2020-05-15 - Beach Boys

Grant has been threatening Vyv that he's going to do it. He meant it and now? Now shit just got real.

For a few months now Vyv's vociferous vandal of evocative invocations of revivified visual art has promised to make him try his hand at painting, drawing and anything. To do this he opted to drag Vyv out of his comfort zone but invited him to bring it with him in so much as saying: I'll bring all the supplies, you take care of lunch because I apparently have a cupboard of 'not food, how can you ingest that!?' and it'll be fun.

As if hearkening back to their first discussion they're hitting the beach. The air is warm even if the water is still cold, but it is fluid hitting solid; motion meeting stillness, and the abstract careening into the concrete. A place of balance...now covered with a blanket because no one wants sand in their food.

Hardboard lap easels are the way to go for these times. A sort of oversized clipboard for a drawing pad with a rubber band around the bottom to keep one's page from flapping and an assortment of pastels and pencils at hand to use whatever strikes them.

Vyv has allowed himself to be talked into this, not that it took all that much work. He just likes to see an effort being made. And he has, of course, agreed to the division of labour, because if Grant were to bring, say, pop-tarts, he could not be blamed for anything that might ensue. But it still wouldn't likely lend itself to a good picnic.

And he apparently takes this picnic thing seriously, because as it turns out he owns and has brought an actual full-on wicker picnic hamper, suitcase-style, with its own big plaid blanket that's high-quality wool on the top side, water-resistant backing on the bottom, and slightly weighted corners. He's dressed down, too! Or at least, he's not wearing a suit per se. Instead, he's in a blazer of warm orange over a blue gingham shirt, tucked into a pair of chinos the shade of his beloved French butter, and undone at the neck, with no tie. The pocket square's there, though, a silk paisley thing incorporating all the other colours and hints of coral. All the other accessories are brown leather -- simple knot cuffllinks, the band of that slim rectangular watch he often wears, the belt, and penny loafers, without socks. And, at present, tortoiseshell sunglasses with a gentle violet-to-pink gradient in the tint that picks up shades in the paisley... and which one could argue means he's literally wearing rose-coloured glasses, for once.

He's got the blanket properly spread, part of which involved instructing Bax to pull that corner over there a few times, and is currently settling himself in to colonize a spot with a good view of the ocean, room in front of him to set the waiting hamper, and room next to him for Bax to claim. "All right," he says, leaning back on a hand, "eat first or art first?" Grant gets a vote!

pull that corner over there... "You know we're going to sit on the thing?" Grant has to ask. One can bank their paycheck that he doesn't make his damn bed either. Still, there is an effort that is made here and the lack of a vest (gasp!) is noted. In Vyvlish he's learned this is the cat equivalent of deciding to be in the same room as someone; it's a certain level of comfortable not to be taken lightly.

Col. Crotchbiter (He didn't choose his battle name, the Veil life chose him, okay?) watches finding a seat and putting the inevitable divot in the lovely square that will get mussed up and crumbed on. There's a grin that is not subdued, "You really outdid yourself and you're not creating a Mayan cooking pit out here on the beach to do it. You have no idea how proud I am of your creativity and restraint right now." It'd be more funny if that wasn't so on the nose true. Considering the options he says, "You can't rush cooking or art.. but the cooking is done. Food and figure out what you might be moved to doodle. If you use the pastels and charcoal though you liiiikely won't want to also be handing your food. Soooo, food first?"

My roomie and I might be doing a trip to the other side to go get do some stuff spelunking if you want to go. I mean... I'd assume you might not like my buds, but you haven't pushed Corey into an oven and baked him like a cookie yet, so... "

"I also know we're going to be hungry, dirty, and wearing something else by midnight, but we're still eating, bathed, and clothed," Vyv retorts crisply. And yes, he does make his damn bed. Of course. Neatly. Every day, unless he's somewhere it's someone else's job. "There's no excuse to half-ass things unless, I suppose, one has a particularly unattractive ass." A brow arches as he watches Grant settle as well, one corner of his mouth twitching upward as he adds, "And yours isn't half bad." A flicker of a glance to the cargo shorts, "...not that you're doing it any favours."

That grin gets a small smile in return, and a breath of a laugh at what he isn't doing. "Mayan cuisine has never been my speciality," he says, as though that were the only reason he isn't even now constructing a large stone-lined pit. A slight nose-wrinkle at the implication of what pastels and charcoal are likely to do to his hands, and he nods. (These may not end up his media of choice regardless.) "Food first," he agrees, and leans forward to draw the hamper nearer and unbuckle its leather straps.

Inside it has proper steel silverware and gilt-edged white china plates, held neatly in place on the lid by more leather straps. There's a smaller wicker carrier in there with tea cups and what appear to be cut crystal champagne glasses, too. White fabric napkins, a tiny salt and pepper shaker set, and he hasn't yet gotten to the food itself, which appears to be in tidy little tupperware-like boxes. He sets out plates and napkins and cutlery, first, paying only half attention to that at most, as he's looking at Bax again, head cocked.

