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Empire of Dirt; Tagging Frogue; PM for entry
Topic Started: Aug 5 2016, 10:24 PM (554 Views)
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((Cristóbal Morales continued from What the hell is a baseball?))

There was a buzzing in Cristo's ears, in his fingertips, all the way from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, like a swarm of insects under his skin.

He didn't think he'd ever been so furious in his entire life, and the worst part was, there was no reason for it at all.

Alright, that wasn't strictly true. Will was a, a... he was infuriating. A self-absorbed, ungrateful, snobby, conceited, sheltered, spoiled, cocky... brat. That's what Will was. A brat, born and raised, and as soon as someone gave him a little taste of life outside of that, it was a personal affront. He'd made it perfectly clear in every word he spoke to Cristo, every word about his family and this country and everyone in it.

And you know the worst part? The worst part was that he was never going to change. Will was never going to get his reality check. Nobody was going to take away that silver spoon and make him appreciate what he had. Cristo knew that, as surely as he knew his own name. People like Will, they waltzed through life barely experiencing it and laughed at those who had to live in the real world, and no one would ever be able to convince them that any of it was worthwhile if there was no gain at someone else's expense.

He hated feeling like this. He hated being angry. He didn't like that part of himself, was glad that it so rarely surfaced. He resented Will all the more for bringing it out of him.

Cristóbal knew that he might be facing a bit of trouble for leaving the gym before the period was over, but he was technically still in the athletic area. He'd let his aimless legs carry him towards the football field; few people out here at this time of the school day, little chance of someone happening on him and wanting a conversation. He wasn't good for conversation right now, if he ever was at all.

Maybe in a bit, he'd feel like running. It was a good day for it, hot and dry but with a few passing clouds to keep the sun from being as relentless as it normally was. Maybe in a bit.

For now, Cristo sat down heavily in the grass next to the track that ringed the football field and put his head between his knees, willing the buzzing to stop.
"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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((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued from Hearts of Irony))

Finally. How long had he waited now, standing secludedly, watching the two? Far too long, that was for certain. But still, he preferred this over the alternative, over having to approach Cristo and risk being pulled into a conversation with another person that way, one he didn't know one thing about to boot. The guy looked like he was involved with sports, already told him enough, namely that he had no desire to converse with him on that topic. Hell, judging from what he had just accomplished, he probably did nothing else besides sports in his life. Empty-headed, all brawn and no brains, a typical jock. Yes, definitely no one he would have wanted to get involved with.

So he had waited, twiddled his thumbs, praying that Cristo would finally break loose from the other boy and wander off alone, giving him a chance to finally talk to him. He had wanted to talk to him all afternoon, probably even longer than that, in fact. Something burning in his mind, questions waiting to be asked. The fact that he was actually willing to go to such lengths just to converse with his friend - clearly, he had to be fond of him, at least somewhat. These days, it was every so often that he seriously doubted if he even enjoyed the company of human beings at all. Exaggerated, yes, but not even that much.

And even though the last line of events had been...unusual, to say the least, stunning probably was the better term here, he still felt no need to bring himself into that situation. Yes, the other guy was visibly injured, but it wasn't like he was going to die if Maxim hadn't intervened. Could go and patch himself up, go to the school nurse, anything. Was a grown man after all. None of his business.

He turned his attention away from the injured one and looked back towards where his friend had walked off to. Cristo had sat down, all by himself. Perfect opportunity. Though Maxim did regret having to sit beside him now, somewhere out in the open, unshielded from curious eyes, he still deemed it to be the lesser evil. Laying in wait even longer would have exceeded even his steeled patience, no, approaching him now was the right step, no doubt.

A hand in his pocket, the other hanging limply beside his body, he started to walk towards the boy in the grass. The scene almost had something esthetically pleasing, he had to admit. Rays of the sun, the lush green of the grass and...well, Cristo sitting there. An actual artist could have described it far better, no doubt.

