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Log Title: After So Long
Setting: Upstairs, in Walker’s home. Or more specifically, in a pile on his waterbed.
Log Cast:
Walker
Glass
Benjamin
Jean-Batiste
Jason
Trace
Alisynde
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Walker lifts a gleaming zippo to attract Glass' attention; hey, it works for ravens. "Here... don' have a hissy," he chuckles. Really he's rather enjoying the waves. He widens his sprawl a little to further include the Ben, a leg draping over the new arrival's.
Glass reaches for the zippo, smiling liquidly.
Jason eeks! as the wave (yeah, the, uh, /wave/!) squishes his face against Bat's. He falls back and giggles. "So, uh... what're you thinkin' now, Bat?" Broad, bright grin, eyes sparkling.
Glass lights his cigarette and gives a sigh of contentment.
Benjamin returns the welcoming drape with an arm flug around Walker's waist. Almost possessive in the idle placement, though his fingers reach just far enough to rest on Batiste's toes. Cause the more people you can reach in a group sprawl, the better.
Jean-Batiste makes a big deal out of rubbing his nose when Jason smushes his their faces together, looking over towards Glass - in the process, Jason gets gently pummeled with half a headful of pale braids. "Is the bed appeased?" he asks, trying to sound all low and solemn like Glass did, only a few moments before. "Do we need to sacrifice more?" He grins sidelong at Jason, and shakes his head gently, tickling the redhead's face with braid tufts.
Glass says in the deep bed voice, "You have pleased me."
Glass drags on the cigarette, smiling.
Walker lifts his head a little to spy out the ashtray so he doesn't end up snuffing his cigarette on the mattress. 'Shrooms or no, that would be a buzzkill. The half-crushed cigarette slips from his fingers to roll in the ashtray, a warm smile melting its way out from his lips. As an afterthought he moves the container to the headboard to prevent accidental spillage and gives a delicious little wriggle that ripples through the mattress. After several moments of blissful silence he giggles again. "Yay... the bed gawd's appeased. Does this mean we hold a celebration now?"
Glass says, "Yes. Thou shalt celebrate."
"S'crfice who'ever's makin the bed go crazy," comes a mumbled protest from Trace as he rubs his eyes hard with both hands. "Coz I...
Jason eeps! at the braids, reaching up and batting at them... and then lets out this little sqeaul of laughter at the appeasement of the bed. "The bed has spoken!" he snickers out. "So..." he starts, innocent all of a sudden, "How shall we cel'br-Trace!" Another delighted peal of laughter. He reaches a hand out from behind the curtain of blond braids that's dangling over his face. "C'mere, we need a third!"
"'M aheady celebratin'," comes a muffled purr from Walker's hair, and the one who's taken up residence there. Ben breaks into soft giggles when Trace finally speaks, and lifts his head just enough to peer through the black screen at the newest "arrival". "Welcome back!" he offers. "Come make the pile a mohe colohful place."
Jason looks back over his shoulder at Ben and Walker and grrrs playfully. "Back off, he's ours!" And with
that, he collapses back into Bat's lap, giggling.
Trace chuckles softly, eyes still half-mast and dreamy-drowsy. "Yeah, yeah... m'comin. But Glass' the Third. I'm the Second, 'member?" He clambers over closer to his friends. "So... so I mean, w'as goin' on with all this bed pleasin' n'... whatever ya guys are doing?"
Glass says, "Beasts?"
Jean-Batiste shakes his head at Jason, reprimanding him with ticklish blond braids. What a punishment. "We can share..." he chides, sitting up a bit and shaking his braids back from his face. He pauses deliberately, grinning to his blue-haired friend, and adds, "Well, a -little-." He wiggles his toes against Ben's hand. See? He's graciously sharing his toes with Ben. Or Ben's sharing his hand with Batiste. Or whatever.
Jason sniffles, frowning lightly. "If Glass's da tird, 'n I'm... I mean yer the second... What'm I? Chopped liver??" He giggles softly. "Very little."
