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Title: What to do...

Log Setting: Walker's home, shortly before Hell.

Log Cast:
Jason
Jean-Batiste
Trace
Benjamin
Walker

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Jean-Batiste climbs the spiral staircase, pleasantly full on crispy bacon and scrambled eggs, bringing the faint scent of dish soap with him. He's picking the last of his nail polish off his nails, making his steps amble a little from side to side with his distraction.

Benjamin comes tramping up the stairs after him, sans jacket this evening, but very comfortable in jeans and t-shirt still. Playfully he leans forward and dash-tickles Batiste on the side, chasing him up the last few steps.

Seated on the waterbed behind Jason, Trace has worked all the tangles out of his friend's hair by now. Despite that the task is done, he continues to run the brush through the waves of red with long, liquid sweeps, just for the pleasure of it. His expression is serene, content. When the two stumble upstairs laughing, he just looks up and gifts them both with a sunny smile.

Jean-Batiste tries to laugh and yelp at the same time when Ben tickles him, and it comes out in a sort of warbling sound. He leaps up the last couple steps and dodges away, rubbing the spot that was tickled and giving Ben a totally overdone wounded look before looking to the waterbed. His wounded look fades, replaced with a shining smile.

Jason looks quite serene himself. Hell, downright drowsy. He's leaning back into Trace, eyes just little green slits beneath his lashes. If he was a cat, he'd be purring up a storm surely. As the two come stumbling up the steps, he tilts his head a little, then puts /all/ that effort into opening his eyes. Mmm, crooked grin. "Hey, beautifuls..." Life is good!

Benjamin flashes Batiste a purely innocent smile, checking nearby to make sure his sandals are still up here from earlier. Hooks his thumbs in his beltloops and lopes over to the waterbed, pulling covers up straight to make some room for himself. No way do the young guys get to have all the fun, darn it! "Hey yourself," he murmurs warmly. "You all finally woke up."

Jean-Batiste wanders over to the waterbed's side and perches on the edge of it, watching Trace and Jason with a quiet, contented smile. "Looks like fun..." he murmurs, flashing a grin for a second. He's standing up again, then, and moves over to his backpack to crouch there. He rummages for who knows what, glancing back through his braids frequently, grin lingering in his eyes.

"Grudgingly, yeah," Trace smiles, running a few final sweeps through Jason's hair and then giving it a final pat with his hand before setting the brush down on the blanket. If Jason's going to let him get away with stopping now, that is. He sits up a little to peer over at Mysterious Things Batiste is doing in his backpack there.

Jean-Batiste rummages up three bottles of nail polish - black, sparkles, and clear - and sits down on the computer chair, rolling it over near the bed so he can set the bottles down on an end table. As he checks his nails over to make sure they're free of old polish, he says, "Well, breakfast was great. Especially the bacon." He grins at Ben for a second, then wrestles with the stubborn cap of the black polish. "Wonder if Cherry will ever realize we still have this..." he murmurs, giggling.

Benjamin frowns like, immediately at the mention of Cherry, which is a quick switch from the smile he had shared with Batiste a moment ago. "I'm sure she's got plenty of things on her mind already," he murmurs, stretching out on his side on the waterbed, facing the Trace-Jason pile, and Batiste, lazily.

Jason whimpers as Trace puts down the brush. His petting's stopped. Whine. He looks back over his shoulder with soulful eyes... but then grins brightly. He'll let Trace go. Grudgingly. He leans back to give a sort of backwards nuzzle, then tilts his head Bat-wards. "Y'gonna paint my nails?" Beaming smile. Yes, people must wait upon him hand and foot today!

"Ooh..." Trace murmurs, glancing down at his own nails, just a few little spots of polish remaining, a sparkle here and there. "Yeah! Yeah, I want mine fixed up too... Is there blue still?" he asks hopefully. You page Jean-Batiste and Jason: Any chance of mural work tonight...? How long's everyone on for?

