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Log Title: Three Raw Hearts

Log setting: Takes place on the bad side of town. It's night, Saturday, January 19th, 2002, around 7:00pm.

Log Cast:
Trace
Starlight
Jason

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The night wind has shifted, coming in off the coast now and bringing with it a warmth that makes Trace's black sweatshirt jacket unnecessary and uncomfortably warm. He huddles inside it anyhow, the hood pulled up, shadowing his downcast eyes, as a few blue braids escape to swing gently. His hands are clasped stiffly behind his back as he walks, steps brisk but without certainty. It's the walk of someone who's trying to look like they know where they're walking, but in truth, nervousness has stiffened his frame. A brief glance up, casting yellow streetlight onto angled features as the boy checks the street signs around him. Not in Kansas anymore. He drops his gaze again to the filth-ridden sidewalk, the strangled tufts of grass clawing up through rubble and cracks in the concrete. An ugly sight to be sure, but better than the run-down buildings and the silent mini-dramas that take place beyond curtainless, dirty windows. Ugly fucking town. His hands unclasp and shove deep down into his pockets.

If ever you wish to get away, wandering the streets in this city is not the way. For wherever you may roam, there are always throngs of people, mostly unamused people, walking here and there, and oftentimes, in places of residence, it's the same people that grace the battered sidewalks and decrepit walls of this, our city. Yes, ugly would be the proper adjective. Uh huh. And as you move, as you make way down the concrete path before you, and hand pushes out, touching your arm, gently. "Blue?" comes out, quietly. Yeah, who calls ya that, baby? Who's yer daddy? Ahem, anyway, the child is loitering against a brick apartment house, just some random livery set between a liquor store and a run-down strip joint-- gotta love where Star hangs out, no? Next to him is a dark skinned boy of maybe sixteen years and another paleface that looks more Star's age. All six eyes are on you, tho, and the ones that belong to your friend show confusion and surprise. What the hell are /you/ doing here? Wait, "What are you doing here?" Left off the hell, don't wanna sound to confrontational. People only come here for one reason, well, people like us. And yer posta be clean. Maybe the younger thinks that means /everything/? Immaculate? His voice is soft, caring, as usual, despite the looming presense of his punkish friends. Star runs things, in his group, you'd probley know. So with /his/ friends, he can treat ya nice and shit'll be okay. That's what happens when yer a little psycho. Heh.

The hand makes him jump, jitterish as an underaged kid trying to sneak into either of the respectable establishments framing the stage of tonight's scene. He blinks at you, hands slipping free of the pockets to wring together slowly. Small world. He swallows, skittish hazel jumping between your two friends before settling on you again. Guilt. Why'd you hafta ask him that, huh? "I, uh." He glances back the way he came. "I was prolly gonna turn around. I was jest... I was maybe gonna get some pot, y'know? I mean, I leech off Doug way too much, and. That was all."

The smaller boy, Star, shakes his head and looks up at his friends, both, "I gotta go, I'll catch ya guys later." And the dark boy lifts his chin, "Later, Germ." Paleface waves, side to side, brows up and his lips pursed-- funny lookin' kid, this one. Pretty pushes from the wall and shrugs up one shoulder, then draws it forward, indicating you should follow. C'mon. "I got sumthin', but we gotta talk first," Starboi says, quietly. "I ain't seen ya, ya know, been," worried? "wonderin'." Yeah, so he's been asking around about you. Just if people have seen ya and stuff. If word would get back to ya. Lifts his hand and takes a drag off his cigarette, then exhales, eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't come out here, Blue." Oooooh, protective. Thought he wouldn't be?

Trace pulls in a breath and lets it out in a sigh. "I jest, I couldn't breath back at Walker's." He continues to speak as he impassively watches those friends of yours leave. "I been stayin' there twenty-four seven, y'know? Or hangin' out at the playground, and it's jest, there's only so much ya can do in the Garden District 'fore ya start to go fruit loops lookin' f'somethin t'do. An' I dunno, I was jest creepin out. I didn't have no more pot, an' Jason keeps the Valium an' Percodan bottled up in his pocket." A hunch of a shrug, as he turns to look up the street. Quiet words, less defensive: "Anyway, good to see you."

