"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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Cristo drew in a breath in surprise; he hadn't quite expected to be recognized, for some reason. "Yeah," he called back. "Um, it's Cristo Morales, not Luz." Crisanto wasn't here, he remembered. That was... good. Yes, good. As much as he'd like the support of his friends and teammates in this awful situation the fewer of them that were here, the better.

He recognized the girl, too. Small, pretty, unusual name. He'd seen her running before, and hanging around the fine arts wing of the school when he sometimes slipped in to practice the piano. "It's Tara, isn't it? Something like that?" Despite the sheer weirdness of their surroundings, he felt the familiar twinge of embarrassment and nerves at not being certain of remembering someone's name.

He also had no idea what to say next. He took an uncertain step towards her. "I'm, uh. I'm alone. And not... not armed." Not untrue, strictly speaking. The spear remained on the floor, and his movements would definitely be noticeable if he went to pick it up.

"Are you... looking for something?"
"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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Prepare to Burn · The Warehouse