Benjamin ever-so-helpfully tickles Batiste's toes with his fingertips. Or moves said toes to brush his fingertips. Or something. Maybe if any contact lasts long enough, everything flows into each other? "Theh's room," he mumbles.
Walker echoes Jason's giggle, a hand moving to find the boy who's likeness adorns his wall. A brush with shoulder will do for now; warm and round. "We're relaxin'," he volunteers to Trace with a slow smile.
Trace bobs his head Glass-wards. "Yeah... yeah, 'course. Beasts!" He giggles and clambers over to Jason. "Batiste said you was Fourth. We're beasts, turrible beasts!" He giggles and in a sudden, quick movement turns to *chomp* at Batiste's arm. He only gets a mouthful of flannel -- that's all he was trying for, naturally -- and peeks up at his blonde friend with dreamy glass eyes full of mirth, teeth clenched in a playful snarl and not letting go.
Glass laughs softly.
Jean-Batiste grins over at Glass. "Now all we need is Ali, to talk all medieval, and everything would be perfect." Whether or not another person would fit on the bed, though...ah, well. The more the merrier. "We're all Allies of the Consort of the Friend of the Third Beast. I think. It's something like that-hey!" He laughs, tugging gently at his caught sleeve. "I've been bitten by the Second Beast! It's a sign of the Apocalypse! Help!"
Jason mumbles sullenly, "Oh, Iiii see. Number four..." Blinkblink up at Batiste. Ooh, blond braids. He reaches up and tugs on one. Hey! They're connected. An' look, this thing attatched to Bat's arm? It's got braids too. Jason drops the blond braid and snags one of the blue ones. "Oh... hey, Trace. Guess what?" he manages out through a huge, lazy, lopsided grin.
Glass giggles and rolls over to bite Bat's knee.
Benjamin links an ankle over the leg that Walker draped over his, creating a pleasant tangle of clothes and limbs. He growls softly, playfully, and burrows against Walker's neck. Taking up Trace's lead, apparently! Beasts!
Walker - who was lolling warmly on the seas of warm serenity - now finds himself suddenly attacked by a growling bedshark. One of the dangers of following the bed god. A hurricane of giggles accompanies a body-wriggle that jostles the bed soundly.
Jean-Batiste giggle-yelps again, and reaches down to push Glass away, though all his push accomplishes is a ruffling of two-toned hair. "It's the Third Beast himself, help! Help..." He giggles more, then squirms as if tickled from about seven locations at once. Maybe he's imagining tickle-piranhas swarming him, or something.
"Mmrf?" Trace peers over at Jason with lifted brows, but finally doesn't release his victem until he catches Ben's growl and must free his mouth to croon, "Oh, Ben's a Beast too!" He giggles at himself then pads around Jason, stalk, stalk, like a beastie. A lopsided grin of his own mirrors back at his red-haired friend. "And it ain't no thing, bein' first or fourth... Just later ta join the game, y'know? But I bet yer one'a the most terrific-est Beasts, Jason..." He grins. "Anyway, s'up?"
Walker pages Alisynde, you and Jean-Batiste: Walker nodsnods and throws out a fishing line to reel Ali in.
Glass says, "Ben is the fifth Beast."
Benjamin captures Walker in both arms, playfully snarling and snapping at the back of his neck, and only rarely getting more than a mouthful of hair. One's aim is the first to go when tripping on great acid, after all. Near-delirious giggles punctuate the snarls, until Glass speaks, and said Beast lifts his head, blinking glazedly. "But theh's only four," he points out. Details!
Jean-Batiste looks over at Ben, pointing at him in giggling solemnity - which isn't very solemn at all - and says, "The Third Beast makes up the rules, if he says you're the Fifth Beast, then you're the Fifth Beast." He nods, and looks down to Glass, nodding again to him. First Beast reporting for orders, Your Beastliness.
Glass says, "I thought Jason was the third Beast."