Starlight makes sure you keep up with him as he walks down the street. Slow and calculated movements and his body? completely offensive. This child looks as if he would eat anyone's face that fucked with him. Just the way ya gotta be and stuff, ya know? "Good that Jayce is takin' care of ya, Blue. He's a real good friend," Star says, quietly, and it sounds as if he really believes that. "Him and Ben." Guess Star don't think too much of the rest of your friends, ya know? "You wanna go somewhere? I got a some money, Blue, we could go git sumthin' to eat, or whatever. Jus' wanna talk for a little bit?" Needs to talk? Hasn't seen you in so long. Doesn't even know you really, now, ya know? Without. He's only been around you when you been usin'. Makes people strange. Makes 'em act all weird. Who are you, man?

Though it's an admirable survival skill, Trace cannot move anything like you, especially right now. He's vulnerable and broken-winged right now, shoulders hunched, timid. You have your armor, but his got stolen. They fucking took it. He used to be able to paint such a beautiful world atop apathy. See blue skies in puddles, all that bullshit. But now he's been stripped naked, and he's got to *face* all this shit, and he's got to see that the rainy day really is painfully dull and gray. He's been robbed of his rose-colored glasses. "Yeah, let's go somewhere," he agrees softly, glancing over at you. At least some things stay pretty. "We'll talk." A glance back up the street. "Grass can wait." He turns his focus back onto the street ahead of him and the hood gets tugged off, blue braids springing out, most falling just below the shoulders. "So where you gonna take us?"

It's amazing how gentle this hardass child is with you. Always has been. Star always seems to want to take care of you. To want to keep you safe. To want to make sure everything's cool. That's how friends are, right? That's what they're about? "Wanna go get a burger?" Sure yer hungry, right? Probley gonna get nice and fat like a thanksgiving turkey after kicking /that/ habit. Um, but we won't mention that. "Could go to Bob's?" Do they have those here? They do now. "Or like McDonalds?" Wherever you want. You pick. Bob's is better, tho. Like a lot. Littlest makes to cross the street, taking down the last of his smoke and flicking it toward a garbage can on the opposite side. He exhales away from you and shakes his head. "You got balls, Blue, that's all I gotta say. I dunno, I tried to get shit cleaned up, but, I mean, things got all fucked up for awhile, while you were gone." Yep. They sure did. Nice and fucked up. He sighs and pushes his hand through his hair. Stress.

"No, Bobs is cool," Trace agrees as he shuffles along beside you. "McDonalds can suck my dick. Tastes like barf, and I got kicked out of one once." He's silent a few moments after that, sullen eyes ahead, but then he blinks and looks over when you tell him things didn't work out for you while he was out. "I.. M'sorry to hear it." Well, he is, and then again he isn't. "So you ain't squeaky clean an' gotta personal trainer no more an' all that?" Whatever that was about. It had confused him at the time. "What happened?" Because things don't fuck up for no reason, right? I mean, they better not. He doesn't like the idea of just being some timebomb waiting around for things to blow up.

Star shakes his head, continuing up the sidewalk once on the other side of the street. "Nah, I mean, I'm still training and stuff, but I ain't clean anymore. I ain't jun--" and he pauses. Can he say junk in front of you? He looks a little confused and shakes his head again. "Um, there's some stuff that, I mean, I'm just partying some and stuff." Yeah, that's it. "And this lady adopted me, I mean, I let her, for a certain reason, but I just hope she goes through with her end of things." Sounds as if he doesn't know, ya know? Like he's a bit unsure. "I mean, I wouldn't've done it, ya know, but for this ..." and he pauses, then sighs. Christ. Yeah, so things have been fucked up. And that's just the icing on the cake. But this isn't about him, it's about you. "Nevermind about that, Blue." Shouldn't worry about that shit, when ya got so much goin' on of yer own.

"Ligeia took ya in," Trace smiles crypically. "Heard 'bout that. Anyway, this is prolly' the only time ya gonna hear this from anyone, but I think y'll be alright. She hired me once to paint f'her, and I dunno... I don't feel she's some monster, like everybody else seems so sure of. I think.. she's gonna be a good mom t'her baby." He rolls his shoulders in a light shrug, hands clasping behind his back once again. "Anyway, m'sure y'kin take care of y'self, whether or not ya clean, an' no matter if ya under Ligeia's roof 'r not. Yer tough. Way tougher'n me."

