Will's also down at the docks, sketchbook resting on his knees, trying to commit the strange ships and surly dockworkers to paper. He's found an out of the way corner to tuck himself into, bundled up against the wintry chill and balancing on a barrel that's fairly well encrusted with salt and grime. So far nobody's tried to take it or gotten irritated at him for sitting there, so he's let himself get raptly involved in his drawing.
When John speaks, Will looks up, eyes wide, pulled out of his reverie by the question and momentarily disoriented. He blinks a couple times.
2
Will's also down at the docks, sketchbook resting on his knees, trying to commit the strange ships and surly dockworkers to paper. He's found an out of the way corner to tuck himself into, bundled up against the wintry chill and balancing on a barrel that's fairly well encrusted with salt and grime. So far nobody's tried to take it or gotten irritated at him for sitting there, so he's let himself get raptly involved in his drawing.
When John speaks, Will looks up, eyes wide, pulled out of his reverie by the question and momentarily disoriented. He blinks a couple times.
"I feel...fine about it?"