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the very basics

Dawson sat the toolbox on the table in the common room and began to lay out the items within out. He then took several more out from the pouches at his belt, and when that was done he started to group them. Wide gouge, detail knife, sliding bevel, needle nose pliers, utility knife...

"Really only got basic stuff," he told Chance. "Can't go 'round buyin' tools yet, so I just borrow those fer now. 'Course, that's assumin' ya wanna learn carpentry; kinda hard, really, I ain' a master at it r' nothin'..." He patted the bag slung around his shoulder. "Still learnin'. More a arts n' crafts guy, heh, handmade leather bracelets n' s**t. Not sure what ya wanted t'do first, but I figured I'd show off some a'the goods."

pen and paper


"Can I draw you?"

He was standing in Dawson's doorway, looking as cheerful as ever, though slightly more pained than usual, thanks to his stint in the infirmary, and was a little slumped over, rather than straight up. Still, Chance was beaming at the other man, a sketchpad held loosely under one arm.

"Just for fun," he added lightly. "I think you'd be fun to draw."

pen and paper

"Me?" Like there was someone else Chance could pick out. Dawson beamed and got up from the beanbag chairs with a grunt, smoothing out his shirt (TRUST ME I'M A JEDI) and fixing his hat. "Not sure how fun a circle's gonna be, but! I did grow this out some more!"

He excitedly patted his chin, where his facial hair had begun to sprout beyond its Shaggy sparseness.

"So you gotta update this one," he added, gesturing to the drawing Chance had given him for Christmas. It was currently hanging on the wall via tape and by his other movie posters.

Dawson paused when he remembered what he had read earlier that day, however, and he gave the Sun a quizzical look. "Ain' you s'posed t'be recoverin'?"

pen and paper


"Yes, you," said Chance, with a hint of amusement to his voice. "Drawing doesn't exactly mean I get to focus on only certain body types, Shaggy, I like to think that all bodies are interesting in one way or another. You've got a good face, and your personality is engaging - and yes, a circle will be fun - so that makes you a prime candidate for my next sketch."

He hid a smile. "It looks good," he said, in reference to the scruff. "I was never able to grow much myself, I tried once to do a little goatee but I just wound up looking like a warped version of Santa, so I gave up on that really quickly."

The fact that Dawson had put his drawing on the wall gave Chance a small surge of pleasure, oddly enough. He wasn't exactly self-conscious about the sketches, but he in no way saw himself as even close to being professional in any way, shape, or form; so the idea that someone thought highly enough of what he did to hang it up was a little satisfying.

He smiled winningly at Dawson.

"I am recovered," Chance answered grandly, which was true in at least one respect. Maybe not in the respect that Dawson meant, but still.

pen and paper

"Goin' by yer Twitter, ya prolly'd think bigfoot's crap's innerestin', too," he said with amused and sincere, if not blunt, affection.

He waved Chance in and began kicking things out of the way. While he highly doubted his opinion just for the sake of being a worrywart, if Chance didn't look like he was going to fall over, he wasn't going to harass the guy. Dawson's room wasn't so much messy as it was clustered with things (if you asked him, there was a method to the madness). Most of the floorspace was taken up by blankets, pillows, and beanbag chairs, things to try and make the otherwise dim and depressing basement room seem homely. He'd recently replaced his lightbulb in the one lamp occupying the space at present, and it was certainly bright enough to compensate.

"I gotta strike a pose 'r somethin'?" he asked as he picked up a RC truck with the Georgian flad and placed it on the shelf, laughing to himself. And then with a striking lack of his accent at all: "Paint me like one of your French girls."

pen and paper


Chance laughed. "I think a lot of things are interesting," he answered with a wink. "Bigfoot isn't really my suit, but it definitely is up there in things that make me curious, if anyone's actually keeping track."

He stepped into the room and glanced around, his eyes touching upon the blankets, the beanbag chairs, the light that made it just a little bit more bright than the other dim basement rooms. It wasn't much, but it was very Dawson, and this made Chance smile as he took a seat in one of the beanbag chairs, sketchpad on his lap.

"I absolutely will paint you like a French girl," Chance deadpanned. "But no, really, sit yourself comfortably, however you want, whatever you think is a pose that's very you."

pen and paper

"Hah, yer like some kinda Pooh Bear Alice mashup. Stickin' yer nose in goin'," falsetto British accent, "curiouser and curiouser, n' then when yer a** gets stuck ya go," in that muffled, dopey tone, "oh bother." Dawson then proceeded to cackle because he was clearly a comedic genius.

Chance was subjected to treated to several equally hilarious poses, including one that involved him mimicking Baby Brent from the Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie as it refused to be linked from the phone.

Eventually Dawson settled down long enough to sit against the wall cross legged, where he turned thoughtful and tugged at his hat. "How long ya need me t'sit for?" he asked. "I, uh, really don' got like a serious pose or anythin'."

the very basics


Look, Dawson, he just thought he'd offer just in case.

"I think I got the country boy part," said Chance dryly, amusement lacing his voice. "But what exactly is a yank, I think I've heard that term before, and I never really understood what it meant..."

He trailed off because Dawson was starting to leave and they'd only just started. Chance stared at him for half a second and then laughed, easing himself up and falling into step beside the other."

"What kind of food is that, may I ask?"