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Log Title: Flowerchildren

Log setting: It is Monday, August 13th, 2001. The family is hauled up at Walker's house, as usual.

Log Cast:
Trace
Jean-Batiste
Walker
Glass
Jason
Starlight
Drew

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The door bursts open and Trace enters, singing to himself, not off-key, but not Star Search material, to be certain. "..And I am here alone, my dear, / Always stupidly sarcastic, my hyper-spastic / Superherogirl! /Yeah, superherogirl!" He moves right for the living room, and when he round the corner, his singing stops and he gives you both a big grin. He's dressed in his same old clothes, and they're mostly soaked from early morning rains, his jeans dark and heavy from practically the knee down. He does have his new shoes on, however, and there's wet grass bits caught on the sides and clinging to the silvery, showy laces. He's holding a big bouquet of what looks like a blend of wildflowers, but scattered through now and then are more fancy flowers, perhaps filched off a graveyard. He bounces up to the both of you.

Jean-Batiste's standing in front of Walker, smiling at him with a shy, relieved sort of expression, rather like they'd quarreled and just finished making up. The brooding, pensive look is reined in for now, letting a brighter mood tug at his eyes and the edges of his mouth. And then...enter the force of nature known as Trace. He turns, and just...stares. A laugh bubbles up from his chest, several belated seconds later. "Wha..." is all he can think to say, gaping at the huge, crazy bouquet.

Walker's attention is nabbed immediately by the boisterous entry of the blue haired youth, faint smile tugging wide. "Hey, Trace... s'up?" How can anyone hold grey, gloomy thoughts in the face of such enthusiasm? He reaches to tug a cigarette from the pack he has laying on the coffee table, lighting it with a *snap* from his zippo.

"Guess who has no debt anymoooore," Trace says in a decidedly sing-song voice as he plucks a white carnation from the bunch and leans over to tuck it behind Walker's ear, then dances over to Batiste's end of the couch and gifts him with an iris, plunked down into his tanktop, so that the flower's head hangs out, right in his "cleavage". A laugh, and arms extended he spins and gets flower petals fluttering down like brightly colored, decending moths to land on Walker's carpet.

Well that certainly can't be Walker. So... um. The logical choice would be Trace since he's the one chirping about it. But how could the youth have debt? "Umm... somebody who paid their bills," he guesses, grinning. Seems a safe bet. He moves to sink into his favorite chair, a mantra of sorts tumbling in his thoughts as he tugs the carnation from behind his ear for a sniff. Must-be-cheerful must-be-cheerful... maybe if he does that long enough it will work.

Lo and behold, Batiste now has the prettiest -flowered- tits of the family! He laughs softly, and carefully plucks the flower out, admiring it and bringing it up for a scent-sampling, grinning through the blooms at Trace. "No way, you've paid it off already? That's -so- great...I'm really glad." Relief tangles with delight, and lets the latter take over. "Where'd you -find- all these? They're beautiful." Aww, look. He's a sucker for flowers.

Who needs vases? Not Trace, apparantly. The boy bounces around decorating the living room on a whim. A flower on top the TV, one for each stereo... Gargoyles are strewn with blooms. As he pinballs about adding color to the black and white room, he explains, "Oh, everywhere. Yards. Roadsides. Lil' graveyard. Not the big Number One, a'course... Can't get away with that there." The rest of the flowers are plunked down right onto the coffee table in a pile, and Trace takes up a kneeling spot beside them, facing the both of you, and starts to paw through them. "S'up with you guys?"

Walker is having to think on the mantra less and less as he watches Trace. When a pink flower settles on the sphinxes head he actually giggles. Pink sphinx. Hee-hee! "Nothin' much," he fibs smoothly. No need to bring trouble into Trace's flowered world. "Jus' bein' lazy while I can before th' show opens."

Jean-Batiste steps around the coffee table so he's beside Trace, then crouches and drapes an arm over his shoulders, cheek against his friend's upper arm. "Oh! That one, could I have it?" he murmurs hopefully, pointing to a vividly-patterned pansy. "Aren't they beautiful? When we move into the apartment, I want to grow some of these, and sweet peas, maybe. My grandmother used to grow them all the time, they're a snap." He rubs his cheek affectionately against Trace's arm, grinning down at the iris in his fingers as he twirls it around.

