Oh, yeah? That's cool. [If Mary feels that weight, she doesn't act like it, remarking on that shared experience as easily as if Yasu meant a more ordinary school, as if the commonality wasn't there at all.] You're pretty good!
[As she sees Yasu lean in to look at her sketchbook, Mary pushes it across the piano towards her. She's far too extroverted to have that "don't look at anything I've ever created or I'll die" instinct shared by many a teenage artist.]
Yeah, go for it! You can look through it if you want.
[It's a large enough sketchbook that there's a few things on the page; idle doodles of roses and butterflies fill up a lot of the space in between drawings—they match the ones clumsily tattooed on her arm. In the center, Mary has been drawing a woman in tall heels and a cocktail dress with no head, posed dramatically, cracks running through her body. It's actually quite well done, considering her age.]
no subject
[As she sees Yasu lean in to look at her sketchbook, Mary pushes it across the piano towards her. She's far too extroverted to have that "don't look at anything I've ever created or I'll die" instinct shared by many a teenage artist.]
Yeah, go for it! You can look through it if you want.
[It's a large enough sketchbook that there's a few things on the page; idle doodles of roses and butterflies fill up a lot of the space in between drawings—they match the ones clumsily tattooed on her arm. In the center, Mary has been drawing a woman in tall heels and a cocktail dress with no head, posed dramatically, cracks running through her body. It's actually quite well done, considering her age.]