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Log Title: Ben's Advice Log Setting: Apartment 313 - Pontalbo (St. Peter)

Neat and tidy, almost to the point of an obsession on the part of the owner. A place for everything and everything in its place, though the decor is warm and the always dimmed lights make the rooms inviting. All the walls are a muted cream color, the floor carpeted in a thin light brown covering. Not quite shabby, but far from elegant, the furnishings are a prime example of tasteful decorating on an obviously limited budget.

Log Cast:
Benjamin
Trace

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Trace knocks at the door of apartment 313.

A few moments pass, and Ben opens the door, curiously.

Trace stands with his hands shoved down deep into his pockets, his breathing slightly heavy from weariness. A few braids are hanging down into his eyes and he peers down sheepishly at his feet.

Ben starts a little at the sight of Trace, surprised, but smiles and steps back, gesturing inside. "Come in, Trace," he murmurs gently, simply.

Benjamin and you enter apartment 313.

The front door opens onto the main living room, extending to the left, with two full-length windows on the far wall. To the immediate right is a small sectioned-off kitchen and tiny dining table. Directly across from the door is another door, usually half-open, that leads to the bedroom.

Trace trails after you somewhat cautiously, peeking back to make sure he's not tracking any footprints in onto the carpet. All clear... He smiles a little and murmurs, "Always so clean... I'd love to have a party here sometime, jest t'see what this place's like when it really looks lived in." His grin flickers, and he looks down. "I mean. Uh. I'm not tryin' t'be rude, geez... I mean of course you live here, it just, it's pretty clean is all." His ramble tumbles to a halt and he turns to study one of the lamps vaguely.

Benjamin laughs softly... who am I kidding, he always laughs soft and vague, sort of under his breath. So Ben just laughs like Ben. "Because I don't have anyone around to mess it up." He gestures toward the bedroom, and goes to push open the door for you to peek inside. It's strewn all over with papers and open books, with just a little space cleared on the bed for sitting. "Does that ruin your image of me?" he asks with humorous eyes.

Trace giggles a little, lifting a shy hand to his mouth. "Naw... naw, not at all. Just shows me more'a you, I guess. You like to read a lot, huh." Not really a question, but he lifts his eyes to yours for an answer anyhow.

Benjamin replies seriously, "I wouldn't be much of an English professor if I didn't like to read." He pulls the door to the bedroom half-shut, a bit embarassed of the mess. "That's research, in there, though. Soda? I have Pepsi, and possibly... Dr. Pepper? Get comfortable." He nods toward the couch, and bustles toward the kitchen.

Trace wanders over to the couch and sits, perching on the edge of it. Slightly hunched over, he rests his forearms on his thighs with the hands folded together loosely at the knees. "Well, I.. y'know, Dr. Pepper would be cool. And if ya don't got that, jest some water or somethin'. Y'know... whatever, either's fine." His fingers lace and unlace, and he rubs at a leftover marker stain on the back of his hand, a streak of purple.

"Dr. Pepper it is," Ben agrees from the kitchen, pouring into two plastic cups, with ice. "Is everything all right, Trace? You seem anxious." In a moment he returns, handing you your soda, and curling himself into the opposite end of it. Either just a natural effervescence, or he tries to put you more at ease, joking lightly, "Did Batiste tell you horrible lies about what he witnessed upstairs?"

Trace gives a tiny laugh at that. "Oh... that, well, everything Batiste talked 'bout, Walker jest came down and seemed to confirm, so... Who knows, maybe they both lyin', y'know?" The boy's eyes twinkle amusedly; he no longer seems embarrassed about it, now that some time has passed. "Ain't no thing t'me... t'each their moan, y'know?" He giggles a little.

Benjamin manages a modest pinkness in the cheeks, just because he really -ought- to be embarassed at being caught in the act. But he isn't, not really, it was all far too much fun, the entire evening. "Walker really should get a door to the upstairs," he murmurs with a little shake of a head, and a gulp of soda. "Well, there's that out of the way at least. What brings you halfway across the city? Just my decor?"

