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Log Title: Jordan, Meet Stairs

Log setting: It is Monday, October 8th, 2001. It is day and the moon is waning half. It is evening, in Walker’s home.

Log Cast:
Jordan
Trace
Ben
Glass
Jason
Walker

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An assertive knock at the door.

The door opens after a minute or two and Trace peers out suspiciously. A suspicion that quadruples upon seeing Jordan standing there. He blinks, and then his eyes narrow once he's over his surprise and murmurs, "What'da you want?"

"Hello to you too, Trace," Jordan returns with a false sweetness that is quickly dropped. He scowls faintly. Of all the punks to answer the door. "Is Ben here?" he demands, getting right down to business. No dallying with the guttertrash when an Angel might be nearby.

Jordan’s Desc:
He is a pretty boy, to be sure. Not handsome. There's nothing at all rugged about him. In fact, he's all smooth curves and feminine swagger. His skin is pale, though his light blue eyes are dusted in sparkly lime-colored cosmetics and lined darkly, lashes thick with mascara. Full lips are slick with dark burgandy. He tends to face the world with an amused smirk and indifferent ice blue eyes. Unless, of course, he wants something from you.

No wig today. Jordan's hair is au natural, sleek and black, left down to hang about his face and brush smooth white shoulders. His dress is a shiny plastic fabric, with a large checkered pattern of black and bright neon green. It's very short, barely decent, and is held up with tiny tank straps. Bright green pleather thigh-high go-go boots with platform soles reach nearly up to the high hem of his dress, just revealing the smallest ring of smooth white flesh. A designer bag hangs from the shoulder on a delicate strap, swinging gently at his hip. Silvery bracelets clatter at his wrists, jangling and chiming with each melodramatic gesture, and his fingers flash with many rings.

"Whatch you wanna talk to him for?" the blue-haired boy demands stubbornly, not budging the door an inch. "Y'can't come in. My friend Ain's sick, 'n he's sleepin, 'n yer yappin'll wake him f'sure."

Jordan wipes at his eyes subtly, as though making sure no make-up is still running. Indeed, he's a bit puffy beneath the eyes, and it looks suspiciously like he's re-applied his makeup very recently. He sniffles delicately, rubbing at a reddened nose. "I want to talk to him because he's my dear friend. And so is Ain! I wouldn't wake him. Now let me in. Ben said I could stop by any time I liked!"

Jordan has won over *Ain* too? Whatever. Fuck this. Trace throws his hands up and steps back, allowing the bizarro girlypunk in black and green checkers access. He folds his arms sullenly and keeps a wary eye on him at all times. "He's upstairs with m'friend Glass." He just can’t *believe* Ben would say such a thing. Permission to come here anytime? In their home? He shakes his head and follows after Jordan closely.

The rentboy breezes on past the blue-haired kid without another word or glance, gliding up the stairs.

Jordan heads up the steep, winding stairs.
Jordan has left.

You head up the steep stairs.

Upstairs - Grey House(#8196RJMU$)

Benjamin sits cross-legged on the waterbed, reaching to tangle fingers with Glass. He looks calm, but earnest and certain about whatever he's just said. Soft words tumble meaningless toward the stairs, under the sound of quiet classical music.

Jordan hurries up the stairs and doesn't stumble once, an expert with platforms apparantly considering the speed he manages. Maybe he's fleeing from a savage Trace? But no, his steps slow once he's at the top, and he stands for a moment looking almost shy. Almost. He sniffs and rubs delicately at a slightly pinkened nose and immediately looks to Ben. Doesn't explain himself yet.

Glass is sitting on the bed with Ben. He's looking at his own hand, fingers laced and tangled with Benjamin's. His hair is growing out, bi-coloured more black than blonde, and unkempt. His expression is hard to read. Sad or frightened or lonely in some hopeless way. Or not quite hopeless. "How do you know?" he asks of Ben before turning to fix his night-black gaze on the two people coming up the stairs.