"Spelunking?" he echoes, curious. "In Veil caves?" As for the rest of it, he points out, "Corey has talent, enthusiasm, and drive. I'm not certain he ought to be taken as probative." Another little twitch of his lips, glancing sidelong at the skater from where he's looked back to his work a moment. "Talent can answer for a lot." The barest hint of teasing in that tone. "But... it might be interesting. And I don't know anything much about your roommate."

The 3.5 star critique (points removed for style and presentation)) of his tuchas is met with a smile of pride and a nod. The guy can steal anything smaller than a football including compliments. His Vyvlish is proficient enough that it might be a higher comment that the guy didn't get stuck on his hate for cargo shorts and write the rest off. That's some quality, yo.

He watches the presentation as it unfolds; Vyv's attention in service and details rather than more conventional expression. As the things are pulled out Bax waves a hand for him to stop, points at the plate, finger spells it, makes the sign and points to it and then Vyv like No, you do it The sign instructs <"You try. You.'> Small emphasis and encouragement. This happens for all of the things. Does he expect him to remember? No, but he might switch his hearing aides off on Vyv to force him to practice, not that it takes much encouragement. For as much as the guy is disgusted with the world there's a love for discovery Grant is absolutely on board with.

<Lucky me. You look past my offense. Don't tell me you just love me for talent. I put a lot of work into all my not-important qualities too!> Some of the signs that are new are signed, then finger spelled through the boast and mock scoffing. <'I really appreciate this. You put a lot of work on this. I thought this place? Cool. Balance. Water, earth. Movement, still things. Good place for us. To draw. To be, yeah?'> Still the food is waited for and before it's all down tries to pick at it.

Concerning Greg? There's a faint wry grin that hangs that widens slightly. <'Greg? Is awesome. He's great at business, people, and being awesome. We go. Be super heroes. Try to find cool shit. Help people.'> Looking up he studied Vyv's face carefully, and shares in earnest with a slight pause of his fingers, <'He really helped me try new things and not be afraid of what we can do, ya know?'>

They don't need stealing, they're freely given! Mostly given wrapped up in caveats and misdirection, okay, but still given, right? ...yeah, okay, it definitely helps to develop some proficiency in Vyvlish. And cargo shorts are awful.

It's only fair Vyv attempt to develop some proficiency in Grantish in return, and he's not doing too terribly at the ASL portions of that, so far. "I can't do this and arrange lunch, you know," he replies, in both fluent English and awkward sign, but he mirrors the demonstrated sign all the same. And the next one, and the one after that, repeating earlier ones as they go to ensure he's got them down for at least the time being. It slows down the unpacking considerably, particularly since he also has to be looking to interpret what's said silently, and there is a touch of impatience that builds from that. Still, the appreciation and the explanation of the choice of venue get another small but genuine smile.

«Thank you,» he signs in reply, and promptly smacks the back of Grant's hand as it creeps toward picking at the food. "Patience," he says, signed as «Wait,» and goes back to sharing things out. There's enough for seconds, potentially, but first he's going to plate things the way he wants them, thank you. There's deviled eggs, pickled with beet juice that dyes them a deep magenta that makes a pretty ombre through the white toward the pretty star of mashed yolk in the center; a salad of cucumber and melons and marinated onions, goat cheese crumbled on top; tart slices of green apple; and an individual pie, chunky and golden brown and about the size of the palm of a hand. One of the lap easels is commandeered for a proper solid surface, and two of the crystal glasses are set on it and filled from a swiftly shaken thermos with something slightly cloudy and very pale green. "It does seem... appropriate," he says as he works, only aloud this time, "and it would be a shame to waste the pleasant weather, in any case. Yes. It's a good place to be."

The information about Greg is quietly digested. "We're not super heroes, though. Invincible and the like." He doesn't know how to sign much of that, but he's getting better at the finger-spelling. "I suppose helping people isn't the worst aim." Though he generally has other things to do. Finding cool shit, on the other hand... And there's that earnest sharing, which is also turned over in his mind for a moment or two. "Well. That's good." He finishes the last of the food-arranging (there appears to still be some more in the hamper that hasn't come out yet) and settles back, making a 'NOW you can eat' sort of gesture toward the plates. A bit more of a pause. «Have you said him things about me?»

Cargo shorts are useful so you don't lose your keys and phone on the vert! His hand gets shook out as he pulls it back. Stings! dude... how dare you defend your property. Yeesh. He really can't fault him. God the food just keeps showing up don't it? Can he name half of it? Probably not. can he tell a goat cheese from a sheepie cheese or a cow cheese? Maybe after eating it if he didn't inhale it first.

