fake m_m

[dear_of_heart]

The woman who walks out of the woods, 19th century backpack slung over her shoulders, hasn't been here in a long time. One might be forgiven for not noticing -- though she's a couple years older in appearance than she was last, she's much less stressed or worried than she ever was before.

"Oh!" she says, turning in a circle. Then she smiles, bright. "It really is Milliways."

She settles on a boulder by the lake, and takes out some cheese and bread. She'll head indoors in due time.

Comments

[dear_of_heart]

"You as well, Piotr," she says, having encountered much more difficult names -- it's still foreign to her. "I've never been to San Francisco, but I've heard it is beautiful."

Maybe somewhere to travel next?

A quick smile. "Are you an artist?"

[steelartisan]

Piotr shrugs a little, with a small and self-deprecating smile. It's the kind of shrug that means okay, yeah, I am -- humbleness, rather than uncertainy.

"I am."

A very muscle-y artist.

"The light here is very good. And I can keep paintings here, and my girlfriend does not complain about paint on the furniture." Much. "Is useful."

[dear_of_heart]

Cora laughs, slightly. "Well, that's always helpful. I have friends who do actual art-- I just sketch plants to remember what they look like."