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Title: Desserts

Log Setting: First Floor - Grey House
The entry way is a narrow corridor of golden-brown wood, the panelled walls echoing the same subtle glow of the polished floor. The end of the hall terminates at a winding staircase heading upward, the wood-panelled walls hung with a variety of posters.

To either side of the door are two narrow windows hung with gauzy dark grey drapes. A small table sits to the left of the hall next to an open doorway leading to the sitting room; another open doorway on the other side of the hall leads into the kitchen.

Log Cast:
Jean-Batiste
Trace
Walker
Ben
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Jean-Batiste can't resist that rubbing and grinning - he reaches over and rubs your belly once, chanting, "BuddhaBuddhaBuddhaBuddha..." then draws back and giggles softly. "Was it good?" he asks unnecessarily. He sinks down a bit further in his chair, folding his fingers over his own stomach, sighing in deepest contentment. "I have my weak stuff, yeah...Marco got it for me super cheap. You...sure you'd want to watch, though? I mean..." He considers, hesitates, then says, "Even if it was something that was sort of dark and weird?"

Trace giggles and swatswats at Batiste's hand, "Ticklish, stoppit!" When Bat draws away again he just smiles a little, propping his chin up in one hand and scooting his empty plate away a little. "Yeah. We're all gonna have somethin' dark and weird there, I think... Kinda like Jason's Clawed Things, y'know? Well... cept he couldn't paint on his own picture. Ours... I can see how it'd be darker. We kin' look into our own heads, after all... With Jason, we could just read his music..."

Walker rouses himself from the comfort of his chair, boot-free feet silent on the carpet as he crosses to the hall. He tugs the front door open to take up a lean in the doorway, watching the rain fall as he smokes his cigarette. Hot... and rainy. Summer's around the corner for sure. But right now the weather seems pleasant enough to him; could be the fact that he can shut it out at any given time.

Jean-Batiste glances over towards Walker for a few moments, watching him until he vanishes from sight into the doorway. "Well..." he murmurs, sounding a little uncertain. He reaches for his milk, and drinks down the last of it, licking the moustache away. "It might just...just be weird. Just...so you know." For whatever the reason, he feels he has to try and warn Trace about this, in typical incoherent fashion. "It won't all be, just..." He trails off, shrugging, and finishes, "You know."

Trace nodnodnods, looking down at his hands and starting to twist them a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, it's okay. Yer..." He peeks up at you. "Yer nervous 'bout when it's time fer yer wall too, then," he predicts, and smiles a little, part sad, part encouraging.

You hear a knock on the door. (from Moss Street -- Bayou St. John)

Walker rises to get the door.

Jean-Batiste nods a little, taking a deep breath and looking up from where his own hands are twisted up. "Yeah, I am. I mean..." He reaches over, and touches your shoulder for a moment. "I want to see what you put there. I'm really looking forward to that." Earnest sincerity there, in his eyes, and in his smile. "I trust you. But...I'm nervous, about painting...painting -myself-. That's all." He smiles a little, bolstering himself and dispelling his nervousness. "You feel like a little dessert?" Grinning, he reaches for you, as if he's about to rub your belly for more good luck.

You hear Walker murmuring softly in the doorway over the pitter-pat of the rain.

Walker opens the front door and steps inside, and Benjamin follows after him.

Benjamin had forgotten that he -was- wet, and lifts a hand to his hair to confirm the rumor. Indeed, it's soaked! He glances down, and his shirt is pretty damp too. Isn't that just the oddest thing? "You have such courage," he murmurs appreciatively after Walker. "I screamed like a girl when I got my ears done."

Trace grins, shying away and covering his tummy when you reach for it. "Yeah. Yeah, I could totally go fer a banana split now..." He slips off the chair and goes to the refridgerator to retrieve the tub of marshmallow cream. "I guess... the way I see it, this mural's givin' us so much, we gotta bleed some fer it, y'know? I'm looking forward to what you put fer me too. I'm gonna be strong about it..." A shy grin over his shoulder as he pries the red lid off the container. "Better'n I was for your picture before. I promise. I jest think we gotta work fer it... All the good that's hap'nin, it deserves that." He blinks over towards the kitchen's entrance curiously. "Think Ben's here."

