Prince arrived early to Wertham Community Centre hoping to use the extra time to make his mark on the place. He waltzed into the locker room after receiving his orange jumpsuit from their probation officer, Tony. "Huh. Much cleaner than I thought it'd be. Well, I can change that." He dropped his bookbag filled with all of his materials on the floor in front of the first locker and started to undress. He kept his boxer briefs and undershirt on and put the jumpsuit over them. "Now, to personalize this baby." He said with a devious smile. He rummaged through his bookbag to take out his purple spray paint and painted his personal tag diagonally across his locker. They weren't actually assigned lockers, but he wanted it known now that this was his and to leave something behind for the future delinquents to marvel at.



As soon as he finished his masterpiece, Henry entered the room with a sigh. "I can't believe I'm here." He looked up to see one of his bar patrons and somewhat friend doing what he did best. "But I'm not surprised at all that you're here. I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner. Hello mate."

Prince turned to see his favorite bartender. "Yeah, they finally caught me, Dawson. I heard about what happened at the bar. If I was there that night you know I would've handled it for you."

"I appreciate it, Prince, but then you probably would've ended up with jail time instead of community service. It's only six months and I didn't lose my job, so we'll at least have a place to wind down after work ends each day." Henry walked to the locker across from Prince's and started changing. He would've gotten a locker closer to his, but he didn't want his to have Prince's name all over it. "I wonder what the rest of the crew will be like."

"Not nearly as cool as us, I can tell you that." Prince answered with a laugh.

---

Tony was in his office annoyed that he had to deal with another batch of young pieces of excrement. He strongly doubted that he would be able to last six months with this group. He was looking over their files and he was concerned for his sanity and his life. He had requested that the council send him a partner, but they couldn't afford to. They really just didn't want to allocate the funds.

He took out his phone and looked at his screensaver of him and his fiancée, Sally. Being with her was the only thing keeping him sane in this world. He was staring at her so long and deeply that he didn't notice the first delinquent come in and hover over him. "Wow. She's gorgeous. Lucky man right here."

"Keep your eyes in your sockets. Didn't anyone teach you not to invade people's privacy?"

"Yes, but you were zoned out, or zoned in. I'm just here for my jumpsuit. Prince, reporting for duty."

Tony sighed before turning his screen off and getting up to grab an orange folded jumpsuit. He tossed it at him. "The tagger, right? If I catch you tagging the property you're cleaning it up. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be on my best behavior." Prince said with an earnest expression, but with his fingers crossed behind his back.

"Just head to the locker room already." Tony was not falling for his bullshit.

---

Once everyone was outside and lined up at the railing overlooking the harbor, Tony put on his nice face and treated them like he cared about them and why they were here.

"Alright! One way or another something in your life brought you here. The world has written you off as troublemakers or worse, but here you have a chance to prove them wrong and make something of yourselves. You'll be giving back to your community these next six months. Cleaning the Center and the surrounding area, helping out at events, and bettering the community and who knows? Maybe you'll influence others on the same path as you so they can turn things around before they end up here as well. I'm not your babysitter so I won't be breathing down your necks during this time. I'm trusting you not to kill each other or do anything unseemly while you're here. If I do have any problems with any of you, I'll be reporting you to the Council and you may receive jail time instead. Any questions?"

Wertham Community Centre was JJ's new home it seemed like. That much was told to him by the appointed lawyer and his jailbird of an aunt, and a half year stay no less. The lad just rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and lumped his dufflebag to the ground with a thud. Sure he had about three Enfield's and Triumph motorcycles hidden away under a tarp, a few JDM joyrides of the four wheeled type under his belt, and all the tomfoolery that is required reading for such exploits, but six months "helping the community"? His spontanunity did not jive well to the idea. Here he was just having his fun and now the MAN was to curtail him. It made him suck his teeth in distain. His piercings where gone, his hair strewn over his eyes, and no he was quietly and dully accepting a new jumpsuit from a man he already forgot his name to.

