[ part of joe is almost glad booker doesn't say anything. it's so easy for joe to swing to anger, it's so easy for joe to be pissed at him, if booker did something like apologize again, joe would lose his shit. he doesn't want any more apologies because they're never for the right thing.
he moves without speaking, drawing them up the stairs to where the physical works are. there is more mixed media, some half digital, half physical, and some paintings on canvas or wood or glass. all of it is past their own time, though some are — to this world — hundreds of years old and meticulously preserved. if joe thought he could handle seeing booker for eight hours a day, he would suggest a job in art preservation. booker's eye for detail and meticulous forgeries would lend well to restoration and preservation — he couldn't do worse than the ecce homo.
joe loves that fucking jesus so much.
he stops in front of a canvas, pure white with a dash of red across it like the artist had meant to paint a dot and sneezed and their arm had jerked across the canvas. ]
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he moves without speaking, drawing them up the stairs to where the physical works are. there is more mixed media, some half digital, half physical, and some paintings on canvas or wood or glass. all of it is past their own time, though some are — to this world — hundreds of years old and meticulously preserved. if joe thought he could handle seeing booker for eight hours a day, he would suggest a job in art preservation. booker's eye for detail and meticulous forgeries would lend well to restoration and preservation — he couldn't do worse than the ecce homo.
joe loves that fucking jesus so much.
he stops in front of a canvas, pure white with a dash of red across it like the artist had meant to paint a dot and sneezed and their arm had jerked across the canvas. ]
Thoughts?