floating in a tin can

[sms] I need your help with something
[sms] Do you have time tonight?

Wolfgang hasn't slept in 36 hours. Their place was starting to look like a home, not a homeless person's squat, but now the front room looks like an arts and crafts supply truck rammed into it. Miscellaneous crap litters the floor — ribbons and cardboard, bits of grass, feathers, small charms, strips of rawhide, cotton balls, herbs and bags of spices, flowers, bits of candy, stickers...

Not to mention the tornado of books, everything from picture books to enormously fat tomes. Most are fiction; a majority are fantasy or sci-fi. Many are illustrated. There's paper, too, mostly cheap lined paper, and coloured pencils, and sketches scribbled all over them.

Wolfgang is muttering to themself as they wrap a bit of twine around a small lidded box. They're seated on the floor, the eye in this craftsy storm, hair disheveled and dark circles dragging under their eyes. Their head jerks up when they feel another presence in the room, blinking rapidly, slightly unfocused. “Oh, hi. I was just working.”

... yes, that much is obvious.