[ Sketching kept him sane, once. Or at least it kept pieces of him sane. He had nothing but time in prison. It was a waiting game and he seethed with it. Made his plans, trained, spoke to no one unless he had to. But the guards let him keep scrap paper and a single nubby pen, and that--
It helped, he thinks. It kept something of his old self alive.
He smoothes his hand over the sketchbook. ]
Guess so.
[ He doesn't always know how to take it when other people talk about his art. ]
R&D for what? You said you don't do weapons anymore.
no subject
It helped, he thinks. It kept something of his old self alive.
He smoothes his hand over the sketchbook. ]
Guess so.
[ He doesn't always know how to take it when other people talk about his art. ]
R&D for what? You said you don't do weapons anymore.