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Chuck wanders up to the Bar once he's managed to free himself of an awkward social situation.

"Uh," Chuck says. "If I write a letter, can you deliver it to this guy Harry calls--" Chuck tries to repeat the mangling of Harry's, and doesn't mangle it too far further.

There's a longish pause, as if the Bar is debating with herself on whether or not to correct him. The note that eventually pops up reads: Yes.

"Thanks," Chuck says and, getting a piece of paper, writes:

Hey,

My name's Chuck. Harry said you're taking care of his dogs and stuff while he~~'s in jail~~ can't. He figured it couldn't hurt to ask if you need help distracting them or like taking care of them. I can take them on walks if you're busy. Or just Lady if the old guy's not really up to it.

Just send me a note, I'm going to be up here for a few days working on stuff anyway.
Chuck Hansen~~, Ranger w/Striker Eureka PPDC~~ <-- sorry, habit

He reads back through it, crossing out his titles as awkward even though it feels weird writing formally to a stranger without them.

He folds the note, and leave it with the Bar.

[ooc: not really open for tagging right now, unless Feuilly-mun would like to! Recovering from a long day.]

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He gets the note while he is, in fact, on his way to take the dogs out in the evening. When he comes back, he sits down, trying and failing to arrange leashes so that the dogs don't wind themselves around everything in sight, and writes out a reply in English.

M. Hansen,

Thank you very much for your offer. Yes, in fact, if you can walk with Lady once or twice, I would be very grateful. Hector is the sort to sit quietly at my foot while I work but Lady grows impatient indoors.

He adds a little more--his room number, when he can be found, his gratitude again for the help--and leaves the note with Bar.

At one of the first times Feuilly's listed as available, Chuck's at his door. He's already dressed for dog-walking, with sneakers, jeans, and a khaki jacket.

He knocks, and tries not to look too awkward.

Awkward? Oh, Feuilly has him beat, there! He's in the middle of his work, and comes to the door painfully aware that there is nude art scattered around and entirely unaware that he has a streak of white paint at his hairline.

So short awkward French dude opening the door just a crack, one happy beagley dog rushing up to SEE WHO'S THERE! and pushing the door open rather more, other larger dog visibly snoozing on the bed even though he totally shouldn't be up on the furniture (tut-tut), et cetera. "--Hello? Oh! Oh, are you Monsieur Hansen?"

Chuck immediately crouches to meet Lady as she rushes forward, rolling her ears in his hands. It's good to see her again.

"--Uh, yeah, I guess," he says. "I mean, you can just call me Hansen or Chuck, though."

Pause. "I don't know how to say your name."

"Feuilly," Feuilly says helpfully, and then smiles a little. "It's--I know, it's a hard one if you didn't grow up speaking French." He'll answer to "Fwee" or "Fuyee" without complaint. "--Um. Pleased to meet you. Thanks. The dogs are--eh--Lady--settle down--"

The dogs are full of energy. Or one of them is. Whatever good manners Lady once had as a hound attached to a royal hunting-pack--which probably weren't all that focused on indoor behavior to begin with--they've been slipping; she wants nothing more than to PUT HER FEET ALL OVER HER FRIEND AND WAG HER TAIL AND LICK HIS HANDS AND HIS FACE AND-- (The other dog wakes up and snuffles in Chuck's direction. He thumps his tail once or twice on the bedspread. Just give him a minute, he'll get over there.)

Chuck gently grabs her under her front -- well, armpits, for lack of a better word -- and drops her back to the ground. He rests one hand firmly on her back, while still scritching her, clearly amused. He grins at Hector, too.

"Feuilly, yeah, okay," he says, not as off as you might imagine from a guy with a mucky Australian accent. It's nowhere near perfect, though. "Uh--" he removes the hand petting Lady briefly, to gesture up at his browline. "You've got some...paint."

Chuck considers the polite social thing and, because he doesn't know Feuilly, decides to stand up instead of communing with dogs too much longer. He pats Lady before doing so.

Oh, right, not putting feet on people. Lady looks faintly repentant. (No she doesn't, she just keeps panting happily. Friends!)

Feuilly looks faintly startled, and visibly resists the reflex to put his hand up to his forehead to check for the paint. He's been a painter for how long now, and he still does that? Oh, well. "--Thanks. I'll--I was working. That is--I paint fans--" Um.

By now Hector has made his slow stiff way off the bed, and is making a much more dignified fuss over the visitor than Lady.

"Really?" Chuck asks, brow furrowing. "Huh."

That sounds familiar, though he thinks it was mentioned in passing around the far more important noble-loyal-etc.-etc. of usual Enjolras babble.

"You're friends with Enjolras?"