"Lazy? You lazy? Ha!" Trace shakes his head at Walker and giggles at him. "Now, *I* know lazy. I could sleep all day if I feel. But you, yer always runnin' off somewhere..." When Batiste walks over, he grins up at the older boy, and nods his assent, picking up the flower and tickling Bat's nose with it before holding it out. "Yeah. Yeah, go right ahead. We'll grow a billion more, they'll fill up our yard." He smiles and cranes his neck, nuzzling his nose into blonde braids briefly before getting back to his flowers. There are a great many dandelions in the bouquet, and the boy starts seperating them into a pile. Not all of them are taken from the bouquet, however. Once he's got enough he starts weaving them together. It's tricky work. The stems like to break on him and start oozing their icky milk all over his fingers. But after a moment he's got five of them strewn together in a string perhaps seven or eight inches long, and reaches for a sixth flower.

Walker chuckles softly; that's the truth of it... always going somewhere. But that's what being young's all about. Living as much as you possibly can before you're too old to move. "What're ya gonna do with all-a those?" He wonders aloud. He can see that some are serving nicely to decorate the living room, but the rest? He slides up out of the chair and begins a drift toward the hall, mind moving to the warm thought of a nice, long bath. But he is curious about the final outcome of the flowers so he lingers in the doorway. "Ya could probably press some... Save 'em f'evva."

"Hey, that's pretty..." Batiste murmurs, watching Trace's fingers twine the stems around into a flowery plait. "Are you going to wear it when you're done?" He steals away another pansy - they're small flowers, harder to weave in, see? - and starts working it into one of his braids, followed by the first one Trace gave him, and finished off with the iris. There! Streetrat hippies. Beware. He straightens up a little, but doesn't take his arm off Trace, as he looks back at Walker drifting towards the hall. "You heading out?" he asks, worry colouring his eyes for a second.

"I dunno what I'll do with these," Trace murmurs thoughtfully, holding his messy string of yellow sunbursts up for a moment's inspection before working on plaiting in a seventh. "I jest, I was walking home and I'd had this lifted off me, and the puddles were all blue with sky, and I'd stomp 'em an' laugh.... And I looked over, and clingin' t'the road... Flowers! And I thought... everyone hasta see these. They hafta see, t'feel like this... And I had such a long walk home still, but I jest went from flower t' flower the whole way home like that an' it was no time at all." A little shrug. "So. Nothin' t'do with 'em." He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully at the suggestion. "I didn't think 'bout it. It'd be silly lookin'..." But then Batiste's flower-woven braid sinks in and he laughs and murmurs, "Then again..." He holds the plait of dandelions up to his blue hair. "Yeah?"

To be able to see blue skies in the perpetual puddles... truly a feat. Walker nods to Bat, casting him a reassuring smile. "Figga'd I'm gonna take me a nice, long bubble bath, catch some t.v. afta, maybe, smoke a bong an' catch some sleep. Gotta open day afta tamorrah." He wiggles a finger-wave to you both and starts out into the hall. His words drift after him as he heads for the stairs: "Y'all're welcome ta squeeze in th' bed tanight if y'all want." Not even a single Hail Walker requested. Bargain Basement night.

Jean-Batiste looks towards the doorway as Walker disappears around it, watching it for several seconds before he calls back with a smile (hopefully) easily audible in his voice, "We'll make sure to puppy-pile you later, Walker. Promise." He listens for the sound of quiet footsteps, then turns back to Trace, hugging his friend close, cheek returning to shoulder. "You have to teach me how to be so happy like that..." he murmurs. "I envy it." He snuggles even closer, then draws back just enough to see the dandelions against the blue hair, and simply -grins-. Bright green, bright blue, and dandelion yellow. "It's beautiful," he says.

Trace blushes. "Well, um. Well, I'll wear 'em, then." He carefully tucks the ends of the half-finished dandelion crown behind his ears and turns to wrap his arms around Batiste, an embrace administered with bony limbs and fierce affection. "Mmm," he grins, letting his eyes fall closed. "I'll teach you." He pulls back and smiles sparkle-eyed. Then his flower crown slips, and he gives a mock-huffy glare at the end dangling between his eyes, too close to be focused on. "Hmf. Stay, you." He tucks it back. "So what'd'ya wanna do?"