Trace rubs at his arms. "Naw, well, I just thought I'd... ask ya something. Y'know, help me out with some advice. And it.. it's not for me, it's for.. this friend of mine. Her names, uh, Sarah." He peeks up at you through braids and smiles embarrassedly. "She wanted my help, and I didn' know what t'tell 'er, so.. I mean, and I couldn't come to Walker with this, he don't got the right way 'a thinkin. And Jason and Batiste... well, I just wanted to come to you, is all." Flushed, he scuffs a foot against the carpet.

Benjamin quirks his brows oddly. If Walker doesn't have the right way of thinking, it must not be about drugs, sex, clothes, or any of the dozens of fun things he's an expert on. He blinks a few series of rapid blinks, and smiles tentatively. "I'm flattered, actually," he confides, and settles back against the arm of the couch, soda lazily dangled in his fingers. "What's... Sarah's... problem?"

Trace gives an uneasy chuckle, parting his hands a little as he confides, "Well, I was surprised she even told me about her problems, I mean I hadn't seen her in a while, I thought we'd kinda fallen out... But she poured it all out to me." He pauses to pop open the tab on his Dr. Pepper, fiddling and stalling with the tab before he takes a long drink and continues. "Well, it's just... she has these two friends, right? Her best friends. And they always do everything together... But it's like, she found out somethin'. She-she found out that, um. Her friends had... y'know, messed around a little? Like... they kissed. And maybe more, she don't know, but... And her one friend told her that she was really a lesbian, and she doesn't know about the other one, the other girl's probably not gay but just real... wild and free, y'know? Try anything sorta girl. And she was fine with it, with both of them, but...." He sighs pensively. "She had this dream that's bothering her."

Benjamin watches you closely as you relate the situation, nodding a bit in appropriate places. Not even sipping his soda, giving you his full and undivided attention. And once it gets to the part about always doing everything together, his mouth and eyes go soft and almost sad. Yes, he knows exactly what you're talking about, but if you wish to keep up the pretense, he can go along with that. Your comfort matters most. "So it's the dream that's bothering her, and not that the friends were intimate?" he clarifies calmly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I mean, well mostly the dream. Pretty much. It was just...she..." Trace runs a finger along the outside of the soda can, drawing vague patterns in the foggy moisture collected on the metal. "She dreamed that... they got married. And the ceremony part was over and they were running down the isle and, and they ran right past her... Ran right to the car with the big sign on the back sayin' how married they were, and the cans clattering..." He looks down at his knees sadly. "And it... it's messed up of her, coz she knows that probably can't happen, and her friends still love her and she knows that.... But she just... I mean, the more she thinks about it, and stuff that could happen, she thinks... she almost wishes she was a lesbian too. But she's not. And she's used to sharing everything with them, but she can't -- ever share that..."

Benjamin draws in a long breath, listening without comment until you finally drift into silence. Still he waits a few extra seconds to make sure there is no more. Then, quiet and hesitant, he murmurs, "Your friend can't change who she is, just like her friends can't change who they are. And Sarah mustn't try to alter herself, just to be able to share that with them." Another deep breath, let out in a soft sigh. It's a sticky situation, and he knows he has to put it -just- right to avoid discomfort. "Does she really believe that her friends will leave her behind? True friends... -real- friends, Trace, won't let intimacy get in the way of emotional closeness."

"Well... well, I know," Trace insists, his voice cracking a little as he stares down at his soda can moodily and finally sets it down on the floor by his feet. "They are real friends... And they won't leave. But sex, it... of course it brings people closer. That's just what it does. So she just... she can't help wishing that if her friends gotta do gay stuff, they oughta do it with other people, even if she knows she has no right to wish that. But it's just like she does anyway, coz she's so afraid it'll all get tangled up and harder... and what we got is so special, and I just don't want anything to ch--" Whoops. He looks up, startled, and opens his mouth to say something to cover his error. But finally he can't think of anything and just hides his face in his hands, rubbing gently at his eye sockets.