Jean-Batiste starts painting his nails with the blacker-than-black polish. He's careful, though not meticulously so - any polish on his skin will wear off in a couple days, after all. He looks up at Ben and snorts softly, nodding. "Yeah, I'm sure," he murmurs sourly. His grin rebounds swiftly, though, and he grins at Jason. "If you want me to..." he murmurs teasingly. "I picked some out for you, when I got all this...I think I got red, for your hair...or else green...I can't remember. But there's blue and black and sparkles, too." A moment's concentration as he fusses with his small pinky nail, then switches the brush to the other hand to continue polishing. He nods to Trace, smiling at him as well. "Yeah, lots, the bottles were almost full when I got them."

Benjamin lifts his chin a bit, and peers across the room. "Mmm, can I have some?" he calls, hopefully. Critical, he examines his fingernails. "Ugh... black with sparkles would be nice," he decides. Cause that's gonna go over -real- well at the university, sure. He won't just be the Prof Who Runs Into Things, he'll be the Prof Who Runs Into Things, With Sparkly Fingernails.

Trace crawls a little closer to watch Batiste as he paints, as well as to wait for his own turn. He flops down onto his stomach comfortably, chin atop folded arms, his legs bent up at the knee and hooked at the ankles, dangling in the air. "What's the plan fer tonight?" he asks with a little grin. "'Sides pretty nails."

"I think I got you red..." Batiste murmurs belatedly, looking to Jason as he picks up the sparkle polish and shakes it up thoroughly before starting to paint it over the black. He's quiet for a few seconds, trying to get lots of sparkles on the brush before painting his nails with them. Without looking up, he nods several times and says with a grin, "Sure, Ben. Whatever colour you want, as long as I have it. I bet Walker's got more colours, but you should ask him first..." More polishing, more grinning. "Well, we could paint your wall tonight?" A glance up at Trace. "Or...or, I don't know. We could all go out and do something?"

"My wall..?" Trace murmurs shyly, looking down at his fingers and imagining them all blue-sparkly again, just like they were the day before Hell. "Oh, well, y'know, that's... up to you guys. I'm always up fer workin' on the mural, I guess." He glances back at the cubby and a smile lights on his face. "Jason's turned out nice... don't you think?"

Benjamin perks up his brows at the mention of going out. Ohhh, but painting... he wriggles on the bed, unconsciously causing soft waves for Trace and Jason. "Could we go out?" he suggests hopefully. "Maybe... is there anywhere to go dancing, that you all can get into?" Of course, he'd have to change, and redo his hair, but the idea of a night out is rather exciting.

Below the door opens and is promptly kicked shut. Within mere seconds footsteps pound up the stairs heralding Walker's breathless arrival. The duffle bag on his shoulder bulges, quite bottom-heavy, putting the nylon strap to the test. He beams a smile about the room. "Hey... s'up?"

Jean-Batiste looks over to the staircase as he finishes with the silver sparkles, and his grin brightens anew. "Walker, hey! We were just deciding what we want to do tonight, other than some communal nail-painting." He starts waving his fingers through the air again, drying the second coat. A brief glance is given to Ben, and he murmurs, "Dancing's cool, but...I don't know if we have the right clothes..."

Well, all the family's here, so the only pounding up the steps could come from... "Walker!" Ben is perfectly pleased, and gives the man a slowly curving smile. "You're just in time for the manicure." All his friends, all in the same room! That must be what's causing the glow in his eyes. Must be.

"Hey Walker," Trace calls, but his eyes are considering, before he peeks back at the wavemaker. "Dancing. Hmm. Well... I mean, most places ya gotta be 18, and if not, it'd be packed fulla Sacred Heart kids prolly. No fun in that.." He shrugs and turns his attention to picking away the old bits of nail polish. "But I mean, well. If you know've someplace I can get into, I guess I'd be cool with it. I'd jest wear those pants from Jordan and, I dunno... Maybe Walker's got a top I could wear? We could --" He looks up sharply. "Wait, uh. I mean..." A blush. "I mean, if all've us went dancing, you guys would pick a place that did have *some* girls, right? I mean..." He giggles. "I mean, that wouldn't be fair, y'know?"