Orange, huh. That'll stain, He thought. Man I could bump a smoke right now was his next line of thought as he meandered over to the locker room's doorway. What kind of urchins did this seabed have? JJ saw no one inside. But he could smell aerosol which did nothing for his johnsin for a cig. As he claimed a lower-level locker to the end he spied purple on one locker. Six months was a long tenure for a guy who hardly kept the same address that long. Still, as he quickly derobed without to much fuss, he let his mind linger on his future some. It's community service, not a sentence. bickered his more positive side. Lost in that thought he zipped up his new attire and wandered out with the rest of the delinquents. JJ was lined up with the rest along a railing to a harbor and the big man of the evening was speaking.

After he was done with his speech, he asked if they had questions. JJ kind of looked at his feet and bit his lip. His brow furrowed as the lad thought of a right question to even ask, he was more curious of the line-up he was with.

Having been dropped off a little further down the road than she would like, Megan made her slow walk up the road with all the energy of someone that didn't want to be there. She wanted something, anything as a distraction, but all there was is the noise of the world around her. Which thankfully at the moment was only traffic and not people, at least from what she could see, but the girl still dragged her feet and held onto her scruffy backpack. Eventually she made it to the door, earlier than she might like, but it made sense to not be late to this.

She barely said two words to anyone as she accepted her ugly ass jumpsuit and made her way to the locker. Stripping off her black shirt and jeans and looking at the suit for a few moments before resigning herself to her fate and putting it on. It was even less comfy than it looked somehow! She put her clothes and bag into the locker and shut it quietly before making her way out to join the lineup. Keeping her arms at her side and just listening to what the parole person was saying. Eying up the others in the ugly orange suits to get an idea of the group she was with.

The only thing Sky hated more than being sentenced to community service, was that bloody jumpsuit jumpsuit. It didn’t fit well, and it was a shade of traffic cone orange Sky normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. He’d spent a solid fifteen minutes in the bathroom mirror trying to make it look decent. He cuffed the sleeves and popped the collar. The result was… passable. Barely. He left it unbuttoned, showing off the hot pink tank top underneath.

Sky strutted in to the harbor after the speech. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, tugging at his jumpsuit like he was adjusting a red carpet gown. “Fashion emergency. This shade of orange is an act of violence.”

He didn’t slow down or offer a hint of shame, instead strutting up to the lineup like he hadn’t just gotten there late. His eyes flicked over the crowd. Some unfamiliar faces, some interesting ones, but then he stopped short when he spotted a familiar figure.

“Henry?” he said, his brows raising up. “Well well well, if it isn’t my favorite bartender-slash-therapist. Did the drinks finally catch up with you?”

Then, without missing a beat, he clapped his hands once and turned to the group at large.

“Six months of picking up litter with a bunch of misfits? I feel like I just got cast in Love Island: convict edition. What a time to be alive.”

---

Anastasiya knew what she was getting into if she was caught lighting fire to that horror of a building. She knew that there were cameras, and that they would show up in the trial. What she didn’t know, was how much she hated the color orange until now.
Anything else. Hell any other shade would have been fine. But this?

The young woman sighs, biting her tongue in focus as she tries not to look like an absolute train wreck. She wore a black crop muscle shirt under the orange and had her hair down messily. “This is stupid.” She mumbles, shaking her at herself and leaving the locker room.

There was no way in hell she would continue to try and look nice, she was doing community service, how she looked don’t matter. Especially because she didn’t plan to get close to any of these people.

Ana didn’t know what they had done to be in here, she didn’t care much either. She was here to do her time, and go back to work…if she would have a place to go back to at all.
She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as she walks outside, lining up next to a random boy, her eyes dead set in the warden as he begins his little speech.

Fuck this would be dull…maybe she could just run away, she was good at that.

Kassandra, for the third time that morning, pulled and tugged at the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit that was to be her uniform for the next six months. She'd almost vomited when she put it on. Not because of the color, though it was ugly. No - putting this on made this situation all too real.

She was a criminal.

If she'd known that this would be the outcome, she would have done something different. Waited inside for the bus. Not joined the contest at all.

Kept hitting until that pint-breathed prick couldn't speak to a girl without questioning his life choices

"Ugh."

