DON'T MAKE IT BAD / OPEN

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]When Moon said that he believed him, a weight should have lifted off of his shoulders. Somebody other than Gabe could see that he meant it, and that was relieving. But the public's opinion doesn't begin and end with its leader's. The beliefs of two people weren't perfect, and sometimes, when people look at him like he could snap at any second or when they skirt away from him in the hallways, he wonders if they're right to be afraid of him. His memory isn't always the most reliable thing — he has hazy memories of things that weren't true, empty holes where real things should have been. The fevers, the fire, it wasn't too much of a stretch to say that he could forget violence too? A coil of fear winds up in his chest, tighter and tighter every time they look at him, a weakness so unfamiliar that he's not sure what to do with it except retreat.

The Cane Corso hasn't been inside the Observatory for a day now, and just as the last time he'd wanted to avoid that building, he's found a somewhat peaceful way to waste his time. At least out here there aren't very many people. He's on his stomach in the grass with another piece of wood between his teeth, but like the last time, his chewing isn't entirely aimless. The bark is soft and breaks easily, and after an hour of switching between this and delicate clawing, Lazarus had managed to make... a circle. Almost. A very rough, slightly pointed, slobber-covered circle. It's not violent, that's enough.