Log Title: Watching Husks Rot

Log Setting: Lelong Avenue - City Park

Tree-shaded Lelong Avenue leads into the huge City Park from Esplanade and stops at the New Orleans Museum of Art, newly expanded. Further on, along different routes, are a casino, where fishing permits are sold for the lagoons further towards the lake and near the bayous, and the various sports facilities. Further into the park is the botanical garden and an amusement park. Nearby, a miniature train offers a two-and-a-half mile scenic route of the entire park.

The temperature is 79 degrees. It is overcast.

Log Cast:
Trace
Jason Riley
Jean-Batiste

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason always seems to be able to look about as miserable as he feels in these moods, whether he wants to or not. His back's to the entrance to the park, but beneath the rain-soaked hair and drooping ears, it's almost assured that his expression is nothing to envy. Self-hatred was the theme of last night, and it doesn't look like the loathing's letting up any.

Jason's at the table from last night, out in the open where the rain can soak him thoroughly. Self-punishment? Or maybe he's just put himself in a situation to which he feels most akin. Either way, it looks like he's been out here for hours, and judging from the small dry spot beneath him, he's been soaking the entire time.

Trace is feeling no pain right now... or if he is, it's quite thoroughly blanketed. His gait is slow, a little unsteady as he is so very careful not to stumble. A mask of serenity, he watches his feet and the trees and shrubery around him with amusing wariness, as though either might suddenly try to betray him and make him stumble. But it's not worrying him too much, and for the most part, there's a thick serenity settled over the boy that's probably familiar. If you've come to be at all perceptive of such things during these months you've known the boy, it's fairly obvious that he's fixed recently, and thoroughly. Occasionally he lifts his eyes to study the trees and paths around him, but he's still a ways off and doesn't see you yet. But he *is* looking, though distractedly, and finally just calls "Jaaaaayyyson...!" Softer, "Are you here?"

One ear picks up at the sound of his name being called... then sort of falls again, as if that were too much effort. He can hear you trudging through the rain and wet grass behind him, but doesn't say anything until you're reasonably close. Then his dark shape (even his hair and fur is so soaked it's almost brown) shifts and there's a soft, "No. But you clearly are..." Sullen. Not only can he not hate himself in peace, but, well.. you're fixed. You might have noticed that he usually isn't around when you do.

Trace picks his pace up to a slow jog when you answer, a tiny grin touching his lips. Yay, found him! Detective Trace, hell yeah. He clumsily clambers right up onto the table with you, but purses his lips and asks wonderingly -- in a stunning show of observation -- "You okay..? Yer all wet.... even your poor tail!" He tentatively runs a hand over the sopping foxtail, and pouts just a little. Not as nice to pet when it's not fluffy!

Jason doesn't bother to look over at you. Again, too much effort, and he already knows what to expect. What happened to the lightheartedness that was his trademark? A small smirk twists his lips, his eyes flashing once as he watches a small river run through the mud beneath the table. "Tends ta happen when it's rainin'..." he comments dryly. Oh, well, at least he still has sarcasm. The tail in question just lays there beneath your touch.. but the tip does twitch just a touch. "Bat passed out?" he asks, though already seems to know the answer.

Trace shakes his head a little, distractedly brushing some of the rain and creepies off his bared arms futilely. "Naw. Was like... the shower was on, and we figgered it was you but it turned out to be Walker... And I was half set up, but he wanted t'go right out when he saw you was gone so he went ahead and got a head start on you...." A little grin, and he adds just like today's search was simple as hide and seek, "But I still got to ya first, heh."

Jason finally tilts his head and looks to you out of the corner of his eyes. "'Course ya had ta get ready first..." He smirks again, but he doesn't look terribly playful. "Don' matter s'long as yer ready, right?" Contemptuous would be a good word. He hasn't had the time to put back on the big, smiley Jason face yet. And then again, maybe he doesn't feel like it'd be necessary around you right now.

Trace flinches at that. Ouch, scolding. "But... but I mean... it was just.." He doesn't have an excuse, really. He scrubs at his arms frustratedly, and finally explains, "Well, I just... If I hadn't, I'd be... in a bad way, kinda sick, y'know?" He shrugs sheepishly. "I... it.. had been awhile. I woulda been sick." He crosses his arms, both defensive and also shielding his skin from the rainfall. "Look, I'm sorry. But I mean... still doesn't matter, I still found you..... right?"

