[ Wash considers it -- he's not an artist, doesn't have the eye, but the city lights from outside are nice. He nods, and takes off his suit jacket. He doesn't want to be in a suit for this, even if it's just for Ephemera. It's not him.
Another consideration and he takes off the dress shirt, too, leaving him in the pants and a white tank. He has scars up and down both arms and one on his shoulder peeking out from under the tank top. Then he goes to sit in the huge-ass windowsill, one leg straight and the other bent up. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his arms at first, but decides he might as well be comfortable. One just rests in his lap, the other propped up on his knee as he looks out at the city below. ]
no subject
Another consideration and he takes off the dress shirt, too, leaving him in the pants and a white tank. He has scars up and down both arms and one on his shoulder peeking out from under the tank top. Then he goes to sit in the huge-ass windowsill, one leg straight and the other bent up. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his arms at first, but decides he might as well be comfortable. One just rests in his lap, the other propped up on his knee as he looks out at the city below. ]
Good enough?