The Park, Sunday Afternoon

[furnaceface]

There was nothing quite like a couple of days of reinforced muteness to get Jono feeling a bit introspective. The new artistic talents were fine and well, but he'd take the ability to communicate over being handy with an aerosol can any day of the week.

How that led to him sitting at a park bench with his flames in full view (all the better for getting across that he obviously wasn't going to be the most talkative person on the island) and a bag of bread in hand was anybody's best guess. Obviously he hadn't bought it for himself, no. There was just something... therapeutic about feeding the ducks around here. And if after a while that happened to turn into some quiet sketching on the little notepad he sometimes carried around with writing music in mind? The ducks were interesting artistic subjects, he supposed. And the person who was feeding them in the sketch...

Well, she was nobody that most people around here would recognize these days, anyway.

[OOC: All kinds of open, though Jono's obviously not going to be big on conversation today.]