The paintbrush sits abandoned in the pale china cup of water. Next to it charcol sticks sit in a small pile, like the remnants of a fairies bonfire. Sheets of plain watercolour paper are scattered across the desk, their off white surfaces smudged with black, grey and rainbow fingerprints.
A sketchbook sits discarded in the centre of the desk, names, catchphrases and memories scribbled on its hard grey cover. It's obvious to The Observer that this book has been well used. Next to the sketchbook sits a small cloth wallet, a curious collection of badges pinned to its surface, their slogans varying from inspiring to insulting touching on heart warming and humours in between.
A cursory glance around the room proves this desk to be an anomaly. It is curious to The Observer that while the rest of the room should be neat and ordered this desk has been left to grow wild and disorganised.
Or perhaps, The Observer amends, considering the circumstances it is only logical.
The Observer looks the room over one final time before turning the light off and shutting the door on their way out.

The Observer is so deep in thought while walking down the road, that when a car screeches to a halt it startles them mightily. The car is a sedan that is so deep blue that had it not have been stopped in bright daylight The Observer would have mistaken it for black, its windows tinted black protecting the driver and passenger privacy.
The door swings open and a gloved hand is held out. The Observer nods respectfully at whomever it belongs to, takes the leather clad hand and is pulled inside.