The house smells like...soul food. Fresh-baked bread and homemade sweets and a supper still warm if you hurry. There are rows and rows of tarts on the counter - peach, apple, blueberry, blackberry, and some kind of chocolate ones - and Batiste and Trace are sitting at the table, looking exceedingly happy with the world and their full bellies.

The comment from Ben puts added strain on Walker's resolve not to smile broadly. "This didn't hurt s'much as doin' m'navel," he shrugs, as though the lesser pain is better because of its standing. "In a couple-a days it should be feelin' fine." He lifts his chin again to allow Ben to see the new stud more clearly. Yet another ball of steel to help him glitter.

Jean-Batiste turns his beatific grin from Trace, towards the door. "Ben, hey..." he calls, even if he can't see the man yet. "You eaten yet? I cooked for everyone today..." Roast beef, gravy, potatoes and fresh bread. M'm m'm good, as Campbell's would say.

Jean-Batiste suddenly thinks of something, and grins at Trace. "D'you like marachino cherries? I got a jar of them for the banana splits. I think they're..." He looks over towards the barely contained chaos of the counters, trying to remember just -where- he put the small jar.

Benjamin touches just beneath Walker's chin, tipping his head up so he can peer more closely at the piercing. "Lovely," he murmurs, sincere, with a gently light smile. "It really does suit you, Walkeh, all that metal. Somehow..." He sniffs and trails off, shaking his head. Poetry is not his strong suit today. Turning slightly toward the kitchen, he rests a hand on his stomach and shakes his head wryly. "No... ugh. I ate neahly everything I had in the kitchen last night afteh I got home."

Trace beams as he swirls his finger around in the marshmallow cream. Oooh, cream covered cherries! Let's see how much sickningly sweet stuff the boy can pack away in one sitting. "Yeah..! Yeah, kin' I take me one now or do I gotta wait fer the bananas?" He retrieves his finger, topped off with a big glob of marshmellowy slime, and sticks it in his mouth gleefully. When he removes it, he wonders impishly, "Hey Walker! That piercin' mean you can't kiss nobody? Poor you..!"

Walker flicks his cigarette out the door and into the sodden lawn beyond to let nature and the weather run its course on the ember. "It's m'magnetic personality." Green eyes smile at Ben. "Metal an' magnets are natural podnahs..." He turns to peer into the kitchen, pulling away from the wall completely. "So long's I don' try nothin' fancy like tryin' ta reach tonsils ya betta bet I can still kiss. Hell. I ain't gonna let no li'l ache in m'lip keep me from that." Mm... the talk of dessert foods is making him hungry-ish for just that. So into the kitchen he goes, on a quest for sweets.

Jean-Batiste finally pushes himself upright and glances towards Walker and Ben, absolutely chock-full of faux innocence. He turns to Trace, the expression giving way to a sly grin, and says, "He wouldn't have got it if it meant he couldn't kiss anyone..." He scoots quickly towards the kitchen. Hey, you wouldn't hit someone with a jar of marachino cherries, would you?

Benjamin rolls his eyes exaggeratedly after Walker passes by, and he wanders on in after him. "Personally," he interjects, as if he'd been asked, "I don't think it matters if he -can- or not. I doubt that he -will-, because I've yet to see him do it." Is that almost a cocky smile that quirks half of his mouth? Nawww. Not Ben, cocky.

Jean-Batiste waves Walker towards the table, insisting, "Go sit down! I'll bring you your treat." Wow. He cooks, cleans, and hand-delivers. Maybe his middle name really -is- Fifi. He lifts his nose a little, and tries to sound snooty. "Would M'sieu like liqueur with his dessert?" The effect is ruined when he starts giggling. Elbowing Trace gently, he says, "-Ooo-..." Someone's been dared, the way he sees it.

Trace huhs? He casts a sidelong glance to Batiste, to see if this surprised him too, but just gets a nudge and a giggle so he figures Batiste was more clued in than he was. But it's just... well, honestly, he figured these two had gotten 'round the bases, as it were. "Oh, well... *I* seen it twice," he shrugs, thinking of Glass and Ali.

Walker halts midstep halfway to the refrigerator, banking off at Bat's offer to fetch treats. He turns, beginning at the middle - apparently some of his former elasticity is returning - and heads back over to Ben. He folds his arms as he peers at the fellow, chin down and a brow arched. "Some thin's have ta be believed ta be seen." The corner of his lips quirks a little in a tight smile, eyes downright merry.