Ben’s Desc:
Shrouded in a personal haze of confusion and weariness, this twenty-something young man wanders through the world without noticing much of it. Although his thick, floppy brown hair is supposed to be styled out of his eyes, it often breaks free and settles impertinently arbout his forehead and temples. Thin brows frame large, girlish brown eyes, set in a face that could almost be feminine if the jaw wasn't a little too strong. Perhaps in an attempt to age his youthful face, a carefully-kept mustache and goatee cling close about his mouth and chin.

Neither comfortable nor ashamed of his bare skin, being unclothed is simply another state of being. His body is all long lines and lean fluidity, with little definition. Soft dark brown hair dusts his chest, fading into a slight line to his silver-pierced navel. The straight lines of his chest and torso drop to a slightly narrower waist, which is ringed by an eternal tattoo of dark chain links, twined and interlocked with deep green ivy and leaves. Light, comfortable flannel pants circle his waist and hang loosely from his hipbones. The drawstring waist is cinced only tight enough to keep them from falling off. While in private, his feet are bare. Around his neck fits a snug silver torque, without scrollwork or other designs. The silver settles just above his collarbones, bright against fair skin.

Glass’s desc:
He is perhaps five-ten, this young man - or maybe he is merely a boy. His hair is growing out and starting to curl at the collar. It is bleached an unnatural white-blonde at the ends. A couple of inches of roots show now, raven's wing black. His eyes are a stark contrast to the pale ends of his hair - they are a deep soft velvet black, large and liquid under the dark wings of his eyebrows. He is thin but sleek, his light skin evidence of New Orleans' rainy weather. His features lack the ruggedness required to be called handsome, and the dark eyes are too dreamy and gentle. Beautiful is a better word. A long-sleeved black silk shirt of hangs from his bony shoulders. A pair of newish black jeans skim his hips. Polished steel caps cover the toes of his standard-issue style boots. He wears a classic Brooks Brothers raincoat, dark blue-grey in colour, cuffs customized with reinforcing grey leather. It is finely made and swirls about him in elegant storm-coloured folds.

Trace trudges up the stairs after Jordan, loathe to let the prettyboy out of his sight on his own turf. He pushes past him rather brutally -- can your platforms handle that? -- with a growled, "Move it." He continues on into the room but stops short when he sees Ben. In his entirety. He blinkblinks, then gets a stinging blush and averts his eyes. "I. Uh." He makes a retreating step backwards. "Uh, sorry.."

Benjamin rests his other hand over his own and Glass' entwined, pressing gently and reassuring. The heavy sound of platforms precludes his (surely reassuring) response, and he looks up, expectant of some wholly different boy in a dress. The sight of Jordan starts him a little, and he blinks at Trace for explanation. Trace, who's blushing for some... ohhh, right. Ben's half-dressed. With a final squeeze he pulls his fingers from Glass' and unfolds himself to get up from the waterbed. "It's all right, Trace." -He- doesn't blush, so whatever was interrupted can't be too bad, can it? But there's another strangeness to attend to. "Jordan? Is everything all right?" What on god's green earth would bring the boy -here-, after all?

Glass releases Benjamin's hand and looks over at Trace and Jordan. The blue-haired boy gets a smile that melts the forlorn look out of Glass' dark eyes. He doesn't choose to say anything, though, just watches the three and acknowledges Jordan with an infintesimal nod.

Jordan's eyes do widen at that lovely sight, and he flutters a hand to his chest and grins foolishly. "My." He makes no move to exit, but just drinks in the professor and then murmurs, "Trace didn't... warn me." Then the beastly boy nudges him as he moves past, and he does stumble a step but doesn't fall. He recovers and straightens his dress daintily, with a glare cast towards Trace. Then back to Ben. He sniffles again, and looks at the man with blue eyes that are just too bright. The skin beneath those eyes is a little puffy. No make-up smears his face, but then again, on close inspection it looks as though it's been reapplied very recently. Jordan is certain he can win his sweet Ben's sympathy without any ugly black and green streaks running down his smooth cheeks. "I... hello, Angel. I just, I wanted to see you..."

