Log: Jean-Paul & Artie Who: Artie Maddicks and Jean-Paul Beaubier Where: The mansion When: April 4th, 2008 What: Artie makes good on his promise and brings JP back his clothes.
A feeling of regret washed over Artie as he looked into the sparse washing machine. He couldn't waste all that water for just those few garments! He hoped that Jean Paul wouldn't mind, but since he was down there anyway, Artie threw in some of his clothes, figuring that he'd never be the wiser, and it made Artie feel not so bad. Once the spin cycle was going, Artie pulled out a crossword puzzle book and started working on it. It was ratty through months of wear, but there were still puzzles that hadn't been done! Maybe he'd cheated a couple times on them, going to the encyclopedia for questions that he just couldn't figure out.
With one whole puzzle done and Jean-Paul's clothes neatly folded, the shirt on a hanger, Artie left his own in a basket to fetch later. Up the steps he went, slightly wishing that he'd seen Betsy in the laundry room. He could have helped her! Bouncing his head from side to side with a song trapped between his ears, he practically bounced to Jean Paul's door. A quick knock and then Artie's attention was averted, looking at the walls and the carpet. He tried to not fret over all the Crazy that was going around the world, especially since the man that they were following was a murderer by Aubrey's words, but the cozy hallway allowed someone to have a short-sighted view of things, if they really wanted.
Jean-Paul wasn't expecting Artie. He had completely forgotten about the laundry. Either way, he opened the door with an eyebrow raised. "Oh, right. My free trial?" The corner of his lip pointed into a smirk. "Well then, come on." The door opened to it's full and Jean-Paul took a step back. The bedspread was neat, as if it was just waiting for laundry to be thrown onto it. There were papers on Jean-Paul's desk and a radio tuned to some sort of sports event quietly in the background. Artie apparently hadn't really interrupted anything.
There wasn't much to the trial, just three pairs of socks and a shirt. It wasn't as if Artie was looking to become a cleaning service, but doing other people's laundry had made him be able to let his mind wander. Never would he tell anyone (even if he could talk) but he always liked to watch clothes in the dryer - they seemed to be doing a type of dance, and that had mesmerized Artie since he was a young child. A smile broke out across his face as he nodded at the man and entered the room. He tossed three pairs of socks on the bedspread, glancing around for a moment before he simply held the hanging shirt by his index finger, really unsure of where he should put it. He cocked his head and heard the radio, glancing at it for a split second before looking back at Jean Paul.
Jean-Paul took the shirt from Artie's finger. He took it to the desk to fold it nice and neatly. "These smell really nice..." That's the closest thing he's going to get to a Thank You. Jean-Paul sat next to the socks and put one on each hand. "Ooh, soft." Is it puppet time?
Wait...Artie had taken the time to hang up the shirt and Jean-Paul was just going to fold it? That made absolutely no sense to Artie. Of course, Artie didn't have any shirts that really needed to be hung up. He preferred the 'balled up and shoved into the back corner of the drawer' type look. He smiled though, chuckling silently to himself. Why wouldn't they smell nice? Like Artie would have used mud to clean them or something. Pssh. He made sure that he was in front of Jean-Paul before he brought his hands up, testing the water. His movements were slow, delicate. Do you speak American Sign Language? He'd get his answer by either knowledge and an answer in the same way, or by a confused look.
Jean-Paul had a special system for his shirts! The hanger is left on the desk, if Artie would like to reclaim it. The sock puppets were pulled from his hands to answer, Little. He had a deaf friend in college. So he could say things like Thank you! and You're a bad person. Neither of those things are signed right now. Jean-Paul tried to remember another phrase. He signed very slowly, hesitant, Good job.
The absolute best gift that Artie could have been given by Jean-Paul was that he knew sign language. It seemed to be a little...well, for lack of a better term, sticky, but it was still there all the same. The smile morphed into a grin and Artie actually hopped a little in place. Thanks, but it wasn't that hard and it gives me something to do because I'm not a teacher, pretty much a bum and it makes me feel useful because sometimes I don't feel so useful but it's good. I like it. And thank you. Your socks felt expensive.. The flurry of hand motions suddenly came to a stop and he blushed a little bit. Sorry he signed more slowly. It's nice to see you know a little. You have good hands for it. I could teach you? If you wanted. Cripes, he didn't know how much of that came through. An illusion appeared beside his head, a little him in front of a chalkboard with a little Jean-Paul sitting at a desk. Artie's right thumb came out from his fist, rolling from thumbs up to thumbs down waiting for an answer.
