In the meantime, Kevin grew up kinain, and was secretly recognized as such by two other fae in his hometown of Jarreau, Louisiana. The two Seelie, while terrified of his mother, befriended him and they would sneak off and play in secret. Good-natured Pudge was a wilder Boggin nearing grumphood and timid little Kelsie was a nine year old pooka with mouse ears and a clever, quick grey tail that young Kevin was very fond of. The two encouraged his art, and left on his windowsill cookies and little bits of ribbon and shiny buttons -- Tokens, as a reward for his continued work despite his mother's bans. In exchange for these gifts, and the chance to sneak off and play with his two adventurous friends, there were nights Kevin would work late and diligent, sketching and painting, or just sitting around and quietly telling far-fetched stories and making up vivid tales for one or both of the two eager muses.

Kevin had a little sister named Vanessa, called simply Nessa by all who knew her. She was born shortly after Stephen committed suicide. Nessa and Kevin were very close, and he did his best to take care of her when Marion was incapable. The little girl made Pudge and Kelsie nervous, however. She showed such striking similarities to her mother, in appearance and demeanor, and her decidedly viscous streak, which only grew more pronounced as she aged, persuaded the two Changelings to avoid her for the most part.

Kevin was a bright, talented child, especially when it came English and, naturally, art. He had no head for mathematics, however, and it was probably this that kept him from being moved up further than the one grade they let him skip. With the persuasions of a diligent guidance counselor, he was allowed to take 8th grade English courses in the 4th grade, and then was bussed to the high school to take English classes there, when junior high material failed to challenge him. There was a bookshelf up in his attic that Marion was not aware of. It had once belonged to Kevin's father, and he spent many long hours pouring over every tome kept there. Classic works, mostly, and he worked through them until each had been read and grasped.

It was probably only by the help of his two kithain friends, and a mortal best friend named Daniel, that Kevin got along as unscathed as he did. But finally, as he neared his thirteenth year and Marion grew less rational and more abusive, he was already dreaming of running away. At first, Pudge strongly advised against this, all too aware of how quickly the big bad Real World could gobble up a fragile kinain soul like Kevin's. But he watched Kevin's misery increase, finally he consented to the plan, and instructed his intelligent chimera pet to watch after the boy, and gave him a small bag of glamour-infused cookies that he and Kelsie had made for him. He was instructed that whenever he was in trouble, he should eat a cookie and Trix would help him. The little artist solemnly accepted the rabbit and promised them both that he would draw always. Daniel was harder to convince. In fact, it never happened. The older boy never understood the full extent of Kevin's tortured home life, and the two friends parted on bad terms. Finally, at almost fourteen years of age, Kevin jumped a Greyhound bus and skipped town, heading towards New Orleans with just a canvas bag of meager belongings and one very special stuffed rabbit.

So that he couldn't be tracked easily by his mother when he hit the streets, Kevin took on the name Trace and dyed his scruffy, chin-length hair bright blue. Besides that, the name better suited the artist he was now free to let loose. And let loose he did. He bought himself a set of chalks with the money he'd taken with him from home, and earned spare change by drawing on the streets of New Orleans. Where once his work had been secret and forbidden, now he had the freedom to sprawl his art all over the very streets and win the appreciation of tourists and locals alike. After a few weeks spent sleeping in doorsteps and oil drums, Trace found shelter and sympathy with a man named Jake Cazanoux. He slept on a ratty blanket in the corner of the man's apartment, quite a far step up from the unforgiving streets.

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While he was an honest, hard-working lower-class laborer, and for the most part law-abiding, Jake chipped at chasing the dragon in his bedroom after long days at work. Trace's intrigue got the better of him, and it wasn't hard to nip some heroin off of his benefactor. Soon he found ways to steal from the little balloon packages before Jake even got home from work, and a one-time thing became a weekend thing, which became an every other day thing, and soon it had him.

