~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Log Title: Aquatrip

Log setting: It is Wednesday, September 12th, 2001. It is evening, and the boys are at Walker’s house first, then the Aquarium.

Log Cast:
Glass
Trace
Ben
Jean-Batiste

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glass, lying propped up against the couch, puts out his spent cigarette. He stretches once the butt has been suitably crushed and says, "We should go out. Get some fresh air or something." He looks over at Trace, "There any bread around here? I got these mushrooms a while ago, fresh ones. Chopped 'em into little bits and mixed them with honey." He grins, "Batiste would be proud, it was almost cooking. Anyway, we should have it on toast and go for a walk."

Benjamin grins lazily on a trip through, as he's been taking things that belong to other rooms out of the sitting room, and replacing them in their proper locations. Soon, a massive housecleaning will ensue, and Ben will be around to make sure it stays that way. "Mushrooms?" he asks, pausing with a couple of empty bottles that have been conspiring behind the Throne for who knows how long. "Haven't had mushrooms in a long while."

Trace brightens at the idea and nods. "Sure thing. I kin go get some bread..." He pushes himself up off the couch and heads out for the kitchen, wondering as he goes, "Is the honey'n shroom stuff in here, or ya got it on ya?" He heads in through to the kitchen and rummages in the cupboard, coming up with some bread. White, of course. Can't make this a nutritional venture, after all.. He works off the twist tie and takes out some slices, lining them along the counter. Into his own piece, for no particular reason, he pokes out some eyes into the bread by jabbing with his forefinger and then a curled finger pressed into the soft white surface makes a smiley mouth. Hee. His bread is happy.

Glass watches Ben walk by with a languid expression. Housecleaning is not his bag, and he will not be infected by the energy of people who wish to do it, "You want some, Ben?" He smiles at the air and calls to Trace as the blue haired boy as he leaves for the kitchen, "It's in my coat, in a little jar. It's kinda weird lookin'. Blue." Rolling his shoulders a bit for comfort against the couch he says dreamily, "We should go to the aquarium, and look at the reef-tank. It's so crazy there. And there's that tunnel of water. Man."

Benjamin offers a tentative, grateful smile to Glass. "Sure. If you don't mind, I mean." He gets a pleased little shiver, wandering the bottles back to the kitchen. Even though he's been in the family for months now, being included in the younger guys' stuff still gives him warm fuzzies. Trace is handling the bread department, so Ben catches up Glass' coat from the hall and brings it back to his seat for him.

Blue? Trace pokes his head out of the kitchen and peers, wondering why Glass has taken up Starlight's nickname for him. Hmm. He shrugs it off and just smiles a little, murmuring, "That'd be awesome. I'm all fer it. Is there a charge for admission?" Since the honey stuff's out there, he ducks back inside to grab up the bread and a knife and then walks back out into the living room.

Glass returns Benjamin's smile with a warm and beautiful one of his own, "Of course I don't mind, man." When his blue coat is deposited beside him he says, "Thanks," and starts to dig through its pockets. He comes up with a baby-food sized jar of a sticky, lumpy, and decidedly blue substance. "Hmm," he speculates, "I don't remember. If there is it's only a couple of bucks. I can cover you."

Benjamin accepts the smile without -too- much retreat. He doesn't deserve it, though. Turn that smile on Batiste or Trace or... Breathe. OK. Ben can and will stop his mind from rambling, as he sits on the edge of a couch nearish Glass. "No problem," he agrees to the admission question. "I've got money to burn, remember?"

Glass pokes Benjamin's calf in a friendly sort of way, "You do, huh? Then you can cover for Trace." He looks around, setting the blue honey on the coffee table. "Gotta cigarette?"

"Five-hundred dollars, yeah!" Trace remembers with enthusiasm, settling down onto the couch with a bounce and handing out bread slices. He peers into Glass' little jar and giggles. "Oh my god, why'zit blue?" He leans down for a better look before straightening and handing Glass the knife. "Here, so you can be the honorary Shroomhoney Spreader."

