Fandom Island and Town

You would think that with the heat the way it was, outside was the last place Dean would ever think to be. Especially not surrounded by reflective metals and black rubber tires. (The tires had reappeared sometime over the course of the week. Dean suspected strongly at this point that the junk yard just kind of re-filled itself based on whatever whims it had, day by day.)

Either way, if you thought that he was going to be inside out of this heat, you'd be wrong. He'd pulled out his lawn chair, grabbed a newspaper, pulled on his shades, and he was reading quite happily, having found a patch of shade that was just the right size, underneath the half-constructed armature for his Alot of Tires sculpture.

All he had to do was be here today. And if being here meant that he could kick back and drink ungodly amounts of iced coffee, then so be it.

[Open!]

To say that Dean had been maybe holding his breath a little as he approached the junkyard today was probably a pretty fair assessment. Last week had been the garbage candy, the week before had seen the disappearance of every tire in the yard, and the week before that had seen an abundance of them.

He let that breath go when he stepped through the gate to see everything just the way it should be, art projects and junk alike all in their proper places.

Just wait a few minutes, until he discovers that Fandom has replaced his espresso with decaf.

"Noooo!"

Ah, there we go.

McCoppin Scrap is open, and dragging ass today.

[And OCD free!]

The Alot of Tires had moved along, and had left Dean with just enough scrap rubber left over to be able to make the tire sculpture that he'd been planning to make last weekend.

Naturally, this meant that Dean was mildly concerned that, out of nowhere, somebody was for some reason going to decide that they needed to come in to pick up a spare tire. And if there weren't any in the yard with the exception of the handful that Dean was mutilating in order to make a giant rubber-composite bear-yak-pug, how was that going to reflect on the scrapyard itself?

On the island that didn't have roads for cars.

... Yeah.

Dean was going to spend his day pondering how to work around this by making use of the other materials in the yard. And he was going to do this pondering over a cup of coffee or five.

[Open Scrapyard for all your Scrapyard needs! Sans OCD because I'm lazy today.]

Yeah.

So, Dean was taking this whole pony thing in stride, this weekend. Sure, it meant that he couldn't use a welding torch. Sure, it meant that fine motor skills were thrown completely out the window, and he wasn't going to be doing anything remotely resembling art until this all wore off. Sure, he had this crazy urge to go vegetarian for the weekend. Coffee came from plants, and so it was fair game.

Added bonus, he got to drink his out of a bowl. When did he ever get to drink coffee out of a bowl?

The scrapyard was open, still with its Now Hiring sign in the window, and Dean was, you know, drinking coffee. Out of a bowl.

Ponies.

Fandom.

Yeah.

[Open!]

"And that should just about cover it," Dean decided, putting one more signature on the paperwork while sitting in the office at the junk yard, and then standing to shake hands with the previous NPC owner. "Don't be a stranger, huh? I'll try to keep the place as neat and tidy as you left it. No tracking muddy boots through the junk or anything."

There were a bit more friendly conversation before Dean stepped out of the office to survey his new domain. Okay, so he was going to have to put in some serious hours just sorting this place out. There were heaps of scrap that he could put to use himself for his art projects, and there was a lot that the public might be interested in, for... whatever it was that non-artists tended to buy scrap metal for.

And then there was another part of the scrapyard entirely that had him sort of stopping and staring, perplexed, at what was sitting before him.

"Oh. Right... Spaceships."

Anybody who stopped by the junk yard today was going to find Dean trying to pull some of the junk away from the vehicles parked there by some of Fandom's more extraterrestrial residents and visitors. Parking lots were a general courtesy, though he wasn't exactly expecting anybody from space to want to make any purchases of the local trash or anything. They had been here first, the least he could do was leave a spot on the lot for them to park without scratching up their space-paint on some rusty piece of crap.

"Yeah."

[Yeah, Dean is moving to townie status, and taking over the junkyard. The mandatory name-change to McCoppin Scrap is forthcoming, and he'll be hiring in the future, but this post is mostly just establishy, unless anybody wants to stop by to... buy garbage or to check on their spacecraft, which he promises not to touch.]