Many slow steps later, he stood directly behind his pal, who didn't seem to have noticed his presence yet. Was he shaking? Something did seem to be off about it him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Even from behind, that much was obvious. It was enough for Maxim to briefly consider walking off and leaving the boy to his troubles, but he quickly dismissed that. Still enough room to retreat later. He had a right to talk to his boy here and now and he would exercise it, plain and simple.

He cleared his throat, hoping this would be enough to get Cristo's attention. Deeming it too low in volume a mere second after, he immediately repeated it, louder this time.
Edited by Rorick Skyve, Aug 6 2016, 08:05 AM.
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[Georgia Lee Day continued from Of Angels and Angles]

Georgia Lee slowed, then came to a stop next to where Cristo sat.

It was her free period, but she'd been busy before school and would be busy after, so this had been her one chance to work out. Usually she enjoyed it immensely, too. The track wasn't used much throughout the day, and the polyurethane was easier on her shins as she ran than the Kingman roads that made up her usual route. Usually she enjoyed it immensely, but what she'd witnessed at the batting cages worried at the back of her mind, like a stone in her shoe.

There was a way that the world ought to work. It wasn't the way the world did work of course, Georgia Lee wasn't nearly naiive enough to think that. Men were imperfect beings after all, and the world they lived in was imperfect as a result, but the drabness of reality didn't blind Georgia Lee to the beauty of how things could be, and how they should be. Despite how often the world failed to live up to this ideal, she was still disappointed by it every time.

Georgia Lee refused to lower the standard to which she held the world around her. Hope, she reminded herself, was a virtue, and there would come a day when the world would finally cease to disappoint.

Today though, the world had disappointed direly, and it had left Georgia Lee with a bitter taste in her mouth.

It shouldn't be easy to hit a baseball. It wasn't easy to hit a baseball actually, she knew that. They'd trained with the baseballers a couple of times, and they threw fast. Georgia Lee could hit them, sure, but she'd earned that. She'd be in the batting cages at least twice a week, and that was on top of her softball practice. She'd done that for years, and to think that she could simply step up to the plate and expect to be hitting home runs without having paid those dues... the sheer arrogance of it sickened her. It was so unfair, so unearned, to expect the world to behave like that.

That was superbia in its purest form, and that was a mortal sin. To see it rewarded not once but twice... she struggled to articulate the sheer wrongness of it.

Will McKinley too, was the last person who should be experiencing miracles. Georgia Lee wasn't without sympathy for the boy, of course. She thought of herself as a sympathetic person, and she could see just how upsetting it would be to find yourself in a place as small and limited as Kingman. It must have felt like Hell, but it wasn't like anyone else was any less damned, and rubbing how heavenly your prior abode was into the faces of your fellow suffering was just about the worst way for one to make friends.

She'd actually tried to make friends with him, when he'd first arrived. Georgia Lee had thought it might be hard for a stranger coming into such a small community, and she was interested to hear what life was like outside of Arizona.

It had been a very, very fleeting attempt at friendship. Georgia Lee didn't think she had ever met someone so arrogant, or so blindly hypocritical. Who on earth thought it was appropriate to go to a foreign country just to rant to all its citizens about how much you hated it, and how inferior it was to where you were from? The hand of friendship had been quickly and decisively pulled back, regloved and thrust into a pocket.

She put a hand on Cristo's shoulder to steady herself as she sat down next to him.

Georgia Lee liked Cristo. He was courteous, and he was funny, and he was nice to her and he was handsome. There were combined softball/baseball events fairly regularly, and he never failed to be a gentleman. He wasn't a pitcher, but he'd thrown the pitch of his life out there, and she'd seen it. She'd seen his face too, after the bat broke. He'd looked like he'd seen someone die.

"You know you're not meant to store the bats at high temperatures, right? Over the summer the storeroom gets up to over a hundred, easily. I mean some of those things are so warped they're practically at a right angle."

She turned, and looked him in the eye.

"He got lucky. It didn't mean anything."