Benjamin leans back against the counter, expression completely mild, completely blase, completely Ben. Clueless, even, would not be going too far. "And I think you just delight in teasing us all. I mean -really-. If you kissed, people might get the idea that you go further. And we couldn't have that, could we?" A slight edge to the gently teasing tone, a slight lift to one eyebrow -- perhaps a slight truth to the jibe, from his perspective.

At the prospect of men kissing right here in the kitchen, Trace decides it's time to put his very close attention to that marshmallow cream, his finger swirling, swirling, swirling in the cool mix. He's smirking a little. "Hey, uh. Batiste? Could ya please bring them cherries this way?"

Jean-Batiste locates the jar of bright red marachino cherries, with stems of course, should Ali come a-visiting. He screws the lid off, and hands them to Trace. He leans in to whisper something, then pauses to look back at Walker and Ben, grinning widely. "Mmm-hmm," he says, sounding dubiously amused about something one of them is saying. He plays mysterious for a while and doesn't answer, whispering to Trace and gesturing to the fridge a little.

You sense Jean-Batiste gestures towards the fridge a little as he whispers, "Walker's treat is chocolate cheesecake. D'you want some, and then save the banana splits for later?"

Walker loosens some of the restraints on his smile, allowing for a very mischevious grin. "I do like teasin'.. one-a th' few thin's ya can do anymore without gettin' a disease." He makes a grab for Ben's wrist as head stirs into motion once more. "C'mere. I want ya ta see what I picked up at Calticbahd taday..." Celtic, even

Trace ohs and looks down at the cream. "Okay. Welll... I'll just have *one* cherry, and then nuthin' else til' later, k?" he smiles, lifting the second finger of cream to slurp it off.

Benjamin shoots a pointed glance toward the whispering pair, cause here's proof of exactly what he said! See? See what he puts up with? But then he's being dragged off by the wrist, tripping along behind Walker obediently. "Yes, yes... youh going to yank my hand right off, luv."

Walker leads Ben across the hall to the living room, where the large plastic bag still sits on the coffee table. "If your hand comes off then it needed fixin' anyway," he suggests breezily. He moves over to the couch, out of sight from the kitchen to position himself on the cushions before the bag.

Jean-Batiste grins at Trace, and shrugs easily. "Whatever you want, I just wanted to ask before you got everything dug out, that's all." He opens the fridge, and pulls out the plate bearing the large cake-shaped object covered in tinfoil, setting it on the counter. Next, a stack of saucers, a couple forks and a large knife... "Ben, d'you want some dessert?" he asks.

Trace digs into the cherries eagerly, but instead takes out two and caps the jar. Holding both by the stems, he swirls them around and around in the marshmallow cream. With a glance up, he looks at the foil and asks, "When'd 'e get that, anyhow? When he was out th'other day?" He pops one of the entirely creamed cherries into his mouth and crushes it happily between his teeth.

Benjamin mmhmmms absently to Walker, blinking at the bag as he moves in. Any little alterations in the surroundings just throws off his equilibrium entirely. He plunks down next to Walker, utterly lacking in the man's grace, and folds his hands on his knees. Politely, called in to the kitchen, "No thank you, Batiste. Save some for me for when I haven't overeaten?"

"There'll be lots left...you know how fast Walker eats..." comes the teasing, warm reply from Batiste. He turns his attention back to Trace, gawping at the gooey, sugary mess he just crammed into his mouth. He stares, then realizes he's staring, and giggles. "Sweet enough?" he asks. "I think there's some chocolate left, want me to dip 'em in chocolate for you first, and -then- put 'em in marshmallow creme?" And somewhere in the world, a diabetic keels over in insulin shock. He sets to work unwrapping the foil from the cake, saying to Trace, "I baked it, first thing I baked today. I promised Walker I'd make him whatever he wanted, and this is what he said."

Trace blinks. "You made that too? Wow. Batiste, yer really somethin', y'know? An' I totally approve've Walker's choice!" He smiles and pads over, holding the cherry up to Batiste's nose with a grin. "Hey, open. Ya know ya want it." He giggles and waves it back and forth a little beneath his friend's nose, tick, tock. Soft murmurs surface from the living room; nothing loud enough to be heard clearly in the kitchen.