Trace lingers by the top of the stairwell. Yes, he's a little unnerved to be standing here, but things seem innocent enough, and he doesn't want to leave Jordan up here to wreak havoc and win Glass over to the dark side too. He waffles a moment, and then moves on past Ben, eyes politely averted the whole time. He takes up a tentative perch on the waterbed next to Glass, the other side, in case Ben is returning to his old spot soon. "Hi, Doug," he mumbles.

Glass watches Trace and Jordan with lazy interest. He grins at Trace when the boy takes a seat beside him, and reaches out to poke him in the ribs in a friendly kind of way. "Heya, Trace. You just wake up? I didn't see you when I came in." He speaks the words quietly, and with a faint frenchy accent, not local.

Benjamin pads quickly to his dresser (the one with less scattered across it), and pulls a plain black t-shirt out of the top drawer. In a moment it's pulled over his head and draping down around his hips, the round collar of the shirt neatly concealing his neck-jewelry as well. Convenient, that. Normally the showing skin -- not to mention the appreciative look from across the room -- wouldn't bother him in the least. But Trace is uncomfortable enough as it is. That taken care of he turns to the desk, pulling the chair out and turning it, gesturing Jordan come nearer. "Come sit down. I'm sorry we don't have more proper chairs." A quick glance up, taking in the prettyboy's face. "You look a little peaked, Jordan. You sure you're all right?"

From downstairs, the front swings open, shut softly moments later. Then silence from below.

"I'm peaked...?" Jordan says in a small voice, reaching up to touch his own face. "D-does that mean I look bad?" He walks smoothly over to Ben and sniffles again and says, "I just, I.. Anthony didn't want me around, and, and so I didn't know where to go.." The rush of words is punctuated to sniffle again, even though his nose isn't running right now. "And you said, you said I could come over sometime, and I thought... now was the time?" The last is again in that small voice, the same he used to wonder if peaked meant he wasn't pretty.

Trace shakes his head and answers Glass, "Naw. Came in jest a bit ago... Was fixin' m'self somethin' t'eat an' then *he* shows up." Sullen eyes never leave the whiny rich boy. Definite dislike, with no attempt to hide it. He sighs and finally looks over to ask, "How you doin'?"

Ever alert to changes in the household, Ben glances toward the stairwell as the door sounds from below. Well, whoever it is will doubtless drift up soon. He leans his rump back against the desk, and the heels of his hands on the edge. "No, it just means you look a little tired." Where normally, to anyone who knows Ben's speech patterns, there would be a term of endearment tacked on to the end, one is conspicuously absent now. Large eyes are sympathetic, if somewhat lacking in their normal careful sweetness. Faded. "Did you have a fight?"

Glass follows Trace's glance to Jordan, then lets his dark eyes meet with Trace's hazel ones. "Oh, shitty," he replies. "But it's no big deal. I was just talking to Ben a little. I get to wanting company, you know? Shays off doing." He stops, makes a slight face as if he's tasted something sour, "Whatever. That house is too big to be alone in." Glancing around the room again he finishes, "Yourself, how you doin'?"

Jordan is going to block out that sullen boy on the waterbed. Block out him, and his friend with the weird hair, and this whole room in fact, and just concentrate on Ben. His whole world is his Angel. He slowly nods and sniffles, dropping too-bright eyes for a heartbeat as he says softly, "He said -- he said I wasn't the boy he loved anymore. He /said/ that, Angel! To /me/... I don't -- I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be loved again." His tongue flicks out to lick lips that feel too dry, even though the burgandy lipstick is still slick over them. He looks up pleadingly, eyes that beg for your embrace. Forget those watching. No on watches, they don't exist. Just me.

There's the sound of the front door slamming downstairs and then Jason's voice calls out, "I'm HOOOOME!" And, of course, silence follows as he waits for his friends to scurry forth like lovable cockroaches and worship him. But none come, so moments later comes the call, "Where ARRRE yeeeeou?" which is ended in the sounds of thumping footsteps that race up the hall and thunder up the steps.