Benjamin cleans up after Walker, bears items of clothing back and forth, and you have to -ask- if he has a cigarette? If it's in demand, Ben has it somewhere on his person or nearby. Within moments he's offering a black clove to Glass, his Bic in the other hand with a shy half-smile. "Well, not quite. I'm contributing three hundred to bills."

Glass opens the jar and holds it aloft, "It is blue, Grasshopper," he says somberly to Trace, "Because psilosybin mushrooms leak blue mushroom blood. Before you dry them, anyway." He sticks the knife into the blue goop and picks up a peice of toast. "Three hundred to bills here? Are the bills even that high?" He spreads lumpy blue honey thinly over the first slice of toast and hands it to Ben before picking up another.

Trace ohhs, feeling further educated about the mysteries of natural psychadelics. "Mushroom blood," he mumbles around a grin, peeking down again at the blue goo as it's spread. "Sweet." He runs his fingers along the ravines pushed into his own slice of bread, pronouncing his smiley face better. If he can't give a full beaming smile properly on account of these damn hurts, well confound it, his bread can be chipper. "Will it still taste mostly like honey?" In his experiences, shrooms have all tasted nasty. Worth it, but nasty just the same.

"Well, combined... I don't know, Holly pays them all," Ben admits, taking the toast with a half-bow. "But I don't know how long it'll be before I get anything more to contribute." This writing gig is far from a regular job. But it's to get away from that whole aspect that he moved in in the first place, so... well, we can suppose Walker knew what he was getting into. Sweet or not, he lifts the bread in salute to the other two, prepared to eat once Glass' slice is ready.

Glass takes Trace's smiley-face bread and blinks at it. "Hey. What the fuck?" He peers at it for a little while, then starts to spread honey over it, thin. "Hmm, taste it," he says, extending the still-loaded knife to Trace, "It's mostly like honey. But kinda. Fungusy. Sweet." He shrugs and lets Trace get a fingertip of honey before continuing to spread it. Why he bothered to pause for the taste is really a mystery, he's handing the finished slice of smiling toast to Trace a moment later.

Trace sucks at the fingerful of shroomy honey goo and grins. "S'good enough. Gimme." He takes the bread and is about to take a bite, but remembers, "Oh... Toast, right." He waits for the others eagerly.

"It'll be a toast to blue toast," says Glass, finishing off his own slice. He scrapes the edge of the knife over the edge of the bread to get the last bits of honey off. That's not really good enough, though, and he licks the knife for good measure. Once that's 'clean' and set aside he holds his toast up and looks between the two of you.

Benjamin considers for a moment or two. A toast to blue toast? Sounds good enough, and will sound hilarious once the mushrooms start working. "Hear, hear," Ben declares, lifting his bread for a moment before biting in.

Glass crunches. Mmm, toast.

Trace giggles and nods his appreciation for the toast to blue toast, and then takes a big bite, with bright hazel eyes looking between his two friends. He pulls the bread away from his mouth and wipes at the blue stuff clinging to the corners of his mouth, chewing happily.

Amble, amble, amble. Down the stairs comes Batiste, dressed but still only half-awake, rubbing at his hair as he yawns and peers owlishly into the living room. "Mmmhey," he mumbles, giving the three of you a lazy smile.

Benjamin finishes off his blue-spread toast in record time, then daintily licks his fingers. Batiste's approach is heralded by a drowsy grin and a gesture to come join. "Hey, have some bread and blue honey. It has mushrooms in it."

"Batiste!" Trace leaps up and hurries over to the sleepy Bat. "I'll get you some bread, okay? Here, taste. S'good. Can barely taste the shrooms." Coz lovely as shrooms are, they taste icky. "Blue toast, isn't it cool?" He holds up what's left of his piece, which has the indentations of a smiley face on it. With a big bite in the side.

