An artist needs its muses. Yours shows up during the warmest time of day and sunbathes on the rocks before falling into a deep slumber.

Zoro is a strange merman. He trusts you not to hurt him when he sleeps. He leaves when you’re done. You don’t chat much, aside from pleasantries on your end, and the most interest he’ll show in you is a casual glance of your finished drawings before he dives back into the ocean.

This time is different. You greet him as you pull your sketchpad from your satchel. Zoro pushes a string of shells to you bound by an old fishing line, before laying down on his stomach to feel the large surface of the warmed rocks.

“Take it.”