"*Was* doin' good," Trace grumbles, looking daggers at the whiny bitch making puppy eyes at Ben. Okay, so they've bonded or something. Doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. He folds his arms and studies the carpet until Jason's call rings through, and he looks up. Oh! Maybe Jason will pull the knife trick again!

Glass gets to his feet, walks over to the dresser, and collects a cigarette from the pack lying there. He looks at Jason when the redhead comes thundering up the stairs, and smiles. "Jason, hi," he murmurs, predictably. He lights up the licorice clove and returns to sit on the bed beside Trace.

Benjamin is easily, and it seems quite willingly, drawn into the careful manipulation of bright eyes and a cleverly-tilted chin. He's a philanthropist, after all. One gentle hand moves to stroke dark hair away from Jordan's cheek, then falls to the boy's spaghetti-strapped shoulder. The pretty boy is seated in Walker's desk chair, Ben leaning back against the edge of the desk. "Oh, kitten, I'm sorry." There's normal compassionate Ben again, yup. "What a cruel thing to say. You mustn't believe it, he couldn't have meant it. I'm sure he'll take it back again once he realizes how much he misses you." Soothing words flow in a rolling cadence to match the kittenish pets to Jordan's shoulder. As Jason comes up, he glances up a bit nervously, gauging the looks in the room. Might be time to take a hasty retreat downstairs with Jordan.

From downstairs, soft footsteps stir on the spiral of stairs heading upward.

Jordan smile turns mushy-grateful as Ben finally starts to respond properly, leaning into every touch and shoulder stroke, drinking in every last bit of compassion for his /very/ own. He drops into another pout and shakes his head. "I don't know, though. I don't think I'm... loveable. I try to be, Angel, I try /so/ hard and he always winds up getting cross at me and scolding and taking my credit cards..." Sniffle. He looks over as someone enters behind him, and sighs. Lovely. More street rats to fade out. Background, all of it, furniture in Holly's pretty home. Blechish furniture that doesn't match Ms. Windholm's lovely decor. He sighs and looks to Ben. I'm loveable, right? He bats his dark eyelashes.

Holly comes upstairs.

Trace looks like he's going to barf over here. He's going to spew Lucky Charms and reheated lasagna ALL over Walker's nice floor. He hugs his arms tighter into the fold and looks first to Glass, then to Jason, like can you *believe* this fucker?

Benjamin is leaned against the desk, with an anxious-looking Jordan in the desk chair right next to him. Said Jordan is the lucky recipient of sympathetic brown eyes and soft pets to his shoulder. Comfort Ben, better than the Ramada.

Glass sits on the bed beside Trace, watching Ben and Jordan with a distant sort of amazement and smoking a licorice clove. He casts a glance and a faint smile at Holly, but refrains from speaking.

Holly emerges from the stairwell, blinking at all the people in her bedroom. And her unchanged from work. 'Course she hasn't been at work for nearly two hours now but still. "Hey, y'all. What's up?" Jordan gets a fingerwave along with the general smile flashed about the room. Good thing the bedroom's been tidied recently or she'd die of embarassment that someone outside the family was in her bedroom. But clean the intrusion's all right. Just don't peep in the bathroom; make-up everywhere.

Jason finishes his *cough* /background/ entrance, tromping most the way up the stairs so he can peer over the ledge and see if anyone's around. Yes! People! Who... love him? I see Trace and Ben and... hi Glass. And that Jordan kid. His brows wrinkle with vaguely remembered annoyance. Or maybe instant dislike. Well, either way, the way he's obviously sucking at Ben's sympathy is rather... Yes, puke-worthy. He finishes his ascent and looks to Trace, head tilted and eyes questioning. Err... but before he can ask any questions, Holly pops up behind him. Uh, hi? He smiles sheepishly to the.. woman and scurries out of her way and over to Trace's side, where he asks a quick whispered question.

