HIATUS | SHE, CREATOR.

“ yeees, but no-- ” two, three, four strides onward to the right brings her feet to a halt in front of the outline of a worn out, tired messenger bag in a converse-like fabric. she bends over and hooks a thumb and a finger through the belt-like over-the-shoulder-strap and fishes it out from the pile. 

“ i have a better tool in mind. i guess. ” clary announces with a serious expression and turns counterclockwise towards mal as she fishes a box out. it’s not so much a box as it is a minor canvas and proof of an artistic yet bored mind. littered with all kinds of doodles and creations in colours and shades. clary sighs, running a quick thumb across the dents it had acquired over the years of carrying it around before she pops the lid and hands it over to reveal charcoal and pastels in every combination and size. some more used than others and some completely crushed to fine powder. “ if you’re going to deface the wall, this doesn’t stain half as much. you’ll thank me when you don’t have to wash spray paint out of your hair. ” she remarks and slings the bag back down, next to her jacket.