And dig in he will. Brown eyes scan the horizon before tilting his head and looking at Vyv like he's suddenly an alien being. <'Of course'> He blinks at the iron chef with the sometimes fragile ego and relaxes the smile, eyebrow arching a bit and he speaks with the signing. "You helped me start a revolution. You're also one of the most bad ass people I know. OF course i mentioned you. And it came up that you might be able to figure out the chemistry to make the world's perfectly balanced pot brownie. Seriously, it would make you a hero to all east of Sycamore." His head wobbles a bit considering the rest, <'Telling your story is fun, you there? Better.'>

Hideous. There must be a better way. And frankly Grant is just lucky he got smacked with a hand and not a spoon or similar! The food will be defended until its time has come. At which point, there's might more likely be hand-smacks for not eating it. Vyv claims his own plate, spreading one of the napkins across his legs and, instead of immediately digging in himself, watches to see how the meal goes down. The pie, when bitten, is cool and filled with spiced pork and aspic.

That 'alien' look gets a perhaps automatic brow-arch in return, a sort of vaguely challenging look of 'yes?' that has probably done him decent service over the years, warding off people and approaches he doesn't wish to deal with. It eases into a faint smile, glancing over to the glasses as Bax answers -- at least, some of the spoken portion. It is fairly likely that he hasn't previously been characterised by anyone as 'bad ass' per se, and that spreads the little smile a little further, before it's hidden behind the lifted glass as he takes a sip. Cucumber lemon drop, that's what the drink's called, cold and fresh and clean and definitely Drinking In Public, but shh, just don't tell. The smile stretches further to one side as he draws the glass away again, and he looks sidelong at the skater. "My pot brownies are, in fact, fabulous."

Grant helps himself, but really how can he not. There's a pause, full stop, where he looks up, blinks, and asks, "Just the pot brownies?" He blinks considering this. After a moment he offers objectively with a shrug and goes back to cutting his food with a fork. "I mean I wouldn't have stopped there given your everything is pretty fabulous, buuuut..." He shrugs casually but throw out that compliment like a curve ball. He's trying not to smile and doing an alright job of it but the rest of his body language is too pleased with himself.

Still the concept along is enough to bring a wistful smile to his face and is, clearly, thinking about those brownies and all possibilities of this. With all genuine esteem and affection he informs, "You would be a local hero to a whole new group of people, V." Words spoken and signed stop as he bites into the pie pausing to savor every flavor rather than inhale it. It's a learned trait not to inhale his food and otherwise scarf it down though he'd rather, but really it'd be not the greatest compliment. While flattering the details are put there for a reason and he respects them. Better than someone saying ah yeah, that's nice or I like it but never being able to say why.

"Soooo what else you try making cause lemme tell you I am highly invested in experimenting with new ideas here. But you know I'll try anything twice." Briefly he scans the water and absently adds, "Haven't been surfing in a minute. I'm not great at it but it was fun. Kinda want to go again. This makes me ask, man I know about the karaoke, and looking like you were pulled out of a GQ on any given day, and baking. What else gets you? I'm going to guess not hiking, call it a hunch.""

Vyv doesn't suppress the smile any more than he already was, letting the little not-quite-smirk remain, but he doesn't let it spread, despite subtle signs in the shift of his weight and tilt of his head that the compliment is pleasing and welcome. "Not just, but we haven't got all day," he replies by way of 'thank you', and does tuck in to what's on his own plate.

He does appreciate the restraint in taking the time to actually taste and experience the food, rather than simply hoovering it up, and it adds to the sense of his general contentment with the world, temporary as that's likely to be. "Heroism isn't really something to which I've generally aspired," he notes, "...but I suppose it's been a while. I could be induced to make a batch." A bite of the salad, and he adds, "I considered the idea of selling cannabis edibles at the shop, actually. Brownies, obviously, but cookies, chocolates, small cakes; I had a reasonable but not-yet-perfect recipe of eclairs. But the requirements and restrictions were annoying. ...even if it would have meant disallowing children in there." Everything has an upside. Still, he doesn't have to be out there dealing with them anyway.

He cuts one of the eggs with the side of his fork, making it a smaller bite. "That's a thing I rather like. The effects of various plants on the human body. Lavender, chamomile, peppermint and the like." A glance to the water himself. "I've not been surfing since I was in high school. I was fairly terrible at it. And no, I'm not a particular fan of hiking. I've done it, largely for the sake of collecting some sort of fresh ingredient, but it isn't my... thing. If I'm going to go walk around aimlessly, I prefer museums. ...and shopping, I suppose. Travel to and in places one needn't hike. Good books and terrible television. Well, not the worst sort. Making the world more beautiful and efficient. Art in all its forms." The corner of his mouth twitches up a touch. "Sex in some of its. Wordplay. Languages, I quite like those. Driving on a lovely day. Probably several other things not popping immediately to mind. You?"