Benjamin shakes his head a little to Jordan, pulling up his best gently-stern professor expression for the distraught young man. "Don't even start thinking poorly about yourself, hear?" It's an order. Which fades away any other possible comment at the sound of yet another familiar voice. One that causes Ben to look up very quickly, blinking dark eyes wide for a moment. "Holly. You're home." Surprised, but not quite guilty-surprised. Just enough to make obvious statements like that one. His free arm hooks around his stomach, hand slipping from Jordan's shoulder.

Jordan turns and when he sees Holly, picks himself up out of the chair and smooths his Austin Powers fangirl dress self-consciously. This creature is definitely not background. She is a Goddess. And even moreso this time than the last, over the spaghetti dinner, because now she's out of the weird kilt and fishnets and actually looks the part. He flutters a manicured hand to his chest and breathes, "Oh, Miss Windholm... I'm so sorry to intrude." He actually gets a little flush going. Humble. It's hard for him to pull off. "It’s just my..." Wait, don't say that. "It's just Ben said I could drop by sometime if I liked..." He looks back to Ben. Tell her you said that. Mustn't offend an idol.

Glass rolls his eyes and lies back on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow to watch the show as he smokes.

Trace nods to Jason, lips twisting up for a moment and casting a glance Jordanwards before leaning in close to mumble something back. Afterwards he pulls in a slow breath and blows it out again. Calm. Be calm. But it isn't working. His blood stirs and he scowls down at the floor again. How in the world did this vain psycho slut work his way back into his family's life? Into his *home*?

Benjamin nods briefly, now that his duties are no longer required. He did, in fact... he thinks? One brief glance at Trace and suddenly he can't quite remember if he -did- say that or not.

Jason senses "Trace grumbles sardonically, "No, we don't. Need reasons? He called me a trashjunkie, he's hot for Bat, and he fucks with Ben's head. He's a fuck. That's just all there is to it.""

"Been home..." is the breezy response to Ben's surprise as she drifts toward the bed to grab a corner. Deep jade eyes dance over the assembled faces, reading expressions before she seats herself and bends to untie old sneakers. The braided ponytail swings forward, veiling her own porcelain features as she works at the shoes. "I don't mind ya droppin' by, Jordan." A smile blooms roses in the light tone. "Didn't necessarily expect ta see ya in m'room but I didn't expect ta see evrabody in here, eitha." She straightens, shoes abandoned in a heap on the floor. Ahh. Time to stretch out. "How've ya been?" Airy and light. Does she not notice the grumblings from Blue?

You sense Jason felt that the trashjunkie thing wasn't a good thing in his opinion and immediately gave more form to his instinctive dislike. The fucking with Ben's head is a given, he's watching that right now. But the part that gets murder in Jason's eyes is the 'hot for Bat.' Cause he knows bitches like this one, and they tend not to take hints like 'no, I have a boyfriend.' No... these things need shiny metal impliments.

/Something/ Trace mumbles to him get's Jason's attention. Eyes snap to the blue-headed boy, and then to... that /thing/ in the go-go boots fawning over Holly. And Ben said it could come here. A scowly glare is flickered the professor's way, but the nastiness is most definitely aimed at Jordan. He wasn't that hostile just a moment ago... Fingers twitch against his jacket pocket, but then withdraw. No... tactful.. Must be tactful... Glittering green eyes scan... it through loose red hair, gauging. Yes. Subtle.

Taking in the boys' expressions is quickly becoming too nervesome for Ben. So he stops, and shifts a glance over toward Holly instead. Seated a bit back on the bed, with the onyx-coated head in his lap seems a perfect position right about now, but he abandons the idea after a wistful glance. It would be the height of impoliteness to turn the entire room physically opposite to Jordan and leave his guest standing. He stays where he is, arms lightly laced over his stomach, and watching. Backdrop is a comfy place too.

Glass smiles at Holly when she ends up stretched beside him on the bed. He offers her his already burning cigarette, wriggling over and holding it for her so she needn't lay a hand on it to get a drag. He still doesn't say anything, smiling faintly and glancing at Jordan once he's learned M. Windholm's opinion on the cigarette. Amusing, really. Except for Jason. Glass' dark eyes skim over the redhead's face a little quickly. Perhaps he doesn't want to see this.

