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Log Title: Confronting Grace

Log setting: The Lost Raven

Log Cast:
Trace
Grace
Nelson

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The door is pushed open with rude force, swinging it out to nearly miss the unsuspecting shoulder of a patron who'd been lingering near the doorway. Trace pushes past the startled tourist, scanning the crowd with intent. Definitely a bluecap on a mission.

Grace is sitting at one of the booths in the corner, picking despondantly at a plate of steamed vegetables. Seems the resident waif is on yet another diet, of sorts. With one bony elbow resting on the table, and her chin cupped in the cradle of flesh made by her palm, she looks ready to either fall asleep, or burst into tears. Either option is a possibility at this point.

Trace navigates the crowd with unconscious ease, brows etched in a slight frown, eyes bright and intent in scanning the booths and tables systematically. And yeah, Grace is the goal of this mission. Well, at least he's not spoiling a good mood. Of course, one could look at it as unfortunate that he's got to rain on what's already obviously a pretty damp parade, but Trace has always been an optimist. Or something. He strides right up and slides one knee onto the bench opposite you in the booth, one palm slapping flat on the table's surface, the other curling around the edge of it. "D'ya care f'me?" he demands, quiet, fierce, and hurt all at once. "As a friend even, d'ya care f'me?"

"What?" Startled, Grace's head jerks up from it's contemplation of her carrots to stare blankly at you for a few quiet moments. She shakes her head a little, already sagacious features falling to even lower planes. "Of course I do, Trace. How could you think I don't?" She pushes the untouched plate of veggies aside, her head shaking in quiet confusion. "Why would you even ask? What happened?" Brows draw together in a frown, Grace appearing a lot more vulnerable than she has in quite some time; perhaps more than you've ever seen her. Without even noticing the stares of patrons from the table beside her own, she simply watches you; waiting for some kind of explanation.

The Southern comes out when Trace is angry or hurt. The maison-dixon drawl of his mother, and her kinfolk. "You too. I counna b'lieve it. I thought TooFar, kay... Nadine an' Ali, awraght. But how could'ja go t'theah pahty?" the boy hisses, eyes still tearbright, jaw clenched around the words. "How couldja wanna drink theah hospitality an' laugh with them when they gone'n hurt me so? Do you even unnahstan' how much they taken from me?" He shakes his head, anger quick to vent, and sags down into the booth opposite you. His face finds a hiding spot in the folds of his skinny arms. "Y'all poseta be my friends," he complains muffledly.

The explanation, of sorts, does little to clear up the confusion that Grace feels; reflected by her furrowed brow. "What are you talking about, Trace?" Voice softened somewhat as she extends her arm, fingers curling around the column of one of your wrists. "The party at Nelson's house?" That couldn't be what this is about. "I haven't even said I'm going to that, Trace. I mean, I don't exactly get along well with Ben. Or Walker, for that matter." Her nose wrinkles up a bit, head shaking. "I mean, I don't know what happened with you guys. I didn't get the whole story. But, go ahead and ask Ben. I ripped him a new asshole when I found out that he made you upset." A shallow breath is drawn into her lungs as she slides out of the booth, only to come around to your side and slip onto the cushion. "I am your friend. I.. well, I'd hoped that you would be confident in that."

Trace looks up very slowly from his huddle on the other side of the booth, one hand slipping up to shove braids out of his eyes and meet your gaze. "You... but then..." His brow furrows and he points out with widening eyes and a sort of half-disbelief, "Nadine's a bitch." He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Okay, maybe not, maybe she din' unnerstand, but..." He looks up at you. "Nadine said you was goin'. An' not Nelson's party. Nelson's cool. I mean Ben an' Walker's housewarmin' party." His voice is his own again. He sits up a little, eyes still a little unfocussed as he considers this latest turn in the plot. "I jest... She said y'was stayin' there, an' y'was goin' to their party, and I jest, I didn't understand..." He looks up and pulls in a shaky breath, one hand finding yours and gently clasping it. "Grace. I... I'm sorry. I believe you, I do."