Jean-Batiste is so very confused. He grins crookedly and ambles forward, still rubbing at his braids. "In -honey-?" He smacks his mouth a couple of times, trying to imagine the taste treat waiting for him. Not that he's going to -refuse-, of course. He chuckles softly, and leans down to neatly bite off a mouthful of Trace's piece of toast, chewing carefully. "S'wz'up?" he asks as he chews.

No time to be sleepy. Trace tugs Bat over to the couch and sits him down, then nudges at Doug's shin with one black and silver sneaker. "Bat needs blue toast!" he smiles. Then it's back to work on his own piece, munch, munch.

Benjamin leans back comfortably into the couch, near to where Glass leans against it. "We're going to the Aquarium once it kicks in," he offers contentedly. Sure hope that aquarium glass is solid; he has visions of the boys trying to -join- the fishes.

Glass grins at Batiste, "Yeah, honey. Quit stealin' Trace's toast and get your own peice." He blinks when the sleepy lad is tugged down on the couch, and he laughs, not attractively, because he's not really done chewing toast. Fortunately this all remains contained and he swallows it, getting to his feet. He licks his lips and heads into the kitchen, "I'll get ya some." He munches on his toast as he goes.

Jean-Batiste licks the mingled honey-sweetness and shroom-earthiness off his teeth, then smacks his mouth again. Hmm. That wasn't that bad, after all. "Article Three: Lord Douglas must occasionally spoil his spoilers," he calls into the kitchen, laughing softly at his own words. He leans carefully into Trace and starts to tousle blue braids, casting a drowsy smile to Ben while he does. Cozy, comfy. Bliss.

Glass laughs from the kitchen as he watches the toaster and munches, "Don't I, occasionally?"

Jean-Batiste's grin is obvious to those in the living room, and easily heard by Glass as he drawls, "Oh, -once- in a while, I suppose..."

Benjamin watches the back-and-forth with a thoughtful, satisfied little smile. You know Ben, he's always got a theory or two formulating. And there's definitely something working around in his head at this moment. "What are articles one and two?" Necessary to proper theory-formation, of course, is analysis of all the pertinent data.

Trace leans into the braid tousling. Sigh. Life is so officially Good right now. Licking the last remnants of crumbs and sticky blue gunk off his fingers, he then wipes his hands on one leg of his jeans and murmurs, "We oughta head on over once Bat's got his piece. It'll kick in by the time we're there, don'tchya think?" He's not sure about Articles one and two either, but logically assumes at least ONE of them has to do with spoiling Glass in the first place.

Glass returns from the kitchen, lacking his peice of toast and carrying an unhoneyed one. He sits down on the floor near the coffee table and dunks the knife into the blue goo, indifferent to the fact that he's already licked the thing. He lifts the knife out and dribbles honey over the bread before spreading it, thinly enough that the little dark chunks of chopped mushroom in it can be seen. Once the toast is perfectly covered he hands it to Batiste and scrapes the remains of the goo off the knife on the lip of the jar.

Jean-Batiste cuddles Trace a bit, eyes half-lidded with sleepy contentment. He softly recites, "Article One: Lord Douglas must be spoiled rotten at all times. Article Two: Clove cigarettes and a lighter must always be available for Lord Douglas." He grins at Glass as he returns to the living room. "Speaking of, you want a smoke?" He sits up a bit, and digs out his softpack of licorice cloves, offering them in trace for the piece of bread. No time wasted in digging in, nope. Bite, chew, gulp, repeat.

Glass grins at the cigarettes and plucks one from the pack, "That's just what I wanted." He digs into his pocket for a lighter and sparks it up, inhaling deeply. He smiles as he releases the smoke, "That's exactly what I wanted." A look back at Batiste, "So, you wanna go to the aquarium?"

"Mmhmmmmm." Ben nods thoughtfully to the articles as states. He even gets a good chin-rub going on there, thumb and forefinger toying with his goatee. "Tho se seem like very reasonable artic les," he decides after a few moments' contemplation.