"Shhhh," Ben comforts, unfolding himself and sliding down to sit next to you. A gentle hand rests on your shoulder, and he tilts his head to watch your face, though hidden. "To change," he finishes quietly. "I know. And what you have -is- special." Pretense dropped, he already knew you were talking about yourself and your friends. "But, Trace? It's difficult enough for -two- people to do everything together, in any relationship. I mean..." He casts about for a moment, then gets a bit of a sour look as the only example he can come up with isn't quite serious enough for as agitated as you are. "You wouldn't want to see me perform with Walker, would you? And Walker would be bored to death in my classroom. You see?"

Trace sniffles and peeks up, slowly drawing his hands away and knitting them together tensely. "Yeah. Yeah, I see..." he says quietly. "But sex --" He gives a somewhat sardonic, chagrined half-grin and adds bitterly, "--Not like I know or anything firsthand, but like they say it's pretty amazing, right? And they just... they could start liking to be together more. Real friends or not. Y'know?"

Benjamin shrugs carelessly. "I know, and it's a very real fear. But." He holds up one finger, point one. "I've had far more sex in my life than I care to admit, and none of it bound me as tightly to anyone as I feel for you and the rest of the family." Holds up a second finger, point two. "And. I know there are things you share with Jason that Batiste isn't a part of. I've seen it, but I don't know what. And I've seen you and Batiste with a level of comfort that neither of you seem to have with Jason." Pause for a breath, for he is certainly spilling forth more words this afternoon than he's used to. "Just because what they share is sex, doesn't mean that it matters more or less than these other things. Does it?"

Trace looks over at you, with a sort of gratitude that spreads across his face as you continue to speak, especially at the end. Finally, he answers, "I don't know. I.. I guess not. It is true that like, with Batiste, I could just hug him whenever I needed and I know it's okay, and I can curl up and fall asleep right beside him and I never had that with anybody before... Jason, y'kinda gotta catch him at the right moment t'hug him, coz otherwise it's all tickles and teasing and he's just not so serious about things sometimes...." His eyes are very thoughtful now, dropped down to his hands. "And Jason and I share somethin', it's true... It's just -- hard to explain. Partly it's like.. well have you heard us talk about India before...?" He quirks a tiny grin.

Benjamin blinks a bit, and lets out a quiet breath, rather surprised that he's succeeded in bringing a measure of comfort. He lets the hand fall from your shoulder, and clasps his own hands in his lap, remaining close. "India? No, never. But, Trace, you don't have to tell me." A swift, apologetic smile. "Some things stodgy adults don't understand. But... go on?"

Trace giggles a little. "Well, no, you won't get it. You probably think India's that kinda Texas shaped place on the other side've the world. But see, Jason and me know better. I found it in Batiste's hair actually... He'd been swimmin' in Ayita's pool, and then he was smokin' a clove, and I breathed in when I hugged him and it was just... hot pools and silk ladies danced into my head! So I drank India out've his hair and kept in inside me, and Jason... sometimes wants to hear about it, and that's when I see it best. He'll lock eyes with me and it's more me talkin', but it just.. comes out so much better those times, like he's pullin' it outta me somehow, like a kinda communion..." Self-consciousness finally overtakes him, and he laughs a little, flushing. "It's just... Well, like I said, it's hard to understand."

If there's one thing Ben knows all about, it's not understanding things. Only books and theories make absolute sense to him, really, and so smoky dreams of silken women from Batiste's hair get relegated into the same world as cellular phones, programming his VCR, and how to read a bus schedule. "And you say you aren't a poet," he murmurs, fondly, bumping shoulders with you, friendly. Quieter, a bit more serious, "You know that Batiste came to me, too, when he felt like you and Jason were ignoring him? Trace..." The gentle fingers are at your shoulder again. "You got through that problem. You'll get through this one, too."