Jean-Batiste shakes his head bashfully at Trace, insisting, "It's the last groceries we can buy before we're done the mural...I wanted to go all out, you know? Really...really treat everyone. I like cooking, it's all easy stuff, it's not like I made my own pastry or nothing..." He watches the gooey, marshmallowed mess sway in front of him, and leans forward to nab it. It hits him in the nose first, leaving a white smudge there - he laughs, and tries again, grabbing it properly this time. He unwraps the cheesecake as he chews, letting Trace see just what kind of concoction he whipped up for Walker. Er. Bad choice of words. You know what he means.

Trace gives a bright laugh and rubs away the cream on Batiste's nose affectionately. "Good, huh? At'll teach you ta make fun'a my creamy cherries." Then he peers down at the revealed cheesecake...

You sense Jean-Batiste unwraps...wow. -That's- a cheesecake. A dark golden brown cheesecake, covered with swirled threads of milk chocolate. All around the edge of the cheesecake are strawberries that have been half-dipped in milk chocolate and left with their red tips upright.

Jean-Batiste actually shows a moment of pride as he unveils the cheesecake, grinning proudly at Trace. "Pretty cool, huh? I saw it in a recipe book once, and it turned out pretty close to how I saw it." He picks up the knife and looks down at the cake again, seeming almost sad to have to cut into it.

Trace puts a hand to Batiste's wrist, stopping him. "Wait, wait... don't cut yet, I just... wanna look at it fer a second. Wow..." He grins over at you, impressed. "That's too cool! It looks like somethin' they'd put on a restaurant menu.. Y'know, those pictures that never turn out to look like what ya actually get?" He sighs down at it again. "That's just... man. How'd you do them swirly things with the chocolate so nice? And you dipped them strawberries 'n everythin... Musta taken a long time, huh?"

Jean-Batiste sha kes his head at Trace a little, insisting, "Didn't take that long. Just baking it, but I dipped the strawberries while it was in the oven and then just put the chocolate on the cake afterwards...it's easy. Seriously. I'll make another one sometime, and you can help, okay? They're so easy to make. You can do the chocolate swirls, it's sort of like drawing from a distance, just with chocolate and a fork."

Trace looks down at the cheesecake again, his sweet tooth finally overpowering his appreciation for beauty. "You kin' cut it now," he grins. "Jest wanted to look at it a bit longer, s'all."

Jean-Batiste waits for Trace to finish admiring the intact cheesecake, trying not to look -too- flattered. Trying being the operative word. His eyes shine as he nods to Trace and says, "You can have the second piece, I promised Walker the first." And without further ado, he starts cutting the cheesecake up, one strawberry per piece. It makes for narrow pieces, but Batiste is betting Walker will need two or three tries to get through the first piece anyways. He cuts the entire cheesecake up - probably imagining Jason showing up and taking a quarter of the whole cake as his piece - then dishes up three pieces, sets a fork on each, and hands two of them to Trace. "You want to take that in to Walker? I'll be right in, I need to grab something." He starts rummaging in one of the cupboards.

The sounds of a plastic bag being sifted through rises from the the living room.

Trace takes the plate and bobs his head dutifully, "Sure thing," and trots off to the living room calling, "Hey Walker? Walker, I got yer cake..." He holds it up a little as he spots Walker.

Benjamin and Walker are sitting close on the couch, almost hip-to-hip. Walker has the item from Celticbard and is unwrapping it. Ben leans on one arm, his hand just behind Walker, and watches the unwrapping, cheeks slightly pink.

Walker looks up from his hunt in the large blue bag, a smile blooming at the sight of the cake. It immediately drops away thanks to the slightly pained wince that accompanies the pain of pierced flesh pulled. "Ahhg. Er - thanks, Trace." A finger lightly strokes the stud, soothing it perhaps. Strong scents of incense can be detected from the bag as far as ten paces. Close up its a near-assault on the senses.

Trace pads over, still barefoot from this morning, and presents the cake to Walker with a smile. 'Smells good," he comments, glancing down at the bag before starting to back away again.

Benjamin's nose twitches and he blinks with the overwhelming scent that wafts out from the bag, and he leans back a bit, self-preservation kicking in. "Be -caheful- with those beautiful smiles, Walkeh," he chides teasingly, poor spirits quickly abolished.