"I didn't even know Ben and Walker were -having- a housewarming party." That's sincerity, folks. Grace is utterly clueless, and it's obvious. Green eyes widen fractionally, gaze not faltering from yours. "Trace, I wouldn't go to anything Ben and Walker had. God." She laces her fingers with yours, raising the hand to her lips to press a soft kiss against the smooth flesh of your palm. "Hon, listen to me. You're a lot more important to me than some stupid party. I crashed at Nelson's house because of what happened at ours. But there's no way in hell that I would stay if Ben and Walker were there, too. I mean, I got into a pretty big argument with Ben the other night when we gave Nelson his makeover." Pathetically thin shoulders hitch in a shrug, lowering joined hands to rest on the cool surface of the table. "Nadine doesn't know what the hell she's talking about half the time, and the other half? Well, she just says it for reaction." A faint scowl finds haven on Grace's features as she shifts her gaze down to stare blindly at the table. "I wouldn't do that to you. I mean, I don't know what all happened, but I knew it was bad."

"It was bad," Trace promises softly, gaze turned inward and aimed at his hand clasped with yours. "We had... the perfect family together. They was our parents. We had... breakfasts t'getha, and I would go t'Ben fer advice, an' cheer Holly on at her shows. An-an my best friends. My brothers. They meant th'world t'me. But Ben an' Walker had t'go an' fuck it all up." His jaw clenches again, eyes brimmed, but the tears refuse to spill over his cheeks. "They had to go an' fuck up our family, my whole LIFE, jest coz they couldn't keep their hands off their boys." He pulls in a shaky breath and says softly, "They never did touch me. But I'm not pretty like Batiste is." His fingers squeeze at yours. "Now Jason's heart is broken, coz Bat did stuff with 'em. An' I'm torn 'tween my best friends. An' it's jest all fer some stupid sex. That meant more t'them than me, an' our whole family."

A sigh filters from Grace's lips as she shifts her gaze to look back up at you, features softened with sympathy and something more -- something akin to regret. Though, for what, it's impossible to discern. "It sucks, I know." What can she say, aside from that? Grace has no advice to offer, no magic words that will take the pain away. "I don't even know what to say. I can't believe that they would risk your whole family for something so petty." Her free arm winds around your shoulders, drawing your body closer to her own. "I wish I could do something to help you. To make Jason feel better, and to erase all the pain, but I can't. No one can. The only thing you can do is try to find it in your heart to forgive them, and then move on. Jason loves you, and I'm sure that Ben and Walker do too. They just.." A sigh. Not much she can say about Ben and Walker that would sound too good. Her dislike for the couple is obvious. "They're just selfish. They can't see past their own wants and desires. They didn't think. Everyone fucks up, Trace. I mean, I know that's a cliche, but it's true. Everyone makes mistakes, and you gotta be the bigger person and see past what they've done so carelessly." She drops her head to rest on yours, fingers absently caressing your shoulder where they rest. "I'm not saying that it'll all go back to the way it was. Things are changed, and they can't.. change back. But you don't have to live with the hurt inside of you."

Trace stares at you now. Forgive them? Go back to them? "We can't!" he says softly, shaking his head. "It's impossible. Burned the bridge. See, they... they throwed our stuff away. Even Jason's flute he loved so much. They tole 'us we could look fer it in the trash. Walker said he was mad coz the night we found out, Jason an' I left right away an' didn' say g'bye'r nothin'. We was jest hurt, y'know? Our heads was still reelin' from it! So we took off, an' Walker had some lame-ass offense he took. We went back a while later t'look inna trash fer his recorder, an' we couldn't find it after diggin' through the whole big dumpster, so we broke inta the house. And we couldn't find it there neither, an' it felt like this big joke they played on us. An' we was so hurt, we..." He looks down shamefully. "I guess we kinda jest went nuts. We totally tore their house apart aftah that. Really destroyed it. It weren't right... I know that. But y'know, they trashed our lives too. Broke everything worse. At least they still got their love, an' a new place t'live, an' food, an' security."

