Hidden Talents [open to multiple]

[mr_fring]

[[ooc: Heyyyy remember Gus. I haven't been neglecting him on PURPOSE, it's sort of a thing that happened. Here's what he's been up to.]]


Gus barely even realizes that more than a month has gone by. Strange to think of it. He's settled into his new life reasonably well - after all it's the sort of thing he's had to do a few times before - but he still feels somewhat trapped. Not just because he is actually trapped - it's been made clear to him that he can't leave the island, for whatever reason - but because his life now is so much more insular than it had been. He's all but avoided meeting people, perhaps finding his predicament too tenuous to bother with it. But it really has been over a month now, and he's grown into a routine. Working, meeting with Cecil to discuss broadcasts, occasional dinners. He rarely takes time for himself.

Today, though, restlessness drives him out. He doesn't seek company; he doesn't want to crowd Cecil. Things must be taken slowly. Cecil's still showing a strong attachment to his old life, and the arrival of Dana has not helped matters any. If Gus wants to get any closer to him - which he does, and not entirely for noble reasons - he's going to have to move with slow, perfect precision.

So instead he strolls about the city. It's easy enough to lose himself for periods of time, though it's not a great comfort. Everything is still relatively foreign, and he's never been particularly attracted to the Manhattan lifestyle. Before too long, wandering makes him feel as restless as when he'd been sitting in his apartment. He has to do something.

This is how, after coming up with no good alternatives, he finds himself seated on a bench in a reasonably well-trafficked part of the Central Park, balancing a large, freshly purchased sketchbook on his knee. He used to have a mildly artistic flair, and though he feels a bit foolish doing this in public, it feels good to practice that again with no pressure. There's also something oddly safe in it. Here, no one knows him; and it does have a certain benefit. It makes him seem trustworthy, for whatever reason. It's only after the first few tourists ask him if he's taking commissions that he realizes there's no reason to say no. People will sit with him while he works, and will make conversation. Talking openly, thinking he's just some random stranger. Nothing wrong with that. He goes so far as to invite questions, drawing up a little sign soliciting requests. Let's see where this gets him.


[[ooc: Gus will DRAW YOU SOMETHING and he'll also casually ask you questions about your secrets if he thinks you're interesting. Have at it.]]

Comments

[bagropa]

Croach, having recently acquired fresh baked goods from Sunshine, is returning to Central Park to scout a potential, permanent home. He saw several promising spots during his outing four days previous, including one cave that is possibly, but not probably, inhabited. He plans to go there and see if anyone has visited it since he checked the day before - if not, the supplies therein would be useful to him. If it is occupied... well, he possess baked goods with which to barter.

He travels by the more open pathways, mostly because they are easier to navigate. He has found that if he 'acts natural', the humans will assume he is a human in a costume, which is apparently common in the city. Still, when approached, inevitably, for a picture, he worries that harm will come to him, and there is no marshal present to champion for his rights.

He turns away from a photograph with a young female (who had greeted him with an unfamiliar hand gesture and effusively praised his 'Andorian' costume) and spots an older male engaging in, upon closer inspection as he approaches, the activity of 'sketching'. Croach parses the displayed sign for several short units of time, then asks, "Query. Do you require remuneration for your labor?"

[mr_fring]

In between periodic requests, Gus has been focusing on a sketch of the scenery before him, so he's looking fixedly at the page when he's addressed by a man with an impressive voice.

"No, no," he says, smiling automatically, as he looks up. "I-"

He stops short, stalls out for several long seconds as he stares up at the shortish, blue creature standing expectantly before him. He notices, peripherally, several passersby glancing uncertainly, while most of the rest ignore them entirely, as is the wont of most lifelong New Yorkers.

Gus closes his mouth after a moment, forces the smile back out, and tilts his head in polite bewilderment. "I... am happy to do it," he says. "It's only a hobby." He flips to a new page, attempting very cautiously not to stare. Is this a costume? He's just not sure. It seems much too realistic for that - the way the light interacts with the creature's skin and eyes, the way its antennae move - but what's the alternative? For a moment he seems familiar, though Gus can't possibly place when they might have met. He certainly would have remembered, wouldn't he?

"Do you... have a request?" he asks, a bit dubious.