Jean-Batiste wolfs down the first half of the piece of toast, then licks his lips mostly clean and makes little mouth-noises at the clove, trying to wheedle a drag away from Glass. "Yeah, it'll be great. You bet I want to go. Guess we're going to walk?" He glances to Trace for a moment, considering.

Glass holds out the cigarette so that Batiste can hit off it, and grins at Ben's chin-rubbing, and more at the approval of the articles for his care, feeding, and most of all spoiling.

"Well, doesn't Doug got his rattlin' hunk'a car with him?" Trace wonders amusedly, looking to the proud owner of the Dodge Dart. "But either way, let's get goin'! I never been to the aquarium before, 'n I wanna see fishes, like now." He scrambles up off the couch and away from cuddles, turns around, and takes Batiste's hand. Tug, tug. "Les' go!"

Jean-Batiste carefully takes a drag off Glass's clove, trying to keep from getting the filter all honey-stickied. It's then time to wolf down the rest of his toast in super-short order, and lick the smudges of honey-like substance off his fingers. "Okay, okay! I'm ready already, I'm ready!" He laughs, tousling Trace's hair as he stands up. "Let's go. I don't know if we should drive, though?"

Glass laughs, "I'm not driving." He gets to his feet, though, dragging on the cigarette again.

"I'll drive!" Trace elects with a chuckle, heading for the door. He doesn't seem to mind the tousling any more than he did the first, even if Batiste's fingers are still a little sticky. "Okay, so we'll walk then," he relents with an exaggerated sigh. "Either way, let's get there, eh?"

Glass nods, "Let's go. The whole world is out there." He sweeps his coat on and spins around once before striding decisively toward the door. Then he stops, abruptly, and turns around. Forgot something. Once he's got the lid back on, he pockets the jar of blue honey and starts out again.

Jean-Batiste shrugs on his windbreaker with a crackly rustle, squirming into it just -so-, then follows after the two of you, to the door and outside. He pats down his windbreaker pouch, making sure his cigarettes and lighter are in there, for later spoiling of the Greater Northern Scavenger Glass.

[Travel spam snipped.]

Glass walks along with the two of you, staring around himself more and more as time wears on. He grins at the afternoon sun and smokes, sharing the cigarette with Batiste.

"Mmn," Batiste comments, seeming quite lazily delighted by something. He takes in a deep, deep breath, squinting up at the sun for a few seconds, then bumps into Glass's shoulder as he steals another drag off the clove. Back towards Trace, then, for more (gentle) shoulder-bumps. He's an equal-opportunity bumper, see?

Trace looks down at his feet as he walks. Something verrrry intriguing is going on down there, yessir. He nearly bumps into a few people as he distractedly trots alongside the both of you, but those offended only get a brief, slightly dazed glance of apology and soon he's trudging along with his head down again. Then his shoulder is bumped. Whoa! He giggles and looks over. "Hi. Are we there yet?" And of course this is by far not the first time he's asked this on the walk over. But how is he supposed to keep track of these things, when he's got such fascinating silver-sparkly shoe laces to gawk at?

Glass gestures at the huge and modern looking concrete aquarium building that seems to loom more and more as you approach it, "Yes, surely, pritthee, there it is," he says, and giggles. His hair seems to wave of its own accord, watery and sparkling. In the blackness of his eyes there are stars to be seen, or perhaps it's only the glint of the low sunlight.

"Whoa," Batiste decides, ambling to a halt beside Glass and gawking at the Aquarium. It's so...-huge-! Thankfully, he's saved from fish-envy. "Whoa," he repeats, fingers tangling up and tug-petting Glass's hair, his other hand waving in mid-air like a sea anemone, trying to locate Trace. He was around here somewhere, dangit. "So what do we do first?"