Walker drops his duffle with a thump to the floor, rotating his shoulder as it is now sore from lugging that huge thing for over an hour. Blehh. "Feel free ta look through m'closet, Trace," he encourages as he fishes his cigarettes from his back pocket. He looks about to make another comment when a knock downstairs catches his attention. "Be right back..." And back down the stairs he goes.

Jean-Batiste looks up from painting the topcoat on his nails, wrinkling his nose comically at Trace. "Girls?" he says, then giggles softly. "Well, I figure if we go out, it wouldn't be fair if we couldn't all have a good time, right?" The topcoat doesn't take long at all, and then he's back to hand-waving again, giving Walker's closet a thoughtful look. "I guess we could raid his closet and find some clothes...I could wear my other pair of pants, and just find a different shirt..." He looks a little uncertain, petting his frazzled braids self-consciously.

Jason murmurs from where he'd toppled over amongst the pillows, "Think he'd let me wear that fishnet shirt? 'R is it too big?" He stirs a little, then pushes himself up, rubbing at one eye with a fist. He grins at you all. "So, uh... where do they let kids our age dance?"

Trace looks over his shoulder and suggests to Jason, "*I* think you should wear the chainmail thing." The very image of it makes him giggle, eyes impish and bright. Soon the look fades into something more thoughtful as he murmurs somewhat fretfully, "I... I never really been dancing before. I mean, like I went to a school dance once, 'n that don't count.. And I went to Hell, but we didn't really dance there..." He laces his fingers together and looks down at them.

Benjamin stretches out back on the bed, folding his arms above his head, running a finger over the black lacquer of the headboard idly. "Mmm, maybe we should stay in, then. Or go... somewhere else. Park, or something." As if he could care, at this point, where you all are, as long as it's all of you, together.

Jason bahs and bumps up against Trace's shoulder (Bat's been rubbing off on him). "All ya do is move yer hips ta the beat. An' like wave yer hands like a goober if ya want." He winks playfully, raising his hands over his head and doing a sinuous little move. "Ain' nuthin'." Tilting his head, he glances at Ben through his freshly-brushed hair. "A park?" Obviously 'park' versus 'dancing' isn't much of a fight in his head.

Jean-Batiste tests his nails by tapping them together. Done! He fans them out on his knees, admiring them for a few seconds, all gleaming and shiny-sparkly, then grins up at the three of you. "Well...I don't care. Dancing would be cool, but only if we're all having a good time." He thinks to himself for a second, watching Jason wriggle, then murmurs, "We need to find a rave, I think. Because anything goes, we could all have fun that way." His grin widens as he adds to Trace, "You could probably put those body paints to great use, too."

Glass is lead up the stairs by Walker.

Jason ohhhs... "We could all show up with like see-through shirts 'n our braids 'n all painted 'n stuff." And he grins broadly, casting Batiste a quick glance.. "'N anythin' goes..."

Walker trundles back up the stairs, hand in Glass'. "Look who's here," he announces with a bright smile. "Y'all figga out where ya want ta go?" He releases Glass' hand as he remembers he was going to have a cigarette and now needs to relocate where he left them.

Trace smiles brightly. "I always wanted t'go to some've those. Just never have... I always kinda wanted people to go with, like it'd be kinda lame goin' on yer own, y'know?" He unlaces his fingers and looks over at the returned Walker and the newly arrived Glass, offering a little wave, before continuing, "I know some people I could ask about if any's comin' up. And y'know, who knows, maybe there is one tonight... Though it'd be kind've a coincidence. I'd just hafta drop by Keats 'n ask some've the reg'lers layin' round if they know of any... Lots've 'em would know, if there was. Plenty inta that kinda thing."

Benjamin is stretched out on the waterbed nearish Jason and Trace, eyes half-closed, dreamily smiling, listening to the conversation without much interjection. Mmm, rave, sure! Whatever the boys say.

Jean-Batiste catches Jason's quick glance, and grins back at him. "Yeah..." And then, to Trace: "Yeah, I think it'd be perfect, we could all go and have a blast..." He smiles sunnily to Walker and Glass, waving to them with his new and improved sparkly-black nails. "Walker! You need to find us a rave." He giggles lazily.