Jean-Paul watched as Artie's hands moved. He appeared to be trying very hard to understand. Eventually, he smiled. Slower. The illusion helped, and Jean-Paul understood. He gives a thumbs-up. Sign language would be nice to know. It could come in handy! Plus he could tell Artie to be careful with his delicates in a fashion that would be more easily accepted by the other man. "Might be fun. And thank you..." He held his hands out in front of him. My, he DID have nice hands. Look at those fingernails.
Offering a thumbs up in return, Artie tapped his left lobe on his ear. Hmm, how to say this. Pointing toward the radio, he signed slowly: I hear that. Tapping his throat, Artie shook his head from side to side. He could hear, but just couldn't speak. Deciding to make himself at home, Artie kicked off his sandals (what? The weather was warmer!) and sat cross-legged on on the floor in front of Jean-Paul. Really, he was only doing that so the other could understand Artie, not the other way around. A picture of Jean-Paul appeared beside Artie's head, a red question mark overlaying it. Artie wanted to know more about the man in front of him!
Jean-Paul took note of this. He had thought maybe Artie was just good at reading lips. He didn't sit on the floor, that's what chairs are for! He did take a seat, though. The radio was turned down to a barely audible murmur in the background. "What are you questioning? What?" He eyed the sandals. Are those Birkenstocks? Is Artie a dirty hippy?
Not just a dirty hippie - but one that had lived among tribes in Africa after graduating with a Master's in guitar. That last fact alone probably made Artie the dirtiest of all hippies, but he didn't see it that way. A checklist appeared beside his head, replacing the picture of Jean-Paul. Things like 'Favorite Color?' 'Home?' 'Music?' were listed. Hopefully that would be enough for Jean Paul to realize that Artie wanted to learn more about him. Of course, the thought crossed his mind (finally) that he might be imposing. I can go, he signed, his thumb knocking back over his shoulder to door. If you want to sleep.
"Wait. No..." Jean-Paul loved to talk about himself. He smirked, his smiles always look like he's about to do or say something bad. "I like blue." He considered this, "I'm from Quebec. It's beautiful there. Canada, Oh Canada." He put a hand over his heart. "Elvis Costello." Maybe he wanted to watch Artie sign some more, maybe he just wanted to volley the conversation, "--And you?"
Blue was a good color. Artie liked blue. He'd been to Canada, too, nodding in understanding, smiling just a bit when Jean-Paul gestured to his heart. It was good to love your country - there wasn't a whole lot about the USA that Artie really cared for at the moment. Except the pot - but he'd had better pot elsewhere in the world, but just the fact that they had pot in the US was a good thing for him. Figuring he should answer all the questions he asked, Artie signed as his pictograms appeared beside his head. Orange. And blue and green. A color wheel suddenly popped up, with an X over the pinks, Artie making a face. Nope, not a big fan of pink. New York, he signed, bu a world map popped up and a tiny red dashed line went over all the countries he had visited, and felt like he truly was from as well. He spread his hands wide when it became time for him to answer the music question. All kinds! He signed excitedly trying to think of one he preferred. Eric Clapton. A picture of the singer/songwriter/GOD appeared beside his head, singing mutely into a microphone.
This kid is pretty rad. Jean-Paul can't deny it. He watched the pictograms with great interest. "Clapton!" Bravo, he even clapped a little. That was a neat trick that Artie had. He wasn't sure if he should ask, what came first? The muteness or the mutation? Jean-Paul leaned forward, as if he was ready to tell a big secret. "Do you play any sports?" Not really a secret, but Jean-Paul keeping the question and answer session going.