Star pauses and looks up at you, head tilting some. Little angel missed you, Blue. "Ya heard 'bout it? From who?" He chews a little on the inside of his cheek, then fingers his pack, the one in his flannel pocket, and pulls out his Reds. He offers you one first, "Ya want?" Then sniffs and glances down the street, back to where the two of you came from. "I dunno about bein' tougher than ya. I think yer tougher than me. You stopped, ya know. You quit. I never did." Well, he did, actually, didn't he? "Um, I mean, I just think yer tougher than me." There. Don't ya just love fourteen year olds? Stupid kid. "But I'll kill anyone that fucks with ya, so." There ya go. He's tougher. Heh. Sounds like he means it too.

"Grace tole me," the blue-haired kid admits. "She felt sad about it. Gonna miss you, y'know?" He looks down at the offered cigarette, honestly considering it, but can't work up any real desire for the thing. Finally he just shakes his head a little, declining it. "Thanks anyway, though." His hands find his pockets again. "But... You wouldn't have any ludes or demmies or anything on ya, would ya?" He sounds embarrassed as he asks it. Weak child. "Stuff like that's no big thing," he explains quickly. "I mean, there's pills Jason'd give me. It jest takes the edge off sometimes." And it seems there certainly is an edge right now. "I'd make it up t'you."

A tiny frown touches Star's brow as he looks up at you. You don't want a smoke, okay. That's good. It's a shitty habit. Kid gets himself one and sticks it between his lips, then shoves the pack back into his pocket and drags fire from his jean pocket. Flicks flame, the yellow-orange dancing across the flawless planes of his face. Even if you ain't into guys, this one is, well, confusing. Remember? Far too beautiful for his own good. And in the blackness that follows, a cloud of grey makes way from his mouth, captured and carried upwards by a slow breeze that brushes by in the nick of time. Fingers his primary vice and considers you for a long while before shrugging. "Do you wanna try to get something to eat first and see if that helps?" He's not gonna, ya know, give you, I dunno. He doesn't want to fuck things up. He's not stupid. If he does something wrong, everyone'll kick his little ass. Tough guy don't wanna get beat up or something!

"Alright," Trace says quietly, eyes finding the sidewalk again. "I understand." He still sounds let down, however, even if he doesn't persue it. "I mostly jest want some fries and stuff. Dunno. And like... some milkshake to dip 'em in. Yeah." He drudges a smile. Okay, this eating thing might not be so bad. One step before the other, dirty silvery laces undone and flopping about around the toes of the black sneakers. "So yer trainer person know you slipped up at all? I mean, he gonna be pissed at you?"

Star doesn't want to let you down. I mean, that's not the point of him refusing you. He's trying to be strong, like you think he is. He's trying to give you every chance to make this, what you want, work. You wanted this. You needed this. What kind of a friend would he be if he just gave it up the first time you asked. Doesn't matter what it is yer asking for. And yeah, he catches the tone. His hand lifts, reaching for your arm as you begin to walk. Stop. Wait. "Listen, Blue. I just don't wanna fuck anything up for you, that's all. I just don't wanna do something and then you get all messed up or mad at me. I just wanna make sure that you can, ya know, do this, if you want, and I wanna help you. I don't wanna fuck you over. I don't wanna make you hate me." There. He releases your arm and steps back, shaking his head. "When I quit, I didn't take nuthing. I hadda just stop everything. It was fucked up, but I hadda do it, cause I hadda get off tranks. Fucking killin' me, I couldn't even smile anymore. Not that I smile a lot." Tough guys don't smile, okay? They always got this constipated look on their faces, and Star is trying for that, cept he's just too, ya know, pretty to look intimidating. Unfortunately. Shakes his head and takes another drag, sounding almost defeated. "But if after we eat, ya know, you still feel bad, maybe I kin get some whiskey'r sumthin'." Whiskey always helps. That sweet burn takes away all the pain. Hoorah!

No it doesn't, apparantly. Just opens up a whole slew of old aches. Trace's lips twist with distaste at the suggestion, and he says, "Naw, s'okay. I don't really... well, I don't -- drink. Like ever, really." There ya go. Actually, earlier in this friendship he probably would have agreed, and choked the noxious stuff back, just to not look like some wimp and keep respect in your eyes. He's surely done it before, with other kids. But all that's bullshit, and so you're given the truth. "Anyway, I'll be alright. I understand." His black sweatshirt is seriously too hot by this point, and he unzips it and shrugs out of it, tying it about his hips with the sleeves. "So you never answered me, 'bout the trainer. He gonna care?"

