Deck, Sunday Lunchtime

[bitten_notshy]

Jack Dawson had found Rose, which was the kind of good that went beyond words like good and well into what might be termed the supercalifragelisticexpialidocious territory. He still wasn't sure about this place -- the time travel stuff was just freaking strange -- but the people seemed like they'd be good people to be around, mostly. Nobody except Cal had been snotty to him. And of course, Rose was there. Nothing could go too bad when Rose was around. Maybe he could get a job and stick around until he saved up enough money to get up to New York.

But all of that was for later.

For now, he sat at one of the tables outside the dormitory building, half-smoked cigarette clenched between his teeth as he enjoyed the sunshine and sketched anything that caught his eye. It wasn't serious artwork, but it helped to pass the time.

[OOc: Open patio, natch.]