Jason turns his head to look own at those arms, the insides of bruised elbows half-hidden by small hands. And then he looks down at his own hands, turning them over in the rain, watching the water spatter off of slender fingers. He lets out this half-laugh, something that strikes him funny, yet isn't quite felt. "Must be nice ta be able ta hide like that... Bliss in a bottle, jus' add a major artery." He tilts his head again to look at Trace through wet hair. "'N soon you won't /need/ ta care 'bout the magic no more. 'N neither will I, coz there won' be 'nuff ta go 'round." He shrugs a little. Totally matter-of-fact.

Trace denies both. "No! I-I'll always care... until I forget again. I figger it'll be soon. But that's all for the best, coz I don't want these things that exclude us, and so Batiste won't get hurt once it's outta me... And... and y'don't gotta worry then, see? We won't be leechin' off your magic then." His expression is calm again, musing. "Batiste was tryin' ta say otherwise, but if I can't make my own anymore and always need yer help... I'm just not so different anymore, y'know? Just the way things've turned out... it's hard for me to keep this up, and it's way hard on Batiste, and now yer talkin' like it's drainin' on you, so no matter how amazin' it is, I figger it's really just the best thing to forget again..."

Jason seems to find /that/ funny. Like Trace just completely missed a joke or something. He laughs softly and shakes his head.. then spins on Trace with a snarl and stabs a finger right at the bruise at the crook of the other boy's elbow, digging into the tender flesh. "It's always been /in/ you 'n Bat! 'Else I wouldn' be 'round, don'tcha see? But yer both so busy pushin' it out with yer needle-dreams 'n jonesin', it was gone 'fore I even could get at it." He lets out a small sigh, pulling his hand back, expression fading, sadness hiding in his eyes. "Ya wanted me ta take it from ya, but you already did a good job of that yerself, s'almost all dried up now. 'N I don' stick 'round to watch husks rot."

The wet, light clomping sounds of someone jogging down the sidewalk nears City Park. Batiste appears, pausing in front of the park entrance to rub his face with equally-damp hands and push pale braids darkened to the colour of milky tea back from his face. He jogs into the park then, looking around for familiar blue braids or long, red hair. Relief brightens his damp face as he locates the two of you, and he pushes out a final burst of speed to jog over to your sides then lean forward, hands on knees, to catch his breath in slow, deep breaths. "Hey...glad you...found him..." He smiles uncertainly at the both of you.

Trace's hazel eyes widen, and he just stares a moment, blinking owlishly. Pulling away, he rubs defensively at his still-sensitive ditch Jason prodded so ungently. The rain has let up, and you'd think this would be quite a relief to Trace but he doesn't even really notice. Batiste arrives, and he notices that, glancing over, his eyes pinned and confused, stormy. "Yeah.... yeah, I found 'im." He looks back at Jason, quiet another few long moments. "I... I don't know what t'say to ya," he admits at last, very softly. "And you have a right to say that 'bout me, but not..." An embarrased glance down. "Not nobody else. So don't accuse like that, if you don't know f'sure." A long sigh and he shakes his head. "So... tell me what yer sayin. I mean... I didn't even know you felt like that. We never know anything before you say it, it seems. So just... fine. Caught. What now?"

Jean-Batiste pushes himself up from his braced lean against his knees, and takes in a deep breath as he stretches towards the overcast sky. As his arms drop, he coughs a couple of times, cupping his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. His eyes turn to Jason, then Trace, considering. He nods slightly and murmurs, "It's...so hard to know what you're thinking, what you're feeling...we try, but..." He looks down a moment, damp braids slapping his face.

Jason glances up at Batiste, blinking a little, then gives the older boy a smile that finds no reflection in his eyes. Actually, Jason's in Hell right now, judging from those eyes. It's almost as if something died the night before in them. A look between the two of you, and there's an instant when something small and lost breaks through.. but then he lowers his head, damp hair slipping across his cheeks. "You /could/ go lookin' fer it again, but I guess I know how likely that is..." He sounds almost hopeless. It's ruined, it's all ruined. And then a little laugh. "Ya might get /sick/ 'n all..."

Trace gasps and looks away quickly, towards the trees. A glimpse caught of his expression before he turns would reveal one of those flinches suspended in the moments between disbelieving laughter or tears. He clumsily fumbles to push himself up off the table and away, but that plan doesn't last long and he just sinks down into the grass, on his knees, face in his hands. The cool, wet grass beneath starts to seep into his jeans at the knees, in a spreading dark circle. Head bowed, he pulls his hands away to choke, "Y'took a long time... t'get so judgemental. Fer a long time I was waitin' fer that shoe t'drop, but it never did an', an' I was startin' t'think it wouldn't.." He sniffles and rubs hard at his entire face, braids swaying in a dark blue, tattered curtain. Finally, "But-but I guess... I guess that's the last barrier t'tear down, huh?" he sobs. "My magic'll die... I know Bat's secret... All that's left.." he covers his face again with his hands, muffled, hunched up and scared, his shoulder's trembling to betray his inaudible, terrified tears.