Grant eats slowly contemplating how his mood is striking him which will shape what he decides to create later. All the talk of food is making him hungry while he is eating. Veritable black hole this guys' stomach is really. "You know you need help with that you have my number, right?" hint. Hint hint nudge cluebat please? At the mention of children he flaps a hand, "T Hey aren't old enough for the dispensary to have to worry about alienating as clientele so..." no real loss there.

And then the litany of things liked? Well well! This is good shit filed away for later. The admission of liking terrible TV gets a laugh while trying to chew forcing him to sign back 'Not wrong, but not bad.' In all the tally of things as if they were one he admits, "Never had sex in a museum. Ya got me there." Still, the finer points of what the list intended were not missed as he tallys up all the math.

"I think I have an idea... for something that you might dig. I like... music, nature, being surrounded by both. I like... feeling things??" His eyebrow goes up cautiously, "If that makes any sense?" He contemplated signing the rest. 'Danging. Very much like. Anything fast. I like hiking, interesting things, I like to find new things and figure out how they work. You. I do like you. Driving is good. Being out on the water. Travel even though I never really done any outside of a library.'

"Mm." A confirmation Vyv has the number, at least, not that there was any question. Possibly an agreement, but left vague enough it just might be intentional teasing.

Having not intended the things all as one, that admission gets one of those breaths of a laugh, and a distinctly amused look Grant's way. "Nor've I." A thoughtful glance off, the tines of his fork tapping once against the plate. "Arguably a gallery, once." He eats while Bax answers, brows lifting in brief, silent question regarding things he might dig, and while the question about sense gets one of his more noncommittal "Mn"s, it also gets a slight nod.

The shift to signing means he has to focus more directly, and he sets the plate down on the napkin over his leg. More slight nods, and another tiny smile at finding himself on the list, gaze dropping for scarcely the length of a blink before it's back. "Music," he agrees when Bax is done, "Technically covered by art, I suppose, but it probably deserves to be separated out. Once in a while I like dancing. I am at least slightly better at that than at surfing." As long as his hands are free, he tries to sign along with his words, though those drop out for a moment: «I like you also. Else I not here.» Aloud again, "Being out on the water is usually nice. But learning about new and interesting things, always."

In any other condition it might be a subtle nudge to push Vyv's hand into focusing just a tiny bit more. The truth, while that is nice, is that the ocean is loud and creates a lot of white noise and that is hard to pick out individual phonemes from. <'Yeah. I figured that out. I'm lucky you? Very good taste.'> Yes, yes he can boast a bit there, not that there's particularly a lot of ego per se. Perhaps in a bizarre compliment he adds, <'This is amazing. The Safeway at the corner's never had anything like this. Wow. You? Wow.'> As if to highlight how terrible his general life of instant and ready available things are. Until he hits up his dad's house for the rare latke. Because dayum.

Circling nearby are always going to be the inevitable sea birds. With a mental brush of his proverbial hand he shoos most away. One lands and takes two steps staring at the skater. He signs <'NO.'> which also looks terribly close to the hand gestures for 'bird' or to the seagull, 'feel free to bite my food. Or me. Whatever you like.'

Creeping over it wanders closer. Bax lifts his plate and signs 'NO' again and it dodges trying to get a piece of pie there. "Staaaaahp, bird. No if I feed you you'll only stay. You're as bad as I am, ask him. Shoo!"

«I amazing taste.» Grammar maybe less so. Doesn't prevent the the smirk that comes along with complimenting both of them at once. Vyv can probably handle the ego for both of them if strictly necessary. Though he might be joking. Partly. The comparison with Safeway gets a raised brow once he sorts out what that word was, but the rest, well, that's more than all right then. "I should hope not," he says by way of thank you, signed as just «I hope not,» and looks rather pleased beneath the disdain for the store.

Appreciation of his work from people is one thing. Appreciation of his work from seagulls is quite another. "Shoo," he agrees, glaring at the unwelcome visitor, "go away." There's a faint feeling of Something that has him starting to look toward Bax just as the bird dares step onto a bit of the blanket, and distracts him. "Off!" he exclaims to it, grabbing the easel that isn't acting as an ersatz table and waving it aggressively at the bird. "I've already got one stray, I'm not feeding any more."

Grant is being assailed by a seagull and losing. So many cool points sacrificed and lost this afternoon. There is a stand off for a moment between Grant and the Gull. Pulling the plate back there's another that swoops in and nearly collides with the lap board Vyv is wielding. There is one way to solve this and that's to engage in Tai Chi levels of bird shooing. Pull in your core! Big fluid circles, Bax!!

Gulls are not quiet. Bax is not quiet. The pie is only quiet because it is an inanimate object or it too might be crying Aaaaah! with the other two. There's a pause though and a laugh. He asks, "Did you just call me your stray?" with the accompanying sign for emphasis Really?! At least there's no insult taken. Hey, it's not an un-preferable state. He assures, "I actually do have both a job and an address. Just not a licence." Technically it's agreement with his prior statement but that was like two seagulls and a whole thought ago.