Trace nods a little, giving you that grateful smile again. "I... Ben, I just, I really thank ya fer listenin' t'me, and fer yer advice. I... don't know, do you think I should talk to them 'bout it? I kinda think I shouldn't... I'd just totally embarrass everybody and maybe insult them or something, and probably it's best to just wait and see what happens, huh..?"

Benjamin lifts his shoulders a bit, and ducks his head a little to acknowledge the thanks. Just the smallest of proud smiles settles on his lips; he really does like being useful, and helping his friends. And when they come to him about things, specifically, even better. "Let them know, maybe, that it doesn't change how you feel about them. Maybe even tell them that you're happy for them. Whatever seems to work best in the moment."

Trace wrinkles his nose a little. "Geez, they ain't pickin' out curtains yet! Just messed around is all, one night. I think... maybe I'd say that stuff if they actually got t'be more like a couple. And I'm still gonna hope that won't happen. But, y'know, if it does... I'll tell them that. And just... trust 'em to still love me too. I, I trust 'em with everything else, so it's nuts I wouldn't trust 'em with this." He nods a little to himself.

Benjamin stifles a giggle at the thought of Batiste and Jason, at Sears, seriously discussing curtains and china patterns. OK, that's pretty hard to stifle, but he's trying really hard to stay serious, and gentle, and comforting. Maybe the choked snort tarnishes that image a little, but he manages to keep his voice under control. "That's... a very mature thing to say, Trace. Trust in your friends, and you can weather any storm."

Trace grins a little. "Well... y'know, I should be going soon. I took up all this time've yers already, and y'know, I'm only supposed t'be going out to get some food and stuff for the dinner Batiste is gonna cook tonight or tomorrow, and y'know how he worries..." He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "But one more thing. I was wondering... could you, uh... Would it be okay, if I borrowed, like, a book from you? I mean... Because back home, I used'ta read so much, but I really fell out've it when I hit the streets... And I left my whole collection behind... And I was wonderin' if y'had anything y'think I'd like? And if it'd be okay?"

Benjamin's face practically glows at the question. "Be okay? I'd be delighted. Anything you want to borrow, it's yours. Have you ever read 'On the Road' ? It's about a drifter, I think you might like it. " He gets up and quickly pads toward the bedroom, excitedly. "I'm sure I have a copy..." and he drifts off into a muffled explanation about his Beat Generation class sophomore year.

Trace reaches down to retrieve his barely touched soda and then rises, wandering after you a little to peek into the bedroom, but not intrude inside. "No, I haven't read it..." he admits curiously. "I promise I'll take real good care've anythin' ya loan t'me." A little giggle. "Won't get chalk or paint on the pages 'r nuthin'..."

Benjamin has forgotten to turn on the light, but zips immediately to where he knows the book is. There's a brief struggle to tease the paperback out of the tightly-crammed shelf, but soon Ben produces a fairly clean, newish-looking copy, the cover a photo of a couple of 50's-looking guys smoking cigarettes on the back of an old Ford truck. Which he hands to you, with a grin. "Just because I'm a queen about my books doesn't mean you have to be," he chuckles.

"No, no, I'll be good to 'em," Trace promises insistantly as he takes the Kerouac classic and runs his fingers delicately over the cover. "Always am with books." He looks up to you with a big grin. "Thanks. Fer this, 'n everything." He glances towards the door. "Well, I'll get on outta here... You take care?"

Benjamin picks carefully through the strewn papers, smiling gently for you. "I will. You do the same... and thank -you-. I feel honored for the confidence."

The blue-haired kid beams again, a sunny look that is typical Trace when he's been unburdened, flattered, or gifted. Then he turns and heads out the door, with a tiny little finger wave before closing the door behind him.

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