Glass knocks on the door from outside.

Jean-Batiste turns his face towards the door, and calls, "C'mon in...!" A second later it occurs to him to call, "Who iiIIIIiis it...?" Surely it must be a friend, though. Surely. He turns back to Trace and reaches up to help him return his flower-halo to its proper place, grinning in simple delight. He shakes his head, quite without the words to express what he's feeling, and settles back cross-legged, hooking a finger in Trace's beltloops just to keep contact between the two of them.

Glass cracks the door up and peers in, "Hello?" He looks a little unsure but smiles.

Glass cracks the door up and peers in, "Hello?" He looks a little unsure but smiles.

Jason opens the front door and steps inside.

Jean-Batiste sits on the floor beside Trace, one finger looped in a beltloop, keeping his blue-haired friend nearby. Two pansies and an iris decorate one of his front-most braids, and a veritable garden of wildflowers and not-so-wildflowers are strewn and sorted on the coffee table in front of them.

Glass is still in the doorway, having not yet closed the door behind him. Probably an ideal moment to scare the piss out of him.

Trace is about to get up and get the door, but Batiste's hooked his jeans unbenownst to him, so he gets sat back down hard with an 'omf' and a giggle to follow, glancing back at his friend. When Glass enters, he calls brightly, "Hiiii Doug! Nobody here but us hippy folk." Then he reaches up to adjust his dandelion crown. Besides the bouquet on the coffee table, there's flowers decorating the black and white living room too, on the TV and the stereos, draped on the heads of gargoyles.

There's some loud tromping footsteps coming up the way behind Glass, someone came running up. But the noise halts right as it hits the porch. Then Jason comes pushing through the door, peering at an envelop in his hand with a curious look. He gives you all a cursory look and grin, then goes back to investigating.

Jean-Batiste's expression cycles through a number of different emotions before finally settling on a pleasantly surprised, hopeful sort of happiness. "Jason..." he calls softly, releasing Trace's beltloop and starting to climb to his feet. "Hey." He looks at the envelope for a second, then laughs softly and wonders, "That's not Walker's mail, is it...?"

Glass steps forward, "Hey, Trace. Those are great." He turns to shut the door and find Jason behind him. The redhead's abrupt presence gives him pause, then he smiles, "Hey, Jason." With a little shrug he heads into the living room to better investigate the garlands of flowers.

Trace lights up too at Jason's arrival. He stays by the flowers, though, digging into them and coming up with a daisy for Glass, holding out. Over his shoulder he calls, "Yeah.. yeah, what's with the envelope? Ya need us t'read it fer ya?" And then a flush as he realizes that might come across as insulting, and he hadn't meant it that way. He bites his lip.

Glass takes the daisy and sniffs it, saying to Trace, "Merci, M'sieur." He toys with the flower for a little bit before tucking it into a buttonhole in the lapel of his raincoat. He grins to Batiste, "Hey. How you doing?"

Jason's eyes were scanning the name, and then the seal on the back... but then his gaze shoots up to Trace at the question, blinking. And hurt. Yes, it /did/ come across bad. He pulls the letter back to his chest and shakes his head a little, then slips it behind him and stuffs it into his back pocket. He swallows and lifts his eyes to Batiste, giving the blond boy a little smile. Um, so.. He shifts his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. "Um, hey..." he says softly.

Jean-Batiste moves over close to Jason, pausing a short distance inside the redhead's personal space. (Well, if he actually believes in personal space, that is.) "Hey," he replies, voice soft, attention focussed on Jason's pendant rather than his face. He raises his eyes, and steps in closer, smiling. "Hey," he repeats. "Good to see you. You left so suddenly last night." He tries to steal a hug from Jason, cheek to cheek, petals smooshed against the redhead's neck. He calls to Glass next, grinning, "Doing better. Take a look at all those flowers, huh? Aren't they great?"

Damn. Open mouth, insert foot. Trace hangs his head a moment, then lugs himself to his feet and trots over to Jason. He takes the dandelion crown off his head and holds it out, hazel eyes seeking out permission to settle it down on Jason's head instead. Apology written all over his face.