Jason hasn't been following anyone. Honest. He just happened to come across you two on this miserable street by sheer coincidence... Well, maybe it was helped along by a couple of the guys that hang out on the corners around here that everyone knows, but we don't have to let that little part out. So, anyhow, his voice comes quiet from behind you both in the wet darkness, "Didn' know ya smiled at all." Dryly teasing, take it as you will. He slips out into a pool of faint lamplight, brushing his almost perpetually tangled hair back with one hand while the other holds one of the infamous licorice cloves, trailing sweet smoke. The green eyes glitter out from beneath shadowed brows at Star, lips twisted in a slight, amused smirk. But then they go to Trace, softening a little. "S'up?" A one-syllable way of /not/ asking 'what're you doing down here?'

Star wrinkles his nose. Don't drink. Well, okay. That kind of sucks or something, but maybe the food will help and everything'll be cool. "Um, it's a she. My trainer. And, gonna care about what?" Did he miss something? Probley. Takes another drag and begins walking, slowly. Shrugs up his shoulder, again motioning you with it. C'mon. Let's go. But then there's that unmistakeable smartass voice. The mischievious little fucker, Jason. And Star pauses, turning toward the older, eyes narrowing to little slits. It's like this big 'Eat shit and die' type expression that is gone as fast as it came. Oops. The child removes himself, stepping back a couple feet, away from Trace. Right. "Fuck you," comes out, so quietly it's likely that even Trace wouldn't hear it. He smiles. All the time, ya putz. Gosh. Another drag, cherry brightening up a face that seems abnormally neutral. Everything's cool here, yep.. Peers up the street and shrugs. Nuthing. But you ain't talking to the little punk, are ya, Jason?

Trace turns at the voice, startled. Shit. What are YOU doing down here? Coz he'd slipped away quiet-like, or thought he had, anyway. "I. We were jest gettin' fast food." He looks to Star, or back at him since he retreated a few steps. It's not a lie, after all. They are. Just ask Star. He looks back to Jason and smiles uncertainly, but it's disrupted by a flinch as his eyes find the clove and he averts his eyes. Bothers him, God knows why. I mean, everybody smokes, right? But y'know, maybe it's because we both worked all hard to beat down on Trace's vices and you're not supposed to take on new ones, or maybe it's because Bat smokes those damned things and Trace doesn't like the reminder just yet, since Bat went and left his ass. Twice. So anyway, who knows why he flinches, but he does.

Yeah, well, we're not thinking about Bat at all. At least, Jason isn't. Actually, Jason isn't thinking about a lot of things - like how close to fed up he's getting with all the shit he's getting. "Take a fuckin' number, Star," he murmurs quietly to the prettyboi, flicking the only half-smoked clove off into the gutter. Green eyes narrow to hide the hurt though, and then further at Trace's words. Or, at least, what's hiding behind Trace's words. "Jus' was wonderin' where ya went s'all. But hey..." He shrugs, gaze flickering back to Star, almost challenging. You gonna say something now, pretty? Or run away. The name 'Rabbit' is just hanging there in the air, waiting to be unleashed again.

Star's eyes flicker up toward Trace as the older speaks, then back down to the ground. But as Jason spits words toward him, the child lifts his attention to the firey red-head and, yeah, okay, he's not so tough anymore, okay? Not even a little bit. Was a tiny touch tough at first, but it's all gone. Jason's so mean to him. It's so not fair. Little boy shrugs up his shoulders, helplessly, and takes another drag, exhaling away from everyone. Shoves one hand into his pocket and shifts his weight. Tiny couldn't /possibly/ look more cool than he does right now, all punked out. The clothes make the man, ya know. Wanna fight, Jason? Joke. "Wussint doin' nuthing, jus' gonna eat," comes out, quietly.

Trace looks up and smiles very faintly with unspoken appreciation as the clove is tossed, but his expression turns apologetic at the boy's soft words. "I..." He sighs softly. "I wasn't gonna do nothin'." And he's still certain he wasn't. Pretty sure, anyway. He was getting pot. If he'd have gotten some, he'd be okay; his need would pass and he'd go home. Even so, there's a belying 'I'm weak, please forgive me' in his gaze towards the redhead. He breaks the contact, looking back to Star. "So how much further is this place, eh?" Curiousity furrows his brows a little. What's with that posing thing Star is trying to pull? It's weird. I mean, so it's not really, knowing Star. But it wasn't there a moment ago, so it's weird to look back and see Star all defensive. (Puff up, puff up, they hate that. Hee.) A glance back to Jason, wondering what's going on, because he seems to be missing something.

