Xander really didn't know why he'd signed up for the drawing class. It had just seemed like the right thing to to do. And he was honestly surprised to find out that he enjoyed it. He'd never been much of a writer, like Willow had been with her diary, so he'd never really had a way to put his ideas down on paper before and that's what this felt like
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Comments 40
"Wow," she breathed, getting a better look as she walked up behind him. "Aren't you a regular Michaelangelo. Or, you know. Insert dead artist's name here."
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She pauses for a moment, considering those words. "Although I was thinking about doing some good old-fashioned scooby research. See if I can find out what I'm up against back home, even if it's one-hundred percent completely in vain."
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She shifted her weight, smoothing her hands on her skirt. "Gomen ne. I've been trying to be more spontaneous in speaking to people. It's not working."
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He paused his hand but not lifting up so he could give her his full attention. "Hey, don't be hard on yourself. I'd say that was very spontaneous. I'm Xander."
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"What are you drawing?"
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"I'm drawing that hut over there. I'm trying to do it in one continuous line." He explained as he started moving his hand again to start drawing in the roof.
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Unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear, Max steps over to the guy, gives a nod toward the sketch pad. "Sometimes I think I should try drawing, and then I remember I don't have a creative bone in my body," he remarks.
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He looked up and gives the guy a friendly smile. "I don't think I do either, it's just oddly relaxing. Even if it does come out looking like a 5 year olds scribble."
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"I don't know, man, that looks pretty good to me. One of my best friends is an artist, did it for a living before he showed up here, and he does a lot with some scribbles."
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"Oh," He wiped his free hand on his jeans before offering it to the guy, "Xander, hut artist extraordinaire. Nice to meet you."
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She still had a problem walking through the jungle in open-toed shoes, and after a pretty bad blister, she'd decided maybe she should go see if she'd left her sneakers behind in their hut. His hut.
It wasn't hers anymore.
After searching every corner, she'd only found one. The left -- hidden under her bed, along with a hair scrunchie and a candy wrapper from Halloween. With a defeated look, she slipped out of the hut with her one shoe hanging loosely from her hand, stopping when she saw the man with the sketchbook just outside.
"Hi."
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