She stood toward the back of the group, the warden's speech going in and out of her ears. The other people looked tough, and bored, like they'd done this before. None of them near tears like her. She wanted to melt into the ground.

...did that guy look familiar? The one with the slick, black hair. She'd seen him before.

The warden asking for questions snapped her attention back to the front. Shyly, she raised her hand. Not quite looking him in the eye, she spoke at a volume just above a whisper. "Um. S-sir, if our behavior is excellent... is there a chance that we could get out... sooner?" If misbehavior meant punishment, surely the opposite meant reward?

---

Yeah, Tony was going to grow tired of this bunch rather quickly. He turned to Kassandra when she asked her question. He read her file. He didn't understand why she was here after reading her file. He could already tell that her case was a matter of self-defense. She was better off in an anger management course than here with delinquents that could and likely would corrupt her. If it were up to him the answer to her question probably would have been yes, but neither of them were so lucky. "No. Six months is six months. You're acting like you're in jail. It's just community service. Do your time and reflect on what brought you here."

He then turned to Caitlin. Out of the group he figured she and Prince would give him the most trouble. Neither of them seemed to care for authority or rules. "I actually hadn't thought of that. I'll be now adding it to the list." Now the others could blame her for when they ended up having to fish shit. "But for today, I have a simple job for you all." He turned and pointed to the cans of white paint and brushes near the stairs. "Paint the benches around the Centre. People have drawn and graffitied all over them. Prince, you should feel right at home. Alright, get to work. I'll check on you all in a few."

---

Prince eyed the cast of their six month reality show as they all came out of the Centre one by one. They were an interesting and diverse bunch. Some were quieter than others. He was surprised to see Cait here. Less surprised that she ended up here and more so surprised that she actually got caught. Maybe these six months would be more fun than he thought. He opted out of asking a question, like most of the others. The only one who did ask a question was the only one that looked like she didn't belong there. No wonder her question was about getting out of here early. When Tony went back inside, Prince turned to her and said, "Don't worry. We don't bite. Well, I do when asked. But we're family for these next six months. I'm Prince."

He waited for her to introduce herself before giving her, her space and waltzing over to Cait. "I don't think our probation worker likes us much, Cait. But it's good to see you again and I have a spliff with your name on it." He pulled said spliff out of one of the jumpsuit's pockets and handed it to her before heading to grab a can and brush. He sighed as he headed back to the group. "This is such a waste of my talent. But might as well get it over with, right?"

---

Henry laughed and shook his head when Sky asked him if the drinks finally caught up to him, but decided to wait for Tony to leave before giving him a true response. While Prince was already on making the young lady feel more comfortable he listened in to make sure that he didn't go too far. He recognized her from her performance at the bar and the incident after. He understood her question completely. She didn't deserve to be here. But there was no fixing that now. Both of them would just have to serve their six months.

He strolled on over to Sky and said, "If it isn't my favorite fashionista. And you know I can drink anyone under the table and still be fine. I just went a bit overboard protecting a woman from one of the jerks at the bar. How'd you end up here? I know it couldn't have been the fashion police."

"...Do your time and reflect on what brought you here." JJ was reflecting alright, that and being bemused by the dynamics of their group already. He'd find his footing, or tongue at least, soon enough. Every now and then he'd nod or raise a brow as his new mates conversed. He'd been eyeing the paint cans near the stairs as it was. When Toby, was it Tony? Told them their new task that lit a fire under his ass. Work ethic was in his nature; it was interest that was his problem. But the promise of some seclusion had him itching to start the progress. He did a quick shuffle and half turn skip toward the cans and heard something of a spliff, someother about a bartender, and by that time his neurons said nicotine. JJ fumbled in his jumpsuit and found a softpack of reds. The stogie was mildly bent as it touched his new lip-prison. Aight, let's do this.