Jean-Batiste's mouth sets in a straight, compressed line, dark eyes flickering between the two of you. He moves towards Trace, kneeling down beside the small, trembling form to protectively wrap an arm around him. "Sssh, it's okay..." he whispers, meaningless words of comfort at best. He looks then to Jason, a sad, imploring light in his eyes. "What is it, Jason?" he asks. "Did you want to share with us, is that it?" He looks confused, awkward, trying to figure out the red-haired puzzle before him. "Were you jealous? Maybe we should have...should have asked you to fix with us, too. Even if you would've said no..." Which he hopes so dearly. "...maybe it would have made you feel better." He rubs Trace's shoulder, leaning into him slightly, and sighs. "You've heard him say that he'll be clean someday. And I believe him. And you need to believe him, too. He'll do it when he's ready...and until then, you've got to love him, love him for everything he is. You can't...try and force him like that, Jason. It doesn't work. He'll do it when he's ready. We just have to be patient." He looks at Trace for a moment, sighing softly, then returns his eyes to Jason, and reaches out towards him, to try and draw the redhead towards him.

Jason just... /looks/ at Batiste as he defends Trace, listening to the words that... But then he just shakes his head firmly and looks down at his arm. And then he shrugs out of his coat and unbuttons his sleeve, starting to roll it up to above his elbow. He murmurs as he works, "Soon, we won' see him concious no more. And 'fore you know it, five years gone an' he says to someone, 'yeah, I used to draw when I was a kid... they called me Trace, but I guess I don' do it no more. Dunno why...' And then he'll tie his knot..." He punctuates by tucking the sleeve in above his elbow, skin exposed, a few splatters of water dripping onto it. "An' he'll wonder 'bout what he drew..." He pulls something out of an inside pocket of the coat laying at his feet: a black felt-tip pen. "But then it won' matter, 'cause that vein'll be poppin' up an' askin' fer it." The cap gets popped off and with three sharp slashes across his arm, a triangle's formed. He continues, flexing his hand so that tendons and veins move beneath the inked skin, "An' somewhere out in the city, in some abandoned buildin', in a corner upstairs covered in tags, there's gonna be a picture of three friends that no one remembers 'bout no more." Um... Jason doing performance art, anyone?

You sense Jason is doing more than just speaking. Something glimmers as he sheds his coat, and then again when he starts speaking. That thing of dreams and memories that you saw when he gave Batiste the hackey-sack, but... more than that. It's got purpose. It peeks out with his words, then begins to snake around Jason, seeming to jerk when he draws the three connecting lines. It's tinged with sorrow and tastes of regret, but seems filled with determination... though unfocused at the moment.

Trace peeks up confusedly as Jason gets quiet and rustles about. At the 'story' of his own future, a visable shudder runs all through him and he clings tightly to Batiste, half burying his face there. But he peeks up, morbidly watching Jason go through the ritual. A tiny, muffled whimper as his eyes widen then shut closed so tight, his fingers digging into Batiste's arm.

Jean-Batiste shakes his head stubbornly, but when he speaks, his voice comes out sounding like a soft plea. "Jason...I don't...I don't understand." With his free hand, he rubs at his face and the back of his neck, trying to knead comprehension into his damp skin. "Why now? Why haven't..." He sighs sharply, swallows, tries to come up with a bit of clarity. "He's still the same Trace you met, the same one you...you're friends with...why are you like this -now-, all of a sudden?" He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "How can you have no faith in him?"

Jason holds the pen over his arm, almost like a threat, as he looks to Batiste. Then, as if response to the question, he looks down at Trace. "When was the last time ya felt like ya /needed/ ta draw sumthin, Trace? That 'diction ta /make/ sumthin'?" And then back to Bat. "The Trace I met... he ever tell you what he drew fer me the first time? Chained ta the streets, he was, chalk in hand..." His eyes find Trace's again, but... they're pleading now, pleading to be proven wrong. But he asks softly anyway, "What're you chained to now?"