Vyv is relatively quiet, usually, and currently at least not adding to the 'aaah!' chorus. Instead there's an irritated counterpoint in the key of 'off' and 'go'. At the pause in half the 'aaaahs' he glances over to see why, a brief snicker escaping at the sight of that portion of the battle. The smile that comes along with it lingers, small as usual but threatening to break free. "Arrives unexpectedly, comfortable with people, keeps coming back if you feed it," he ticks off, better at keeping the amusement out of his tone than his expression just now, though there's a flicker of annoyance with that as a gull decides maybe his food is less guarded, and is lucky he was never particularly good at baseball from the way the clipboard swings its way.

It gives him an indignant squawk as it backs off slightly, and he flicks a glance from it to the other interested pair. Any moment others will start wondering what's so fascinating and they'll be mobbed! A slight tightening in his jaw, and he puts rather more focus into the next, very firm, "Shoo." They stare at him, hesitating -- staying in place, but not making any theft attempts. "Go on, go!" he adds, and this time they take off, hunting a new source of food. Victory, but for how long? There's a lot more gulls along this beach that simply haven't noticed yet. Still, Vyv looks satisfied as he lowers the clipboard again and sets it aside.

"Having no license is what gets one dragged off to the pound, though," he says, as if there hadn't been that interlude, and gives Bax an exaggeratedly speculative look, complete with tip of thumb beneath chin and index-fingertip against his lips. "Perhaps you need a collar."

Grant hides and pulls his food closer with the reasoning if it is in his mouth it will be much safer. He signs what might be a threat to put the gull on bread... or repair its satellite dish reception. It's hard to really say with one hand holding a fork. His eyes track them as they abate and then back to Vyv signing thanks but listening all the same. One eyebrow slowly arches with a faintly incredulous tone reminding, "I had one when you met me. Club night. Post-beheading. Pre-quarter?"The other eyebrow lifts joining the first like any of this ring a bell, though he signs and lets Vyv catch on as he will, <'Clearly I'll have to wear it around to remind you.'> And that declared eats his perfectly prepared posh picnic pie.

"So..." he muses, fork idly twirling, <'Aside from not being shat on by a seagull,'> signs he, <'how are you /feeling/ about this place? Make something for it. Start there.'>

Vyv only looks more amused again at the incredulity. "Ye-es," he replies simply, "I know." Even signs it, 'cause he knows all those words! Takes him a moment to understand the purely signed portion, but context plus fingerspelling fills in the general idea even if he misses any in the end. "But yes, perhaps you'd better, just to be safe." He does not sign that nearly as well, but an attempt is made, before his hands move back to the matter of food and drink.

He's gotten through a fair bit of the eggs and salad by the time that 'So' draws more of his attention that way. The signing makes his brow furrow; more words he doesn't know. It slows him down, definitely, to work it out, but at least he likes a good puzzle? «Always best not shat on by seagull.» Trying out new words... and it's the part he can most easily answer. How is he feeling about this place? What kind of question even is that? «I feel this place should have fewer seagull. Why, how are you feeling about this place?» Well, if nothing else, it's practice. And it might not quite be a refusal, by the considering way he regards the water for a moment afterward.

Grant stretches out, expression stilled but faintly grinning. He signs back <'Yes?'> with a side of oh **do* you know?* There is not attempt to hide interest or attention that detail brings. He pokes at the last bite of this before he moves onto next morsel. He is, for all purposes, working on (focus withstanding) of answering the question. >'colour: red, blue, green, sea, sky. I want... I want maybe to draw what might be missing? What might be there we are not seeing. I feel it. Something wants to be found. I don't know wants to be drawn. I'll draw that today. Things we thought gone, back.'>

"Mm," Vyv confirms, with a decidedly impish sidelong glance and upward turn of that corner of his lips, and sips his drink again. He's a bit behind in the speed of eating, though not by as much as he might be if there weren't all that signing going on. So far seagull luck is holding, but how long can that last?

When Bax works on giving the requested answer, the regard he gets is rather more serious. A couple small nods throughout, and a few quiet moments after. "Chaos and power. The froth makes me want to bake something with a foam, but that isn't the object here." He takes a bite of his pie, and sets it down while he chews. «I have thoughts. I can feel something making.» Forming, he probably means. Or percolating. But close enough.

Grant signs back <'I can feel something too. I may have wron the wrong pants.'> There's a wink, and then another bite, the spoken compliment mumbled around the food he gestures to with his fork, "Thiff iff weawwy 'ood, Vvvv." He'll go back to being a smart ass in a moment. right now is the time to savor edible art that will be extinct in 3..2.. nope didn't even make it to 1. Stretching his leg he nudges Vyv's knee with his giving him a nod that this is not flattery, this is assessment.