Running, dammit. Both of you. Green eyes flash between the both of you. "Not doin' anything?" Jason murmurs low. Another look between you. "Whatfuckin'ever," he mutters, fingers digging into his jacket's pocket for the hard-pack there. Seems he forgot he just tossed one away. Just needs to do /something/ that doesn't involve sinking teeth into soft flesh. He was doing alright until Star made eye contact, dammit. A couple of sparks behind a cupped hand and a cigarette's lit up. A third look between you. So if you were so big on eating, why aren't you moving?

Star lifts his hand, the one with the ciggie stuck between it's fingers, and points up the street. "Not that far," he says, quietly, then shrugs up his should again. Not gonna go unless someone tells him to. Very obedient all of the sudden and yeah, those walls are up /real/ high again. Takes another drag and peers toward Jason as the older speaks. A little sigh escapes from between his lips and he simply looks away. "You, um, wanna come, Jayce?" he asks, quietly. Pretty fucking nice, no? I think so. I think that was real nice. What a nice kid. Someone give him a prize or whatever. "Jus' goin' tuh git uh burger," is offered softly. Just to clear things up. Food equals burger. Not looking at the red-head, tho. Nope. Disrespect? But probably humility. If Star doesnt look at Jason, then Jason can't beat him up with the 'evil eye'. Teen logic.

Trace blinks at Jason's words and actions. "Why you bein' that way?" His face twists and he turns, heading on in the direction of the fast food place. "I didn't do nothing," he insists, mumbling to himself now as he stalks off. "Jest cain't stay at Walker's f'revah." He's several paces away when Star invites Jason along, and then he pauses but doesn't look back, gaze unfocused but aimed on down the street. Waiting, uncomfortably.

Wanna bet, Star? An observer might realize that there was nothing Star could have done or said to avoid that evil eye, and so he gets it. "Great, thanks, Star," he says, words positively dripping. "Cuz, y'know, I wouldn' wanna barge in on nuthin'." If there was any affection for Star a couple days ago, it isn't there now. But this is definitely over /something/. The redhead lifts his eyes to the receding Trace. "Y'wanna know why I'm bein' this way? Cuz I'm sick of /not/ bein' this way." The cigarette flares in the darkness as he takes a drag. "I fuckin' swear, I jus' wish someone'd be straight with me fer once..." He growls softly and takes another drag. And then starts off down the street, saying quietly, "Fine, let's go."

Starlight does look back at Jason now, yep. And he's ..well, he's really fucking hurt, to be honest. Here he was trying to be nice and the guy hasta go and pull shit. Well, if Jason didn't want Star to run off, then why the fuck does he gotta go and be a prick? Right? "Fuck you, Jason." There. Fullname and all. "I gotta go, Blue." Yep. Same ol' same ol'. Least Star tried this time, no? He sure did. Little boy turns to leave. He's not gonna take this shit. He doesn't HAVE to take this shit.

"Well suck it the fuck up, coz don't start with me now!" Trace says sharply, turning on Jason. His cheeks are streaked with wet, but it's those burning tears, with a stiff expression since he won't let his face contort. "I jest... Stuff happened, and my head's all fucked up, an' my heart is torn, an.." He doesn't turn away, but his eyes leave Jason's green ones. His voice is nearly a whimper now, pleading desperately. "I know you've been taking shit too, and maybe some of that's my fault, but not since the apartment. We'd been doin' alright, I thought. And I jest.." That scent wraps itself around the lump in his throat, and he grabs onto his braids very suddenly, fists wrapping around them tight. "Keep that FUCKING THING AWAY FROM ME! That's not..." The shout is broken as his throat closes up. The hands uncurl from his hair to cover his face, turning partly away. A soft sob. And when he can speak again it comes out a water-logged choke, "That's not... yer smell." He shakes his head, hands forced down with an effort, and he tries to brush past Jason, long strides to carry him past the redhead where he calls shakily, "Star. Don't go." He drops into a crouch right there on the sidewalk, one arm curling around his knees, the other rubbing at his flushed face pitifully. "Star," he calls again. Because you didn't deserve any of that either, of course. You stopped him from any crash course he might have discovered during his walk. You're not allowed to just abandon the damsel when she's still in distress, so back on that white horse, mister.

