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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He hesitates, studying the drawing. "Is he..." Well. He might not understand the meaning of "white". "His... pigmentation." Gus gestures to his own face. "Is is anything like mine, or is he... paler?"
The alien might not understand the distinction, but this will make a subtle change in the way Gus draws the facial features.
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"So," he says as he attempts to wrangle this new detail. "What do I call you?"
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He brushes eraser flakes off the page as he makes the specified alteration. "How long have you been in Manhattan, Croach?" he asks conversationally.
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He understands now why Jennifer approached him so brazenly. It can be easy to tell sometimes, easy to spot someone like yourself. Though Croach doesn't quite fit that bill. He's obvious for other reasons.
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"You were also brought through? I have met a statistically improbable amount of humans who have come through. Are there many of us?" Croach has a visible revelation. "Or a smaller amount who are being brought together?"
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"Have you settled with an organization?" he asks. He's heard some talk about the Rebels, though he knows little about them yet. Depending on Croach's response, this could get very interesting indeed.
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If Croach were affiliated with any organization, even tangentially, it would be the United Solar System Alliance, but he does not think that is what Gus means, as it does not yet exist. After several small units of time attempting to discern Gus' meaning, Croach concedes, with one brow raised, "I do not understand the question."
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Interesting. He might just be able to bring someone in.
He finishes adding the hat, or at least gives up on trying to make it look right. Art is such a finicky process. He doesn't tend care for things that are so uncertain.