"We, um. We go inside?" Trace offers with a little grin, walking more behind Batiste now, so maybe that's why he's so elusive. He moves towards the building, undaunted. "Let's hurry, that's where the fish are." We're on a roll, it seems, with these needless observations.

Glass says somberly, "We go inside." He tosses the cigarette away, it's still-burning cherry leaving an orange streak in the air. Then he turns to stand between the two of you and look back at the big building, "We can't get lost. Sharks'll get us. We gotta stick together." With that he heads in, walking beside Trace and grabbing Batiste by the hand to make sure he keeps up.

You enter the aquarium.

Aquarium of the Americas
A huge building split into four main exhibits and numerous smaller ones. Touch tanks, demonstrations, a 'Living in Water' area with penguins and other sea-dwelling birds and mammals, feedings, and numerous hands-on exhibits attract adults and children alike. The current travelling show is a shark exhibit which occupies several tanks and some open pools, staff members on hand to explain and demonstrate the creatures. A cafe, off to the side, offers places to sit and grab a snack before tackling the rest of the day's activities.

Trace snatches Batiste's other hand at the mention of sharks getting them. GuardBat will keep them off, surely. The further he ventures inside, the wider and wider his hazel eyes grow as he peers all around in wonder. "I never knew fish needed a place so *big*..." He murmurs with awe. It didn't really hit him, the size of the place, while he was standing outside. But now it dwarfs him. Really, he feels suddenly two feet tall.

It's just like kindergarden, with all the kids in a row. Do you have -your- buddy? "Trace!" Batiste calls, all melodramatically, and flails his hand until the blue-haired boy takes it or slaps it into submission or something of the sort. His melodrama fades to soft giggles, then soundless ones as the aquarium entrance is reached. People. Exhibits. And, ohmygod, up ahead, the shimmery, chaotic reflection of sunlight through deep water and thick glass.

Glass stares around in wonder, at first hesitant upon stepping into the place. Then something catches his eye and he starts out, eagerly striding toward the tank, Batiste and Trace in tow. Penguins, more graceful in water than most birds in air, black and white with their oddly smiling faces, streaking silver bubbles after them as they dive off their fake icebergs.

Whoa! Just when he was really starting to get into the ripple of that banner above a tank, suddenly this protective huddle has become a train, with him the flailing caboose! He laughs as he's tugged along, and once the train has come to a full stop, Trace is up against the glass, nose and his free hand pressed up against it as he peers into the tank. "HEY!" he says, perhaps too loudly, and then giggles. He turns around and protests to his friends. "*These* aren't fish. They're jest' confused 'n actin' like it. They're pretenders." He turns back to peer at them. Shiny-sleek penguins racing through the water or waddling around on their artificial arctic islands. How can they be so much more *graceful* underwater..?

Jean-Batiste laughs softly, a little silvery ripple of delight much like the bubble comet-tails that streak after the penguins when they dive into the water. He brings his hands up to rest against the glass - not releasing either of you to do so - then just...stares. "I wish we could feed them. Minnows. D'you think they bite?" He giggles softly. "Or peck? I can't remember..."

Jean-Batiste watches the tank for a while, considering the penguins' wobbly waddling abovewater, and their oil-smooth swimming below, then decides, "English. Like butlers." He...chortles, the sort of sound you'd hear on a TV program involving dignified British 'chaps', then says, "Pardon me, chap, but could you toss a minnow this way? Jolly good." It's...an English accent. Sort of. Well, he means it to be, anyways.

Glass stares into the tank for a long while, then starts and looks around again, distracted by the sound of an excited child. He looks back at the two of you, "Wanna see the rest? They won't let us pet the penguins, I bet." Looking back into the tank he says, "Or go swimming with them," his tone longing.

Trace nods with enthusiasm, unplastering himself from the wall of the tank. "Let's go see the rest! I wanna see... I wanna see starfish, an' manta rays, an' all the bright-colored reef fishes...." Now it's his turn to be the train's engine. He starts off away from the penguin exibit, trailing everyone after him.