Walker is a helpless heap of giggles and in no shape to comment on beasts or numbers of them. He gains some respite when Ben ceases, pulling a breath and glad he took his pills. That wriggling's probably going to smart in the morning though. But tomorrow won't come till Walker sleeps so the point is moot. "Nah.. you're th' third Beast... rememba? Th' guy an' y'know..?" Oh, that certainly helps clear up the confusion.
Trace shakes his head. "Well... but the other night, you said you were the Third Beast, honest. And Ali was the friend of the Third Beast. And the Friend of the Ally of the First and Second Beast. Or somethin'. Member?" He giggles at the memory.
Jason batbats his eyes at the stalking Trace, the green sparkling there. Okay, big, wicked grin. "Ohh, I'm sure alla ya been beastienesses 'fore I cames along." He grins toothily, then stuffs a hand into his hand into his jeans pocket, digging around. "Hey, Trace... ya gonna keep sumthin' if I give it to ya?"
Jean-Batiste's face twists up into a pretzel of confusion. "I thought -you- were the Third Beast, Glass..." He plays with Glass's hair a little, fussing happily with it, then looks curiously to Jason and Trace. What's this? Secret gifts?
Trace blinks. Ooo, presents! "Yeah! I mean, you just want me holdin' it for a while, or like for keeps...?" He peers back and forth between Jason’s face and his pocket alternately, face lit and eager as he can be through his pleasant, muzzy haze.
Alisynde comes upstairs.
Benjamin blinks owlishly, and looks down to Walker. From that great height of five or so inches. "Seems I'm the Fifth Beast," he informs. "And the Third Beast is the Bed. Which we mustn't displease." He bends his head and fastens his teeth onto the side of Walker's neck, looking up innocently at the rest of the bed's occupants.
Glass says, "I am the third Beast."
Alisynde quietly sneaks up the stairs, peering over the tops of her glasses to see if everything's alright.
Jean-Batiste, Jason, Trace, Glass, Ben and Walker are in the absolutely most wondrous puppy pile known to puppykind upon the waterbed. Smiles, laughter, snuggles all around.
And they're ALL high as kites.
A veritable pile of people is on Walker's bed, sprawled and happy. Techno plays in the background on the stereo, volume fairly low. Paint supplies litter the cubby focused around a mural-in-progress.
Walker is a victim to another soft bout of giggles as Ben's teeth find skin again, completely oblivious to Ali's stealth up the stairs. He couldn't see her even if he heard, wedged as he is between Ben and Bat.
Jason pulls out... a matchbook! He turns his head and brushes some stray hair (well, it's ALL stray hair right now) out of his eyes, blinking them up at Bat with a grin. "Don' worry, I already gave ya some of this." He winks, then reaches out to offer the matchbook to Trace. It's really old. Like, flat, old. And it's hard to read now. "Ya gotta promise ta keep it, s'all." He nodnods sagely. Yup. Gotta keep it.
Alisynde oohs - silently - much merriment springing into her eyes at the pile. Damn. Why isn't she a photographer? Then she could have a camera handy, snap a picture, and threaten blackmail when people sober up...
The mural: On the right hand side of the wall is a picture of Jason whirling to unheard music. He's wearing a pair of flowing, royal-purple, Arabian-style pants, belted almost cruelly around the waist with a sash of blazing cat's-eye green that lashes around Jason like silken snakes. Upon his upper body is a silk shirt of a creamy ivory hue, the folds gleaming, translucent where it rests against warmly tanned skin. It tucks into the sash, then splits open from there, baring most of his chest but covering his arms, then collared in at his wrist by tight cuffs. His hair is impossibly long, a silken storm of flame-red, and his head is uplifted, laughing exhultantly at the sky with a mouthful of gently sharpened teeth. To the left of the dancing figure is a cluster of lush trees with welcoming structures built amongst the tree-tops. Tree-castles. People inside of the tree-castle, and a crowd on the ground, look in awe and fear towards a brilliant, beautiful comet - Jason's fireheart. It blazes arcing through the sky, towards the safety of the tree-castle. Chasing after the comet's tail are skeletal, swollen-knuckled hands tipped with vicious talons, trying in vain to catch up to the ephemeral fireheart.
