Welcome to Gaia! ::

A few thudding footsteps and a muffled cry of "Freddieeee," later, Dawson opened the door. He was wearing an old shirt with several paint stains and had a stiff brush in hand. Several swatches could be seen on the wall. "'Sup, Sun Brother," he greeted him buoyantly. "Wasn' 'spectin' ya down here. Y'need somethin'?"

"Kinda! Uh, not a bad time I mean, the paintin' part. Tryin' t'see if paint'll even take, some a'this place way too damn rusty..."

He paused at the question, tilting his head as he calculated how much money he had again versus how much leave. This and that....and those...well if he...Wait Chance said eat off island—

"Hell yeah, man!" Dawson cheered. "Never pass up a chance t'eat with a buddy. Hold on..."

He ambled over to the pile of clothes that counted for his closet, dug around, and slipped on a grey hoodie to zip over his shirt. There! Totally presentable!

"Awright." He slapped his hands together. "Where ya thinkin'?"

Dawson mmm'd in agreement, though he knew something bright was pretty much out of the question down here. Sigh.

"Boston, hehe. Pahk the cah, dwoll. s**t, bruh, most exotic place I been is Cheesecake Factory," he said with a laugh as he followed Chance. "With two floors n' everythin'! Cain't even imagine goin' to another country." Well, that was a lie, but not the point. "I'll go wherever ya want, pal, I ain' picky. Unless it's like...puffer fish maybe. s**t gets ya poisoned."

"Tha's fifty percent too much. You Asian people're crazy, hah."

Dawson lumbered up and licked his lips at the thought of take home food. Except— "Nah, I'll prolly just eat it all right then n'there," he said as they scaled the stairs. It was his turn to hold the door open when they reached the top. "Don' got a fridge down here, n' I don' trust the honor system here no more fer the one in the common room. Half afraid people touch it fer science r' some s**t."

His poor poor food.

"So what kinda food we talkin'?" Dawson asked eagerly. "Never went above the Mason-Dixon line. Ya'll seriously call soda pop up there?"

Dawson stuck his tongue out in return before made a dubious noise when Chance suggested leaving his food with someone else. "Snacks, maybe. We'll see how we feel afterwards. I'd trust one a'ya'll t'keel my stuff," he said, "but I don' trust people." Food was Important, especially when paid for and especially when it required using leave time. He also didn't want to stuff America's fridge, especially with Kostya getting more than enough food stocked.

"You n' yer damn gutter mind." He laughed as they made their way to the lighthouse. "Crab meat's awesome. Blue crab cakes, that's what Mama used t'make fer real special occasions. Better than lobster anyway. Lobster's expensive too but tastes fer s**t without butter n' sauce, s'like what's the point..." Chance was treated to a small rant about the differences between the shrimp cooking styles next, filled with gesticulations and, with only several threads thing them together, a passionate argument for why Popeyes was great but not his favorite place for fried seafood since it was all commercialized anyway, like a Louisiana McDonalds but with a hell of lot more breading. And dear lord, the ribs talk...

"Pleasing to your palate. Heeeeeell yeah!" Chance had spent enough time with him to notice that he sometimes mimicked words or phrases as best he could in tone and pitch; that one happened to catch his eye. "N' I trust ya just fine," he added with a great sniff. "I trust ya t'make the dirty joke I'm tryin' t'avoid, hah!"

Past the portal and into Boston proper, Dawson took a few steps forward and took a deep breath of the place. It struck him funny how different the air smelled than it did back home. "So wait, you ever been here before?" he asked. "Or didja read about it in one a'yer books? 'Cause if it's yer first time here too, maybe we should get a map..."

"Neeeeerrrrrrrd," he said with a nudge back and a wide grin, as clearly reading about a place without having been there automatically labeled Chance as such. "All that sounds good, though. Let's see..."

They could wander around aimlessly, or they could check Google. The beauty of the limitless 3G off island was more fresh air than the actual fresh air itself. He scrolled about as they walked at a leisurely pace, reading things off at random and looking up only when Chance pointed something out. He was fascinated by what was around them, sure, but he was also very, very interested in getting food.

"Neptune Oyster on Salem Street...Aw s**t, three dollar signs, s'that mean it's real expensive? This one's got three too, Atlantic Fish Company...Well that don' sound like a restaurant, sounds more like a, well, shipping company." Dawson snickered at his stealth pun. "S'got a sidewalk patio, though. Ooo, Island Creek Oyster Bar! Think it's closer than Neptune's if y'want booze t'go with the fish..."