He did the standard misfit macarena as he looked for a lite for his vice. As the youth did so he fumbled for not so awkward words and could only come up with bad jokes. Still, it did more for him to let it out than let it stew. "Prince? Was it? I'm bad at names but I guess you're a little artsy. Name's JJ!" he exclaimed as he finally found his lighter. It flicked four times before he realized it wasn't so lucky. His temper muttered a 'fuck' before he threw himself back into conversation. "Well, anyone got a lite?" he asked the group. He also eyed a few who might not like a little arts and crafts, "They caught me joyriding, so lameee" Interesting gang they had going on here, he thought to himself as he lugged a bucket of paint over to the benches. The Birmingham native was keen on remodeling houses but usually didn't do the paint part. Perhaps he could chat up some of the gals of the group or even Love Island, to pass the time. "Busy hands and idle minds or something like that." fumbled JJ has his bravado wore out and work took over with a CccracK of the paint can lid.

Megan listened to the comments with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Clearly some weren't taking it seriously, and others were trying to get out it faster. The one that made a love island reference managed to get a small smirk from the girl but she quickly hid it by looking down and taking a moment. Seems some also knew each other, which figured. Crime groups often ran together. The paints were motioned at by the idiot who was stuck babysitting watching over them, and there was a shrug. Painting was a surprisingly easy way to start, and Megan had walked over to grab a can and brush as soon as the probation guy finished. She turned back to the others, narrowing eyes slightly as she sized each of them up, before picking up a second can and brush. With that, she walked up to the one asking about getting out sooner (@Mistress Dizzy) who looked entirely out of her depth and held out a can and brush.

"Here. Come with me, there's benches closer to the door" she said quietly and surprisingly gently, giving the taller girl a long look through narrowed eyes as she waited for her to take the can and brush before turning to go to the other side of the centre.

---

Aksel arrived late; not dramatically, not apologetically. Just quietly. The person at the front desk barely looked up—some staffer, clipboard in hand, already halfway through his shift.

“Jeezus… another one? You’re late. Locker room’s down the hall. Suit up and head out back.”

Aksel nodded once, and said nothing.

He quietly made his way down the hall and slipped into the empty locker room, the door clicking shut behind him like a soft punctuation mark. The air smelled like disinfectant and dust. It appeared some of the lockers were already claimed—names taped on in blocky handwriting, or some other discerning marks.

He scanned the room, weighing his options as he walked up and down the rows. He was in no hurry to join the line outside that was presently enduring a loud talking-to. Though, he was always listening and observing. He then came across one locker (three, really) that was garishly marked “Prince” and he chose the farthest possible spot from it. Not out of spite. Just instinct. He always gravitated toward the quiet corners.

Aksel set down the orange jumpsuit—folded with bureaucratic precision—on the bench below before opening his chosen locker. He sighed, a little louder than usual, as he stared into the rectangular void. Then, he got to work. He pulled his black hoody over his head and hung it with care. Then he slid off his winter camouflage cargo pants, folding them neatly and placing them at the base of the locker.

Next would come the vibrantly orange jumpsuit. Aksel turned around, picked it up, and unfurled it slowly as he held it up to the light from the small window. Most people would flinch at the color, the implication, the uniformity. Aksel didn’t. It reminded him of that one American metal band—the one with the prison aesthetic with the jumpsuits and the kick-ass masks. Maybe tomorrow he’d bring a mask of his own to wear. He smirked a little at the thought.

Aksel stepped into and zipped up the jumpsuit without ceremony. It was unfortunately a tad too short, as were its limbs. In girth, it was far too wide. It was simultaneously too small and too big for him.

Dammit all, he thought as he sighed, visibly deflating. I wanted to like this thing.

Then, he stepped outside and made his way to join his fellow Unguided, ready to paint benches with strangers. He bore a subtle wry smile as he walked out, proud of his clever use of the name of a favorite band of his—even if he was the only one who knew about it.

As he approached the lineup, it was already dispersing to acquire their tools: paint and brushes. From the locker room, Aksel had caught the gist of the man’s speech, a fragment of the speech had stood out and was about the only thing he bothered to remember from it—the loud voice, piercing through the windows and bouncing off concrete walls like bad reverb. “You’re not here to express yourselves. You’re here to paint benches.” That had been plenty.

