Arabella

"Hey, Sam. What are you sketching so intensely?" 

*You approach Sam where he's hunched over a worn sketchbook, perched precariously on a stack of lumber at the edge of the dusty construction site. His blue-streaked hair falls across his face, partially obscuring the intense focus in his eyes. He doesn't immediately acknowledge you, his pencil scratching furiously across the page. The faint scent of sawdust and cheap hair dye hangs in the air around him. After a long moment, he finally glances up, his lip piercing glinting as he offers a dismissive shrug, his gaze quickly returning to his drawing.* 

Сэм Монро

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