Glass blinks and scratches his hair into a mess, looking at Batiste and Jason. Oh, good, a distraction, "Yeah, they are great," he says, going to sit down next to the coffee-table and the piles of foliage thereon. He picks out a little white clover flower and sniffs it.

Jason returns Batiste's hug, nuzzling just a little bit into the taller boy's neck. And then gives Trace a subdued little smile. He's hurt, yeah, but he doesn't place any blame. He ducks his head a little to receive the crown, quiet.

Jean-Batiste draws back a little after Jason is crowned the Dandelion King, admiring the butter-yellow blooms and vivid green stems against fiery hair. "So...so, c'mon," he murmurs, reaching down to grab one of Jason's hands in both of his and try and lead him towards the couch. "Come sit down, I'll braid some flowers into your hair. You can be a hippie, too." He grins endearingly, giving a little tug. C'mon. You know you wanna.

Trace settles the crown down with care, then pets Jason's red mane once and leans close to mumble into the boy's ear. "M'sorry, I'm jest' a gooberhead." He grins a little and walks back with them over to the coffee table. "Doug's hair is too short to weave flowers in his. Hmm..." He doesn't even ask whether or not Glass even *wants* flowers in his hair. Just assumes he does. I mean, who wouldn't?

Glass grins at Trace and sticks the flower he was toying with into his hair, stabbing at the bi-coloured mass with the stem. It stays there, for now anyway. He laughs softly, "It's getting there. I should cut the blonde ends off, I guess."

Jason smiles a little at Trace, still uncomfortable, though. He's... embarassed. Actually embarassed. /Jason/. But he tries. He tries to roll his eyes up to see the crown, raising his fingers to touch it gently. But then his hand's caught and he's being led to the couch. He bites his lip and turns the small smile to Batiste, but doesn't resist. He sits down on the couch and waits for Bat to sit down as well, then leans into the other boy gently. Maybe he /has/ been gone a lot lately... Bat's acting weird again.

Ssh! No telling Batiste he's acting weird, or he'll self-conscious himself into an unresponsive ball on the floor. He sinks down into a corner of the couch and snuggles back into Jason soon as the redhead leans against him, arms slipping snugly around Jason's stomach. "Mmmn," he comments over Jason's shoulder, smiling down at Trace and Glass. "Don't cut the blond ends off yet, they look cool like that. It's sure growing fast, though." He's quiet a moment, watching one of his braids through the corner of his eye, and comments, "I need to take my braids out for a little while, sometime, and get a new dye job. My roots are showing." Tee-hee!

Glass looks at Batiste curiously, "What colour do you want to do it now?" He sticks another flower in his hair, "I'm supposed to leave mine black and let it grow long. I've never had long hair." He looks at Jason's, assessingly, "It's cool, but isn't it a pain?"

Trace nods his agreement. "Yeah... Mine're goin' dred again. Oughta all get together sometime an' set aside a day fer braidin'. Make a night of it." He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. Not like he cares for anything so mundane as hygene, but it's *braids* that are symbolic, not thick, scraggly ropes of hair. He looks to Glass at the question, then to Jason and grins. "We always help him untangle it... But I think it's so amazin'. How long ya been growin' it?"

"Blond again," Batiste murmurs, resting his cheek against Jason's shoulder as he looks at Glass. "I like blond. Maybe a brighter one, though. Like...butter blond instead of pale blond, you know? I'm not sure." He shrugs a little and cuddles into Jason, blowing on a lock of hair that comes too close to his face. "It must be cool to have long hair..." he agrees in an admiring murmur.

Glass murmurs, "Hmm. I don't know if it's my thing."

Jason turns a little in Batiste's arms and rests his head against the other's shoulder, eyes closing for a few moments. He reaches up to adjust the crown so that it doesn't fall off, then ducks his head down to burrow more beneath Bat's arm, cheek pressing against Bat's chest. He stays quiet and comfortable like that for awhile, until he realizes that people are actually asking him about his hair. He blinks his eyes open and hmms? Then shrugs. "A little while. Few years. I dunno... S'okay..." He screws his face up a little, thinking about something.

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

Trace shifts his gaze to Batiste and grins. "Buttery yellow, huh? *Dandelion* yellow." He plucks one from the pile and tosses at his two friends hugging on the couch. When the knock at the door sounds, he leaps up and hollers, "I'llgetitI'llgetit!" He scrambles down the hall and the door gets flung open.

