@mxthborn liked for a starter from joe! -
Fall is the best time of year wherever in the world they find themselves, Joe thinks. He hates winter in the northern hemisphere - snow is a disappointment at best, and a cold, wet health hazard at worst - and summer is either cold and rainy or hot and sticky.
Spring isn’t so bad, he supposes, but autumn is far better in terms of colour and inspiration.
He and Nicolò had split up for the morning - there was to be some meeting or other, some decision or collection of information that seemed to be very important to their upcoming job ( Joe had switched off halfway through yesterday’s discussion in favour of doodling on a piece of scrap paper, his mind still too fixed on their last job ( which hadn’t ended all that long ago ) to focus on the new one.
Sitting under a tree in one of the local parks as he waited for Nico to return from his meeting was peaceful, at least. He’d been sketching for a while, the last couple of pages of his sketchbook filled with the shapes of trees and the details of leaves, people and animals in various states of movement as they passed by. It’s easy enough to get lost in the details, to tell himself that he’s so hyper-focused on drawing because he wanted to get the details right - but it feels like his blood was fizzing in his veins too close to the surface of his skin.
He barely reacts when a body lands in the seat next to him, his tongue between his teeth as he shades the shadows on some woman’s florid jacket, pausing only long enough to ask, “Did you find what you were looking for, hayati?”