Trace looks dubious for a moment as he plucks the matchbook from Jason's fingers. He peers at it c arefully, turning it over in his h ands. looking for words scribbled onto it, or maybe a picture, or *something* that'd make it worth something. But.... Jason's giving it to him, pleading that he keep it, and he looks so serious about it all. Finally he tucks it into his pocket and promises with both mild confusion and conviction, "Kay. I'll keep it always."
Benjamin's teeth lose purchase and slip, and he dissolves into a languid full-face nuzzling of the back of Walker's neck. And if silky locks get caught between his cheek and the other's skin, all the better for Ben. Such a perfect, delicate feeling, wrapping up all in the giggles from the boys and the warm scent of cigarettes drifting about the room. Softly, unconsciously, he hums as he pays gentle respect to Walker's neck.
The Matchbook: It's got the logo of some bar 'The Closet - San Jose,' really faded and worn, like its been in Jason's pockets for years. It... feels weird to the touch, sort of electric, yet not there, like a little bit of a dream. But as soon as you say that you'll keep it and put it in your pocket... it explodes. Not like BOOM! but like... something. That makes the whole room ripple with waves of color, with a feeling like... well, like the mural or one of your drawings might give when completed... a sort of /high/ that no chemical really matches. And, well, things aren't quite the same now.
Jean-Batiste blinks in curious confusion at Jason's old, beaten up matchbook - all this fuss over -that-? "You never gave me a matchbook..." he insists, grinning and frowning at the same time. Ah, well - things don't make sense right now. He looks up at Ali, and waves dreamily to her.
You feel your perceptions change...
Walker lazes for several moments while an idea churns. Thirst. That's what that is. "Ben..?
Alisynde was /just/ about to plonk herself on the floor and watch until they notice. Trust Bat to be the observant one. Still...perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps they'll think Bat was just induced to wave by whatever drugs are floating through his system - for with that dreamy a wave, he's on /something/. So Ali puts a finger to her mouth, a silent Shh. Then she very, very carefully lowers herself to the floor, pulling her knees up so they poke through the loose ribbons of her skirt. The skirt itself puddles around Ali's slender form in a burst of color.
The half-pleading purr is back as Walker rolls a little to bring Ben fully into viewing range. "Want ta help me get somethin' ta drink..?" Walker realizes that sounds rather silly and restates it. "I don' know if I can get all th' way downstairs without fallin' on m'face."
Glass squirms a little.
Trace hitches in a very sharp breath very suddenly, entirely out of nowhere after tucking that matchbook away, and his fingers dig into the blanket beneath him with fingers with surprise. He blinks, dazed, glancing around at the room as though he's never even seen it before. Gone, gone... His hazel eyes so bright, but far, far away... He turns to scan the room with slow wonder.
Jason grins up at Bat, winking playfully. "Oh, sure I did... ya just fergot s'all. Promised you were gonna tell me 'bout it in a picture...." He turns his head to Trace and grins broadly, eyes sparkling brightly when he finally stuffs the 'present' away. "Ya like it?"
Jason’s Fae Desc:
A long, hooded black cloak, slit up the back for his tail, drapes from his narrow shoulders to engulf his slight form. Beneath, a pentagram curled with leaves dangles by a fine silver chain atop a loose black silk shirt whose collar-strings dangle untied to reveal a glimpse of the fair-skinned chest underneath. A crimson sash hangs at an angle across the comfortable black cotton breeches which are in turn swallowed by the supple black calf-length travelling boots. Barely seen beneath the cloak, the silver fox-headed hilt of a dagger emerges from the sash.
Jason's tail flicks back and forth on the bed, the bright red fur all fuzzed out in comfortableness. The grin he gives you, Trace, is toothy, with sharp little canines, but not... scary in any way. Rather, the sharpness is... cute. Gentle. Like in the mural. He flashes a bright-eyed wink, his ears flopping lazily to the sides.