Jason just blinks at the blue-braided kid who just yelled at him. /Yelled/ at him. He's never done that before and Jason clearly doesn't know what to make of it. Who are you? Where's Trace? The silence hangs in the wet air for long moments, three raw hearts standing there in it. His eyes drop down to the cancer in his hand, just staring at it. Not his smell? What /is/ his smell now anyway? He swallows hard and flings the thing away. Okay this is fucked up. /He's/ fucked up. And it's not like he can just tell someone what's going on. All he can do is fuck /other/ people up. Green eyes, faded, lackluster green eyes, raise to the pair before him. So many things to be said in those eyes. But he doesn't say any of them, just lets them get swallowed up by the dark, empty spaces. Jaw muscles tighten. No, his role is supposed to be the Strong One, it seems - be it villain or savior. Just not... "Fuck it," he says softly.

Gosh. It's almost as if Star was caught doing something super wrong, the way he just /stops/ in his tracks. Jeesh! And then whirls around, brows lifted, eyes showing complete concern for Trace who is, for all intents and purposes breaking down, or, or being himself? Is he being himself? Is this Trace? Oh god, it's so confusing. But, okay, the littlest is definately NOT leaving now and as Star makes way toward him, pleading his name, the boy shakes his head and holds up his hands, as if trying to calm the bluecap. Ya know how people do, shaking their hands a bit, as well as their head. No nono, it's okay. Shh. That type of thing. And as the Middle drops down, Star steps up, quick, then sits on one heel before. "Okay okay, I'm not going /anywhere/, okay? It's all okay. Everything is okay." Jesus, colour Star frantic. This isn't good. Kid knows /that/ much. Trace can't freak like that, or, ya know, he's gonna turn back. He will. That's how this shit goes. Big H wants ya back'n'll do anything to getcha back. Just part of the game. "It's a trick, Blue. Just breathe," comes out, whisper-sweet. Junk tricks. Star puts his hand on Trace's knee, gently, then literally /throws/ his cigarette out toward the street. Fuck it. Not important right now. Breathing is hard, intense, as the little boy tries to comfort. "Blue, we care, you ain't alone. Member what I said? Before? Member?" How could T forget?

Trace could tell Jason about his smell. It's the dust and warmth of the French Quarter, it's earthy, sometimes rich with a blanket of marijuna smoke, or cultured by the clean light scent of his shampoo -- and always a hint of forest hidden there. But perhaps that last is something the bluecap only dreams. He reaches for Star when he nears, and can't quite move in for a hug, but sinks forward onto his knees and clutches at the boy's arm. He buries his face against the slender white shoulder, his face hot and wet. "I member," he says softly, with a shudder in his voice leftover from the earlier hysterics. "I member. But everything's goin' away, Star. Everything hurts me now. I don' wanna feel all this."

Jason can only watch the both of you, fingers digging into his palms. He caused this. He brought this on. And now Trace is huddled, clinging to Star and he's the one the made it happen. He takes a step back, and then another. Everything's going away... everything. Trace speaks words that Jason's been feeling for a long time... Green gives way to flickers of white as his eyes roll back for an instant, knees starting to give way - and then he's back again, stiffening himself and covering by taking another step back. Now he's the one looking like he's about to bolt. Who's the rabbit now?

Star has never really been good at comforting, and as a matter of fact, it looks pretty damn awkward as he lifts his hand, pressing it against Trace's back. Enoughso that he lets it drop away again and /very/ gently pushes the older boy away. "It's all good, Blue," Star says, softly, eyes making contact, if allowed. Little hands continue to hold bony arms, as if offering support. Much needed support, it would seem. "Listen to me, bro. Just listen," it's a quiet request, warm and sincere. Please just hear me, despite your junk insanity. Boy wets his lips and dips his head down, obviously wanting to make sure Trace is paying attention. "I'm not gonna leave you, Jason ain't gonna leave either." Get that, Jason? Red might not recongnize this tone, for Star's never got sassy before. Not in the presense of His Greatness. But, yeah, Jason, you ain't going no where. "We're here for ya, and we understand, okay? I'm sorry I was gonna take off, but I ain't now. So we can go git sumthin' tuh eat, or whatever you wanna do, we'll go catch a flick or, I dunno, go get laid, whatever you want." Strange these words coming out and sounding so girly sweet. Someone gotta take the reigns, and littlebit just got the fuck back on the horse, Tracer. He's up there, ready to ride. "Wherever ya want." Friends don't leave. Maybe Star's finally learning that? Hrm.