The description draws a knowing, wry grin on the graffiti artist and he adds, spoken, sign, and fork, "Draw either what you imagine it looking like, or what it should taste like. Later, you should actually try to make it. If you need an opinion at 2 am I'm absolutely down for a foodie call."

Vyv flicks another glance at the cargo shorts, arching a brow. "I thought we'd established that." The hint of a smile grows at the wink, and a little farther at the compliment. "Tch. Talking with your mouth full," he replies by way of thanks as the last of it's devoured, knee shifting to return the nudge once it comes. There's a moment more before he gets a little closer with, "Good. ...there's a bit more in there if you're still hungry." As always.

Spoken definitely helps when the fork is also involved with the signing. More than usual, that is. And that last comment gets a proper laugh, quick and quiet but definitely a genuine specimen of the breed. He gaze drops to his plate, expression briefly a bit wry before he masks it with the last bite of his pie. «I will remember,» he replies while he chews, waiting until he's finished for, "I'll keep that in mind?" while fingerspelling 'keep'. Is that even a phrase that works in ASL? It's the trickier thing about new languages, more than just vocabulary: how can he control his connotations?

Grant helps Vyv out by just showing him to use the sign for remember. Really ASL is built on relaying concepts and not the notions of English grammar and phrasing, but all together giving his initial attempt a nod of approval. Grant makes a few signs and some are new but simple enough with familiar enough to articulate in completion <'Yes, I'm a parade of bad habits; me. Couldn't wait.'> The invitation gets a look to his...Vyv and then to the basket and then back arching an eyebrow. <'Really?'> his jaw partly agape and he reaches in but divides the remainder by half anyways.

Does that mean he got it right? Well, at least nearly right; Vyv watches the signing and mirrors it for another go, with a faint nod back of satisfaction when it gets validated. It's probably going to take him a while to get used to less fine-grained control than he's used to in his better languages, even if he couldn't do it yet in Spanish either. New signs take more work to read, but it does make him smirk a little once he's fairly positive he's got it, and gets a small inclination of the head, as if allowing the point.

«Really,» he confirms, and indeed there's a fair remainder of the eggs and salad, and one more little pie. Also another container that Vyv doesn't yet allow to be taken, though he makes a general 'have more if you want' sort of gesture while the halving's being done. For his part, he finishes off the last bite or two on his own plate and ceases to be an imminent attraction to seagulls, setting his plate aside in favour of his glass, the clipboard he was recently waving, and poking around to find out, apparently, "What pencils have we got?"

Grant shrugs easily and is too amused by Vyv working through his expanding vocabulary. <'Yes really'> Permission is given and he reloads his plate. Really he's got a metabolism that runs on diesel and demands tribute of calories! Food's good, the beach is still good. The company still top notch... well sometimes an acquired taste, but one he has a preference for. Hot one he had the pants for, but definitively a preference.

Setting the food down he turns to his messenger bag. There's a pause and he points to his eyes and then the then the gull. Looking at you, buddy. From the bag he pulls out charcoal pencils, 0.5mm Bic mechanical pencils, coloured pencils, and a set of pastels and conte sticks. He proclaims, "I traveled light." Int he same way Vyv packed a 'small' lunch.

"So I see. A collection of oils and spray cans would probably have been overdoing it." Vyv reaches for one of the mechanical pencils first, fairly clearly the closest to what he had in mind, but the coloured pencils are getting a decidedly considering eyeing. He sets the first one down beside him in easy reach, then goes for all the blues and greens he spots. And maybe that purple.

Picking one of the lightest blues, he studies the water a moment, then his paper, before making his first faint but fairly sweeping line. "Salt," he muses, half to himself, and more light lines follow, "...salted seaweed caramel, white chocolate. Pineapple, perhaps. Or a citrus. Or both. Pandan sponge? Hm."

Grant pulls a few out for himself and grabs the yellow to start with and starts to hash some lines in still keeping the plate nearby. There's a pause and he looks up quizzically. "Why you sponge bathing a panda? That is a dangerous fetish, bubbeleh. Of all the crazy things I'd agree to do..." There's a pause, a consideration and going back to drawing, "Yeah who we kidding? I'm in. Pandas are cute. I can die again to cute."

Vyv looks up quizzically in turn, brow furrowed as he's drawn from contemplation into surreality. It clears up quite suddenly, with one of those sharp exhales of a ghost-laugh, and he sets down the pencil. «You have strange mind,» he signs, not looking as though this is currently striking him as a particularly bad thing. «P-a-n-d-a-n,» he spells out, "It's an Asian plant. Has a sort of... tropical-floral flavour. And sponge as in cake." Picking his pencil back up, he tilts his head slightly at what he's drawn so far, and very lightly starts blocking out some more shapes. "Pandas are quite cute, though. Probably top of the list were I to suddenly discover a strong desire to sponge-bathe bears." A slight pause as he switches pencils, still looking rather amused. "Never really been my scene."