Jordan might be intimidated by this vengeful Jason creature. That is, if he existed. Right now Holly and Ben exist, and they're both lovely and fabulous, and that's all Jordan wants right now. He releases a sigh and shakes his head, "Well, things are difficult right now. So that's why I came to see Ben. He's an Angel... He's the sweetest. I can't count the times he's rescued me. You're so lucky, Miss Windholm.” He glances back to see if Ben is appreciating his reward, and then looks back to Holly. "I'm really glad you don't mind the intrusion."

Trace gives Jason a somewhat wicked grin, his hazel eyes dark, nearly full brown. Yes... *Finally* someone else is giving Jordan the reaction he so richly deserves. He casts a glance at Ben. Not *much* blame there. He understands that Jordan has evil, manipulative ways that our compassionate Ben can't hope to combat. But perhaps Jason will help him make amends. He leans in close to murmur to the redhead, and it sounds an awful lot like plotting.

Jason senses "Trace leans in close and murmurs hotly, "This bitch makes me want to, to find some can'a steroid pumped spinach and jest beat the shit out of him, I swear... Tell you what. Since I don't got no spinach, I'll jest find a pipe 'n sneak up 'n break his knee caps.""

Oh, how sweet. Here's Glass to offer up nicotine. The cigarette's accepted with a sideways glance to the young man, smile tugging the corners of cupid's bow lips as they close slowly and lightly around the filter. A long drag and Holly releases it, the tip of her pierced tongue skimming over her upper lip as her eyes find Jordan again. "Ben is an angel," she agrees, giving a tiny body stretch that tugs the shimmery fabric of the leotard taut for an instant. "So what's been happenin' that's so difficult?" She grabs one of the pillows from behind, curling 'round it just a bit as if she doesn't she's going to end up curled against Glass since he's so close and that also wouldn't do with company over; some things - such as cuddling whoever's closest - should be reserved for times when folks aren't visiting (though she's fair certain Jordan wouldn't mind).

Jason crouches down and rests his arms on his knees, overly-bright eyes lingering on made-up boy in the skirt and a rather wicked crooked smile on his lips as he listens to Trace's murmurings. He nods at a couple of points, then looks to the smaller boy when he does and shares a grin. And then back to Jordan. Mm, heh. Then, out of nowhere, despite any possible interruptions of conversations, Jason calls out (obviously to Jordan), "Hey, that mascara waterproof?"

And then Holly -would- have to do that feline stretch and look ever so tempting over there. Pouncing her would also be impolite. But wait, inspiration has struck Benjamin, and he straightens up from his lean. "Jordan, how about I go arrange for a hotel room for you, and call a taxi when you're ready to go. Hm?" Just slap it on his credit card and pay it Later. Later is such a forgiving day. Gives him an excuse to sneak out of those sometimes pitying, sometimes annoyed looks from the boys. He'd so much rather feel heroic than pathetically manipulated due to a soft heart. Nobody ever dared think Roland or Galahad or Gawain gullible. Well, maybe Gawain.

Glass smiles back at Holly, watching her lips close around his cigarette. Mm, that's pretty. He stays silent, though, just smiling an echo of Holly's smile, a little impish. When she finishes her drag he takes one himself, then arranges himself again when she moves for the pillow, staying close so he can cater to her smoking needs. Helpful Doug.

"Ohh..." Jordan dabs at his eyes, which show no make-up smears or tears whatsoever. Purposeful, that. He figures he can win sympathy a-plenty without resorting to waterworks. But Jason's messing that up, and he casts the boy a faint, annoyed glance over his shoulder before looking back to Lafitte's pretty star. "Holly, I wouldn't want to trifle you. Really. I just..." Then Ben's suggestion. "Ben Angel! You see? He's such a dear, he takes good care of me. That would be perfect... I just don't want to think on it any longer. But a hotel sounds /lovely/... Relax in a spa... have them bring up some wine and shrimp... You are perfect, you know that? Absolutely perfect to me." Seems like Ben's sympathy is going to cost him a lengthy room service bill. He dimples at the professor. Love you, darling.

