Somewhere in the trees, not too far in but not so close that he's too easily seen or interrupted, there is a Lucio. He's up to his usual, really, his usual being screen testing, and that would be what makes him relatively easy to find. Approximately every five to ten minutes for the past three hours there have been the sounds of minor explosions. If one were to come in to where he's working, one would see a very small clearing strewn with blood and gore and assorted body parts. Off to one side is a set of boxes containing the tools of his trade, including but not limited to make-up, prosthetics and a pyrotechnical kit that just barely manages to remain at a level that doesn't require him to bother with licensing. He's got licensed teams to do the big booms on the projects he works with and he's just been too lazy to go through the hassle.

At the moment, near the center of the clearing, Lucio is to be found covered in the same gunk that's all over the ground and trees. He doesn't seem to notice it at all, really, aside from the chunk of brains that he absently pulls out of his hair. He's sitting on the chest of a recently decapitated dummy, sketchbook on one knee, pencil in his mouth and camera in his hand as he rewatches the latest test.

Anyone who would like to visit with the crazed filmmaker is welcome to do so.