Trace gives an unhinged, sniffly laugh and shakes his head, rubbing at bleary wet eyes. When he starts to speak, it's entirely run together and very hard to understand. "Ain' nevah gettin' laid. God hates me, coz only boys lahk me but He still din' make me gay, and the on'y girl ah'll love doan' want me, an' ah doan' wanna see a movie. Ah wanna see Bat, an' ah wanna be numb, an' ah wanna..." He pulls in a deep wet-shuddering breath after the nearly incomprehensible ramble and curls his arms around himself. "Les' get a milkshake," he whispers. "I'll make do w'that."

Jason's not hearing much right now. Just the echos of Trace's words, overlayed with his own - two voices saying the exact same thing. Everything's going away. Everything's coming apart... Jason stumbles as he backs over the curb, out into the street, but manages to keep his balance. He turns, lost eyes looking about.. This place, where is it? "Where..." A hard swallow comes, gaze going back over one shoulder. No, that's where the bad stuff is. Stuff that's his fault. Wet, tangled, knotted-up hair is plastered against his too-pale face, eyes looking faded and too-natural. NotJason. A stranger, too distant.

Star nods at Trace's words, then picks himself up and backs away from the older boy. "C'mon, Blue," is said, words still soft and gentle. Trace is far too delicate at this point. "We can find Bat maybe? Um, I dunno where he would be." Kid glances over toward Jason and pushes his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. Just wanted to hang out and get fucked up tonight, ya know? But, not gonna happen. "Jayce?" he says, then looks back to Trace. To Jason again. And finally back to Trace. Jesus Christ. "Um," he begins, then shakes his head and frowns. He's too little. He doesn't know /how/ to deal with this, ya know? I mean, he's not the adult here, not even close, not that either of you are, but yeah. Fourteen does not a psychologist make. "Milkshake sounds cool." He's getting flustered. On the horse, off the horse. Insecure. Jason is /not/ helping things, and it would appear Star expected the redhead to.

"Not 'less you wanna milkshake in California, we ain't findin' him," Trace mumbles miserably. He picks himself up off the concrete slowly, as though he doesn't trust his limbs and expects them to buckle. But finally he stands and takes a few steps towards Jason, reaching out a hand but falling short of touching the boy. "Jason?" he asks softly, and sniffles hugely with his knuckle, blinking puffy eyes. "Jason, come get a milkshake with us," he says softly. "Star knows this place. He was gonna take me. I... you... you kin' throw yer pickles at the window an' I won't even try'n take 'em from you..." 'Member those days, friend? Golden days. Another sniffle. "Come on... I'll get strawb'ry. You kin have some."

"California," the redhead whispers softly, slowly blinking eyes focused on something completely different than that which is in front of him. "We in The City?" But then Jason's eyes find the boy just before him, a little glimmer of his spark shining at the bluecap's words. "Star? She..." He shakes his head and frowns deeply. Goddammit, whatever's in there, get out! "Wait, what, Trace?" he asks, like he was only distracte d by a thought and needed a moment to catch up. "Um," he starts, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Y'sure?" Green eyes glimmer through the shadows and rain to the other boy. "'Mean, if you guys gotta talk..." Still hurt, but he's back. Maybe even a little more in contol now.

Star just stands there, out of it. He's behind the two of you but when Jason peers toward him, the kid just looks plain lost. What in the world is going on? So he'll be quiet, ya know? But definately needs another smoke. Fingers slide into his flannel pocket and pull out his pack of reds. Nicotine always helps in situations like this. Flips open the top and goes about lighting up. Eyes move up the street and then back to the couple. Maybe he /should/ go? I mean, yeah, Trace said he didn't want Star to leave, but god, something is /wrong/ with Jason and the redhead never shares with Star. A few breaths, in and out, audible and Star actually does speak, unable to stay out of things for very long. "We could go and you two could talk? I could show you where it is?" Just leaving it open. In case you guys wanna be alone, but don't wanna tell him to blow off. He did promise Trace, ya know. Can't very well go back on his promise. Once again, Star feels out of place. "California?" he says, quietly and more than likely to himself. Wait, they did say that, right? God. This just gets curiouser and curiouser. Bat's /gone/?