Glass has a flat unhappy look.

Jean-Batiste's giggling trails off and his eyebrows tug together at the middle a little. Tentatively, he asks Glass, "How's it going? What's up?" He spins around on Walker's computer chair a couple of times, coming to a halt facing Glass again.

Walker blinks, looking up from his search of the desk. "A rave..? Don' know-a one tanight but there's one comin' up next weekend..." Where did he leave his smokes? Damn. Gotta open a new pack. He digs one out of the dresser and begins to pack the tobacco as he wanders over to the bed to claim a seat on the edge.

Glass shrugs to Batiste, "It's bad. Nothing's up."

Trace peeks over at Glass curiously. "Hey, yer usually hooked up 'n connected. D'y'know of any raves that might -- what's wrong?" he blinks, as it quickly occurs to him that Glass isn't quite jubilant. "Are you okay?"

Jason beams over Trace's shoulder at Walker. "Anythin' goes?" he asks hopefully.

Glass looks at Trace, "Raves tonight?"

Trace shrugs, "Yeah! Yeah, s'like we're just real bored and... hey, no changing the subject. What's wrong?" Benjamin lifts his head a bit when the word 'wrong' keeps coming up, and blinks in surprise at Glass and Walker's arrival. Idly, he pokes Walker's rear end with his toes, then rolls on his side to look concerned at the conversation.

Walker leans back a bit into the mattress, shoulders pinching in protest. He tugs out a cigarette and lights it, nodding to Jason as he exhales. "Ya betcha." He gives a soft squeak as his hinder's poked, moving a hand to grab at the offending foot's ankle to keep it from further transgression.

Glass shrugs, "I'm just not happy. The world is a peice of shit."

Jean-Batiste almost drools at the sight of Walker's licorice cloves. "Hey, toss me one?" he asks hopefully, holding his hands out to recieve the cancer stick. He looks towards Glass again, hands still outstretched, and nibbles the inside of his bottom lip for a second. "Well..." There's no denying -that-, really, so he goes with: "Anything we can do to make you feel better?"

Glass says, his expression still dull, "Hang me from the ceiling and rub me with almond oil."

Jason gets a big happy grin at confirmation from Walker, then tilts his head Glass-wards. "Well, now /there's/ a cheery attitude! Kinda go-gettum, y'know?" He giggles and shakes his head, then adds to Batiste's offer with, "Y'know, sex, drugs... anything we got's yers." He wrinkles his nose playfully and gives Glass a smile.

Jason ooohs and looks to Batiste, as if that were a good idea. "Kinky, wanna try it?"

Walker nudges the lid of the box open with his thumb and carefully extracts a black cigarette. He aims and tosses it to Bat when he's sure the fellow is paying attention to catch it. "Th' world sucks big schlong," he agrees with Glass. "Which is why I refuse ta conform ta its rules an' ideas."

Jean-Batiste turns a bit pink, but fights it down before it turns into a massive blush. He manages to catch Walker's clove, beaming him a thankful smile, then asks (relatively) straight-faced, "Walker, d'you got any suspension cuffs?"

Glass smiles a little.

Jason adds, "An almond oil!" with a big grin.

Ankle caught, Ben isn't quite lazy enough to let that go. He pushes himself up to sit with some struggle and slides down the sheets to meet the hand on his ankle. Gentle hands gather up Walker's silky black river of hair, and shift it over one shoulder. He's in for a nice long shoulder rub, and Ben starts with the muscles right where the neck and shoulder join.

"See, there ya go," Trace comments of Glass' smile. "Now seriously. If by some miracle, we find a rave, or at least *something* fun t'do, y'wanna come? Might pick ya up..."

Benjamin murmurs facetiously, "Pick you up, or take you down."

Glass says, "I don't think I want to go to a rave. People on speed are really annoying."

Walker chuckles, a drawn out and velvet sound. "Do ya really have ta ask..?" His smile is sweeter than honey without the mess. Any further comment he might have is forgotten as Ben begins to treat his stage-stiffened muscles to a blissful rub.