"No, no." Grace shakes her head, "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean that you should go back to them. You and Jason have to make your own lives, away from Walker and Ben. All I'm saying is that, eventually, you're going to have to find it in your heart to forgive them their thoughtlessness and move on from there." Another sigh, deflative as Grace sinks back against the cushion of the booth, legs curling up beneath her as she shifts positions; arm still wound around your shoulders. "It just sounds like a really terrible situation for everyone. I'm not saying that what you and Jason did was right, but I can understand it. They shouldn't have thrown away your stuff. That was just wrong and.." A thoughtful pause, Grace features growing a tad frigid, "Just fucking awful." She averts her gaze, staring more at the wall behind your head, than at you pointedly. "Material possesions aren't as important as the closeness and love that you've lost. They're older, and they should be more mature about this." Her disapproval is as obvious as her yawning space of dislike for the two. Again, more prevalent with each statement uttered. "Trace, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I can make this better for you."

"Dunno either," Trace says, but then he smiles just a little, looking up at you with that liquid hazel gaze, pale lashes clingy. "Well -- y'did make it better. I mean... lately it feels like everything that means th'most t'me's gettin' slapped outta my hands, y'know? I'm jest really glad I came an' found out the truth from ya. An' I'm sorry I didn' have more trust. It jest seemed fitting that they'd take you too." A childish thought process, and he chuckles half-heartedly, realizing it. "It's stupid. I dunno. We oughta... hang out more, coz it jest gets lonely, y'know? Layin' around in Caddy's empty apartment, or wanderin' the streets. It gets you thinkin' armageddon thoughts, y'know?"

"Yeah," Grace drawls with a curl of her lips, fragmented green shifting back to look at you; meeting the beautiful hazel gaze with a thoughtful cant of her head. "Well, I -do- need a place to crash, ya know? I mean, it's fine at Nelson's, I suppose -- but, if Caddy would agree to let me stay at her place for a couple of days, we could hang out there." Another wrinkle of her nose as she backtracks towards your first remark. "I don't see how Ben and Walker could take me anywhere. I mean, I know that you were close to them and all, but.. I never liked either of 'em. They're just a little too wrapped up in themselves. They think they're a little too good for the rest of us." Shoulders lift in a negligent shrug, fingers stretching and then refolding around your hand. "But yes, I would love to hang out with you more. Lately, my only friend has been Nadine. And, God. That can get frustrating."

"An' that's weird," Trace admits, eyes widening a little. "Coz you guys useta be always at each other's throats, y'know?" He laughs, the first honest mirth you've seen out of him all night. "That time you threw her inna tub'a cold water...!" He shakes his head with amusement, eyes bright and warmer. "Anyway, it ain't my place, but I'll definitely ask Caddy. S'jest..." He bites his lip as something occurs to him. "Jason stays there too, y'know. Z'at gonna be alright? I mean, you two gonna be alla time pickin' at each other..?" His eyes and tone are thoughtful as he tips his head gently to one side and admits, "Y'oughta give it another chance, both of ya... Jason's jest had it real rough lately. I bet if you guys'd met under different circumstances, it'd be a lot better 'tween you two. I think it was like a matter of situation an' timing."

Hm. Grace sort of forgot that Jason would be staying at Caddy's as well. That could present a problem. "Well," she murmurs, pressing the ball of her tonguering against the bow of her lower lip; another habit evidently picked up since she allowed Nadine to stick her, "I'll try. For you." She drops her head back against the lip of the booth, gaze straying back to meet yours once more, "I mean, we said a lot of pretty harsh stuff to each other, but the last time I saw him -- when you guys were getting pierced -- we didn't fight or anything. So it might be okay." Her fingers drum absently against the back of your hand, "I mean, I know he's had a hard time. So I'll be nice. You just gotta talk to him first. I mean, if he says it isn't cool, I'll just stay at Nelson's or something. We can still hang out, of course. That isn't an issue." A quick smile unfurls over her lips, somewhat crooked, but present. "But then, Caddy might not want me to crash there. I don't think she likes me much. So, if you can overcome those two obstacles, I'm sure we can work something out."