Aksel wordlessly took in each person as he approached and settled in among them and grabbed a brush and paint can to join them all, hoping quiet cooperation would spare him the wrath of the one giving orders spoken like he’d already given up on the lot of them.

One of his fellow painters had stood with her arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on the speaker like she was daring him to say something worth staying for. Aksel caught the burn—not loud, but steady. Like someone already halfway gone.

Another stood with her weight tilted, gaze cutting sideways through the lineup. Not loud, not lost—just holding something tight beneath the surface. Aksel caught the edge in her stance, like someone who’d rather be moving than standing still.

Another had also arrived late—though not as late as Aksel, since he heard the guy after Aksel had already entered the locker room—and strutted like it was a runway, collar popped, tank blazing. His voice hit the group like a spotlight—bright, chaotic, impossible to ignore. Aksel blinked once, then looked away before the glare stuck.

Still another moved like he was born for said spotlight—voice smooth, gestures practiced, already calling them family. Aksel noted the charm, but also the sigh beneath it.

A fifth, held back until the man barking the orders had left—then he had stepped in with quiet ease. Aksel caught the rhythm: someone who didn’t need volume to hold space.

A sixth cracked open a can with a flourish, muttered at a stubborn lighter, and tossed out jokes like static. Bravado in motion—maybe to keep the silence from catching up.

Still another had lined up toward the back, tugging at her sleeves, voice barely above a whisper. Aksel caught the tremble—not in sound, but in presence. Like she wanted to vanish before the first drop of paint met a bench.

And the last one had already moved—quiet, deliberate, eyes scanning the lineup like she was sorting pieces. She handed off a brush without fanfare, like she’d already decided who needed it most.

Aksel didn’t know their names. But he picked up on their rhythms. And for now, he’d paint.

Sky tugged at the collar of his jumpsuit, and flashed Henry a grin. “Please. If the fashion police were real, they’d have locked me up years ago. No, babe, I got nicked for borrowing a coat. A gorgeous coat, mind you. The judge called it shoplifting, I called it content creation. Tomato, tomahto.”

He leaned in just enough for Henry to catch the sharp glint in his eye. “Honestly, if my TikTok had gone viral like I planned, I’d be a pioneer. Instead? Six months with you lot and this crime against fabric.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, then added with a smirk, “Still, could be worse. At least I’ve got someone pretty to suffer with.”

Sky stared at the can of white paint like Tony had just handed him a dead rat. “This is offensive,” he declared, holding the can between two fingers like it might stain his soul. “White? Really? We couldn’t paint the benches something a little more fun? Like pink maybe? This place is supposed to inspire joy. Not… boredom.”

He clicked his tongue and sighed again. “Ugh. Fine…” He dipped the brush like it was beneath him, muttering, “I was born to create… not to color inside the lines.”

---

This…was going to be an incredibly long six months.

Ana had made the silent decision to avoid attempting to escape. She had figured that out after the head honchos little speech. Wonder how many times he practiced that in the mirror.

A small grin cracks into her face like she was being sculpted, her own joke amusing her.

The young woman’s eyes move across the people in the group, trying to figure them all out, but people and their cliques had never been her strong suit. Two people manage to catch her eyes, the two that were late. One of them was tall, his uniform not fitting quite right.
She could tell he wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself, unlike the other who came late.

She had to admit though, he made the orange jumpsuit not look completely horrible.

Ana continues her supposed vow of silence, going to the paints and the benches, already annoyed by the day that was ahead. Blast it all. She would rather do jail time.

She was being dramatic of course. But she didn’t regret her decision. The only thing she regretted was not making sure that dumbass owner wasn’t in the building when it went ablaze. A bit dark, but she hated that bastard.

Ana takes a paint brush, chewing on the inside of her lip as she begins to paint over the graffiti.

Kassandra could swear she saw the slightest hint of sympathy in Tony’s face, as her question was answered. Or maybe that was annoyance for having such a naive question in the first place. Still, she felt her stomach drop, and her mumbled “yes, sir” likely went unheard.

As Tony left them to their work, one of the others introduced himself. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to all of the beforehand – was she being flirted with by a boy her age, or was he just like that? “I’m K - Kassandra.” Was all she managed, but he seemed to understand that she was well out of her comfort zone.