Jean-Batiste eyes up Walker's closet door - no, the -other- closet door - and nibbles the inside of his bottom lip again. "Well...if you do..." He peeks sidelong at Jason, then Glass, then lastly to Trace. He fidgets slightly because, well, he has this hunch that his blue-haired friend might not take so energetically to rubbing Glass down in oil.

Glass says, "We'd probably have to wait for a weekend for a rave."

Jason hmphs and leans over to play with Trace's blue braids. "School 'n work can wait, we should do our own rave. Right now!" He snickers at the thought. "Be like... insta-rave. Just add DJ."

Glass says, "Do you have portable equipment?"

Benjamin is no massage therapist, but figures that any sort of circulatory massage is good for tired limbs. "My vote," he puts in, "Is for tying you -all- up and gagging you, so I can get some peace to rest my ancient bones for one night." Completely deadpan, completely straight-faced.

Trace sighs softly at the talk of oil and suspenders and glances to Ben, of all people, though whether or not he can catch the dreamy prof's eye is hard to say. Nope, looks like he's got bondage dreams of his own, though for a different purpose. But soon he's looking away, back to where Glass is standing. "Course we don't. So okay, so the rave thing probably won't work. *You* got any ideas of stuff we could do?"

Glass says, "Well, we -could- make a rave. We could do it in the lot on Decatur."

Walker's head is slowly falling forward as he relaxes. Massage therapist or no, that feels *good*. He mumbles something into his hair about X and raves but the general gist of his comment is lost. He sags a little more, teetering a little on the edge of the bed. One can only hope that - if he falls - he will fall back instead of forward.

Jean-Batiste shakes his braids around his face, grinning at Glass. "Wouldn't we need, like, a couple hundred more people? Where's this lot, though?" He climbs up out of the computer chair, pushing it back over to the desk where it belongs, looking restless and eager to do -something-. "We could just...oh. -Oh-." He looks over at Walker, and asks -so- innocently, "Walker, where was that air conditioner you told me about? Glass has a car..."

Glass looks at Batiste, "You've never been there?"

Trace ohs and nods faintly. "I guess. Dunno... I know the lot, though. I lived there for awhile. Not... 'zactly a nice place."

Benjamin tsks quietly, we mustn't have anyone falling off anything. That only leads to split lips and bloody shirts, and Walker would be less than impressed if he bled on his clothes. So he scoots back a bit and pulls the poor limp man after him, safely away from the edge of the bed. Then continues the massage, quietly. With a warm smile over to Trace, and a slight nod of the head.

Jean-Batiste glances back to Glass, and finally gets around to lighting up his clove. After a few happy drags, he shrugs easily and says, "I don't know, there's a couple empty lots around the French Quarter, you know?" He grins.

Glass says, "I mean the one where people are always hanging out."

Jason flops over on the bed and smiles to Bat as he gets up. "Ya jus' gonna wander 'round the room or you gonna be good like Benji?" It's a big hopeful smile. See, Trace stopped pampering him awhile ago, and he's in remission.

Trace nods a little. "You 'kin buy anythin' there. But y'could get killed too, if ya fuck up and walk up to the wrong guy...And there's hookers all over the place 'n stuff."

Glass nods, "Nobody'd bother us."

Walker offers no resistance to being repositioned; when you're more than half melted, resistance is futile. "Look in any ol' trailah park..." he mumbles in response to the air conditioner query. He's having a little trouble keeping up with the conversation as his mind's on the wonderful shoulder-rub he's receiving.

"I know," Trace nods. "I know my way 'round the lot. I dunno... This whole 'start yer own rave' idea isn't gonna work. 'Specially not in the middle of the week, and like with no notice."

Glass says, "It'd be a small rave."

Trace giggles. "A rave of six."

Jason hmphs from beside Trace, "They're all a buncha wussies at the lot..." A soft giggle.

Jean-Batiste watches Walker and Benjamin of Borg for a few seconds, smiling softly, then looks back to Trace, Jason, and Glass and gets his grin back. "We could go lift an air conditioner for our apartment? Glass would have to let us use his car, though..."

