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Who is this sassy lost child
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Cristóbal actually started at Tara's question. Things were quickly progressing from unsettling to outright wrong here (moreso than they already had been, at least), if he took her words at face value. And if he didn't, well... he didn't know what sort of deeper meaning he was supposed to be looking for.

"I don't suppose I've ever thought about it," he said finally. He didn't want to think about it, especially not here and now.

"Peacefully, I guess." Vague enough to keep trying to keep his mind off it.

"What-" Cristo began and then stopped himself. He'd been about to reciprocate the question out of habit, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was too absurd, too inappropriate.

"I'll help you look for that hammer," he said instead. Cristo turned to the shelf next to him and peered into the crumbling cardboard boxes, poking about with his fingertips to see if he would happen upon the shape of the desired tool.
"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