Paul scratches at his eyebrow and digs out his cigarettes before answering. Lighter flick, first inhale, his eyes darting back up to the artwork.
Maddy Pryor, maybe. She reads minds. That's another really good way to get information. 'Course, Maddy's on the wall too, and not represented that flatteringly.
He counts the illustrations-- one for everyone in Taxon, whether or not you want to play the matching game of who goes with what just now. Everyone's there. So maybe someone doodled themselves into it too to throw off suspicion or maybe-- hell, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and it's going to give him a headache, and the short hairy dude is fucking carving away chunks of the wall, what even, oh right, Taxon, why does he even blink any more, and Wyatt's grinning like a fucking lunatic.
Smile, Paul. (He does. Kinda.)
"I object also to the fact that you are wearing spurs."
[location]
Maddy Pryor, maybe. She reads minds. That's another really good way to get information. 'Course, Maddy's on the wall too, and not represented that flatteringly.
He counts the illustrations-- one for everyone in Taxon, whether or not you want to play the matching game of who goes with what just now. Everyone's there. So maybe someone doodled themselves into it too to throw off suspicion or maybe-- hell, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and it's going to give him a headache, and the short hairy dude is fucking carving away chunks of the wall, what even, oh right, Taxon, why does he even blink any more, and Wyatt's grinning like a fucking lunatic.
Smile, Paul. (He does. Kinda.)
"I object also to the fact that you are wearing spurs."