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Cristóbal was startled out of his swirling thoughts by a the clearing of a throat and a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly from two different sources. He jumped a little, he could admit that, but presences that revealed themselves once he looked up turned out to be much more welcome company than he'd been expecting (given that he'd most been expecting to find Coach Parkinson hot on his trail to berate him for just leaving class before the period ended).

"Hi Georgia Lee," he said out of instinct, before fully registering what she was saying to him. He liked Georgia Lee, appreciated her driven spirit and dedication to her busy schedule. He'd always found her pretty too, in an untouchable sort of way, the kind of pretty that was almost certainly out of your league and undoubtedly too busy for you anyway and knew it. Georgia Lee was the kind of person who was going places, in other words.

Cristo tilted his head back to look at his other friend upside-down. "Hi, Maxim."

His ears were burning slightly, now that he knew at least two people whose opinion of him he really cared about had seen him lose his composure like that. He was thankful that his tanned skin tone mostly hid his embarrassed flush. The anger was still there too, a hard knot in his chest that weighed down on him unpleasantly. He tried to concentrate on breathing steadily.

"What are you guys doing here?" He asked, though that was obviously a stupid question. They both went to school here, why wouldn't they be on the grounds? The real question that he meant to ask was, "Why did you come over to me?" The answer there was perhaps a bit obvious too, given that Georgia Lee had clearly witnessed what just transpired between Cristo and Will, and Maxim looked as though he had a few questions of his own. Cristo patted the grass on the side that Georgia Lee wasn't occupying, indicating that Maxim should sit as well. He certainly didn't feel like getting up right now, and Georgia Lee seemed to be taking a break from her run.
"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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Now, that was not how it had been supposed to go. Yes, there were still other people beside himself and Cristo around, but did one of them really have to decide to seek his friend's company now, at this very moment that he was trying to talk to him in private? Well, at least the intruding person could have been someone far worse and he meant far worse. There were enough halfwits and unpleasant ignorant apes about in Cochise, but Georgia Lee was certainly not one of them.

He noticed Cristo patting the grass on the other side of him. A very clear invitation, one which he was sure he' take, albeit reluctantly. Reluctantly, because really, the fact that he couldn't be alone with his friend for now upset him, it simply wasn't fair. But he had to take whatever was offered to him. The other option was excusing himself and leaving the scene, but that wasn't going to happen, not this time. He had a right to be here and he'd take it, no matter how many others would show up, his place was here by Cristo's side now.

Maxim simply nodded, first at Cristo, then at Georgia Lee. To say he liked her would have been a slight overstatement. He did appreciate her, if anything. She represented a type of human he could actually see himself get along with, one that would welcome him all the same. But he lacked the energy to pursue any sort of ongoing friendly relationship with her and as such, simply remaining distantly acquainted was enough to content him.

"Hello." He looked at neither Cristo nor Georgia when he said this, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the ground before him as he sat down next to his friend. He hoped this would be sufficient to have them both feel addressed by it. Yes, it probably had been.

He shifted around on the ground for a bit. Yes, his jeans was most likely going to acquire a peculiar shade of green at the bottom, but what did he care? Appearance was just as trivial to him as - well, many things he didn't feel like listing at the moment. For now, all he had to do was retain a certain presence within the trio and if not assert his dominance regarding the right to speak to Cristo, at least try and steer the conversation towards a direction of his own choosing.

He turned his head sideways, looking at Cristo's face. "I saw you a bit earlier, thought I'd join you. You don't mind having a talk right now, do you?"
Edited by Rorick Skyve, Aug 7 2016, 02:21 PM.
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God had decided to test Georgia Lee today, it seemed, and He had sent a plague of immigrants to do so.

She liked Maxim well enough. She'd never seen much of him, but in what little time they'd spent together she'd found him to be friendly and direct.