Before Trace gets to the door, you'd hear his muffled voice "I'llgetitI'llgetit!" And then the door is flung open. Exuberance. And flower petals in his hair.

Starlight pauses having just walked back down the stairs with Drew and looks back toward the door. He lifts his chin in greeting to the blue-haired boy and says, quietly, "Is Walker here?" He seems a little confused at the condition of Trace. Should be used to it by now, but it still strikes him as odd, considering the expression on his face.

Drew nods to Star and just starts down the stairs with him when there's that burst of activity at the door. She stops. She stares. One eyebrow even lifts up artfully. Alright, time for some lip chewing. She levels her dark-eyed gaze on Trace before glancing to her companion questioningly. People still freak her out sometimes. Especially hyper, happy people. Don't they know that life sucks?

Trace glances back over his shoulder, then out at the both of you. He shakes his head, grinning a little, and batting blue braids out of his face. "Naw. Naw, Walker's here, but I mean, he's up in a bubble bath with a bong and said he was staying there all night. Not to be disturbed, y'know?" He chuckles amiably. "So... Pretty much no one here but us flower braidin' hippies."

Starlight releases Drew's hand, then slings his arm across her shoulder, hand dangling off the other side. His eyes move down Trace, then back up. There is no way this guy could be so happy all the time. Must be on something. Star frowns and smirks, shaking his head. He slides his gaze out to the street, then back to the door again. "Will ya tell'im we stopped by. Gotta talk to'im 'bout sumthin'," the child mutters, almost inaudibly. Star doesn't want to be happy, and runs from it. But Trace already knows that, right? So, to keep in perfectly with his past response to the older, more colourful boy, Star shrugs one shoulder and turns to leave. "Sorry tuh disturb ya, man."

Trace waves a hand in dismissal and laughs. "Sure, sure... Geez. I think I'm jest gonna have a constant memo pinned up that's like 'Star must talk'ta Walker." Coz it does seem to be, like, constant." A little shrug, and he bites his lip before asking with amusement, "Ain' disturbed me none. Sure you'n yer girl don't want no flowers t'take with ya?" He doesn't expect a yes, and that may be obvious, since the boy keeps his heart painted on his face. It's more like he knows he's too cheery, and it's like holding up a crucifix -- back, gothdom! Tread not upon my fortune!

Drew continues to peer quizzically at Trace, all bedecked in flower petals as he is. Bizarro-boy, to be sure. Guess people just run to different ends of the spectrum in order to escape the reality of existence--some go numb to it; other propel themselves into a state where it's all just a blur going by. Different strokes for different folks, one must suppose. Still, there is the faintest bit of narrowing to her eyes, just a whisper of a squint, before she nods her head slowly. Whatever she's nodding about, who knows. The sky's another colour in her world, obviously.

Starlight glances back as Trace speaks and shrugs, "Nah, man." Predictable. What in the world would Star do with flowers? Eat them? Hey, now there's a plan. Uh, anyway, he frowns a little at the kid with the whacked out hair and pauses, "Uh, that Bat guy in there?" And he pushes some of his hair back, turning again, and by default taking Drew with him. He lifts one brow and fishes out out a pack of smokes from his front jean pocket. Time for his minor addiction. Wait, he frowns and shakes his head. "Nah, man, nevermind. We'll catch ya later." Doesn't wanna talk to Bat now, apparently. Whatever. Kid is one big MF. Too many trips to Lala Land. Gonna go now. Yep. Absolutely confused. "Fuck," he says, quietly, while putting his stick between his lips. Everything sucks.

Drew looks at Star. Looks at Trace. We staying? We going? The girl just waits for the kid to decide, obviously having vacationed in Lala land enough not to really care how long he dances around with indecision.

Trace smirks. "Sure, well.. I'll tell 'im you almost wanted t'talk t'im." He wiggles his fingers in a wave. Bye! Back to a world of love in the trenches. Then he slips back inside and eases the door shut.