Grant stares and gives Vyv that look of who are you trying to convince here? He signs back two gestures with a wry grin, <'Bear plant!'> Something about this compromise excites him and he might be off to start quick sketching that next. The grin goes wry as he asks, <'Not into bears or bear animals tear your face off with water?'> There's the eyebrow waggle Yes it's a cheap joke. Yes he's going for it and entertaining himself in the process. His left hand works fast roughing out what he's thinking and feeling to start taking shape and shadows on the page. Does he know where it's going yet? Not entirely. There's a glance up a couple times to watch Vyv just create something. Reading the subtle details and trying not.. to... scan the guy... GAH!

He... almost asks. He doesn't watching the private moment for what it is. <'At least you have a scene though. I mean you have at least one. I didn't wake up from being passed out on /your/ car at random.'> Reasons: now apparently present in his sub-context.

Vyv returns a whaaaat? look, pausing in his drawing again at the signing. "Bear plant. Now I'm imagining pussy willows, with tiny koalas clinging there instead of the catkins." That eyebrow waggle gets a smirk, and a small headshake. "Yes. Though if I had to choose, I'd certainly go with the former."

It's difficult for him to work steadily with the signing, but he still looks over whenever he catches a not-drawing sort of movement in Bax's direction. He doesn't work as quickly, either, this not being his usual medium, but gradually, waves are forming on his page. That much is fairly clear, at least. The close attention may also show a touch of frustration, as the coloured pencils don't work in the same way as frosting, but the general shading is starting to look... more or less right?

The renewal of hand movement has him looking again, and this time it's not only the signs that have his brow furrowing, head tilting once he's fairly sure he's got all the important words and it still doesn't make sense. "...why would not waking up on my car mean I have at least one scene?" Did he notice that emphasis? Yes. "And do you wake up on random cars often?"

Grant pauses and speaks to the best he's going to modulate his volume off habit and not by any awareness or mastery right now exactly, "Well I rant into you at an event.. That would then be scene one. Me tripping balls so bad I wake up sprawled across the top of my neighbor's Geo Prism? Proooobably not the scene most aspire to. Just saying... Ya know focus on your creation." He can't not grin at the justified confusion. ""Man, I wake up on cars less than I'm dead when I'm dreaming. I can't tell if I'm winning or not."

Vyv nosewrinkles a bit, and a brow goes up again. "Have you considered not tripping quite so many balls? At the least it might let you find something with an iota of style to wake up on." His lips twitch, not quite smirking a moment, "Quite a lot, if you're lucky. But not my car, please. It can't be good for the finish, and I'd hate to have to skin you." The most casual threat of murder. Surely he wouldn't actually go that far.

Pale blue and yellow, lightly delineating the foam of the waves some more, blocking out shapes that aren't quite what one would actually see, and some that lift higher along the page. "I'm not sure I'd call an event at the Two If By Sea my scene either, but point taken, I suppose. ...not always convinced I fit much of anywhere, around here." A flicker of a glance toward Grant's plate, and with scarcely a pause, "The gulls will be back for that soon if you're not careful, you know. In any case. If you're not dead when you're awake, you're probably winning all in all."

Quiet another moment, seeming to mull something as he sketches in another shape. Then, "Is it the scene you aspire to?"

Grant adds with certainty and a promise, "I will hobo fight any mashugana wants to try to take my plate, gull or no. Worry you not." His hand flaps vaguely to assure he's on this, or perhaps this is seagull for step up bitches? He focuses on his drawing; quick lines working as fast as he can to keep up with faulty memory and worse attention span.

There is a question though and one that pulls one eyebrow impressively upward. Looking up he watches the horizon, thiefy birds, and the water rush into the shore and back again only imagining in its fluid form reaching up under an almost full moon making a door to... somewhere. Space. All possibility maybe? Someplace cool in the beyond definitively. A thoughtful look forms and he admits, "My dad generally tells me maybe..." His jaw tightens considering this as one might deciding if prophecy is true, "Maybe exceptional people aren't meant to fit, but stand out." As for his aspirations there's a slight frown, "Man, my aspirations right now are pretty much get my meds sorted out and just... figure out how to make things not-worse I guess. I don't know that doing what I love is an aspiration. Kinda want to work to getting my business going ." He looks up and with statement not questions adds, "You know. I just... I guess I want to change things. They've been rough and I'm kinda not into being a liability so... I dunno. Not an easy question. Dunno it gets any easier to answer the older we get though."

"I will watch if you do," Vyv assures in return, the amusement briefly surfacing again. Just watch and not help this time? Perhaps so.