While she was watching some of them greet each other like old friends, a short girl with pretty purple hair walked up to her. The instructions were a surprise, but she was definitely grateful for them. She followed with paint and brush in hand, settling quietly to the task she’d been given. “...thank you.” A grateful smile flashed the dimples in her cheeks, the first hint of relaxation she'd shown since arriving that morning.

After she got the can open, and into the rhythm of the work, her mind settled. A song slipped between her lips as she painted slow, careful stripes to the beat.

https://youtu.be/HNBCVM4KbUM?feature=shared

Honestly, she never could clean without music. She couldn't get out sooner, but perhaps Tony was right. If she just kept her head down, the time would pass anyway. Though, she did want to find her way to Henry eventually. She'd remembered him. The one person who'd jumped to her defense, quite enthusaistically. He seemed popular and friendly, and she owed him an apology. If not for her, he wouldn't be here.

"Don't worry... about a thing... 'cause every little thing... gonna be alright."

@Mistress Dizzy



Aksel quietly went about his task, blending in. It was something he had become good at. He hardly seemed to be noticed even being as late as he was. All according to plan. His initial instinct was to do his time, and move on from this… experience.

These people didn’t seem like bad folk, however. Perhaps he assumed wrong and there was more to be gained from this… experience. There was an especially nice girl, Kassandra, she called herself. She definitely did not belong here. He’d be willing to bet that she was not the only one. Most, if not all, more than likely had valid reasons for being forced to be here. Not that the law ever cared about nuance.

There was another girl, too. She seemed to be draped in quiet melancholy. It made the slight grin she had attempted to hide while she thought no one would notice to be all the more beautiful. Perhaps he would be able to learn what thought had sparked it. Although, first he would settle for learning her name.

There was another girl, another soul who took pity on poor Kassandra. While she didn’t give off nurturing energy, she didn’t fool Aksel. The way she went to Kassandra and helped her to get along without a thought…

Hell, the more he observed the people and overheard their conversations, the more was certain that this truly was a good bunch of people. Perhaps, if they had all had proper guidance—himself included—and especially if the government…

Best not to keep ruminating on that yet again. They were all powerless to do [i[anything[/i] about the ridiculous structure of the world they lived in.

"Don't worry... about a thing... 'cause every little thing... gonna be alright."

Aksel stopped his work, and looked over to Kassandra as she quietly sang.

”Singin’ don’t worry,” Aksel followed up, slightly stronger than her own words. His Norwegian lilt resonated out from a warm smile as he continued to paint. “About a thing,” he made sure to catch Kassandra’s eye and nod subtly in solidarity.

Prince pulled out his lighter from a different pocket when Cait said that she needed a lite. He hovered it under her spliff and flicked the trigger and watched as the fire came to life and lit the tip of her spliff. "Don't worry about that. I'm already planning to put up a new piece here on the wall tomorrow. But they caught me tagging the Olympic Bell. I don't know what the big deal was. They haven't hosted since twenty-twelve and by my estimate have at least thirty years to worry about it being clean." He turned to JJ when he approached him and introduced himself. "Yeah, I'm Prince. Nice to meet you, JJ." Prince found himself distracted by the sound of a lighter running on fumes. He hovered his lighter under JJ's cigarette just as he asked the question and lit it as well. All of this smoking reaffirmed that he did not really care about painting these benches and wanted to just smoke a spliff and watch instead. It wasn't like their probation worker would be coming out anytime soon. He hoped.

Once JJ left to start painting Prince reached into the same pocket that he pulled Cait's spliff from and pulled out the second one that he rolled for the morning. He placed it in between his lips and gave it the spark of life. He gave it a nice pull as he put away his lighter and took it out of his mouth to finish inhaling. He waited until he felt the smoke hit his lungs and then exhaled away from Cait's face. "But I'm surprised they caught you and not anyone else from your crew. You're the best skater in the group. I mean, assuming that's what you got nicked for." He said as he turned back to her.