Starlight shakes his head and mutters, "God, I can't stand how happy he fucking is. Why is he so fucking happy? Fuck that, man. Happy sucks." Yeah right, Star. Like you wouldn't give yer left nut to feel peace. "Let's get the fuck outta here, baby. This place is hell." He lights up, arm still around you.

You open the door and step inside.

Jason lowers his eyes under Batiste's look, his frown. Jason's hand strays down to Bat's leg, fingers absently going over Bat's new shorts. Smooth. How odd... Tight though. Hrm. Jason's eyebrows raise, starting to get distracted from the hair thing, but, well, that touch brings him right back. He gets a cute little smile, a shiver going down his back at the light fingers on the nape of his neck, and nuzzles his cheek against Bat's shoulder. "Jus' the neck short, y'think?" he asks quietly. Well, it's obvious he's not thinking lightly about giving up his hair. In fact, he sounds unsure. But he also sounds like he's looking for /some/ kind of change.

Trace slips back into the living room, chuckling to himself. Looks quite amused, really. "That was jest' Star an' his girl," he explains. "Star wanted t'see Walker, surprise, surprise... I tole' 'im I oughta jest have like a permenant memo up 'bout it, s'what he comes 'round for so often." He takes over one of the armrests on the couch, settling down on it. "Oh yeah." He looks to Batiste and quirks a grin. "And he almost wanted to talk t'you."

Jean-Batiste rocks Jason a little for a few seconds, lost in thought. "Mmn," he replies, turning the nape-rub into an impromptu, absent massage. "Short hair on the back of the neck is really great, I think," he murmurs. He doesn't get into specific reasons, though. "But...a little longer around the face would look better on you, I think, than totally short all over. Something to brush your face, you know? It looks good like that, like a frame." He looks up from Jason, giving Trace a puzzled grin. "-Almost- wanted to talk to me? How d'you mean?"

Trace grins and shrugs. "Dunno. Jest changed his mind at the last minute." Then he blinks Jasonwards. "Cutting his hair?" A puzzled brow-furrowing, trying to picture it.

Jason bites his lip lightly, leaning into the massaging hand a little, his eyes closing again. His fingers continue to play with the smooth fabric of Batiste's shorts. It's very play-with-able. Definitely thinking hard on this. Sure, it'd be easy to keep his hair long, but, well... it gets old. Oh, look, there's Jason with his beautiful hair again. The petting's great, but a change is needed, really. Long in front, shorter on top, shaved sides and back? He tries to picture it too, but... Guess he'll surprise himself in the mirror. Ooh! Surprises. He giggles softly to himself, wriggling, then looks up. Oh, it's Trace. Talking about Star. Leaving. Like usual. He smirks slightly and murmurs, "Musta smelled me inside or sumthin'."

Jean-Batiste wrinkles up his nose a little, trying - very feebly - to defend Star. "Why would he leave because of you? Besides, you smell good." And to prove it, he rests his nose in the crook of Jason's neck and sniffles dramatically. Grinning, he returns to the snuggle and neckrub, and murmurs, "Star's just...flighty. I don't know what it is. I guess he just doesn't trust us, or something? That's weird that he'd almost come in, then leave, though. Usually he shows up, then fidgets a whole bunch, then suddenly takes off." He shrugs a little, and kisses Jason's cheek.

Glass murmurs, "Star," as if that says it all. He drags on his cigarette and looks at Batiste and Jason. "I better go, I think," he says absently.

Jason snorts softly, murmuring, "Yeah, Star /never/ acts weird like that..." Yes, dears, that was sarcasm. But, hey, this whole neckrub-nuzzling-smilingkiss thing is kinda bringing him out of his quietness finally. He nudges Bat in the side with his elbow and murmurs dryly, "Only smell good 'cause of the flowers. Wait 'til I take it off 'n /then/ tell me whatcha think..." He then peers at Glass after the young man's pronouncement and raises his eyebrows. He starts to say something... but then shrugs and murmurs, "If ya gotta go, ya gotta go. See ya 'round, 'hope."

Glass tilts his head to one side, looking at Jason, his expression hanging some unasked question in the air. He doesn't speak, though, merely smokes.