Certainly he watches Grant watching the horizon and sea for a moment or two before focusing on his sketch again. "Maybe," he agrees. "Though arguably that's the definition of exceptional people. Those who stand out. Exceptions to the norm. Positive connotation, but technically any difference would do..." He narrows his eyes at the page, switches pencils. "Still. In our cases, I'd say we hit the standard definition well enough." Yes, 'we'. There's another one to not-quite-steal if the painter's so inclined. "And I'd rather be incongruous than boring, in any case."

The rest he considers for another moment or two. "The easy questions are usually the less interesting ones. And aspirations come at various levels. I tend to think it's good to have a big one. Something one wants in the very long-term. But most of those qualify in the short- to medium-." A sideways look, "Not bad ones, either. Though I say always aim high. Go for figuring out how to make things better. Hit not-worse along the way. I'd say..." he cocks his head, thinking again, "doing what one loves professionally, or exceptionally well, or without having to worry about maintaining the mundanities of life, those are aspirations for doing what one loves. Feeling... competent and self-sufficient?" The glance is more direct this time; has he translated those desires appropriately? "I'd say that's a reasonable aspiration as well."

Grant glances up to watch and listen as best as all the ambient static lets him. There's a ghost of a smile, a fondness inspiring the moment in the words or intended (or not) relaxed inclusion. "That we do. There's a ton of places I do not feel like I fit starting with anything requiring a suit and tie, but ya know what, it's legal for me to be here and when it's not? Well..." There's a hint of pride and mischief there, "I'll change the damn laws." Says the veil revolutionary. Taking a deep breath he says, "When... you are done we can figure out how you are going to make that and if we have to go beyond? We'll see what it has to tell us. " His hand gestures including the sign for Veil but being pulled off rather than on. Still he abides that the Veil is trying to communicate and tell them something. He's also kept a pet rock from dying with a turtle painted on it for upwards of four months too, so one can take that as they will.

"That," replies he who still kind of wants his Veil peerage, with a hint of mischief himself, "is also an aspiration." Vyv gives Bax an obvious and frankly unnecessary appraising sweep of a gaze, adding, "Let me dress you next time a suit and tie's required. I can't promise it'll make you fit, but I can promise you'll stand out well."

Lifting his pencil, he studies what's on his sheet just as assessingly. It's nothing remarkably impressive, and he does look less than satisfied with what he sees, but the abilities seem to have translated enough to suffice. It's very loose and unfinished, more of a study than anything else, but still coming together clearly: waves rolling in, their foam rising and transforming into birds which fly up and away. "We'll see," he agrees, signing along again. "I suspect the bit in my head hardest to do wouldn't-- well, it might well be simpler over there, but I doubt it would translate." But he isn't ruling the idea of looking there out.

Anyway, surely the time to worry is when Grant's failed to keep his pet rock alive.

Grant considers this with wary caution in a similar fashion he oft gets looked at by suggesting How bad can it be?. "I'll... take that under advisement." Which is not a no, but more of a cautious we'll see.

The black pencil comes out to drop in some lines to what is apparently a sea monkey cowboy riding aback a seahorse, surfaces and looking at a river that runs up to the moon like it's 4pm traffic jammed with snails slowing traffic there to a, well, crawl. "Well maybe we'll have to see if we can find a kitchen there. Trust me, I've looked for them every time I'm 6X or smaller. The food's got to be huge but... eh maybe you can make it better." Stretching he shows Vyv the drawing he's been laying down to paper. "Also are you considering using your fancy French-Japanese skills or your Gray Harbor skills to make this happen? It's the Harbor. Anything is possible."

Vyv lifts a brow. "Trust me." Areas of his expertise, after all.

He leans to take a closer look at the drawing, looking the steed and rider over, then following the moon river upward. "Is he herding them?" he inquires, and tips his board to give a better look in return. "We'd have to find a kitchen whatever size we were, 'cause I don't fancy trying to beat eggs the size of my head or worse. And I'm slightly put off by what I know Veil denizens think is good to eat." But it's still not a no. ....More of a cautious 'we'll see'.

A glance back to his own paper. "I'm imagining a small cake as just one wave, most likely. Wondering how I could create a pleasant sort of stabilized foam. And whether I could convincingly make a bird appear to hover." He pauses. "Using my fancy French-Japanese skills. The Gray Harbor ones would be simple for that bit, but... unsatisfying. And tricky to employ when I'm not about."

Grant frowns and looks up, "Why should your work be able to be replicated? Also to be honest I think Corey's got the knack so you're not dead in the batter there. They'd just have to... ya know... Get good." Looking over he squints and says "Meringue?" Looking around he goes back to finishing his drawing, "Well come up with options. I'm happy to tell you if it works or not."

"A sort of meringue's the most likely," Vyv agrees, "and-- it's not so much others being able to replicate it as whether it can be served to someone without me directly involved. But yes, I think Corey may well have the knack." A small smile, picking up another pencil to add to the shading of one of his waves. "'Not dead in the batter' is quite good, by the way. And don't worry. I'll almost certainly take you up on that."