Trace hurries out faster, his smile spreading all over his face as he ducks back into the kitchen minus one piece of cake. He giggles softly and whispers at Batiste briefly before moving to his tub of cream and sealing the lid back on.

Walker shifts the bag to Ben's lap so that he can search through the lagniappe of incense sticks while Walker nibbles yummy cheesecake. "They just got a new supply-a incense when I went down," he manages to get out. Then he needs to eat.

Jean-Batiste senses "Trace giggles, "They're sharing a moment... so sweet! Wish Walker'd just get over it already and give in'ta him, y'know?"

Jean-Batiste's got three shotglasses and a small bottle of brown glass in his hands when Trace returns. He listens to the whisper, a soft smile blooming across his face. "Yeah?" he says, considering the bottle and glasses in his hand. He puts them down, and pours himself a shot of the dark brown liqueur, then carefully drizzles it over his own piece of cheesecake and tucks the bottle back away out of sight. He cuts off the tip of his cheesecake with his fork, smears it in some of the liqueur and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You want to go upstairs?" he asks, once he's done the first sample.

Benjamin steadies the bag and leans back from it some more, blinking rapidly as his eyes water up. "Walkeh, do you have a sense of smell?" he jokes quietly, sniffling. "It's lovely, though... probably delightful each one at a time."

Walker giggles around a nibble of cheesecake. "A-course I do. Ya don' see me stickin' m'head in there, do ya?" He slices off another nibble to munch. The bite doesn't quite make it to his lips, however as he remembers his most prized booty from the trip. Down the plate goes to rest on his knees while he extracts a necklace from the rest about his neck. "Ayita game me this.. f'free!" He lifts the silver pendant: a swooping hawk with a multi-faceted crystal clutched in its talons.

Benjamin laughs softly and sends Walker upstairs with his gifts to set them out and put them away. The couch to himself now, he tosses his legs up on the cushions and stretches out, dangling arms above his head and over the arm of the couch. Just a few moments of contented silence, closing his eyes, and a gentle, reminiscent sort of smile steals over his expression. A hint of naughtiness in the curve, as well.

"Yeah... yeah, sure." Trace nods in agreement, trying not to stare as Batiste douses his cake in liqueur. His eyes fall to his own portion of cheesecake. He's not repulsed at all... In a strange way, it appeals to him. He's used to the more crude motives for drinking... Quite familiar with the way vodka can be cradled all day long, while the children of the house eat cereal for dinner again. But this... seems classy. He can understand it. He's already working his fork around the tip of his cake to slice off a piece and pop it in his mouth as he heads towards the kitchen's entrance. He does pause to glance over his shoulder, however, and beam at Batiste to marvel "Ohh... wow, Batiste. This stuff is *so* amazing. I can't believe you, you're so magic, just to make something like this..."

Jean-Batiste steals another mouthful of cheesecake and mumbles around it, "It's easy, seriously. I'll show you how to bake it sometime, okay? It's a snap." Albeit a costly snap. He follows after Trace, pausing in the kitchen doorway when he sees Walker head upstairs. Instead of heading the same way, he steps towards the sitting room, studying the reclined, naughtily smiling Ben. He leans against the entrance to the sitting room and looks back at Trace, smiling. Softly, he murmurs, "I'm glad you like it. It's...okay if there's liqueur in it, right? It's cooked, though, so all the alcohol's cooked out of it..." He makes certain to promise Trace that.

Benjamin calls quietly, eyes still dreamily shut, "Batiste? Is there fruit juice or any such thing? I'm awfully thihsty." Actually getting up and going to check would be just far too much work from such a comfortable position right now. And, by the looks of it, a comfortable feeling inside, so transparently does his expression offer a look into his heart. Maybe he's taking Walker injections (pardon the innuendo) to make him lazier, though.

Trace nods and gives a casual shrug, already carving away at his second bite. "It's fine. Different when it's like... an ingredient in food, y'know? Real different." He gives a soft smile. "Thanks... fer tellin' me, though. I mean, you didn't have to, I wouldn'ta known from the taste and all that chocolate, but you did anyhow, and I just... thanks." He slips the piece of cake in past his smile, savoring the bite with extra drama, just to flatter his friend.

