Gustavo Fring (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mr_fring) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2014-05-27 12:47 pm
mr_fring) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-05-27 12:47 pm
Hidden Talents [open to multiple]
[[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.]]
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.]]
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"I'm just trying to pass the time," he adds, gesturing lightly to the sketchbook, so as not to completely deny its existence.
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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."
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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."
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"There's a place back home, out in the desert, where the lights come out of Radon Canyon, just this huge gash in the earth...and at night it's so beautiful, and sometimes it's calm, almost like the northern lights? And other times it's like lightning, just dancing in the air and reflecting off the rock. My family used to drive out there all the time when I was younger and just...watch them." She sighs, thinking that perhaps this will never happen again. "It was so lovely."
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Her attachment to the place is clear. That, at least, he can understand.
"That will be difficult in a pencil sketch," he says with a vague smile, "but I can try."
He starts outlining the beginnings of a landscape. "You lived there all your life?" he asks idly.