Glass says, "Where would you lift it from?"

Benjamin murmurs idly, "I tend to get beat up in places like that," to the conversation about the lot. He sticks his tongue out briefly at Jason -- very un-Ben-like -- and tries to look wounded. Why everyone keeps referring to him as that annoying dog in the films is beyond him. He moves down Walker's shoulders in a slow progression, to the gentle curve into his arms, and back up.

Glass looks at Benjamin, "No. They know me."

Jean-Batiste shrugs easily, and gestures towards Walker. "Just hit some nasty trailer park on the edge of town, grab one right out of the window. I figure between the four of us, we could get two little window units for the apartment, it'd be fun." As long as Jethro didn't catch them and introduce them to some shotgun justice.

Walker always liked that cute pooch and never thought him annoying. But that's all subjective. "Places like what..?" he murmurs, surfacing just a bit from heaven to try to sort out what he's missing. He opens his eyes - a task indeed - and realizes he's wasted almost half of his cigarette without caring and the ash from said is now resting happily on the bed. Damn.

"Shh," Ben instructs Walker, and turns to the room in general, querying politely, "Would someone get His Majesty an ashtray, mm? He's going to burn the house down himself." He sneaks a quick grin toward Batiste at that one. Unimpressed, indeed, especially if he were the cause of it. Indirectly, of course.

Trace gets up and flops back down across Jason's back out of boredom, something like a body slam, except that he's so light, and doesn't put much weight into it to begin with. "Well, could be an adventure," he adds, keeping the red-head casually pinned. "Too bad Jason can't come, he's stuck." He grins.

Glass says, "If I can have a smoke I will."

Jason oofs! and bobs as the waves rock the bed, then giggles and squirms beneath Trace. But not too much, it's actually kinda comfy. He folds his arms and rests his cheek in the crook of one elbow, sniffling. "Hate bein' stuck."

"Too bad, too bad," Trace sings cheerfully. "Stuck forever."

Glass looks around the room for an ashtray. He brings one back to Walker after a few minutes.

Jason makes whimpering noises... then hmms. "Hey, while yer up there, mind brushin?" Hopeful.

Walker takes the ashtray from Glass with a sincerely grateful smile, using it immediately before offering his box of cigarettes to Glass. Then it's back to melting under Ben's touch. Mmm... going to fetch an A/C would mean moving and the end of the massage. Ewk. Best enjoy to the fullest while he can. He takes a last drag off his cigarette and deposits it in the ashtray and quickly slips into non-drug related euphoria.

Glass lights up one of Walker's cigarettes.

Jean-Batiste follows after Glass, ashing his clove into the ashtray before perching on the edge of the waterbed again to keep smoking. "Well, so...are we gonna go do it? Let's go do -something-..." He taps his bare foot against the floor in a soft, continuous whap-whap-whap.

Glass says, "My canoe isn't big enough."

Benjamin turns his thumbs in small circles to either side of Walker's spine, seeking out the tightly-wound muscles and endeavoring with great patience to work them loose and comfortable again. "Do I have this right?" he asks. "Our fun for the night consists of stealing an air conditioner from a trailer park?"

Glass says, "Can we dress like ninjas to do it?"

With a dramatic sigh, Trace murmurs, "Sorry, Jason. Can't brush now. Batiste's insistin' we *do* somethin, 'kin you imagine?" He giggles up at Batiste fondly and hops off of Jason, clambering off the bed. With a grin to Ben, "Well, geez! We thought you realized when ya decided t'be our friend that we were a buncha no-good punks." He smiles sweetly.

Walker giggles at Glass' comment. "Ya do that, Glass. I'll grab m'camera." The last vowel trails off into a warm sigh as his eyes drift shut again. He mumbles something more, but once again it's lost to the slur brought on by sweet, massaging fingers.

Glass says, "We all have to. If you don't dress like a ninja, you can't ride in my car."