He looks even more startled, but brightens immediately. "Yes--yes, do you know Enjolras? Oh--I--" No, wait, this comes back to him. "You've been fighting with him, yes? He mentioned--I, ah, I hadn't quite caught your name."

Well, he'd had a hard time translating Enjolras's pronunciation of "Chuck Hansen" into the written name.

"Sparring, yeah," Chuck says, brightening. "He's been helping me get back into form."

Hey, weird as it sounds, he's always for more probably-dead-fellow-Milliways-citizens. It makes him feel like he sticks out less.

"Do you sell fans here? I -- didn't really realize there was a, um. Economy?"

Feuilly has to laugh at that, as he bends down to rub Hector's long ears. "Well--I sold some at that fair. Did you go to it? And I have a commission for some more work. I, uh. Wouldn't. Wouldn't really call it an economy. But it's what I know how to do."

He's not quite clear on what Hansen does--when he'd talked with Enjolras, they hadn't yet begun their sparring, and Enjolras knew very little himself. "You're--Australian?"

"Oh-- yeah, I think I saw some flyers for that."

Chuck's not sure if it was before the fair or after that he caught sight of them. He's not super great at paying attention to Bar events.

Having decided he's probably satisfied the whole talking-like-a-normal-person thing, he drops back down to an easy crouch so he can keep petting dogs as he talks.

"I'm from Australia, yeah. I'm figuring you're French," he adds, grinning up at Feuilly briefly.

"It was a good little fair. You should--next year if they do it, you should have a look."

Crouching down to pat dogs is absolutely fine with Feuilly. And Lady. And Hector. In fact, Feuilly bends down again to rub Hector's shoulders. Good boy. "Yes, I'm French. I, I guess there are a lot of us here. Not--not so many from Australia?"

"Uh--" Chuck hesitates. "Well, only one other than me I've heard about and -- I don't... think he's been in in awhile."

His dad would reply to his note, right? Yeah. Of course he would.

He's not really making eye contact, instead reaching a hand out to Hector.

"Um. Do you -- have a leash?"

Feuilly catches the reluctance, and the change of subject, and doesn't push. "Yes--I--hang on--" The leashes are hung on a hook just inside the door, and he soon has one for Chuck. "Hector might as well stay here. He's--he'll be all right until the evening."

He looks down at the dog, and is prompted to honesty. "--He's keeping me company while I work."

[ooc: do you mind if I write Lady & Hector's responses to leash existing?]

((Go ahead!))

Lady seems to've learned what a leash means, and her found calm turns into near dancing with excitement. Hector leans forward to briefly snuffle at it, as Chuck takes it.

"He seems like good company," Chuck says, grinning. He's managed to sneak the leash onto Lady's collar, ruffling her ears as he does so. "Are you stocked up, or do you want me to pick up some chew toys and stuff while I'm downstairs?"

"Yes, he's--he has a way of leaning up onto your feet while you work, it's--" It's a new and pleasant kind of companionship: Feuilly really doesn't have much experience with pets. As shown, also, in his blank look at Chuck's question. "Chew toys--? I asked Bar for some bones, they've been chewing those--"

These poor deprived dogs may never have seen a frisbee or a tennis ball in their lives.

"Right. I'll pick some up," he says, amused. Chuck stands up. "Not sure when she'll wear out, so I'll be back in awhile."

"She doesn't really--wear out." He smiles a little crookedly. "At least--there's not a lot of time between running around and falling asleep. I guess she's still kind of a puppy? Thank you. Thank you so much--it's good of you."

"Well, I mean --" Chuck shrugs, awkward, shoulders a little tight. "They're dogs."

There's a slight tone of who wouldn't help with dogs. If Chuck was more socially adept, he'd think to mention that he's missing his own -- but he's not socially adept, and to be honest doesn't see how Max factors into this at all.

He waves, awkwardly, then says "Hey, sweetheart, want to go outside?" to Lady, walking away. He leaves the leash slack, so she can follow at her own pace.

When they come back, eventually, he'll be carrying Lady in his arms and have a bag with a rope-tug, two pig's ears, and two fluorescent Frisbees over his shoulder.

Feuilly isn't quite sure of the source of the awkwardness, but he can definitely sympathize with awkwardness. He grins, pleased, at Lady's immediate enthusiasm for going out: she trots ahead immediately, the tip of her tail flapping back and forth like a flag. WALKS! OUTSIDE! PEOPLE-FRIENDS!

He and Hector settle back down to their quiet day. Feuilly is engrossed in his work and Hector is snoring at his feet when Chuck comes back with Lady. Their return gets a warm grin--and a look of surprise at the goodies. "These are the toys? Well, dogs, you have some good friends! --Thank you. Thanks so much, it's--any time you want to, to--"

Awkwardness all around? But grateful awkwardness? And when Chuck has left, Feuilly will sit down with great attention to figure out how these toys work.

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