Glass gets to be the caboose this time, but he's prepared for it. His coat sweeps out behind the train, streaking the air storm-blue.

Jean-Batiste stumbles after Trace, laughing, eyes wide and wonder-bright. "Oh, wow, Glass," he breathes, attention currently fixed upon the lashing, swaying mass of blue braids. "Look!" He doesn't point or gesture towards exactly -what- he's looking at, though. Maybe he figures you all have some kind of hive-mind going.

Glass seems to know what Batiste is talking about, his dark eyes fall on the swaying braids as well. He laughs, bright and sparkling, "It's the sea," he says, "Hhhwwwwssshhh. A waterfall. Forever and ever."

Trace takes up Glass' water noises. "Whooshhhhh-crash! Shh...." Tug, tug, no slacking now. There's fishes to see. "Oh! Oh, over here!" It's a reproduction of a section of the Great Coral Reef, a huge glass wall with schools of vividly colored fish flitting in and out of coral hidey-holes. His steps quicken even more as he approaches it with large, amazed eyes. Thunk. Back to pressing against the glass, getting up as close to the fish as possible. "Ohhh..." he breathes, watching a brilliant purple and yellow fish flit and trail zig-zags inside the tank. "Oh, lookit....Wowww...."

Caribbean Reef - Aquarium
You are standing in a transparent tunnel leading /through/ the 132,000 gallon tank that holds the reef exhibit. All around you is colorful coral and rock, schools of fish, sharks, eels, and other critters indigenous to the Caribbean. There are no lights except for those which shine into the tanks themselves, giving the room an eerie, underwater look, the glow of illumination distorted by water filling the tunnel. A few benches exist along the way, for people to sit and watch as sea life goes on around them.

Glass stares up and all around as he gets hauled into the tunnel at the end of the 'train.' Oh wow. Wow. A shadow flickers over him as a shark cruises by overhead. He swallows, eyes wide, and stops walking entirely to look about. A flickering shimmering school of small round silvery fish goes by, each turning at the same angle as all the others, like a falling leaf storm but in perfect precision. Glass starts to laugh, pointing.

Awe. Batiste's steps slow, making him a troublesome middle train-car, as his attention goes up to the transparent 'ceiling' and stays there. His steps start meandering, without his eyes to guide them, wide grin softening to a smaller smile out of neglect. He watches a school of eels swim by like a living knot. "Ohmygod, lo-" He stops, and looks around, panicking momentarily. Alone. Where'd everyone go? Trace, there. Glass, over there. He relaxes again, and looks where Glass points, sighing in simple marvel. "How do they -do- that?"

As his friends' voices drift into his shadowy world of water and bright purple zig-zags, Trace pulls away slightly, and it's then that it really hits him. Before he'd just raced straight for the first beautiful flash of color that caught his eye, but now, taking it in as a whole, it's just *everywhere*... God. It's too much. He looks so enchanted by it all as he takes a few more steps back to huddle close to his friends and just gawk. And he could just *swear* that he's watching some of these fish dip in and out across the line that is supposed to be that confining glass he was so recently pressed against. "They're escaping..." he murmurs hushedly, watching the last spot he saw this phenomenon fixedly. Yes, there, again. The fish are coming out. Such amazement in his voice as he stares and breathes, "We're.., underwater."

Glass giggles, "Underwater. Yeah." He jumps back, startled, when the school of little silver disks darts towards the tunnel, streaming up and over it like streaking meteors in a liquid sky. He gasps as the school goes overhead and dissapears behind a towering formation of coral on the other side.

Three little girls with blonde pigtails enter the tunnel. They all look very much alike, just progressively smaller. They're dressed in identical navy turtlenecks.