Nelson enters from the mundane world

Nelson�s Desc:
He's shed some of that hesitant bearing. For those who've never seen him before: enough remains to give him an ambience of awkwardness and uncertainty. Self-conscious yes, but expressed in caution rather than flinching. His face is young, bereft of coke-bottled glasses in lieu of contacts, offering an unhindered view of those large sea blue eyes framed by long dark lashes; puppy-dog eyes that hint at such expressiveness - staunchly denied by strictly enforced reservation, asborbing much and reflecting very little. The discordant tug of war between innocence and paranoia upon his features casts them in one light wise beyond his years and in another merely haunted, disturbed. His hair is dark, the kind of dark that captures light and casts it back in shades of blue rather than brown; tousled around his face past the nape of his neck where it starts, of its own volition, to curl. His clothing, uniform black, lends his washed out pale flesh a milky cast: jeans and t-shirt fit to his narrow and not overly tall frame. The shirt has the words "Blow Me" in silver lettering. Across the back, a mushroom cloud is air brushed around the word "Up". In colder weather, that minor addition is often overlooked, covered by a long dark rain coat. Gone is the faux leather brown briefcase. In its place, a sleek version done in black; not fake - it's genuine skin of the cow, this time.

Grace is seated beside Trace at one of the booths in the corner of the restaraunt. They seem to be in some sort of deep conversation. One of her arms is linked about his shoulders, while her other hand is clasped in his.

Nelson slinks in, all quiet like. It's late for most, but for the chemist, it's early. It's way early - and there has been no coffee yet. No coffee is a sin, a crime, and he won't stand for it, no way. There will be no civility, no cheer, until the black milk of morning is his.

"I'll definitely talk to both of 'em," Trace promises. Sure that'll be awkward, but for the chance to fill the heavy silences that haunt the apartment when his two friends aren't around? Yeah, there's much he'd do for that. "I... perciate y'cheerin' me up an' splainin' things, Grace. I really do." He looks down, cheeks coloring just a little. Finally asks, "So... what *did* happen t'yer house, I must ask? I mean, I strolled by the other day 'n... well, nobody was home 'cept maybe Lloyd, who wouldn't answer no door t'save his slacker life," A soft laugh punctuates that. "An' dunno... it were jest lookin' kinda swampy in there!"

"Uh," Grace lets out an embarassed chuckle, head ducking to stare down at her lap. "It seems that there's a problem with the, uh. The sewers?" Her nose wrinkles up yet again, a shiver spiraling through her body at the thought. "I mean, the whole place is just.. well. Remember how it was covered in figurative crap before? Well, now it's literal." And isn't that just disgusting? It really is. Shit all over the place. "Thankfully, I moved outta Flaggy's room way before this happened, so my stuff was in the attic. The only areas affected are on the first floor." She squirms a little in the booth, her gaze flicking from her lap to glance out at the patrons of the bar, spotting Nelson in the crowd. "Oh, hey. There's Nelson." She nods her head in his direction, a faint smile creeping over her lips.

Nelson shuffles towards the bar, zombie-like. Voices, people, mumble-mumble, trudge trudge. Then, he pauses, lifting his head at the sound of his name. Trained, he is. He peers sleepily towards its source, then smiles faintly. "Good morning." he calls over. Okay, so there is civility before coffee - be thee priviledged. Nelson? Trace peers around. Hmm, that's funny. He doesn't see anyone here who looks like Nelson, just this chap with the sleek blue-black hair and the-- "Nelson!" Trace's eyes blink wide and then he looks to Grace and laughs. "Oh. Wow, You guys really did make him over." To the coffee zombie, "Looks real good, man. Honest.� The blue hair has been approved. "What's goin' on?"