Jean-Batiste has a crass moment! He murmurs teasingly to Ben, "Had all the moisture kissed out of you?" He laughs softly at himself and steps into the sitting room, pushing his saucer of cheesecake onto the nearest table. "There's grape juice, I'll get you some..." he says, and turns to head back towards the kitchen. He pauses by Trace, smiling at him. He squeezes his friend's shoulder and says, "You're welcome," before quickly retrieving a tall glass of cold grape juice from the fridge.

Benjamin flushes a deep pink, and flutters his eyes open to mock-glare at Batiste's back as he moves off. "You... Batiste!" he exclaims softly, embarassed. One hand lifts to rub his eyes, sheepishly. "Some slack, please. It was the first time."

Jean-Batiste shows no mercy: when he returns with Ben's glass of grape juice, he hands it over and grins over the rim, inquiring with entirely too much innocent curiousity, "Was it good for you?" He's so bad! And immediately feels a little guilty - his grin softens to a more contrite expression and he murmurs, "I'm just teasing...I didn't realize it was the first time..." He picks up his saucer of cheesecake and perches on the couch near Ben, eating another mouthful. "It's about time he kissed you, too," he decides, smiling a bit.

Trace nods his agreement. "Seriously! Way past time.." He's almost to the crust with that cheesecake, taking tiny bites now to savour the last of it. The strawberry is set off to the side, best saved for last and all. Benjamin takes the glass and rolls on his side, leaving plenty of room for Batiste to sit. He tries his hardest to look disapproving and glare, but when it's Batiste, it's simply impossible to stay angry, even only pretend. "I didn't think he honestly wanted to," he says quietly, glancing momentarily toward Trace, uncertain. A long, thirsty gulp of grrape juice, during which his blush fades a bit.

"Well, why not? Yer too cool," Trace flatters mercilessly, perhaps in some mischievous hope to bring back the blush. He perches on the arm rest of Walker's favorite armchair, his weight still mostly supported by his legs as he picks away at his dessert.

"Oh, he wants to," Batiste insists blithely, as if it was a foregone conclusion. He grins knowingly at Trace for a second, then says, "I know how gooey he goes when he's talking to you on the phone. He's like a whole 'nother person. Seriously." He grins at Ben, and carefully plucks the chocolate-dipped strawberry off his cheesecake, offering it over to him. "Would you like it?" he asks. Just because Ben can't stay mad at him doesn't mean he still won't apologize anyways.

Benjamin smiles shyly, lowering his head and gazing down into his juice. He turns the glass about in his hands, unable to conceal the soft, broad smile that comes as the result of such praise from two people he holds in such high regard. "I shan't eveh despaih again," he murmurs, with a quiet sigh. Things are certainly promising on the romance front, and that's enough to give anyone a set of built-in rose-colored glasses. He lifts his head a bit to nod at Batiste, and opens his mouth innocently. First couch-side drink service, and now communion-style feeding. Sheesh!

Jean-Batiste carefully feeds Ben the undipped half of the strawberry, not trying to push the whole fruit into his mouth. He wants him to enjoy it, not choke on it, after all. Fruit and milk chocolate, what bliss. He cleans up more of the puddled liqueur on his plate, grinning. "Your accent's back..." he notes, and looks over curiously at Trace. He seems to figure it has something to do with his blue-haired friend, but isn't certain -what-.

Trace doesn't explain the mystery. Picking up the crust, he nibbles at it briefly, but he's really never been one for crusts, be it pizza, pies, or in this case, cheesecake. He sets it back on the plate again in favor of the strawberry, holding the morsel on his tongue for a moment, then sucking the chocolate off, his lips pursed. He decides that Jason, wherever he is, is seriously missing out. He gets up off the armrest and moves back into the kitchen briefly, carrying his plate and for to the sink to be deposited there, before returning to his chosen spot in the living room. Maybe Batiste's neat habits are rubbing off on him a little.

Benjamin bites off the ends of the strawberry and chews slowly, savoring it. He smiles around the bite at Batiste, and nods after Trace. Swallowing, polite, he replies, "Trace made me. He had me telling him about Bahston, and it slipped back in." He winks toward the young man, and adds, "And once retuhned, he refused to allow it to fade away again."