[bagropa]

Ugh, humans, so rude, you do not need to stare at Croach simply because he is different. Croach stands stalwart under the scrutiny, although his left antenna twitches. He tries to ascertain the dynamic of onus in regard to something undertaken for fun and whimsy and comes up short. Were Barlok the Wise present, he would undoubtedly chide Croach and remind him that he would be under onus to the human male for any effort put into any trade on Croach's behalf. But Barlok the Wise is not present (thankfully, as he would be displeased to find Croach imagining), and Croach does possess goods with which to barter, should the need arise.

He does not consider the stranger's question long; he has been considering a similar prospect since meeting the human designated Peeta. "Yes," he answers, sounding similarly unsure, "although I do not possess an image from which you might produce a likeness."

[mr_fring]

"All right," says Gus slowly, fidgeting with the pencil and taking steps now to avoid eye contact. He's not sure why he enabled this interaction further, but it's too late now. Best to push through this and chalk it up to a bizarre New York and/or Rift-borne experience. And he still might get something interesting out of it. "You could try to describe it, if you like."

[bagropa]

"I... am not certain how," Croach admits, brow furrowed, partly because he is not sure how humans describe each other - with overuse of metaphor and strange comparisons, most likely. It is much easier within Croach's tribe, where one need only describe a name and designation. Perhaps that is a good place to start. "He is a marshal," Croach explains. "An agent of law enforcement. He is human." Humans, they all look the same, right? A pause. Croach frowns. "Is that enough? That is not enough."

[mr_fring]

Gus draws a slow breath, attempting to take this well. "Human," he echoes. "Well that narrows the field." He tilts his head up to give the apparent actual alien (why is this happening to him) his patented thin smile. Inviting the creature to sit will maximize the amount of attention he draws, which is not entirely what he wants, but the certainty that this is someone who'd come through the Rift keeps him just intrigued enough to bother.

"You're right though, I may need more," he says. "Would you care to sit?"

[bagropa]

He is blending in so well with the humans, you do not even possess the knowledge. "Thank you," Croach says amiably, sounding somewhat surprised, sitting on the bench a respectable distance away from the stranger. This affords him slightly more time to consider how best to describe Sparks Nevada. "Shall I describe the skeletal structure of his face? With no common reference, it is difficult. He possesses... clothing. And... weapons. Dissimilar to my own." He also possesses a face resembling a butt. So attempt to sketch that, human stranger.

[mr_fring]

Gus represses a sigh and sets about sketching a generic base layer for a portrait. This entire encounter is going to require every ounce of his not insignificant talent for composure, improvisation, and social grace.

"Structure isn't a bad place to start," he murmurs. Absurdly literal phraseology aside, he does tend toward the highly technical in his drawing style. In any case, the colloquialisms (or total lack thereof) are easy enough to match. "My face is quite thin. How do his features differ from mine?" He feels almost like he's teaching a crash course in understanding the intricacies of human appearance. Or like he's about to create a composite sketch for a witness to a crime.

[bagropa]

Croach observes the stranger - and thinks, for one short unit of time, that he is familiar, though that is highly improbable - as he attempts to ascertain the differences. Seriously, humans, how do you tell them apart. "His forehead is larger," Croach declares at length, "and more square." Also, a butt. "His mouth is thinner. And he is younger." He thinks. He is not the best at approximating human age. "Do you also sketch for fun and relaxation?"

[interndana]

Dana has the afternoon off, and has spent a few hours antiquing (good-sized bloodstones are a lot harder to come by in Manhattan than Night Vale, but she's keeping an eye out since they'd make a good present for Cecil). Now she's wandering the park for a bit of fresh air, carrying a bag full of quilt fabric and one very well-seasoned little cast iron skillet (such a great deal!), when she spots a familiar figure on a park bench.

She approaches, a little bewildered to see that the man is indeed who she thinks he is, and also that he appears to be sketching. Of all things!

Dana clears her throat politely. "Mr Fring?"

[mr_fring]

Well, what are the odds. "Dana," he says with practiced warmth, offering her a thin smile. "So nice to see you. Small world, I suppose."

He shuts the sketchbook and sets the pencil down, refusing to acknowledge it. He is not thrilled to have anyone he actually knows see him engaging in such a frivolous pasttime. Much less Dana. Dana's trouble. He could tell almost immediately.

"Shopping?" he inquires, nodding to her bag.

[interndana]

Dana shrugs. "Oh, I just picked up a few things, thrift shopping, you know. I'm trying to make my space feel a little more like home. It's...I feel like it's important to try and have little comforts since I'm here for...however long." She tries to smile, maintain a positive attitude in the face of spatial-temporal uncertainty. She looks at the sketchbook but pointedly does not ask if Gus is doing the same thing in his own way, since it's clear he doesn't want to talk about it.