Jean-Batiste aims a sweet smile at Ben as well. "Hey, the apartment's going to be -hell- without an air conditioner...and you know how much those things cost to buy?" He looks to Glass then, and giggles softly. "But I don't have any ninja clothes..." He plucks at his black shirt and sighs.

Glass says, "Then we should steal -another- canoe. Then we can go on the lake."

Soon as he's free, Jason suddenly launches himself at Batiste and firmly sinks his teeth into the older boy's shoulder (though not /painfully/). And then he bounds away again, rolling off the bed and too his feet, grinning brightly and bouncing on his toes.

Benjamin laughs softly, grinning over to Trace with sleepy eyes. "Actually, I had you pegged for choirboys," he rejoins drily. And nods, in example, at the Jason-biting-Batiste episode. "See?" Dark eyes drift to Walker, and a sly smile quirks one side of his mouth. He leans forward, murmuring, "Feel better?"

"Canoeing would be fun...just floating around for a while...we could yah, hey!" Batiste exclaims this last bit as he's suddenly bitten by the fearsome Jasonbeast. He laughs, whirling to face the redhead, making a big deal out of rubbing his shoulder. "Hey, you..." he swats gently at Jason's arm.

Walker grins and nods

Walker grins and nods, eyes opening to seek out Ben. "Yeah... thanks. I needed that." He doesn't move from his half-lean, however, content to lounge where he is for the moment till some sort of decision is firmly reached. "So what's th' plan?" Okay, so he wasn't paying utmost attention to the conversation. Can you really fault him?

Jean-Batiste finishes his licorice clove and leans over the bed to neatly crush it out in the ashtray, then straightens up again. He paces around a couple of steps, sticking his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "So what are we doing? C'mon, someone be assertive or something." He grins, looking around at the assembled group of passive submissives.

Glass says, "Stealing an air conditioner."

Benjamin drapes an arm around Walker's shoulder as the man leans back against him, and shrugs faintly to Batiste. "If I were to be agressive, it might upset the natural order of the universe. Plagues, earth splitting open... all that."

Who's a passive submissive? Walker's just basking in the afterglow of a great massage. Rather easy to do when lolling so on a warm bed and warm body. He grins up at Ben, dark eyes dancing. "No bein' aggressive for ya then. I've got a show in a couple-a months an' apocalyptic disasta tends ta drive audiences outta th' theatas." His fingers move to find Ben's, fiddling with them idly. "So ya want ta steal an A/C?"

Glass shrugs, "Me? Not really. I don't ever wanna be in jail again."

Benjamin laughs softly, grinning down at the beauty on his shoulder. "Not to mention the worldwide devastation and damnation, no?" he chuckles. "Mmmm, I'm not the world's stealthiest. Though I suppose, if you're desperate for it, I can keep the car running, or do something useful." Not terribly enthused. After all, he's being useful right now, as a throne for Walker Rien.

Jean-Batiste heaves a sigh, looking around the room. He almost stomps his foot in frustration. "Well..." He turns around in a circle, restless, looking for something. "Fuck." He hugs himself, rubbing his shoulders. "I'll go out for a run or something, and then we can just all be lazy, how's that? I just need to -do- something."

Walker gives a soft sound of agreement to Glass' observation. "Jail bites. Not th' place I'd rathah spend m'evenin'. But..." He pauses for dramatic effect. "It's only illegal if ya get caught. But it's up ta y'all. We could go an' kick it in Met'ry cemetery, but it means hangin' out in Met'ry." Metairie: the scum of New Orleans. But the Cities of the Dead out there are a lure and a half to be sure. How can you resist poking around in mausoleums that look like honest-to-gawd living quarters?

Ooh. Ooh. An idea. Batiste looks towards Walker, almost hopping up and down. "Yeah, let's go check out a cemetary, it'll be cool." He looks hopefully at...well, everyone...then stops on Glass. "I don't know, just need to be out and moving, I feel restless..." Starting to approach edgy, actually. The fidgety vibes will soon start contaminating the room.

Glass says, "Which Cemetary?"

Benjamin nods, thoughtfully. "Could do that, I s'pose. Have yet to see the famous New Orleans cemetaries," he murmurs idly. For a few moments he watches Batiste pace the room, following him with lazy eyes.

