[ jyn is careful with the sketchbook and not just because she is inexperienced with handling paper. it'd be terrible if she ripped a page because she hasn't felt paper since she was something like three years old, papa's drawings pinned against the wall of his office.
the sketches are beautiful and jyn is easily absorbed in the careful, sometimes hasty lines of the sketches, lingering on a few that unexpectedly remind her of home -- clarke's parents bring such a rush of memories of her own parents that she has to violently shove them aside as she turns the page to continue, eyes briefly closing. she doesn't need to remember her parents, her nightmares don't let her forget the flash of blaster fire before her mother crumpled into the grass. there is something in the sketch of bellamy that gives her pause as well, determined eyes that are so familiar, but she doesn't stop until the picture of madi, a little feral child, hair in desperate need of a comb, with cheeks still rounded from youth and the ghost of a smile. ]
no subject
the sketches are beautiful and jyn is easily absorbed in the careful, sometimes hasty lines of the sketches, lingering on a few that unexpectedly remind her of home -- clarke's parents bring such a rush of memories of her own parents that she has to violently shove them aside as she turns the page to continue, eyes briefly closing. she doesn't need to remember her parents, her nightmares don't let her forget the flash of blaster fire before her mother crumpled into the grass. there is something in the sketch of bellamy that gives her pause as well, determined eyes that are so familiar, but she doesn't stop until the picture of madi, a little feral child, hair in desperate need of a comb, with cheeks still rounded from youth and the ghost of a smile. ]
They're beautiful.