Trace ventures another step forward. Yep, Jason was getting scary there for a second, but he's almost getting used to these incomprehendible bouts of weirdness. Actually, that's frightening in itself. Trace looks confused just a moment before he steps forward and wraps Jason in a quick clingy hug. "No, y'comin'." Then he's untangled and seeking out the boy's hand to tug at it, even as he glances back to Star. "Ya both coming." So Trace will take charge. Not that it makes him the adult here... He's going to stomp his feet and hold his breath 'til he DIES if you don't both come! So there. Timid tugtug on Jason's hand, and he ventures a step towards the way he and Starlight had been headed before this breakdown. "I'm getting a large super size biggie fries. Or whatever they call the biggest one." He sniffles and laughs weakly. "I kin' never keep up with which is which."

The bright eyes go to Trace again, blinking slowly. He starts to say something else but the hug catches him by surprise. Jason returns it awkwardly, unsure as to how to respond, and even starts to give the kid a look for the hand thing before he remembers that it's something he actually doesn't mind. Of course, this /is/ public. Oh, fuck it. Jason'd almost welcome a fight right not, just in order not to think about stuff. "Um, jus' ask for Bigass Fries 'r sumthin?" he asks quietly in response to Trace's little naming dilemna. And then, again, back to Star, green eyes... Okay, the pain is clear to see but he murmurs, "Yeah, c'mon. We'll.. eat or sumthin'." Even though he has no appetite right now. Might notice neither boy responded to the California inquiry. Bat? Who's that?

Star looks down as the two of you hug. God. Then peers up the street and back down, then around. Yeah, public is right. He takes another drag, nervous and shrugs up his shoulders to the words offered him. He's just gonna hang back, follow at a distance. No, he's not ashamed, okay, he is. But at least he's going, ya know. Walls up, real real high, as he moves through the night. Alls well that ends well, right? And it seems that the boys are going to have a nice rest of the night, provided that things stay on the surface. French fries. Milkshakes. Cigarettes and maybe a little dope later on. What more could three kids want? This one, li'l Star, definately isn't approachable at this point, and perhaps his strut might ward off any bullshit that might be thrown, considering the two of you are, um, holding hands. Big deal. Big one.

Well, uh, gosh. Trace just took Jason's hand to tug it and get him moving. If this were at home, or even someplace tame like the Garden District or the playground, they could hold hands. And maybe he's all fucked up and clingy, but he's not stupid. So once Jason's walking along with them, fingers untangle and Trace releases the redhead's hand, hooking thumbs in his pocket. Both of you agreed to leave in order to let the other two 'talk', but talking's the last thing Trace wants. At least, about stuff that matters. Jason had it right exactly. Who's Bat? Grace who? Junk, what's that? These are things best not pondered right now. So fuck talking. "I'm gonna... make a french fry and katsup sculpture," he decides in a murmur. "A castle, with salt packet flags. But I'll do it onna burger wrapper this time so they don't kick me out like those bastards at McDonalds. McDonalds got no appreciation for art. Not even edible art. Uncultured swines."

"I'm gonna..." Jason starts to say in reply, but it dies off again. 'I'm gonna' implies thoughts for the future and he's scared of that. And the past.. we're not going there either. Right now it's one foot in front of the other, hands stuffed deep in those pockets and eyes on the concrete in front of him. "M'not 'llowed in the McDonalds on Bienville no more," he murmurs out of nowhere. But instead of explaining, he looks back over his shoulder to Star. "Pick it up, yer laggin'."

Star doesn't even lift his head when Jason treats him with such respect. Nope. He doesn't /care/ right now. He's lost in his own thoughts and continues walking in the same manner that he was, not too far behind, but definately not part of things. Just the way he likes it, or something. Maybe not, but it sure seems that way, considering he always pushes himself into this same gig. He takes another drag and shifts his eyes toward a storefront window with lots of camcorders. Hmm. Nah, fuck it. Head shakes and he sighs. Christ. Course, as soon as Jason looks away, if he does, Star brings his attention to the back of Blue. Likes that kid, ya know? Trace is usually nice to Star, unlike some other people. Ahem.

Trace glances back when Star doesn't pick it up as commanded, and looks to the boy briefly before halting his tracks and snagging Jason by the arm to hold him in place as well. He waits until Star is closer and then starts trodding on towards this fast food place. It's starting to sound like an oasis at the end of a terrible desert journey or something. Okay, so the awkwardness probably won't be shed at the door, and you two will probably still be picking at each other, but Trace will just have to deal with that. Actually he won't, because as promised, he'll immerse himself in his junk food castle creation, only drawn out of the muse when directly addressed.

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