Booker sat on a stump in the woods behind his Dad’s house…if you could even call it that honestly. It wasn’t too late, but it was definitely dark out. The rest of the party, to his knowledge, was asleep. He, on the other hand, hadn’t really been able to get any recently, and had snuck away a bit to just…relax in a way. It didn’t last long. So much had been going on recently. Between his Dad being in debt and much more of a bum then he remembered throughout his life, getting detained, and, the whole Wartwallow incident? Yeah it was a lot. Especially adding on the loss of his banjo which, oddly enough, was the thing bothering him most

He’d acted like he hadn’t really cared, but, then again, he knew he only did that good of a job. It was killing him. He’d that thing for…forever. Rarely let it leave his sight. And now he would never see it again. Play it again. Sure, he’d get another one…but it’d never be close to the same. It was bugging him and making him almost anxious. Usually when he was anxious he played his banjo…but that wasn’t exactly an option at the moment. So, he just sat there, alone with his thoughts

This is how you found him. Just…sitting there. Seemingly lost in thought as he tapped the stump he sat atop absently