Everyone knew he was gay, of course, but he'd never made a fuss about it, and Georgia Lee appreciated that. Love was love, sure, but she'd seen gay pride parades on television and some of that was just... distasteful. There were children watching, and those people were waving who knows what about. It wasn't appropriate, but people let them get away with it because they felt guilty about how badly the gays had been treated in the past.They had been treated badly, certainly, but Georgia Lee didn't think that should give them a license to just do whatever they wanted, now.

Maxim, at least, wasn't like those ones. He was alright for the most part, though right at this moment he was getting on her nerves.

She'd clearly just sat down. Asking to speak to Cristo alone like that, well... maybe they did things differently in Germany, but in Kingman Arizona that was just plain rude. Her already sour mood only soured further, and she decided that running further would be the best cure for her current temperament. It was clear that nothing would be gained by sticking around here, anyway.

Georgia Lee stood back up, again using Cristo's shoulder as a makeshift handrail. The shoulder in question was firm and muscular, and he barely moved under her weight. She put her hands on the small of her back and lent backwards, her spine making a satisfying popping noise as she stretched.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to get in the way of your deep and meaningful. I should probably get back to my run, anyhow."

She put her hand on the middle of Cristo's back, and bent down so her head was level with his. She could feel his skin through the fabric of his shirt, warm and damp. He smelt of grass and sweat and deodorant.

"Don't beat yourself up about the thing with Will. It was a hell of a pitch, on your part."

Her face was inches away from his, and she fought the sudden impulse to kiss him. His cheek was right by her mouth; she could just brush her lips over it before running off, it wouldn't even mean anything. There were droplets of sweat beading his face, and Georgia Lee couldn't stop herself from wondering how they might taste.

This was ridiculous, she didn't even like Cristo; it was just that the poor boy looked so downcast. It hurt her heart to see the wretchedness in his face.

It was a certain type of girl though, that went around kissing boys she didn't like. That wasn't the type of girl Georgia Lee ever wanted to be known as, and so she pulled her face away, and stood up instead.

Perhaps Maxim would cheer him up. She found the thought surprisingly upsetting, but didn't dwell on what this might mean. Instead she began to walk towards the track, turning to look over her shoulder and waving.

"I'll see you at the batting cages sometime Cristo! Nice to see you, Maxim!"

[Georgia Lee Day continued in Monsters of the Dark Continent: the Fauna of Africa]
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"Oh- bye, then! Enjoy your run!" Cristo called after Georgia Lee. He supposed it made sense that she didn't want to infringe on potential guytalk, but it was still disappointing to see her go so soon. He turned and attempted a smile at Maxim all the same.

"Yeah, we can talk if you want." Or rather, Maxim could talk and Cristo could nod and listen, as per the usual arrangement. That was fine, that was what he preferred, and as previously mentioned, he didn't feel like talking too much himself right now. "Something on your mind?"

There probably was. Maxim was a thinker much more than a speaker, normally, so it was rare for him to not have something or other on his mind when he did decide to talk about it. He might have a few disparaging comments of his own about Will, or gym class, or any number of things.

Maxim didn't enjoy much, Cristóbal sometimes thought. Not most of the things that Cristo himself enjoyed, at least. He'd wondered about that, and often, but it had never seemed appropriate to bring up.
"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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Now that was convenient. Maybe it was just karma, a way of higher powers to repay him for all the inconveniences on the day thus far. Of course, he didn't believe that for a second, didn't even consider it as a possibility. But it felt good to have things go his way for once.

On the one hand, he wouldn't have minded Georgia Lee being around all too much, at least not until he got to ask Cristo certain things. Which would have been rather soon, so this really was for the best. He would still have opportunity to speak to her again at a later date. Or maybe not. Both ways worked for him.

"Same." He nodded in Georgia's direction as she left, then immediately focused his attention back on Cristo. The latter had just asked him a question, but he was still very much inclined to ignore it, just for the moment. Something had clearly bothered his friend, and while Maxim usually certainly wasn't the caring type, at least not with others, he felt a faint sense of responsibility. He had to at least bring it up, be what they called a good friend, though he was hoping Cristo would have him drop the subject immediately after. He wasn't the type who was able to give his friend any helpful advice, wasn't even good at cheering people up. Still, he had to ask, at least.

