Chapter Text
There’s a painting laying on Scar’s table, and it’s still (tragically) wet.
Scar loves to paint, and his portable oils set is one of the best gifts he’s ever received. It makes him feel like a real, proper artist, like the Renaissance masters of old. The effects he can create with a little effort are mind-blowing. Unlike the watercolors he has pinned around his cabin however, the oils pose a more significant problem: they take, quite frankly, forever to dry.
He doesn’t really want to stick it outside. Outside, it might get forgotten—one of Scar’s specialties—and then rained on in a spin-up early summer storm. Or, on just a completely normal day, it might accumulate all kinds of dirt and grime from the Great Outdoors. It might even get a few stray pine needles stuck to wet impasto strokes if the wind blows especially hard.
Scar had shipped one of these such painting fails to Cub one summer, as a bit of a joke. Cub had responded that he thought it only added to the painting. It made it authentic, he said.
Scar wrote him back and told him that it was illegal to carry any unlicensed resources or natural objects out of the national forest, and that by owning the painting with all its accumulated detritus, he was now committing a crime. Cub wrote back that Scar had probably committed a greater crime by sending it in the first place, and that he was surely only an accessory. He also pointed out that the average tourist’s boots probably picked up more gravel and dirt and pine needles than the painting had, so surely this was not really in the spirit of the law.
Scar, feeling bored, had started mailing rocks of increasing size to Cub after that.