Glass murmurs, "I'll go. But I've seen 'em."

"Met'ry cemetery. S'up on Rampart." Bat's antsy-ness isn't quite spreading to Walker; he's too relaxed for that. With a soft sigh he slowly pulls himself upright, hand falling away from Ben's to aid the process. "Lemme grab m'smoke real quick an' we're outta here." He slides off the bed to a a crouch and pulls out the dresser drawer to root through the contents. "An' I've been goin' there since I was fourteen. Got jumped there near th' Henderson Tomb when I's sixteen."

Glass says, "Jumped?"

Benjamin leans forward a bit to ask how long ago that was, but stops himself. Come now, Ben. Everyone knows a lady never tells her age.

"Was it a skeleton?" Batiste asks, giggling softly. Bliss! They're going somewhere. He heads for his socks and boots, hurriedly pulling them on and getting them laced up.

Walker looks up from the drawer, dragging out a leather-cased Skoal round which is shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. "Yeah... a couple-a Sweats were out there an' got th' jump on me an' m'friend. It was fucked up..." he shrugs that aside and scans the bed for his smokes. After a brief moment he adds: "Lost m'virginity in th' LaCroix Tomb..." as he leans over to grab his cigarettes and lighter. There's no mistaking the playful smirk in his tone.

Glass says, "Wow."

Benjamin breathes an exaggerated sigh, murmuring, "Sssssicko." He hauls himself with difficulty off the heavenly comfort of the waterbed, and wanders around the room, searching for his sandals. Perfect attire for cemetary-tramping, no doubt! "Couldn't you just have done it in the back of a Buick like the rest of us?"

Jean-Batiste wrinkles his nose for a second, looking from Glass to Ben to Walker, then shrugs off whatever he was going to say and stands up again, wiggling his toes into his boots to make sure they're laced securely. "So were there bones around, and everything?" he asks Walker.

Walker sniffs with mock indignation. "Hey. It's not like the guy was gonna care that we were borrowin' his coffin." His chin lowers, coy smile teasing his lips. "Monsieur LaCroix was restin' comfahtably atop his lady-wife's coffin. Are we ready ta go?"

Trace looks up from where he's been painting his nails with the blue polish... (Yeah, that's why he's been quiet all this time... wasn't at *all* his distracted player) "Um. You guys mind if I stay here? I kinda... I mean, I kinda wanted t'find myself somethin' t'eat, and I dunno... I know Bat's itchin' t'go someplace, but I'm jest not feeling... cemetary-ish, y'know? But you guys go, have yerselves good times an' all, okay? Tell me all about the cool tombs 'n crypts, and if it was haunted, and all the zombies 'n stuff." Not commenting, even with a conversation as open for cracks as this one... Might get turned back to his *own* virginity. He drops his eyes back down to his nails.

Glass nods, murmurs, "Sure, I'm ready to go."

Jean-Batiste pouts momentarily at Trace, then lets it drop - he said he was going to grab something to eat, after all. "Well...as long as you're sure?" He crosses over to the edge of the bed, and leans over to plant a kiss on the top of Trace's head. "We'll bring you back a fingerbone." he says as he leans back to tie his flannels around his waist, giggling.

Somehow, Ben thinks, after the discussion of Msr. LaCroix's bones, nobody else is going to be telling cherry-popping stories. So he merely slips his feet into his sandals, and idles near the stairs in wait for the others.

Trace giggles up at Batiste. "No way, bring me a *skull*!" And then sighs, "Well, if fingers is all ya kin get, okaaay..."

Walker chuckles softly as he heads for the stairs. "We'll bring back somethin' for y'all..." He pauses at the head of the stairs to wait for everyone else before descending.

Jean-Batiste looks over at Walker for a second, then darts over to his backpack and retrieves his little silver pipe, tucking it away into his pocket. He saw that Skoal container, after all. A grin is flashed to Trace and Jason, and then he follows after Walker.

Benjamin, Glass, Jean-Batiste, and Walker head down the steep stairs.

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