Jack accepted the glass of water with a polite smile before taking a sip. Samuel's look did not go unnoticed and Jack made a decision to also sit down beside the other man.

He considered Samuel's question. It was a simple question, of course. A reasonable question, logical... Nonetheless, it was a question Jack didn't have a concise answer for. Truthfully, he hadn't gone into great detail over this particular "plan" of his. And well... that's how he was trying to do things, make a plan but not actually plan too many details.

"Ahhh," He began and cast his eyes downward, focusing on the glass he was holding. "I'm by no means..." Jack stopped and frowned. No, that wouldn't do.

However, blunt honesty. Now, that sounded good.

He swallowed and looked Samuel directly in the eyes. "What would you say if I told you that, I'm having what some may call "a mid-life crisis?" I've been dissatisfied most of my life. I recently quit my job. I broke up with my fiancée. But, I used to sketch when I was a child, so I've decided I would like to learn anything artsy."

Jack grinned; somehow his little, or not so little, confession made him amused, happy even.

Or I'm crazy.

Sam returned with a glass of water for Jack to see him still standing in the middle of the room. He gave him a rather odd look before sitting down on the couch himself.

Hell if he was going to stand just because the other man was quirky.

"So," he broke the silence. "You want me to teach you, yes? What exactly are you looking to learn?" He made a face and chuckled a bit nervously. "I'm kinda new to this sort of thing. So, I figure we'll see what you want to learn, what you can do, and then just go from there?"

Maybe that wasn't the best way to start things. It certainly wasn't making him look professional. Sam sighed mentally.

Way to go! And I could really use that cash, too . . . .

Jack glanced around the apartment, eyeing the clutter. His place was much tidier due to a weekly cleaning regime that had been ingrained in him since a child. Of course standards had slipped slightly since his newly acquired single status. He was growing more accustomed to the sights of a sink filled with dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned, a discarded mug in his room or his bathrobe laying across a sofa. Jack thought the random left out things sort of added something... something new.

"Water would do just fine, thanks." Jack answered. He hovered for a moment, not really wanting to 'make himself at home'. It was quite likely that wanting to watch Sam could be considered creepy. Simply put, Jack liked to observe people go about doing their things. It was unfortunate that most individuals did not appreciate being watched.

"I think it's a law somewhere that mother's must have crazy quirks." Jack grinned, slipped off his shoes and made his way into the livingroom.

He chose not to sit on the nearby couch and stood. Jack licked his lips and swallowed. His nerves seemed to be improving and he smiled slightly. He had a good feeling about this Samuel Greene person.

Apathy . . . ? Sam almost asked allowed, but decided it probably wasn't worth the convoluted answer he suspected he would get for the trouble. Keep things simple. Laid back was a lifestyle that he had perfected by doing so. He certainly wasn't about to change that now.

KISS. [OOC: This means Keep it simple stupid, Mauri]


He juggled the box with care. It was more difficult than it looked, but he was used to it. If he had more than one box he took the little red wagon that was a memento from his youth. It was also very handy when dragging a cart full of art supplies by yourself. It was something he'd started up in college, he'd never managed to return the wagon to his parents.

His door unlocked easily, and he held it open for Jack.

"Home sweet home?" he heard the man ask.

"Something like that," he smiled easily. Though it wasn't very much of a home.

The living room was clean enough, but the rest of the house was a mess. He very much hoped there would be no reason for Jack to go into the bedroom or the kitchen, though.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, seeing no reason to be impolite. "I think I have water, tea, and diet sprite--" he winced, "my mom always insists I have it for her and then only drinks one can so it sits around for months."

He motioned to the couch which took up the center of the room, placed before a small TV set, "Please, make yourself at home."

During the drive Jack had time to think. His mind was a mix of eagerness, curiosity, optimism and fear. Sure it felt exhilarating to embark on his new adventures, to move out of his own safety bubble so to speak. He made lists of things he wanted to do or accomplish. He scribbled down various little activities, big or small, on his calendar. Even if he didn't have a clear picture of where he wanted to end up at he felt liberated to, day by day, be on step closer to a new him. Nonetheless, it all was overwhelming and Jack had a tendency to ignore that fact. Any negative feeling or thought was categorized as nervousness; it sounded a lot better than a potential warning sign.

Jack smiled casually as he met up with Samuel in the parking lot. "Apathy works in my favor this time."

He followed the artist into the apartment complex. He nearly offered to take the box when they reached the main entrance but it seemed Samuel was skilled at managing to be able to unlock it and not drop the cardboard box in the process.

The apartment building caused Jack to give a small sigh; he was remembering his first place, the little one bedroom apartment that, despite its shabbiness, offered him complete freedom. Briefly, the idea of moving out of his current living establishment popped up. He was still in the rented and remodled duplex that Amber and him had shared. It was nice, the landlord was nice and the area was nice. It did, however, lack furniture and served as a reminder of his former life. Jack would consider it later.

They reached Samuel's door and Jack said, "Home sweet home?"

"You can follow if you like," Sam said. He walked over to a red truck and hefted the box into the truck bed. "My apartment's on the other side of town." He patted the side of the truck, "She's getting a bit old, but she's a reliable enough ride."

He climbed into the truck, "I'll meet you at the edge of the lot and you can follow me on. Which one is yours?"

He nodded at Jack's response and whistled mentally, pricy. It made him curious as to what he was getting into. Probably a hobbyist. Well, that was simple enough really. Sounded like he could pay for the lessons too, even better.

He waved to Jack as his car came into view and then pulled out onto the street. The trip took twenty minutes in the medium-light traffic, and he was careful to make sure he didn't leave Jack behind. He pulled into a spot in his apartment's lot, watching as Jack pulled in next to him.

"Technically there's a guest lot," he said as Jack walked up while he unloaded the cardboard box. "But no one really ever cares."

For a split second Jack considered the proposition. It was doubtful that Samuel Greene, a pleasant art teacher who clearly dealt with the aliens well would turn out to be a psychotic murderer in his spare time. Horror movies said otherwise.

"Sure, I have some time to come over," Jack responded optimistically, pushing out thoughts of him getting stabbed by paintbrushes. By some time, he meant a lot of time. Other then a few random things jotted down (that could be rearranged at any point), his schedule was basically open. All the time. Every day.

He followed Samuel out of the room, "It's alright if I just follow you? Or do you need a ride? Or do you get a ride from someone else? Ehh..." Jack had a difficult time gauging how old the other was other than he was younger. God... Thirty years old. It was depressing. Soon he'd be too old to even consider being a part of alien making.