged breathing and the blood roaring in his ears.

And in the sudden silence, three knocks sounded at the door.

Jae straightened up instantly, still breathing hard, trying to deny the way his heart leapt into his throat. It was true that he tended to attract attention whenever he opened his mouth, and he'd certainly done much more than just that now. Still. What was there to be afraid of, really?

(He knew, oh he knew. If people really were as good as they liked to pretend, this wouldn't have happened five times before.)

Still, cowering in this shitty room because of whatever might lay outside wouldn't do him any good. If whoever it was had the intent and the means to harm him, they wouldn't have waited for him to answer.

Jae bent and picked up the baton, feeling its weight in his hand. Never hurt to have a little intimidation factor when he wasn't in the mood to deal with someone. Holding it made him feel a little more in control, too. No more fear and hesitation.

He strode to the door and pulled it open in a quick motion. "What?"
"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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This Isn't My Home, It's Where I'm Locked Away · Regular Wards