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Log Title: Amy’s Rescue

Log setting: On the streets of New Orleans, in the afternoon.

Log Cast:
Amy
Trace
Bonnie

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Amy’s Desc:
A thick mane of strawberry blond hair, shiny and currently in messy waves, frames this young girl's face. A face that holds some semblance of angelic beauty with big brown doe-eyes, peaches and cream skin dotted with freckles and infectious little mouth. Standing roughly about 5'8", she is fairly tall for her age, and a little on the lanky side judging from her clumsiness. Her hands, though, are very pretty, with long slender fingers tipped off by nice nails. For those who knew her prior to this whimsical girlish existence, she was a member of the rat pack, a runaway, filthy and living on the streets. Things, apparently, have changed quite a bit in her life. She was rarely ever this clean.

She is wearing a gray sweat shirt and matching sweat pants, both a little baggy and worn, but comfortable nonetheless. On her feet are a pair of brand new Keds, still stark and clean like they just came out of the box.

Amy saunters down the street, dog-earred book in hand and a curious expression on her face as she watches the perverts roam in and out of the smut clubs. She stops before a friendly looking bum and greets him with a big grin, muttering something to him that the din of the street drowns out.

Trace is curled up, sketching right on the sidewalk, having run out of paper. His fingers are black with charcoal, his strokes reckless and harsh... He holds the charcoal very tightly in his fingers, He's got a cup set out, and around it, the swirling, near-calligraphy word "Donations"... practically art itself, that word.

Amy squats down before you and looks you over wide a child-like wonder, only paying attention to the artwork once she has taken in a good long stare at those track-marked arms. Her mouth twists slightly then curls into a pretty smile. "Do you want some paper?" she asks softly, somehow thinking a question such as that would break the ice.

Trace jumps slightly, and looks up with startled, fever-bright hazel eyes. "I... yes?" His voice is soft too, and slightly hoarse, perhaps damaged.

Trace sits up a little, releasing the charcoal and flexing his cramped, blackly smudged left hand.

Amy hmms softly and looks up and down the street, hopping away from some drunk tourists that move like they want to walk through her rather than around her. "I have some supplies at home, I mean, they belong to the guy I stay with, but he is in California working. I am sure he wouldn't mind." She rubs a slender hand to her lower lip and smiles at you. "You hungry? I used to live on the street too, you know," she adds.

Trace looks at your nice clothes somewhat dubiously, and murmurs, "Really...?" He dusts his hands on his jeans shamelessly and puts the charcoal in a pocket, scoops the money out of the styrafoam cup, and rises, surveying today's work briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

Amy nods her head in a slow swaying sort of motion that looks more like a circle. "I stayed in this warehouse down at Lafayette square, it was a pretty cool deal, you know? Shelter, no rent, sort of warm if you packed up the boxes right, and all the rat pals I could handle." She smiles and nibbles on her lip, collecting her thoughts. "So, uh, yeah, then one day this guy shows up, and it's like /his/ warehouse. But he says I can stay, fixes it up real nice, and starts doling out the cash." She shrugs and grins. "I'm not even screwing him, which is weird, but I guess he is like some kinda humanitarian, yeah?" Her eyes fall back on your arms then lift to your face. "So, uh, yeah. I could like feed you and give you paper and stuff. Oh, there's even a shower. He fixed it up really cool, like an apartment or something."

Trace looks down, a frown twisting his lip slightly. He doesn't have much faith in benefactors who want nothing in return. "Well... why'd he do all that? Aren't you afraid he's gonna, I donno, suddenly expect somethin' of you someday?"

Bonnie comes down Decatur from downtown.

Amy shakes her head then shrugs. "Well, I don't know. He hasn't so far. He is kinda fulfilling his, 'I wanted to be a dad' fantasy with me, you know?" She stands up and stifles a yawn. "So, like, you wanna go?"

