Issue 1 Downtime

Among other things, the recreational complex boasted several studio rooms for students of music and the fine arts to practice in. While occasionally used for classrooms, more often they were places for people to work on extracurricular projects.

At the moment, Regan was sitting in front of a large, blank, canvas. She was just staring at it, like it was offending her.

Although, to be fair, that's how she stared at most things.

"Um... are you quite alright, ma'am?" Tommy asked, who had been walking by when noticing the ghostly woman...well, staring.

"Oh," Regan says, sounding a bit surprised, "Yeah. I'm fine."

Turning away from the canvas, she floats over to a rack of paints.

"This is a nice studio."

"I suppose," Tommy agreed, not having been in many studios. "A bit cluttered, but functional."

"Do you paint?" Regan asks.

"Not much.... I do appreciate it, however. I have a small collection."

"Anyone good?" Regan asks, "Or is it all the same ol' shit that everyone thinks makes them 'cultured'?"

"I suppose that depends on your taste, now, doesn't it?"

"Well, what's your tastes then?" Regan asks.

"Oh, you know. Goya, Rubens, Caravaggio..."

"Christ, you have the taste of the stuffiest white dude ever," Regan says, "You should check out Analia Saban or Gene Beery. They're complete geniuses."

"I don't see what race has to do with it..."

"Of course you don't," Regan says, "You could paint if you want to, but you don't. You just collect other people's art."

"It's the same thing," Regan says bitterly.

"...I beg your pardon?"

"I'm saying check your privilege," Regan says.

"Check my...when did that enter into anything?"

"When you were born," Regan says, snapping her fingers, "Ice burn, cis-scum."

"Right. Good day," Tommy said, walking out.

Before Tommy quite leaves, Regan calls out.

"Wait."

"...Could you help me with something?"

"I believe you'll find me, and quite a few other people around here, a bit too wise to fall for that trick. Good day."

Regan sighs, "I'm sorry I made fun of you."

"Now, please," Regan says pathetically, "It will only take a second."

"Sorry, you must think I'm a pretty big fool," Tommy said, as he left.

After Tommy left, Regan looked forlornly at the paints.

"Damn it," Regan muttered, finally drifting through the floor and leaving as well.