"Yeah, we sorta decided to give him the full works, ya know?" A grin spreads over Grace's lips as her head ducks once more, fingers tightening their grip around Trace's. "I mean, from his head to his toes." Her own head bobs in a nod to emphasize this statement, gaze darting up to study Nelson for a moment, before something evidently occurs to her, making her head swivel around to look at Trace. "Hey, did I tell you about the awesome Valentine I got? I mean, it was so cool. And roses, too. Man, if I knew who sent those to me, I would -kiss- them." Smile.

Nelson peers at Trace, next. He makes a vague gesture at the bar and makes some vague sound. And to the bar he goes, waving down a waitress. You - get me a cuppa. Pronto-like. This coffee thing gets negotiated (happy endings are just so nice), and after green papery bits are exchanged for the cup of caffinated mana, he turns his attention back to the rhyming ones, meandering in their direction. "Do you know what I got for Valentine's Day?" he asks quietly.

Trace's eyes widen as Grace mentions the anonymous Valentine she received, and his color's fled him, then it's back to pinken him right to the ears, bashful kid. "I." He looks away. Towards Nelson. Just can't stop admiring that hair, y'know? Very softly, "Wow, roses, huh? Them're expensive. I could never afford nothin' like that. Yer Valentine must really like you." Then, louder, "Tell us 'bout yers, Nelson!"

A sharp look is sent towards Nelson, eyes widening a bit. Thankfully, her expression is only fleeting, before she shakes her head; recovering quickly with a grin. "Yes, do tell us what you got, Nelson." She leans back a bit, resting some of her weight against Trace. "And if you wanna join us, you're more than welcome." One hand raises to smother a yawn, attention not faltering from the recently blue'd Chemist.

Nelson glances at Grace. Roses, eh? He smiles, that faint little almost-smile he does - such an economy of expression. Might break his face, y'know. "Born." he replies dryly. He drags over a chair with one foot, sitting on the edge of the table, beside neither. How's that for ambiguous?

"Oh, that's right," Trace murmurs. "Think you said somethin' bout yesterday bein' yer birthday, last time we talked." A little nod. He's fairly sure, anyway. But his eyes flicker back to Grace, a quick, hidden look. Lips purse thoughtfully, eyes narrowing just a little, before his pondering is smoothed from his face as he says, "So... yer really absolutely sure y'doan' know who sent ya roses? I mean, y'd think that'd be easy to guess."

"I really have no clue," Grace intones with a helpless shrug. She thought she did, but now that the possiblity has been quashed, she's back to speculation. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I know who sent me the other valentine," a pause as she glances over her shoulder to cast a wink in Trace's direction. Perhaps just sharing some secretive guess with him, or even indicating that she imagines it was he who sent her the beautiful thing. "But, the flowers? I don't know. They were really gorgeous, too. No one ever sent me anything like that before. I can place bets on who -didn't- send them, but I don't know who did, now." She glances back to Nelson with a grin. "Yep. Me and Nadine celebrated Nelson's birthday with some new clothes and blue hair dye."

Nelson curls his hands protectively, lovingly, around his coffee cup, sipping as his gaze ping-pongs off each of you in turn. Humanity unfolds: or some approximation thereof, as the first sips hit his system. He perks up a bit, and some color actually rises to his skin - no more the walking corpse look. Or maybe the color comes in response to Grace's words. Timing, and all that. "It was fun." he assesses, quietly.

"I dunno," Trace says softly, and looks over to meet Grace's eyes very briefly. "I didn't send ya no flowers." Perhaps an admittance. He drops his gaze right away. "Maybe Star? He got a lotta money t'push round lately. Wavin' Gid's credit card." Grf. Who DID send these flowers though? He really wants to know now. "I got a chocolate heart f'Valentine's day," he puts out with a little shrug. "I already ate it."

