Hennessy has, for the moment, given up on meditation. She's bad at it, as literally anyone who's met her could have predicted, given that she quite purposefully has developed numerous strategies for ever allowing her mind to simply exist in quietude. They're so well-developed that turning them off is a fight, and it's one she's grown tired in having on this particular day.
Instead she's turned to the only thing that has ever come close to allowing her a sort of meditative state: her art. She's made a number of small sketches in a book she's brought here for that purpose, mostly of her fellow students who've since come and gone, but a few of a particularly pleasing arrangement of fruit, and one, nearly-completed, of her roommate and sometimes teacher. She's lounging on one of the sofas, putting the finishing touches on the aforementioned sketch, when she realizes she's the only student left.
"Guess you're about to kick me out, so we'll call this one done."
She tears the page from her book with the appearance of carelessness and holds it out to him, perhaps in apology for being such a relentless nuisance.
office hours (ish)
Instead she's turned to the only thing that has ever come close to allowing her a sort of meditative state: her art. She's made a number of small sketches in a book she's brought here for that purpose, mostly of her fellow students who've since come and gone, but a few of a particularly pleasing arrangement of fruit, and one, nearly-completed, of her roommate and sometimes teacher. She's lounging on one of the sofas, putting the finishing touches on the aforementioned sketch, when she realizes she's the only student left.
"Guess you're about to kick me out, so we'll call this one done."
She tears the page from her book with the appearance of carelessness and holds it out to him, perhaps in apology for being such a relentless nuisance.