"I have something on my mind, yes, but that can wait for a second. I just wanted to ask you first, are you feeling alright? I don't mean to come off as prying, but it seems to me that something was or is worrying you."
Edited by Rorick Skyve, Aug 11 2016, 04:58 PM.
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The question wasn't unexpected, but Cristóbal sighed all the same. "I wouldn't say anything is worrying me, really. I just got kinda... worked up, back in class. It's nothing." He shook his head. "I'd rather put it behind me, really, it's not worth dwelling on."

He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sparse clouds that lazily drifted across the intense blue of the sky. He could understand wanting to go somewhere else, he supposed, especially if you were from outside Kingman in the first place. He could understand feeling frustrated or tired of it. But hating it? Never.

"What did you want to talk about, though?"
"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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There it was again, further evidence that unneeded pleasantries and courtesies didn't get one anywhere. His question seemed to have upset or rather annoyed Cristo, judging from his reaction. Either that or his friend was simply getting tired, but if he had to have guessed, he'd have said both.

Even though he still had the faint feeling that there was more to the story than Cristo let on, shrugging it off was undoubtedly the correct choice here. Speaking of choices, Maxim had to yet another one to make, namely whether or not he was going to address the subject head on, ask straight away. He was tempted to, very much so.

While thinking, his mind was momentarily distracted by the sight before him. His friend leaning down on both his hands, staring off into the distance, sunlight illuminating his face and body and a soft breeze blowing through his hair - it only confirmed what he had already been very certain about and shattered a single concern of his at the same time. No, he was definitely not attracted to this boy, in absolutely no way. Even with this current pose of his and all the environmental things going on, his thoughts on him remained very much the same. He was someone he liked spending time with, yes, someone he actually wanted to be around. And that was all.

Even so, the question burning in his mind felt like it was sprouted from more than just mere curiosity. He knew he had a reason for asking it, but he was not entirely clear on what exactly it was. Again, curiosity alone was possible, but unlikely. He did not care much for the relationships between other people, as long as they didn't concern him in any way. This was not the case here, he felt like he was involved and yet not involved at the same time. Maybe he would know once he had received an answer to it.

For now, all he knew was that he had been waiting to ask this question for quite some time and he was not afraid to, which was unusual. Confidence, especially in a situation such as this, it was not like him, not at all. It certainly wasn't the surrounding that did the trick, far too many people around for that, people that were possibly spying on him, watching him. The thought alone was enough to almost make him want to up and leave, but both his friend's presence and his own quest hindered him from doing so. In short, there was no reason for him to waste any more time, he'd just ask way.

Maxim didn't change his position, not at all. He kept sitting there, his legs bent with his arms wrapped around them, all while not taking his eyes off Cristo. "If you don't mind me asking: What do you think of Abby?"
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Cristo looked at Maxim blankly for a moment; whatever he'd been expecting Maxim to have on his mind, it hadn't been that. "Abby?" he repeated. "Well... we're best friends. We've been friends since elementary school."

And is that all? a nagging little voice in the back of his mind asked.

Cristo absently started plucking blades of grass and twisting them between his fingers, an old nervous habit. Was Maxim trying to get at something else here? Did he think Cristo... what, had a crush on Abby? Of course he didn't. He'd know if he did, surely.

Wouldn't he?

"Why do you ask?"
"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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There it was, exactly the answer he had expected. Just friends. Of course they were, the two of them had known each other for far longer than he and Cristo had. It was only natural they were childhood friends, shared a deep bond. Spent a lot of time together, trusted in each other et cetera. Yes, that was all there was to it, harmless, really.