The clap got a soundless laugh from Artie, glad to see that the pictogram had come out as well as he had hoped it would. Sometimes people were harder for him - especially specific people. He'd had to practice that a lot as a kid, just so the nanny that refused to learn sing language could tell him where his father was (even though it was usually in the lab). Artie found himself leaning in as well, surprised that the International Sign For Whispers was already being used. When he heard the question, Artie smiled and nodded, just a bit, moving back so he wouldn't be all up in Jean-Paul's personal space - just in case the other had a problem with it. Plus, hi, needed room to sign. Soccer, he wrote in the air with his fingers, a goal appearing beside his head and a ball landing in it. The violent sports weren't really a draw for Artie. A man picking up a car and walking to the side of Artie's head replaced the soccer one. Strongman Competitions. Some things they do is just crazy!
"Soccer is all right. I can only really get into it when I'm in a bar and everyone else is into it." Collective unconscious and all that. "Hockey. That's where it's at, Artie." Jean-Paul leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. He was comfortable, especially since Artie backed up a bit. He can stand people invading his personal space, but he's much easier to get along with from a distance.
Hockey was probably the most violent sport Artie could think of. He made a face and shook his head, almost as if the word itself had left a bad taste in his mouth. A head appeared beside his own, missing several teeth at different intervals, grinning like a maniac. Artie smiled and brushed his finger over his teeth, actually making them squeak. I like my teeth where they are, he signed letting his hands drop as he thought up his next line of questioning. Favorite food? A food pyramid - old school version - popped up beside his head, thankfully replacing the gnarled smile. Powers? Artie asked because he was curious, but a little part of him liked showing off that he was more than pictograms. Vanity, thy name is pot head.
"Ah, oui, but you can watch hockey and keep all your teeth right where they are." Jean-Paul seemed pleased with his spectator opinion. "Food? I'll eat anything and everything. But pasta is usually the thing that keeps me full and happy. You?" Maybe one day when Artie is baked and Jean-Paul is starving, they can go to a pasta buffet together! "I have super speed, so I need to eat a lot. I totally fly too, dude." Did... did JP just say dude?
But still. Violence was violence and Buddha didn't really approve of violence. And, even though he tried to paint eggs come Easter, Artie really was Buddhist. But, that didn't seem like the right time to bring that up. Of course, when Jean-Paul gave him some logic...maybe he was getting through - a chink in the armor as it was. Jean-Paul got two thumbs up with talking about pasta. Artie loved pasta. There probably couldn't be any other better food in the world. Just talking about it made him want some. Oh yeah, Artie likes pasta. Which, since he didn't eat meat, it was probably his favorite of all time.. Since he couldn't really answer that, since he already had, Artie decided to show off his power. His index finger raised, telling Jean-Paul to hang on. In front of the other's eyes, Artie seemed to disappear, the wall behind him turning into a waterfall. Silent, but still holding the majestic beauty that it held in nature. Flowers bloomed off to the sides of the bases, tiny humming birds zipping around for a good thirty seconds. After that, Artie shimmered back into view and he smiled, the illusion dissolving behind him.
"I... knew you could do the picture thing..." He'd never really spoken to Artie, but word gets around, "I had no idea you could do that." He appeared to be borderline impressed. Borderline is a lot more than what most people can get out of Jean-Paul. "I'm sure you can do more than just pretty things, right? -- Don't demonstrate that part of it." He emitted a tiny chuckle at that. Jean-Paul yawned and tilted back in his chair. "Ooh no, it's contagious."
When Artie heard the response, he nodded, a tiger suddenly appearing beside him, lazy and not even looking at Jean-Paul. You knew? Someone's talking about me...but that was okay with Artie. It meant maybe he had friends at the school. One friend he had was crazy and couldn't wash her own clothes, another was deaf and the other had turned herself into a tree. Artie should probably water her sometime soon. Tired? I can go... Really, Artie had no problem with napping with another guy - the warmth was nice, at least during the cold weather, but he understood how some may be all crazy about that. I liked our talk. You're a really nice guy.
Jean-Paul nodded lazily. "I think I'm going to go to bed... and yeah." Jean-Paul wouldn't say he enjoyed their talk. He did smile when he said 'yeah,' which meant a lot more. An afterthought, "-- I'll take you to a hockey game sometime." Whether you want to or not!
Seeing that his time was through, Artie hopped off the floor and smiled back - only letting it waver slightly when it seemed he didn't have an option when it came to not going to a game. Taking it in stride, he offered a thumb's up and left, closing the door quietly behind him.