Trace grins and shakes his head. "Dunno. He looked pissed at me, t'see me cheerful." A shrug. "Anybody what's gonna feel that way, like 'y'all gotta be jest as dreary as me 'r I'm goin' away... Well, fuck 'em, y'know? Fuck. Them." He grins big and reaches for a flower. Then a glance at first Glass, then Jason. Hmm! Kinda positive, anyway. Things are looking up. He wiggles his fingers at Glass and murmurs, "Safe trip home. Take some flowers for Shay... We got lots."

Kinda positive, or more importantly, not screamingly negative. Batiste is currently counting teeny-tiny blessings. He licks his bottom lip and snuggles Jason closer, leaning into the corner of the couch and trying to draw the redhead with him. After he's comfy again, and hopefully arranged Jason in a similarly comfy manner, he looks at Glass and murmurs, "You don't have to go if you don't want to. But...if you want to go, that's okay. I'll...call you later, okay? There's something I need to ask you." Something that can't be asked here and now, evidently.

Glass lifts a brow at Batiste, then shrugs at him, "Um, okay." He gets to his feet, then stoops down a bit to pick up a handful of flowers, "Thanks," he says to Trace, and grins, arranging them into a little bouquet, "She'd like that." Hands full with the bouquet now he gestures to Batiste, an 'ah-ha' sort of thing, "Oh. I promised her I'd learn to cook, uh. Chicken with rice and saffron. Will you help me? I'm a little grossed out."

Jason quite cheerfully allows himself to be arranged. Cheerfully in that he lets Bat do all the work while he sprawls loose like a rag doll. When everything's set, though, he goes back to his semi-curled up position in Batiste's arms, head on the other boy's chest and eyes half-closed. Comfy, to be sure. He glances up at the 'question' thing, though, curiosity sparking in his eyes. Might as well ask it now, Bat, cause Jason's planning on finding out what it is. Even if it means torture.

Jean-Batiste tries not to look appetized at the thought of chicken with rice and saffron for the sake of vegetarian-minded Glass, and just smiles at him. "Sure, yeah. I can find a recipe for that, and show you how, no problem. The rice is the trickiest part, it's hard to make good fluffy rice unless you cheat." Considering the grin he gets, he's planning on teaching Glass how to cheat. "I guess...we'll set up sometime when I call you? Okay? We'll...we'll see you soon. Go charm Shay with those flowers, huh?" He grins teasingly now, then gives Glass a warmer smile of farewell. "Have a safe walk home."

Trace is curious, sure, but he's not so quick to pry, and torture is quite beyond his abilities. He lets it go rather easily, and calls to the retreating Glass, "Oh, 'n will you come by tomorrow? Y'oughta. We should all do something fun. I.." A little grin. "I'll be sixteen." He dangles his feet, brushing the carpet with the black souls of his feet and looking down to admire the spiffing silver laces.

Jean-Batiste suddenly hides his face in Jason's shoulder, hopefully turning a wide grin into a fit of nuzzles.

Glass grins at Batiste, "Great. If you'll cut the chicken it'll be even better." He gives Batiste an impish look, then blinks at Trace's revelation, "Really? Cool. Yeah, I'll try to come by. Is that why you were getting party clothes?" He scratches his chin with the hand that's holding the bouquet, "And what would be the perfect gift?"

Jason goes back to feeling those spiffy shorts with his fingers, giggling softly as he's nuzzled wildly by a grinning Bat. Gee, small wonder what that's for. But he ahems and gives Batiste a taming poke in the side and grins to Trace. "Sweet sixteen! Funny, ya look older 'n that."

Jean-Batiste nuzzles Jason's shoulder repeatedly until the grin fades enough not to be -too- suspicious, then looks up at Glass and murmurs, "He wants socks and underwear, and a big ugly scratchy wool sweater, that's what." He giggles softly and tries to hide behind Jason, giggle-yelping when he's poked and - of course - immediately taming down. "Mmmn," he murmurs, squirming a little as Jason starts playing with his bicycle shorts again.

"I do *not* look older," Trace insists to Jason with a grin, but looks pleased nonetheless. "I know I'm a total runt." He keeps his perch on the armrest and murmurs with a grin, "Yeah. Yeah, riiight." He shakes his head and chuckles, "Really, y'don't gotta get nothin' Glass, s'cool. I mean, got me them shirts an' all."