Ah, too easy. Did he really believe that, even for one second, believe that what Cristo had just told him was the truth and nothing but? Maxim was very much inclined to believe the opposite. He had watched them together. Yes, that day they had all worked together at Abby's place, that hadn't been the first time he noticed, but the time it had been the most obvious to him. The way his friend had looked, that peculiar look in his eyes, there was no doubt to him there was more behind that. It had to be, there was no conceivable way for him to be that spectacularly misguided in his judgment.

Still, Cristo's follow-up question was not unfounded, not at all. Why did he ask? Again, he was very certain that his own feelings for the boy were everything but romantic, a simple case of him having acquired a liking for him, plain and simple. So why did the subject of Cristo potentially being in love with someone bother him that much? Jealousy would have been the natural assumption but- no, it didn't make any sense, not like this.

Still, he had gone so far, had been so bold to directly face his friend with that question and stopping or faltering now would have equaled a testament of his own lack of direction or certain motive. He had to push on and doing so would mean having to ignore his friend's inquiry. If that was the price, then so be it.

"Are you sure? I mean...well, I don't really know how to put it, but- I just feel there's something more to it. Well..." This was awkward, absolutely was. But the only one witnessing it was Cristo and...he was okay with that.

"Are you sure you...don't think there's more?"
Edited by Rorick Skyve, Aug 12 2016, 05:09 PM.
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Cristóbal opened his mouth to give the automatic answer to Maxim's question, and then thought twice and closed it again. Was he sure that there wasn't anything more between him and Abby? Of course he was. He didn't need her to be anything other than his best friend.

...Was he sure?

"I mean, I-" He didn't know how to follow up with that. Why had Maxim brought it up, even? Did he think there was something romantic between Cristo and Abby, or that there should be? The idea of Maxim trying to play matchmaker with them was almost absurd, but at the same time...

"I've never thought about it," Cristo said finally. It was true enough.
"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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"Hm."

It was all Maxim said in response, nodding, then supporting his own head with one arm. It did seem to him like Cristo was telling the truth. A boy like him, he probably didn't think too much about many things, especially not those concerning the romantic realm.

Still, that only meant that he was harboring feelings he was unaware of, he was certain of it. Even though, he, Maxim, knew next to nothing about love, he did assert to be able to recognize it when witnessing it. After watching Casablanca countless times, the image of dedication and devotion in those characters' eyes had convinced him that he knew what love was, what it had to look like from the outside.

Of course, it was not such an extreme case with Cristo. He had merely noticed the glances he had occasionally thrown Abby's way back then, hints of wistfulness and something else. It had to be and most important of all, Maxim had no idea how he himself was to feel about it. It was quite possible that he alone was currently setting the two up for each other or something of that sort. And yet, was it not his goal to spend more time with Cristo himself, spend time in the company of the one boy whom he didn't mind being around him?

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was being jealous because Cristo enjoyed her company more than his. It was possible. Childish in a way thus regrettable, but very possible. However, stopping right now, again, would have just felt wrong. He had stirred his friend's feelings, that much was certain. Now, he had to go all the way, until he had gotten to the bottom of this. If not out of necessity, maybe out of curiosity, a welcome change of motive.

"Maybe you should." He blew a single strand of hair out of his own face, licking his lips. The sun did feel quite nice on his skin. Almost made him forget the people that were still out here, around them.

"Thinking about it might help you, or it might not. Maybe try it, can't hurt you, I'd say. Still, in the end, it's your call."
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Cristo paused, letting that sink in. "Well," he started and then stopped himself again. Maxim the Matchmaker, he thought briefly, and couldn't hold back a soft breath of a laugh. "Maybe I should, then."

He leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, letting the sun beat down on him. He'd always liked the feeling of being in the sun, and considered himself lucky to live in a place where the feeling was so common. Hearing about places where the dark and cold and rain were nearly constant always sounded miserable. Cristo closed his eyes and sighed, soaked in the sun and let the tension slip away from him. There was no need for that. He had his friends here, didn't he?

And he had something to think about now.

"Thanks, Maxim." He wasn't quite sure what merited a thank you, but it felt appropriate all the same.
"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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