Jake was disappointed when he finally caught Trace, and cut his supply off promptly by no longer allowing home deliveries from his dealer and scoring on his own after work. The boy was bitter and hit the streets, back to the oil drums in the Decatur lot, and found a dealer who would sell to him surprisingly easy. It was a much lonelier existence, however. He often called upon Trix, who was always friendly and soothing, and told him stories. The heroin scared the little rabbit chimera, and it tried to warn Trace of the danger, but it only made the boy bitter and highly defensive. Upon making sure that Trace could still recall his old friends and the adventures they had, even before taking one of the Token cookies, the rabbit could take some comfort that everything was still all right.

It wasn't too long before Trace was introduced to the art of needles and mainlining. He took to it eagerly, glad for the intense rush and the long-lasting high. About a week after this dark initiation, a very worried Jake found him nodded out on the sidewalk where he'd been trying to sketch. He took the boy back to his home. Once Trace was conscious again, Jake quietly expressed his concern. He talked about how easy it was to get killed using infected needles, and how much easier it was to get hooked that way. Reluctantly, the older man agreed that if Trace would be safe and use some moderation, he would score for the boy and they could chase together. Trace agreed, but the junk hunger overtook him not too long into the bargain and within two months he was shooting again behind Jake's back. This time, at least, he was safe about it. He told himself that if he used his own needle every time and learned how to sterilize with bleach, Jake's worries would be needless.

Jake eventually found out by the tell-tale track marks Trace had accumulated, and feeling betrayed, the man gave up on his young charge and told him to leave that night. Trace went back to the oil drums glumly. By this point, his heroin addiction had accomplished just precisely what Marion had failed to do completely with her retreat into alcoholism. The mists had gathered around him, reality draped thick around his half-faerie soul. His drawings lately had all been to feed the habit, pictures meant to be endearing and win sympathy and spare change. There was no inspiration in his life beyond this ritual of score, get high, drift down, score again. Several times he considered resorting to crime, but that old fear of getting caugh and being sent home, back to his twisted mother, always made him think twice. One day he noticed that his rabbit was missing. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Who would steal a stupid stuffed rabbit? Who'd given him that scruffy, one-eyed thing, anyway, for that matter? No big loss, he finally decided. He wasn't sure why he'd let it take up so much space in his canvas satchel anyway.

He remembered again, later that week. It was brief, as he was coming down hard from a good, tranquil high. His stomach was starting to churn for a fix, muscles cramping, and then it hit him. He gasped and fumbled in his bag for the last of the brittle, disgustingly stale cookies, consumed it, and glanced around wildly. Nothing. Finally he was reduced to calling out the rabbit's name, and confused fellow Decatur Lot denizens wrote it off, assuming Trix was some new dealer or contact. Finally it sunk in that he had been abandonned, or perhaps he had killed his little stuffed friend with his fall, and the boy sunk down into the dirt and grime and sobbed. When he awoke an hour later, face tear-stained and filthy, he had no idea what had come over him, and his loss was forgotten.

With the help of a mysterious young girl who was probably kithain, Trace discovered a fort hidden away in the bushes of the City Park's playground. It was obvious that someone had once lived there, but now it was quite abandonned. Grateful for the shelter, he adopted it and cluttered it with his artwork.

That Mardi Gras of his fifteenth year, Trace was discovered by two young boys who would come to mean the world to him. First he earned the interest of the Unseelie fox pooka Jason Riley, who at first planned to simply Ravage the pitiful little junkie sidewalk-artist and be on his way. But he sat and watched Trace draw a rendition of himself chained to the sidewalk, weighed down by heavy shackles, and he saw something in the boy. Reluctantly won over, Trace became Jason's dreamer and close friend.

The second boy was a mortal and a fellow local artist, Jean-Batiste Vesanieux. The two were became close very quickly, and soon Batiste met Jason, and in a matter of days the three were inseperable. A night in a motel room together sealed the bond. They put braids in each other's hair, an obvious symbol of three bound as one. Jason, with two bright new dreamers, no longer had to Ravage for his glamour; Batiste and Trace gave it freely. The two artists painted fantastic murals together in Jackson Square, works of fantasy and magic.