"Why aren't we bubbling?" Batiste murmurs. "We should be bubbling." He doesn't ponder this fact for too long, though - it must be magic. Yes, in this place, surely it must be magic. "I want to see the eels again, where'd they go?" He turns in a slow circle, trying to spot the lithe sea-serpents, and manages to dizzy himself with all the movement-blurs that results from it. Bench. He sits down with a quiet, "Oof," and goes right back to staring up at the ceiling. A gap-toothed toddler would be hard-pressed to look more delighted with this place than him.

While Batiste is spinning, he's just much too confusing to look at, and there's all these fish to gawk at, besides. Trace stares at a big, slow, shimmery orange fish that seems to bleed it's sunset glow all over the coral as it weaves a languid path through the water. Pretty... But he wants to see more wonders, and turns to start the search, but... wait! Where'd Batiste go? He was spinning *right there* just a moment ago, Trace is just sure of it. He glances about, but his eye catches on one of those slithery eels Batiste was searching for earlier, and he forgets why he'd been panicking a moment ago.

Glass just stands there, looking up, and laughing to himself as he stares, watching an octopus creeping out of the rock below. He's relatively quiet, his hands against the glass as he stares out and downward.

The biggest of the not-quite-indentical set of little girls stops and looks at Glass, then around the area where the three young men are clustered near the beginning of the tunnel. "Those people are on drugs," she announces to her sisters. The two smaller ones nod in unison and the little girls step forward to walk past.

Drugs? Where? Batiste looks down from the ceiling - his neck was starting to ache a little, anyways - and peers at the three girls in their navy turtlenecks. He giggles softly as he watches them, then murmurs, "Look. Stacking dolls." He points at them, fingertip wandering around in mid-air as if he was drawing on them. "But they need babushkas. You think if we pull apart the little one, there'll be another one inside of her?" He grins at the both of you, then looks back at them.

Glass looks back and laughs at Batiste's words, then stares at the little girls. They hurry past but stop a short distance away and stand in a row, looking at the fish. The biggest one casts a wary glance at the young men.

Babushkas? What a beautifully silly word! Trace is so impressed that it that he actually leaves the vision of sleek, slithery eels stretching and shinking and doing very surreal eel things, and he looks up for the source of this speaker of babushkas. Oh, wow! Batiste's back. And not even spinning anymore. He trots on over and smiles dazedly, reaching out to grasp a blonde braid and tug once, gently. "Hi you," he says softly. "Where'd you go? You spun and disappeared, and then I was looking for you and then... oh my god, did you see the eels? And the orange fish spraying the sunset everywhere...?" He just smiles and pulls Batiste into a hug and murmurs into his hair, "M'glad we came here." But wait... Where's Glass? He should be sharing in this pretty moment. Young man, have you been doing that spinning-disappearing trick too? Didn't you know better than to stray from your buddi es?

Glass sticks his tongue o ut at the biggest girl, who looks more and more like a stacking doll the more he looks at her. So strange. He pulls his attention away from her and sidles over to Batiste's bench, walking with slow fishy wiggly movements.

Yes, babushka is indeed the sort of word you ruthlessly employ on the helplessly stoned. Just imagine the reactions if you were to creep up to someone, nose-to-nose, and utter out of no where, 'Babushka!' They might choke on their own tongue, they'd giggle so hard. "Your braids are glowing," Batiste mumbles happily into Trace's shoulder as he hugs the blue-haired boy. "Yeah. Yeah, I saw the eels, they were like a Moebius strip only they were alive, and those little silver fish that all moved at once, and..." He trails off as Trace starts to look around, and joins in a second later. Hark! The Greater Northern Scavenging Glass has become the Greater Caribbean Wiggling Glass. He reaches out to grasp one of Glass's hands, fingers tangling up like eels. Well, warmer.

Glass grins at the two of you, "This is the best part. We should just stay here for days and eat more honey." He watches a rainbow hued parrotfish swim by and dissapear underfoot. "We should have brought provisions of toast." He giggles in a silly way. "And music, watery music to dance with the fishes."

Back to the Roleplay Log Archive