---

Henry laughed as Sky explained how he got caught. "Borrow, right. You know you had no intention of returning that coat. And that's probably why they sent you here. They didn't want you creating a new shoplifting trend for the clock app youths."

Henry blushed and turned away to hide it when Sky called him pretty. He wasn't expecting the forward compliment. "Flattery like that will get you a free drink at the bar."

Before he could turn back to face him, Henry found himself distracted by Kassandra. He was glad that others were trying to make her feel comfortable and cared for here. He wanted to do the same as well as let her know that he didn't blame her for their being here together. He turned back to Sky and said, "Hold that thought. I'll catch up with you in a bit." He glided over to Kassandra and could hear the faint sound of her singing as he approached. Her voice was as beautiful as he remembered on open mic night.

"Every little thing's gonna be alright." He said instead of singing. "I'm sorry you ended up here. Those jerks should've been here, not you."

Megan had sat down on the floor and started to paint when she heard the quiet “...thank you.” coming from the other girl. She looked up briefly to say "it's fine" and get back to the painting. The singing was acceptable, until others started joining in, and she frowned more. Whatever, if it gets this shit over with.

She looked up again after a short while to see some smoking, others chatting away and only a few actually doing anything. Her frown grew more but it wasn't her problem. At least it wasn't until one had decided to make his way over to them. She stood up and eyes narrowed stepped in as he spoke with the other girl.

"No. I don't care if the other idiots fancy turning a 6 month painting punishment into worse by slacking but if you're comin' over where I am you're bringing a paintbrush and can, sitting your ass down and painting while you're doing so because I ain't interested in getting dragged into that shit. They won't reduce your time but they sure can increase it and that includes for me and for Kassandra if we get dragged into your slacking."

She pointed back to where the pile was.

"Paintbrush. Can. Now. Then you can chat."

Sky watched Henry walk off, and felt a sting of disappointment. “Of course he went to comfort the tragic Disney princess,” he muttered, flicking paint at the bench with a little more force than necessary. “Who wouldn’t?”

He paused, catching himself. His grip on the brush loosened. “She’s been through hell. Don’t be a bitch, Sky.” Sky bit his lip and sighed, quieter this time. “She just happens to be the kind of broken people run toward. I’m the kind they run from.”

He dipped the brush back into the paint with less flair this time. He dragged it across the bench in silence. Every now and then looking back at Henry and Kassy. Wishing. Not for her pain, but for the softness it invited. For someone to look at him the way Henry looked at her. Just once.

“Too loud. Too much. Too fake. And when I’m not?” His lips quirked into something like a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Still too much.”

He blinked, shook it off, and forced his usual smirk back onto his face like a mask being reapplied. He gave the bench a sassy flick of the brush. “…Still should’ve let me paint it pink.”

---

As Anastasiya silently continued to cover up the graffiti, the creative art meeting an unfortunate end, she tries to listen in on the conversations around her.
A bad habit she knew, but her thoughts at the moment bored her, and everyone was so…strangely interesting.

As a small melody began, she paused looking up. It was…nice. Ana quite enjoyed any kind of music, and the girl singing had an absolutely lovely voice.
Then the others started to join in. Not all of them, but a few. It was sweet.

The young woman hummed along, not singing, but in her own world now as she painted.

Then a girl with purple dye in her hair spoke up, breaking the rhythm. Ana stopped fully what she was doing, raising an eyebrow.
The hell?

She understood wanting to get the job done, and almost was impressed as how this girl wanted to keep Kassandra on task to get out faster. But…Ana hated stuff like that. She craved anarchy, and if she were to spend six months with these people, she would rather they get along and know each other.

Ana didn’t outright say anything, only looking at the scene before a moment, not trying to hide her expression. Then she goes back to painting, but now…she wants to be a little bit of a menace. So. She breaks the humming. And sings as she paints. Not drastically loud. But enough.

“Don’t worry…about a thing, cause every little thing, is gonna be alright…” she purposely puts a highly joyful tone in her voice as she paints. It sounded a bit butchered in her accent, so she repeats the song in French.

“Ne t'inquiète pas... de quoi que ce soit, car tout ira bien,”