[mr_fring]

"I understand," says Gus, because he does. He is hesitant, however, given what he's learned of her home universe from Cecil, to know what these "comforts" might be.

"I'm just trying to pass the time," he adds, gesturing lightly to the sketchbook, so as not to completely deny its existence.

[interndana]

Dana's comforts are totally normal, thank you very much. A bit of crafting, a bit of cookery, the occasional netflix binge, collecting signatures for tarantula education propositions, that sort of thing.

She nods in understanding. "It looks like you're taking requests?" she asks, noticing the little sign. "That seems like a good way to get to know people."

[mr_fring]

"It has been interesting," Gus acknowledges, nodding at the sign. She's still eyeing the sketchbook. There may be no way to gracefully extricate himself from this. He represses a sigh. "Do you have a request?"

[interndana]

Dana chooses to take the question in good faith, an indication that Gus wants to get to know her. Which is a nice thing that polite, friendly people do, and also a thing that people with ulterior motives do, but Gus comes off as pleasant and harmless. "I suppose so, if you're interested," she agrees.

She sits down on the bench, hooking the bag over one knee. "Hmm," Dana says, and looks up at the trees. "I'd have to think about it, of course, but someplace back in Night Vale, maybe? I could describe it for you."

[mr_fring]

"I'd be happy to try." Gus is curious to know more about Night Vale, if guardedly so. He brushes his hand across a new page and glances at her, waiting for a description.

[has_a_horn]

A short man with a small panting dog on a leash smiles and sits down beside Gus. It's only after he's sat down that he notices the sign, but he's not going to let an opportunity go to waste. He straightens his posture and looks forward, offering Gus his profile. "Don't worry about getting my good side. I'm good from every angle."

[mr_fring]

Gus can't help but chuckle at the bold manner of introduction. He flips to a new page obligingly and starts to sketch, glancing repeatedly at the man.

"Indeed," he agrees. He has a very pleasant face, handsome with striking features - there's something unusual in it, challenging to capture, perhaps, but Gus is keen to try. "I'm afraid this won't be a professional effort," he feels compelled to add. "I'll bet you're popular among artists."

[has_a_horn]

You could say that he's popular with artists, but not so much his face as his reputation. There aren't any paintings of Gabriel the Archangel that actually look like him. Still, he takes Gus' statement as a compliment. "Not as many as you might think." Scout circles around a few times before lying down, his head resting against Gabriel's boot.

He smirks just a little, still schooling his expression for the portrait. "Unless you count providing canvas." He turns his left arm over, revealing a simple depiction of a branch tattooed onto the inside of his forearm. Johnny had given it to him not long ago as a sort of prelude to the larger piece he's been designing.

[mr_fring]

Gus "hmms" appreciatively at the tattoo, though he's not a great judge of that type of art. "I'd say that counts. Is that your design?"

Apart from stray glances for reference, he focuses on the sketch for now, not wanting to look too closely. There is something inherently attractive about this man, not just his looks - much, much more than that. He attracts like a magnet. There's an inherent likeability and charisma that Gus recognizes. It's intriguing, but there's something dangerous in it too; he knows that from experience.

[has_a_horn]

"No. My resident artist." He does smile now, fondness clear enough to know that the person he's talking about is at least a friend. "He appreciates the practice and I appreciate the art."

"If you're not a professional artist..." He leaves room for a name if the other man wants to provide it. "How do you usually spend your time?"

[mr_fring]

Gus raises an eyebrow at the phrase resident artist, not to mention the possessive - wondering what exactly the implication is. It reminds Gus a little of the way he thought of Gale, his "resident chemist." This might be someone under his care, in his employ, or it might be a lover.

He passes this curiosity by, however. To pry would feel childish, at this stage. "I'm afraid that's not very interesting," he says instead. "I work, mostly. A business man." He allows himself an almost apologetic smile. "Everything the cliche implies."

[has_a_horn]

"What does it imply?" Gabriel muses, not letting the guy get by with that broad of a generalization. "Not a lack of creativity, or you wouldn't be drawing a handsome man in the park. A yen for filing and organizational charts?"

[mr_fring]

Gus smiles thinly at him. This one is smart. Doesn't miss a trick. He'll have to be careful.

"Only that I give vague answers," he says coolly, and resumes drawing. "I'm afraid my creativity is rather dulled. Tell me about you."