Trace turns to Jason, and his eyes widen slightly. Ohh... He dazedly, slowly starts forward, creeping on his hands and knees. "C'mere.... c'mere, fireheart," he whispers, reaching out a slow hand. Oh, mannn... This is some *strange* acid.
Jean-Batiste giggles throatily at Trace. "Oh, man, you're tripping again..." What? When did he -stop-? Then back to Jason, and more earnest head-shaking. "I've never done any picture of you that has a matchbox in it, I'd remember something weird like that, I know I would." Like a tennis match - back to Trace. He blinks a couple of times, mentally decides yep, it's some -strange- acid, and reaches over to pay attention to Glass, trying to calm down his squirming with hair-tousling.
Glass sits up, "Do me."
"Muss I?" mumbles Ben to Walker, pouting and muffled. He sniffs, deeply, and noses his companion's hair off his neck. The very -idea- of leaving this warm snuggliness is pure anathema, and he'll be damned if he's going to -- oh wait, drinks. The thought worms into his head and settles in his throat, and with some difficulty he starts trying to untangle himself and Walker. "Will I be any help, on the stairs?"
Alisynde pats her pockets gently. No camera..but - there's a piece of plain paper, left over from the 'mind-reading' trick she did eariler today...and the pencil, too. She very quietly starts sketching the scene - just basic forms. It's inspiring, even if she can't draw a whit.
Jason mmfs and gently elbows Batiste with a smirk, murmuring, "Don' make me give ya another one."
But his eyes are on Trace right now, that smirk growing broader and more crooked . "Watch out so ya don' get burned or nuthin'..." And then he giggles brightly, winking playfully.
Jean-Batiste blinks at Glass a couple of times, quite confused. "Uh..." he says uncertainly. Which is this 'do' of which you speak? He's distracted by Jason's elbow, and he looks back over at him. After watching Jason and Trace for just a second, he looks back to Glass.
Glass blinks at Batiste, "What?"
Walker assists as he can in the untangle, finally propping himself up halfway. "I don' know. But ya can't hurt any, I don' s'pose," he giggles. "'Sides. I want some company." He actually has the presence of mind to stop himself from the instinctive query as to whether anyone wants something. He doesn't want to try to make it back upstairs with that kind of breakable and unbalancing cargo.
Jean-Batiste shakes his head gently at Glass, and rubs his face, trying to turn the formless swirls of thought and emotion that currently comprise his brain into coherent memory. "Nothing, nothing..." he mumbles.
Trace tips his head to one side, looking at Jason so searchingly. "This isn't... It doesn't feel like... What did you do?" he pleads softly. "How did you do it? I..." The rest is so soft, it's just for Jason's ears, but since we're all in a big huge pile I'll just say it here for those of you who figure you're not distracted and close enough to hear any whisper, no matter how soft. "I... I've felt this. I... I used to hide like this, I'd hide here, when my ma..." he swallows and shakes his head, smiles gently. "I haven't felt this in a really long time... what did you do?"
Glass says, "I feel lost."
Alisynde sketches purposefully..a leg here, an arm there...a meld of the male form, cariations on a theme.
Skritch, skritch, skritch.
Jason giggles softly and gives a non-committal half-shrug, with that mysterious smile he gets too damn often. "Didn' do nuthin', just gave ya a push, ya know?"
Dark-furred tips of red fox ears stand out amongst the deeper red waves of hair that, even tied back with a forest green velvet ribbon, fall nearly to his slender waist. With the appearance of no more than sixteen mortal years, this wilder's demeanor promises trouble. Sparkling emerald eyes mirror the almost unconscious impish grin that curls the corners of his lips while freckles scatter across high cheekbones and over his slender nose to lend to his deceptively boyish charms. The long, white-tipped tail of a red fox escapes from the rear of his pants to curl about the wiry five-six frame, almost always in a motion mimicking his thoughts and moods.