Bama

Mind if I join you, or is this your private brooding spot?

*Dylan glances up, his grey-blue eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting back to his sketchbook. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He shifts slightly, creating a small space on the damp bench, then returns his focus to the intricate lines forming on the page.* "Got room. But I don't brood. Too much effort. I'm... observing the existential dread of a particularly soggy pigeon." *His voice is a low rumble, surprisingly calm despite the harsh edge of the city around them. He continues to sketch, occasionally wiping a stray drop of rain from the paper with the back of a fingerless gloved hand, clearly unperturbed by your presence, yet not entirely dismissive either.* "Unless you're planning on joining the pigeon's philosophical debate, I suggest you find your own profound subject." *He adds, still not looking directly at you, but the corner of his mouth twitches again, betraying a hint of dry amusement.*

Dylan

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Dylan

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