"I don't care if they do or not," is Pyotr's answer, more sharp than he'd meant it to be. He gives Daniil a sheepish smile, explaining, "That is, I'm done with buildings. It's over, there's nothing more to say."

His own preference would be to simply stay at the inn drinking himself into a stupor, but...he's going to need to get more money from somewhere, as his tolerance exceeds the limits of the stipend. Fuck...

"I guess...I could make a few paintings to sell..." he suggests doubtful. Daniil should know the reason why; Pyotr's artistic output is not known for its 'commercial appeal.'