Jean-Batiste had been clean for two months upon sealing their friendship, but Trace persuaded him to join in a fix, and got him back in the habit. They became 'blood brothers', and shared needles as a show of devotion and trust. Jason disapproved of both their habits for reasons identical to Pudge's chimera, but kept quiet about it as long as he could.

The three boys moved into the home of Holly Windholm Walker, a popular local drag queen and friend to both Batiste and Trace. They took over the man's bean bags, and thus began Trace's first family since leaving home. 'Walker', as Holly was known while off stage and out of costume, became enamoured with a professor of Literature at Tulane University, Benjamin Ashley, and the two slowly developed a relationship. The boys all liked Ben, Batiste especially, and when the professor moved into Walker's home the family seemed more complete. Two parent figures and three grubby kids to raid the fridge, cause trouble, and keep things lively. Douglas Stevens, another slightly older street kid, and Alisynde, a magician who often performed in Jackson Square, also became part of the family. Though they had homes elsewhere, Doug often crashed there, and both could often be found hanging out at Walker's house on Moss Street.

Though touched by brief sorrows and conflicts, these were for the most part wholly blissful, harmonious times. It felt so good to finally have a home, to feel taken care of, and loved. He began to feel settled in New Orl eans, and established friendships with many of the other street youth in the city. During this happy time, his work began to flourish again, and he found himself more often drawing for his own joy rather than to put money in his cup.

The inseperable threesome became known as 'the Triangle' by others, and they developed a closeness like none Trace had known in his short life. He had never been affectionate with anyone, but finding these two, and realizing they would allow him to be as close as they liked, he clings closely to the both of them, exchanging hugs freely and cuddling without a second thought. Jason and Jean-Batiste became lovers, and for a time Trace was jealous that, being heterosexual himself, he could not share this. Just once, high on too much Ecstacy, Trace found himself uninhibited enough to experiment with his two best friends. But as dawn fell upon them, and the drug slipped away, he realized it was a fleeting moment. He found his solace, and came to realize he had other ways in which he could be close to the two boys. He and Batiste shared their intimate needle games and pleasures, and Jason and Trace were 'related' by their shared faerie blood. Every so often, Jason would enchant Trace, and like life had been out of groove and just finally fell back into place, he would at long last recall those old days spent with Kelsie and Pudge and the truth of his childhood.

Finally, around Christmas time, Jason expressed that he could no longer stand Trace's continued use of heroin. His habit had actually grown during his stay at Chez Walker-Ashley, aided by the fact that he no longer had to pay for food or worry about showers or laundry. All his money could go towards junk. But Jason couldn't stand to watch it, and after a heart to heart that shook Trace badly, he agreed to give it up after Jean-Batiste's birthday. True to his word, he didn't touch the stuff after the party, and the three boys retreated to an apartment they eventually planned to move into, and the ordeal began.

Early on, Jason realized that Batiste didn't plan to give up his habit, and raged at the boy, trying to explain that Trace would find kicking impossible if Bat was still using. Batiste insisted that Jason couldn't handle the both of them in withdrawal at once, and the two argued fiercely until at last Batiste was thrown out. It was the first event out of many heralding the shattering of the Triangle.

Trace suffered the torture of withdrawal but came out in once piece. Upon returning back to Chez Walker-Ashley, things only got worse. Batiste had to leave to take care of a sick friend in California, and while he was gone it came out that he had been intimate with Walker, Ben, Doug, and god knows who else. It was the final breaking point for Jason. After facing the terrible banality of Trace's withdrawal, and then the reality of Batiste's betrayal, he Forgot his fae self. Trace was stunned, but dutifully followed Jason and the two took money from a purse of Walk er's and fled.

After that, the famil y w as shatte red . Hurt f ul words were tossed back and f o rt h, misunderstandings mounted atop one another. Trace and Jason tore Walker's house apart, at first with the notion of getting back Jason's beloved recorder, but in the end just ransacking for the sake of ransacking. Vengeance, pain... Trace fears he will never know the love and comfort of a true family again. And this is what current play involves: Trace dealing with the upset of his entire security structure and the destruction of his beloved family.