[Yuca is sitting outside- it looks like he's dragged a kitchen chair out onto the front lawn of the church, and he's absently kicking his feet as he dips a sewing needle into the sleeve of a scrap of fabric on his lap, pulling it back out and tugging the thread taut, before going back in again. The motions go on for almost a full minute- in and
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What are you making?
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[Fuck the moon man, there is sewing to be done.]
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I see. No wonder you're awake so late.
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[He smiles at him though.]
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[PRETTY MUCH NOPE. Or, at least, he tries not to.]
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I seem to have a little bit of trouble with it, too.
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[He's not really sure, actually.]
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[That's all he knows.]
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