Glass blinks at Batiste, "No socks and underwear. That's like, a personal thing, man. Well, socks aren't. But I'm not that boring. I'll think of something better than that." He looks back to Trace and grins, "I know I don't gotta. But you want me to, right?" He heads for the door as he speaks, walking sideways so he can still watch you all. Hand on the doorknob he pauses, looking at Trace rather seriously.

Jason giggles again at Trace and wrinkles his nose as he gets a playful, impish smile. But he goes back to playing with the shorts as Trace's attention goes to Glass's question, leaning back and murmuring a question into Batiste's ear.

Jean-Batiste laughs softly at Glass, and shakes his head. "No, I was joking...shit. Socks and underwear aren't birthday gifts, unless it's gag gifts." Or naughty stuff, but let's not kill Trace with a blush five minutes into his sixteenth birthday, shall we? He squirms again, laughing softly at Jason, and leans in to listen to him, squirming yet again. He looks to Trace, then grins slyly, and starts to whisper back to the redhead.

"What, ya think I'm the type t'turn down presents?" Trace grins, and then offers a shrug. "Dunno, I was jest sayin' I didn't spect 'nuthin." He scoots down off the armrest to get himself closer to the pile of flowers. He pulls out some violets and assorted wildflowers. Pretty as the blossoms taken from yards and the cemetary are, mighty wildmen get wildflowers, naturally. He starts securing them into his braids, a spot of purple here, a clover there, weaving the stems in among blue strands. A giggle, not lifting his eyes as he mumbles, "Could always rent me a girl, I'm the only one what don't get none 'round here." Then peeks up to assure everyone, "S'joke. Don't do that." You never know with Jason.

Glass shakes his head and laughs, "I wouldn't do that. It'd be in poor taste." He casts a wave, says, "See you guys," and slips out the door, shutting it gently closed behind him. Glass goes home.

Actually, Jason's head lifts at the suggestion, a crazy sort of crooked grin starting to form. He's never been one to be concerned with taste anyway. But then Trace has to go and shoot down the suggestion. Bah. There's /plenty/ of cute girls his age for sale on the street. But oh well. He makes a quick pouty-face, blowing some hair back from his eyes, then shrugs and curls up against Batiste again to listen to what the boy's got to say.

With a nice new hairdo full of flowers, Trace clambers up onto the couch and explains somewhat sheepishly, "I guess it's dumb. But I jest... I'm gonna find a girl someday who sucks all the breath outta my lungs and warms me up with jest the thought'a her... An' that'll be it." He chuckles embarrassedly and prods at Jason's ankle playfully. "That'll be the girl."

Jason hmphs and sticks his tongue out at the other boy. "Jus' suckin' all the air outta yer lungs is a good start. Hell, coul' do it m'self if you weren' so damn /picky/." He gives a big playful grin, eyes sparkling, and winks. Whatever Bat whispered must have been a good thing, cause it's got him in a happy mood now. At least, that's the best explanation for it. Happy, comfy, semi-sleepy. He rests his head back on Batiste's shoulder and prods Trace back with the toe of his old shoes. "Gonna put up with anythin' /'til/ then or we gonna hafta start fixin' you up?"

Jean-Batiste, in an amazingly cheeky moment, nods wide-eyed and seriously to Trace and murmurs, "He's right. He could." Big, deliberate pause. "I know." He then turns a nice, soft pink, and ducks his head down against Jason's shoulder, trying to nuzzle away his blush.

Trace chuckles, looks down at his hands, and says softly, "Wish I didn' hafta be picky." He peeks up and then grins, leaping up to stand directly in front of the both of you and hold out two hands to help both of you up. "Les' go upstairs. Walker said we could have the waterbed, 'member?"

Jason oohs! brightly and takes one of the extended hands, using it to pop to his feet as well. His free hand, as well as a broad grin, goes out to Batiste, and then he announces cheerfully, "Think he'll mind if I take onna his long shirts too?"

Jean-Batiste reaches for Trace's hand, and pulls himself up to his feet after Jason raises up, leaning in close to bump shoulders with the wildman. "There's got to be a couple picky guys out there," he murmurs with affectionate teasing. "And we love you anyways. So there." He bumps Trace's shoulder again, then starts towards the staircase, blithely commenting, "Not at all..." to Jason. Hand in hand in hand. Perfect.

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