"I think Gideon would rather stick his credit card up his ass than allow Star to send me anything charged on it." The remark muttered dryly as she shifts positions once more, one leg extending to rest on the boothseat opposite her and Trace's. "Besides, there was a card -- and trust me, Star doesn't feel that way about me. Not like -that-." A quick grin comes as she drops her head a little, staring down at the plate of now-cold, still untouched steamed vegetables. "I gotcha something actually," Grace intones, looking back to Trace for a moment. "But it's in the attic at home, and I can't get to it."

Nelson sips and stares - it's his favorite game. Go on, talk like people with lives talk: Nelson will just observe and carry the information on social interaction back to his home planet. Be thankful he's not on the 'probe' team. He interjects (bad scientist, no pocket protector), "I didn't know you liked roses." towards Grace.

A sharp glance up. "You got me something?" Trace blinks a little, then looks down. "S'alright, I mean. Wow. I didn't.. spect that." He wets his lips and grins a little, but tries to supress it. It's bringing his blush back, after all. He looks to Nelson and wonders somewhat confusedly, "Who wouldn't like roses? I mean.. nothin' not to like 'bout 'em. Ain't no flower what smells more heady an' rich. An' the thorns jest make 'em more special, y'know?" A quirked grin. "We always want what we can't get easy, I think."

A grin sparks across Grace's lips as she looks to Nelson. "Of course I do." She pauses, nodding at Trace's words. "Who doesn't like roses? I mean, c'mon. And, like I said, no one has ever gotten me roses before. Or anything for Valentines Day, for that matter." Shoulders lift in a carefully nonchalant shrug. Nope, Grace doesn't care. Not one bit. "Yeah, there were thirteen roses. Twelve without thorns, and one with. It was really cool. I mean, whoever sent them has a pretty good idea of what I would like." Teeth grab ahold of her lower lip, brow furrowing. "Though I really wanna know who it was. This is gonna drive me nuts till I find out."

Nelson drops his gaze and admits quietly "I love roses." Another sip from his coffee cup. "I just thought that idea was, you know.. lame." He shifts a little where he sits, all self conscious.

"Ain't lame," Trace says quietly. He's really got that introspection thing going on now, gaze dropped to Grace's vegetables. "Prolly Flagg," he says finally. "He... y'know, he prolly..." The boy swallows hard, trying to keep down the distaste and not let it spill into his words. "I mean, he likes you and everything. He's jest... got weird ways'a... bein'. So he prolly sent you the roses." A glance up, eyes intent on the plum- and raven-haired girl beside him. "The valentine, was it the sorta thing he'd write?" he asks in a quiet, vulnerable voice.

Eyes widen as Grace looks back to Trace, increduality written clearly across her features. "Flagg? Are you kidding? There's no way in hell they were from him. God, he's -so- not even the type of person to send -me- flowers." And in that, she's certain. As certain as she can be without having interrogated the Broody One. No need. Her head shakes, a grin curling over her amazement that Trace would even suggest such a thing. "Flagg and I.. having any sort of romantic thing?" A hand waves, features carefully neutral. "Ain't gonna happen."

Nelson blinks a few times. Flagg? That grabs his attention away from his own awkwardness. To Grace, he says awkwardly (and just a little fearfully) "But you and Flagg.. You don't, you know, have - um, never mind. None of my business." He looks to Trace, grappling for something non-Flaggy to spew forth. "I totally know what you mean about wanting what you can't get."

Yes, let's not get too in-depth about Flagg, who is -- in Trace's most humble opinion -- evil incarnate. "Yeah?" Trace says quietly, half-smiling at Nelson. "Sucks, huh." He looks tentatively to Grace again and says, "Well, I dunno then. I dunno who else likes you, Grace. Maybe jest someone who saw you an' thought you was pretty decided to leave you flowers." Drive-by flowerings, yeah, they're so common in this city.