"Totally refused," Trace agrees with a small, warm-eyed laugh. "I'll kick his ass if I hear him drop it." Oh yeah, so intimidating, Trace is. "Ya gotta hear him talk some 'bout Boston... The buildings, and the trees and snow and everythin'... It's so pretty, the way he tells it."

"I've never been up north..." Batiste murmurs thoughtfully, tracking Trace's progress from livingroom to kitchen and back with many a lazy, sunny smile. "Just out to the coast, and there was snow in the mountains, but..." He turns a little, crossing his leg, ankle to knee, and peers down at Ben. "D'you think you'll miss snow?" he asks curiously.

Jean-Batiste suddenly thinks of something, and looks quickly to Trace, inspiration brightening the sparkle in his eyes. "We could paint Boston for him, when we do his mural? Let him tell his stories about Boston, and paint what they make us see?"

Benjamin toys with his juice glass a little longer, now it's become a hand-distracter rather than an actual receptacle of liquid. "-Miss- it?" He ponders that, forehead slightly furrowed. "Not miss it, though there's something magical about the silence that falls when you step outside on a winteh night, and there's nothing but the snow on the ground and the stahs in the sky." Quietly he chuckles, shaking his head at himself, having slipped into rambling mode once again. "But I've neveh experienced a muggy summer night, trying to fall asleep in the heat, even though you've stripped completely and tuhned the fan on youhself. I think that'll make up."

Trace blinks at Batiste, smiling faintly. We're doing a mural for Ben? News to him. It's hard to imagine slapping paint on the pristine walls of Benjamin's apartment, but he's sure willing to try if it's what the man wants! He turns his attention back to Ben when he goes off talking about Boston, and gives a small, blissful sigh. Snow and stars... He giggles a little at that last. "Ya think that's good, them muggy nights? God.. try it someplace when the only place ya got to sleep is semi public and ya can't strip down... It sucks real bad. I can't believe ya lookin' *forward* ta that... But if yer stayin' the whole summer, ya'll get yer fill!"

Wide-eyed, Batiste shakes his head a little at Ben. "Sleeping when it's all muggy and hot and there's no wind blowing...?" He shudders a little, and eats the last few bites of cheesecake to wipe the memory from his mind. "It's awful. When it's so hot that the air's still hot even when it's coming through a fan...and always sweaty and...yuck." He looks over at Trace, then, and blinks back at him. "I'm sure I told you...?" he says. He doesn't sound sure at all, though. "Ben asked me if we'd do a mural for him, too...I didn't tell you?" He looks so confused.

Trace considers hard, scritching at his smooth chin. "Well... well, ya said he wanted to learn ta draw some..?" He shrugs a little. "And he'd maybe teach us some kinda languages or something. But... Well, I don't *think* so. Was I real gone when ya told me?"

Benjamin pats poor confused Batiste gently on the back. "Wheneveh you're done with Walkeh's and your own," he murmurs. "Just ensuring that the paying jobs keep coming, you know?" Leaning back, he lets the patting hand fall to his hip unconsciously. "And I'm shuhe it won't be completely comfortable, but I want to expehience it at any rate. Maybe..." Here comes the daydream again: Ben's eyes have gone distant and his voice takes on that vacant, rambling tone. "Maybe just a sweltering evening on your balcony, spraying each otheh with watehguns and stah-gazing, trying to keep cool." Wherever that came from, Ben must have a pretty vivid imagination. Or a wild one that's already come up with all this before.

Jean-Batiste's expression goes rather dreamy and distant, painting up that image in the colours of his imagination. Everyone out on the balcony, legs dangling between the bars or sprawled back in a plastic patio chair, watching Bourbon's nightlife go by and drenching eachother with Super-Soakers. He giggles softly and looks o ver at Trace, sharing the dreamy grin with him. "Wellll..." he drawls. "I don't know, I think it's a little uncivilized, you know..." And then his grin goes from dreamy to brilliant. "That makes August sound like something to look forward to, instead of just survive, almost."

Trace nods happily, just picturing it all so clearly. "Yeah.... yeah, I'm definitely buying a super soaker. Like tomorrow." He chuckles softly, busying himself with scratching off some of the polish on an already chipped, sparkly blue painted nail. "Well, this August is gonna be a lot nicer with someplace indoors ta hid, with a fan 'n everything.."

