Even by the window's side, the afternoon daylight shone through onto the desk by the side of the room. Articles of folded clothing stacked on top, stretched out hair ties, pens, documents—a few half-heartedly painted canvases were leaned against the legs.
Using cloth and a bowl of water, Jotou cleaned off brushes that had long dried with paint within the bristles. Eyes hazy and warm—each movement of her hands going off reflex at this point.
'I want pizza…' The blonde grimaced. 'Might be too greasy. Is it the medicine? Hmm.. I guess pizzas in this world are less fast food-y.' Her hands stopped working.
Realizing how slouched she was, she stretched back up in her seat, limb by limb; low mutters of relief escaped her lips until it was a full yawn. 'What if I paint my sword?'