Confusion spirals as Grace looks back to Nelson, one brow hiked in curiousity. "Well, we did. Sorta. I mean, Flagg and I have a really complicated relationship." Spoken slowly, in an evenly measured tone. Why would Nelson care one way or the other whether she and Flagg were together? Oh, but. Oh. Eyes widen a bit as she simply -stares- at the Chemist. "Oh," is softly uttered, as she slinks down in the booth. She might just be jumping to conclusions. She must just be making the wrong assumption. Yep. To Trace, she remarks, "I don't know. It's a distinct possibility. Though, whoever sent them knew my name."

Nelson stares back. "Oh?" He asks tenatively. Confusion is contagious, and his expression draws a blank. He glances around guiltily, then draws his gaze back to Trace. "I don't know if it sucks or not. I think I like wanting things. I never know what to do with them once I have them, so I end up wanting the impossible. It's safe." Sip. Sip. Coffee makes all things better.

"Well, I never did live safe," Trace chuckles, looking at Nelson. Yeah, that's probably something he doesn't understand. "Anyway," he looks to Grace, "What makes ya so sure that they was both sent by the same person? You prolly got a zillion admirers, really, Grace." He grins at her and finally shrugs. "So jest two was ambitious enough t'let it be known. The other zillion minus two is lazy, but most people are. Gotta fergive 'em."

A laugh slips out of Grace, though it's half-hearted at best. She seems somewhat preoccupied with whatever thoughts are currently leaping between the handful of brain cells left in her head. "I'm pretty certain that I have an amazing number less than a zillion admirers." If she had that many, she wouldn't be alone most of the time, would she? Hmm? Makes sense. "But, I don't know. It made me feel good. Whoever it was that sent them." She allows her head to drop languidly backwards, resting on the curve of Trace's shoulder, studying Nelson through the dark fan of lashes capping her lids. "I didn't even know you knew Flagg." Why is she harping on this? Must be that damnable curiousity. Mm hmm.

Nelson's gaze slides to Grace, studying her. Processing something in that brain of his, no doubt. He mulls over another sip of coffee, keeping the cup close to his face, the better to hide behind. "We've never formally met." he says carefully. "I just hear his name now and again, and I saw him once." He shrugs a little, all non-chalant-like. "I don't know him."

Well, Trace hoped it wouldn't happen, but here they are, discussing He Who Should Be Gutted With A Spork anyway. "We don't get along, really," he says quietly to Nelson. Understatement of the year, that. "Anyway." His free hand fidgets reaches out to take the unused spoon from Grace's roll of silverware and spin it about on its end idly. Not sure at all how to contribute to this conversation honestly or without upsetting Grace, so it's best he play with his spoon and keep quiet.

"Mm," Grace murmurs, her head nodding a bit; still resting against the curve of Trace's shoulder. "Well, he and I are just friends." The statement made quietly, though without a falter of her gaze from Nelson's visage. Studying the man as though waiting for some sort of indication of.. well, something. She isn't quite sure what. "Flagg's a real asshole to Trace," Grace admits on a sigh. She hates it, really. "It's been the source of many an argument between us." Her left leg joins the right on the boothseat opposite her and Trace's, crossing casually at the ankle.

Nelson glances between the two of you, and the little tableau makes him smile faintly. Again, very little expression, unless you look at the eyes. It's all in the eyes - warmth, shyness, other things not so warm or shy lurking a little deeper. Those coke-bottles made a good shield, but alas, they are no more. "He didn't pay me a second glance." he says, a touch of relief in his tone. And that's his spiel on Mr. Flagg.

"I'm an asshole back to him though," Trace admits. Nelson gets a weak grin. Heh. You can't imagine me being an asshole, can you Nelson? Noooo. I didn't think so. Coz I'm a blue-haired angel, I am. He looks back to Grace after the smile, as the rest of her sentance sinks in. He looks at her and asks, "You guys seriously fought about me?" A blush tints his cheeks and he says, "Did he say more stuff about... about like how I jest wanted to get in bed with you and stuff?" His lips purse into a little frown before he points out with serious eyes, "I don't. I..." His lips quirk, but his eyes are still solemn. "I'm a gentleman. I never did play no girl." A hitched shrug. "And we're jest friends."

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