Cloaked in an aura of solitude, Bonnie moves silently through the shadows, her footfalls making nary a sound on this overcast evening. The temperature has dropped for the Big Easy, and from the manner the girl wraps her arms so tight around her chest, the chill is neither welcomed or enjoyed. Pausing at the sound of murmered voices, her head comes up, owlish eyes glancing on faces, one by one.

Trace nods somewhat eagerly, spreading his hands. "Yeah, lead the way. Paper and food... how can I refuse, right?" He offers a vague smile.
Trace glances at Bonnie, feeling her eyes on him briefly.

Bonnie’s Desc:
A tall, gangly form before you dressed all in black and reed thin. Arms and legs appear too long, lending an air of clumsiness that is belied by the silent manner that she moves. Her hair is cropped close to her head, buzzed short, with a single patch of sooty dark bangs, the dark color of coal or an unlighted room. A dull, inky black that absorbs light, rather than reflects it. Her owlish eyes are hazel, flecked with amber and green, surrounded by thick lashs.

Dressed in a charcoal colored silk turtle neck that hangs low over narrowed hips, with legs clad in skinhugging lycra leggings, the young woman before you is almost androgynous for her remarkable lack of curves. Angles, tho, that's another story. Elbows and knees, long fingers and too long neck...certainly no beauty.

Amy bobs her head back and forth and giggles. "Duh, how could you?" She pauses and follows Trace's eyes over to the woman, the smile on her face fading and replaced by a confused knotting of her brows. She tilts her head and quirks a brow, trying to place the dark figure.

Bonnie's unblinking gaze rests on Amy for longer than Trace, but both must suffer her stare. A contemplative stare, filled with the woe that might come to those homeless who are lost on dark nights. A maelvolent stare that misses very little.

Amy hmms wearily and actually reaches out for Trace, though he is a new found friend of about ten minutes at this point. "Uh, hey, let's go, ok? Come on." Her tone of voice is both troubled and filled with a sense of urgency.

Trace nods, shying away from the touch, but equally eager to get to his promised meal and bath.

Bonnie unfolds her arms, and points to Trace, murmering through the dark. "You. Boy. Come to me, please." A rasping whisper, like sandpaper on a chalkboard, but so very polite. And for Amy, just another stare, going from the top of her head to those brand new white keds.

Trace starts, turning around. "Why...?" he asks, with a wary, and beneath that, almost plaintive tone.

Amy shivers and steps back from the woman, a look of distant recognition in her eyes, though the exact time and place and situation is eluding her. All she knows is, this woman is not part of the late night welcoming committee. "Uh, guy, let's bolt, k?"

Bonnie's lips twitch into an almost smile, the whisper coming once more. "Because I have candy." And her gaze drops to the boy's arms, staring obliquely.

Amy jerks her head back and blinks a few times. It is about that time that she takes a step back, leaving her budding relationship with this boy right on the sidewalk where she met him.

"Candy?" He turns to Amy and corrects quietly, "It's Trace. And uh..." Back to the spooky girl. "Like, what kind we talkin' about. If we're talking reeses pieces, I'm outta here."

Trace shakes his head. "Y'know... lady... just forget it. I don't believe you, okay? Even if you DO mean.... I mean, if you did, why would you share, anyway? Makes no sense." He starts to follow Amy.

Bonnie's almost smile turns into a sneer, lifting her gaze to meet Trace's directly. "Candy canes and sugar cones are not good for children," she whispers, lifting her chin. "Especially children out after dark. Come, boy. The candy I have is...much better than a horse."

Amy smirks and rubs her hand to her eyes. "Trace, let's go, ok?" She peers past Trace at the woman and frowns. "Just leave us alone, we aren't interested, thank you."

Trace shakes his head, "Nah.... nah, you're spooky, and I have other plans." He looks to Amy and nods.

Bonnie inclines her head, turning her stare to Amy. "As you wish," she whispers. "We shall meet again, children. And I'll share my candy with you both, then."

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