Wyrd Faces on the Quad; SacU (ATTN: Cob,Sam)

[tsameti]

Grobber sits unceremoniously in the grass, legs splayed out and hands limply out in front of him. His craggly black hair is matted to his head, but he's somewhat cleaner than usual. After a week of sudden heavy heat, he finally ponied up to get some summer clothes. The bandersnatch sports a Coors lite T-shirt and a pair of used cargo shorts, his pale white hairy legs exposed and skinny as toothpicks.

Of course, it looks much worse under the mask, but that goes without saying.

But today, Grobbler isn't alone. A small group of students have taken a shine to the eccentric indigent, compelled by intellectual curiosity and youthful boredom. Grobbler doesn't mind the company, and is waiting for Sam and Cob anyway, so he simply enjoys himself while he can.

[Writer]

Sam makes his way through the students. He is wearing worn sneakers, worn jeans, and a new tie-dyed t-shirt. He has a mostly empty satchel hanging over his shoulder. He pulls a liter bottle of water out, takes a sip, then returns it to the bag.

When he finds himself standing before Grobbler, he says, “Nice day for a wander, eh?”

[tsameti]

The kids are a little impressed that Skinny Pete has a friend and make small exclamations to that effect.

"Hey! You're purple too!" Grobbler exclaims in greeting, as he shields his eyes from the sun.

[Writer]

"I try to be, but sometimes I feel a little blue."

Sam looked at the bright blue sky, then at the kids nearby.

"Not today, though. Today, I feel bright and cloudless."

Sam kept looking around.

“Am I early, or is Cobb late?”

[tsameti]

Grobbler digs a hand deep into his hair and scratches a bit in confusion.

"Why are you a metaphor?" he whispers, trying and failing not to be overheard by their fully human company.

Then, turning a 180 he states matter of factly, "Cobb is late." He frowns.

[Writer]

"I am not a metaphor,"said Sam, tilting his head to one side. His hair seemed to flip in a light breeze, but to Grobbler, Sam's large ears twitched."I am described by metaphors."

Sam sat down and pulled out a sketch pad and a pencil. He started to sketch something, the pencil moving lightly and quickly.

"If you found yourself in the company of metaphors, how would they describe you?"

[tsameti]

Sam is being really confusing right now and it's getting on Grobbler's nerves.

"I don't know, that's a stupid question." He grumbles a bit, fists clenching. "Why don't you talk normal, like normal people?"

[Writer]

Sam stops sketching and glances at the ogre. He looks back down at his paper. After a moment, he turns the page and starts drawing something else, much more slowly.

"Sorry."

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the sound of the city.

[tsameti]

-Hrmph- "S'ok... Where are you from, Ink?" Grobbler asks, trying to salvage the conversation. He turns his head away, making sure to pretend like he doesn't care what Sam's answer will be.

[Writer]

Sam glances up at Grobbler quickly, briefly. When he sees that Grobbler isn't looking back, Sam looks up again.

"I went to high school in this area. Not Sacramento. One of the suburbs. We moved there from the Res when my father got a job ... I don't remember what his job was, but it was better than what he had on the Res."

Sam was silent for a moment. He looked down at his half finishe drawing of a cat wearing a gaudy leather hat that sported a huge feather.

"Where are you from?"

For the first time since his escape from the Hedge, Sam thought about that cat.

Who will feed you scraps, now, he thought. Who will debate Shakespeare and discuss moral philosophy? A twinge of guilt tickled his stomach, but he fought it off. No prisoner should ever feel guilty about escaping. It wasn't like that cat was a prisoner. It was just a vagabond, living in the shadow of a slave trader.