Jean-Batiste grins crookedly at Trace. "As long as we can keep paying our electricity bill! Oh!" His grin goes even crazier. "Walker knows where we can get an air conditioner for free, too." Not only will they be domesticated streetrats, they'll be domesticated streetrats with a/c.

Benjamin laughs quietly. "And why not look fohwahd to August, Batiste? It's betteh than dreading it, isn't it?" He glances to Trace, including you both in a warm, doting-uncle-ish smile. "Though neitheh of you seems quite a pessimist," he muses, fondly.

"Nah, I'm all gloom 'n doom. So goth." Trace's bright giggle entirely contradicts his wild claim, as though you needed a contradiction in the first place. He puts a hand to his forhead, "Ah, me! My soul shrouded'n black. My heart weeping with sorrows!" He falls back into the depths of Walker's arm chair with a laugh. Benjamin stifles a laugh, dark eyes twinkling merrily for Trace. "You hush," he calls, teasing. "I was Goth my..." Whoa. This fact takes him longer to remember than he thought it would. "Sophomore and Junior yeahs of high school."

Jean-Batiste eyes up Ben oddly for a second, then gives him a mysterious grin. "I'm a closet pessimist," he informs Ben, then chuckles at himself. "Though it's hard to be gloomy with all this great stuff happening all the time, now." He laughs, clapping wildly for Trace's performance. "See? You're a poet, I told you, I -told- you!" He then looks back at Ben, eyebrows raising. "Seriously? But...you're not gloomy all the time."

Benjamin counts off silently on his fingers. "Ten yeahs ago, I was," he murmurs simply. "Befohe I leahned to accept things, and my place, and leahn to enjoy was theh was for me in life." Well, that must be cryptic enough. He rises to a sitting position, brushing past Batiste and setting his half-full (see? optimist) glass on the coffee table.

"That's not bein' a poet!" Trace protests, shoving braids out of his way to peek back at the both of you from his fallen sprawl in the chair. "That's jest... playin' around. I don't do poetry. I don't like writin' stuff down. But nobody 'round here seems ta get that through their skulls." He grins and struggles to get himself back upright, perched on the armrest again.

"That is -so- being a poet! You're good with words," Batiste insists with affectionate stubbornness to Trace. "You're a better artist, sure, but I -bet- that's only because you practice drawing more than writing poetry." He points a finger at his friend, waving it at him with mock solemness. "You'll be the next...the next Leonardo daVinci. Good at everything. You'll see." He laughs softly then, and looks back to Ben, hoping he'll agree with his prediction.

"You should be a musician, Trace," Ben comments quietly, brushing nothing off his lap. "Or at least a singer. A lot of my favorite musicians make up their words as they're singing." A gesture to his t-shirt, advocating U2. "Some of their songs are off the cuff. Then you could record it if you wanted, and never have to be bothered with writing things down."

Trace giggles a little, first embarrassed by Batiste's flattery, and then amused at Ben. "You ain't heard me sing, though. I ain't nuthin' special. My voice is just like... there, like a voice. 'Sides, there's too many people in Nawlins tryin' ta be musicians anyhow. And it's people like Erick who make it. Feh. Did you hear those lyrics? I mean, the music parts good, but.." He wrinkles his nose distastefully. "Don't know why he's so big right now. Prolly just coz he's so wild."

Jean-Batiste grumbles, but only for a little while, honest. "Erick Engler's trouble. And his songs aren't worth anything, they were -awful-." Of course, Erick's painted with the very black tar off Batiste's Church brush, so... He leans back into the couch, bumping shoulders with Ben once, then getting comfortable. "Well, you could try writing a little, sometime. Maybe put poetry to one of your drawings? Just a couple lines, or something. It might be neat." He shrugs easily, though, not wanting it to seem like he's pressuring Trace into it.

Trace grins a little, considering such a project for the first time. "Well... okay. Okay, I'll try, and I'll give it to you if I can do it. Deal?"

Jean-Batiste nods solemnly to Trace, though his eyes are bright and laughing. "Deal. Even if it's bad poetry, I'll keep it forever. Promise." He hugs a knee loosely to his chest, and sighs out an invisible cloud of happiness. Big meal, rich dessert, and friends. Bliss.

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