Trace unwinds himself from Batiste very slowly, carefully, sitting up on his own now. Well, he's slumped really, still all huddled in on himself in the wet grass, but he pulls away to sit up and meet Jason's gaze. "Junk," he admits softly. "I know that. I just... I don't like it rubbed in my face by my friends, y'know?" He sighs miserably, rubbing at his eyes again before settling his hands back in his lap. "I guess... I don't *need* t'draw so much no more. But it's... I mean, *I* think it's different coz now I'm away from my ma and I can draw anytime I like. So I'm more.... sated. And I mean... I mean, okay, I was gettin' bad for a while. It was startin' t'get t'be like a chore, sometimes, kinda." He lowers his eyes shamefully, his wispy pale blonde lashes still wet and clingy. "I just... I'd go out t'draw t'get money in my cup. It was like... the goal." He lifts his eyes, and he's pleading now too. "But y'see, things are better now, they're *so* much better... I met you both, and it picked me up outta, I dunno, a rut 'r somethin' and Batiste, I loved making those murals with you so much and it was just like old times... And Jason, I've drawn so many pictures of India and foxes and all the magic you share... then we came across this money and it was like.. like I didn't have to draw on the street any more, and it's just... I'm drawin' for *me* again.."

Jean-Batiste rubs Trace's back a couple of times as the blue-haired boy sits up on his own, then draws his hand back to tangle them in his own lap. He listens quietly to Trace speak, peeling skin off his bottom lip, eyes straying frequently to Jason to see the boy's reaction. He nods to himself as Trace finishes speaking, and looks pleadingly to Jason as well, silently asking, 'Can't you see?' He sighs quietly and pats himself down for his cigarettes, drawing one out and lighting up quickly, blowing the smoke up towards the sky. "Things aren't getting worse," he murmurs. "Trace's art and...and his -magic-, it's not fading. It's just getting better."

Jason sighs softly and lowers his eyes to his arm, drawing a spiral in the middle of the triangle that grows to swallow the entire thing.. and then he hucks the pen out into the bushes with a disgusted look, as if that pen was everything that he hated right now. He looks at where the black thing disappeared, murmuring, "Two an' two an' two..." Then, with a small shake of his head, he takes up his coat and pulls it on. He doesn't meet either of your eyes as he slides off the table, murmuring, "Le's go dry off..." Defeated.

You sense Jason's ... whatever it was. It just dies off, scattering to the wind, purpose unfulfilled. It's like Jason was gathering it for a reason, but then suddenly gave up.

"Three," Trace insists softly, whispering. "Three!" He gives an impotent sigh -- Jason's not going to listen. Well, at least he's stopped whatever he was doing with that pen and the swirls. Relief to be had in that, certainly. He lugs himself unsteadily to his feet and holds a hand to Batiste to help him, but from the way he sways a little still he looks as though Bat would probably pull him right back down on top of him if he accepted that hand. "Let's just... go back to Walker's, yeah. It's... too damn hot and wet out here."

Jean-Batiste's mouth twists up, and he gives a defeated, frustrated sigh as well. "Jason..." he starts to say, and just gives up for now. Maybe he'll figure out what to say to make Jason listen and believe once they're all dry. Maybe. He grinds out his cigarette underfoot, then grasps Trace's hand and climbs up to his feet, putting little actual weight into the tug. "Thanks," he murmurs, smiling weakly. He bumps shoulders with Trace, then looks to Jason, offering a hand out to him.

Jason already started to move off as you two get up, but the hand stuck out stops him. He stares at it, blinking slowly, like he's pretty sure its unspoken offer doesn't belong to him. His eyes, looking sunken, rise to look at the both of you, close. And it's all in that look right now, that outside-looking-in look with its desperate need to /be/ inside. Then, all of a sudden, he rushes to Bat and buries his face in the taller boy's shoulder, clutching at the flannel shirt as a muffled sob shakes his shoulders.

Trace isn't sure if he's allowed, since Jason was mad at him earlier, but he hesitently steps closer and touches Jason's back. Steps a little closer -- ready to stumble back fast if Jason doesn't want him there -- but presses his cheek there gently. "I'm sorry..." he says very softly into the gray of Jason's coat. "So much of this... is all my fault."

Jean-Batiste sways slightly at the sudden, clutching embrace, and looks to Trace with a sort of sad relief in his eyes. See? Everything will be okay. Even if they have to claw their way towards that mysterious Happy Ending and wear their fingers to the bone in the process. He wraps one arm around Jason, leaving room for Trace to move closer, and strokes long, fine locks with long, careful, caring motions. "It's okay, Jason. It's okay. We're here, see? It'll all be okay..." he whispers against Jason's temple, holding him close.

Jason turns a little so that he can burrow into the other's shoulder as well. He's not assigning any blame, not right now. He just needs you both to do exactly what you're doing, being close and holding him. His shoulders shake with a couple more soft sobs, but then subside as he just sniffles and tries to breath slower.

Back to the Roleplay Log Index