[ Life goes on. Sharkface finds a rhythm. Makes it work. He's got enough art supplies that even when he finishes the mural of the black cliffs, he's not at a loss for space or inspiration. Piece by piece, night by night, he fills up the sketchbook. He even breaks out a couple canvases and starts smaller pieces. Works on what he pleases.
In some ways, it's better than prison. There are restrictions, but he's not locked a cell. He can eat when he wants, so long as he can afford it. No one takes his paints away.
It could be worse. But the nightmares, oh. Those are the same.
He's sitting on his bed, pen and sketchbook in hand, when he hears the knock at the door. Majima's out. Sharkface wasn't expecting him back for a while, either. He stands with a frown, tucking the book under his arm, and blinks when he sees who's at the door. ]
Action
In some ways, it's better than prison. There are restrictions, but he's not locked a cell. He can eat when he wants, so long as he can afford it. No one takes his paints away.
It could be worse. But the nightmares, oh. Those are the same.
He's sitting on his bed, pen and sketchbook in hand, when he hears the knock at the door. Majima's out. Sharkface wasn't expecting him back for a while, either. He stands with a frown, tucking the book under his arm, and blinks when he sees who's at the door. ]
Drake?