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Who is this sassy lost child
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Cristo was taken aback by Tara's question, and even more by how much it seemed to confuse her that he hadn't been mulling over all the various ways he might die. "Well- no." Of course the thought had crossed his mind, but he'd been trying not to dwell on it. What good would dwelling on it do besides making him want to curl up in a ball on the floor and never move again? He frowned and bit at his lip, trying to focus on going through the boxes he could reach instead of Tara's ever-increasing strangeness to him.

One of the boxes at least contained a few miscellaneous tools, but no hammer. Nothing particularly sharp or hefty at all, actually; it seemed like this warehouse had been pretty well picked-over by someone ahead of time. His musing on this was soon given a very welcome interruption, however.

"Wha- Abby?"

It was her. It was her! She was right here, right where he'd woken up!

Was it really allowed to be that easy?

He wanted to run to Abby, but he needed to tell Tara about the lack of hammers, and he should probably let Tara know that it was Abby and she didn't mean any harm and vice-versa, and, and...

Too many conflicting signals led Cristo to just make an odd shuffling motion as he remained indecisive which direction to move in first. There was so much he suddenly needed to do, to say, and all that his mouth could figure out was "Um," but he was grinning like a fool.
"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