Trace makes audible gagging sounds, but being one of the non-existants in the room, it's sure to be ignored. He stews in his own overwhelming annoyance and dislike, huddled on the edge of the water bed. Jordan just keeps digging himself deeper and deeper with his simpering and his manipulations.

Jason blinks at Ben in astonishment. Okay, someone left Ben's brain in his tweed suit. He glances sidelong to Trace, then smirks and looks to Ben. "Hey, y'know, I think there's a three-night special at Motel Six. Free HBO, y'know?" And his eyes shift to Jordan as he says, rather nastily, "Though I dunno if they got any /queen/-sized bed.

A cute dimpled smile will have to satisfy Ben's impending impoverishment. Luckily he, like Jordan, is blessed with a generous provider. Isn't rent-hood grand? And the boys wonder why these two get along. He bows to Jordan with a sleepy smile, and moves off toward downstairs. Gallantry in the face of adversity. It'll lash him to a post by the balls someday if it hasn't already.

Holly indulges in another drag off helpful Lord Douglas' cigarette before dropping back into a lazy curl around the satin-sheathed pillow with a look to the red-head imp. Doesn't smile; wouldn't be diplomatic or nice or anything that etiquette demands. "Well, s'long as ya..." And there's Jason again. Like a commentator at a sporting event. With that she gives up, burrowing down into her pillow. Once more the face lifts to mumble a dewy-smiled request to Glass for a stroking of back that would be oh-so-appreciated right now and proceeds to eventually drift off, etiquette thrust aside in the wake of a three-performance day. Not to mentioning mother-henning Ain.

Glass sits up a little, placing the cigarette between his lips as he starts to work on Holly's so obviously asking to be touched back. She is asleep in minutes. Must be tired, Doug's lazy touch is probably not the most spectacular of massages, particularly as he keeps an eye on Jason as he works, and occasionally pauses to tap ash off the cigarette.

It takes a moment to sink in, but finally Jordan realizes that he's been left alone with the non-existant ones. He looks over at the bed... Wait. Are they growling over there? He nibbles daintily at his lower lip, not enough to show teeth, just cut into it poutishly. Then he looks down, gathers courage, and trots over to the bed. Unfinished business. Might as well do as he was told, seeing as how he's in the dog house with his keeper anyway. Might win some points. He looks up and gives Jason the briefest, odd glance. What's your problem, punk? Besides the tattered get-up. Then he shifts his gaze to the blue-haired gutterscum and draws in a breath to speak. Okay. This shouldn't be THAT hard. Just get it out. "Anthony, uh. He told me I should...." He swallows. His mouth tastes positively vile with the upcoming words. "That I should... a.. apologize..." He wrinkles his nose, but then smoothes it and forces himself to continue. "I was... I was out of line that night, with the spaghetti, when I... yelled at you. About the shirt." There. Cue smile. Deed done. Right?

Trace just looks at Jordan. Uh-huh. Yeah. That was *so* sincere. What's he supposed to do? Say 'Oh, it's alright, Jordan. I know you didn't mean it.' No. He's not Ben, and Jordan's simpering has absolutely no effect on him whatsover. He finally can think up nothing at all to say, so just nods mutely. Cue smile. Sure thing, buddy. Still breaking your kneecaps.

Glass looks over from Holly's back and utters a short burst of soft laughter.

Jason flashes Jordan a bright, cheerful smile as the rentboy finally deigns to look his way. A cheerful smile that seems rather toothy, actually. But he's quiet as Jordan spits out the apology, curious. But at the end of it... god, he can't help it. He laughs out loud. That was the /most/ insincere apology he's EVER heard. "My GOD! That was the /most/ pathetic..." The rest of that is absorbed by snickering - though his eyes remain firmly on the bitch-boi. Oh yes, left in the doghouse with some growling dogs indeed.

Jordan casts Jason a look of molten annoyance when he laughs. Rude little shit. And here he is, down on his knees begging for Trace's forgivness... Okay. So he's not doing anything like that. But he feels bad that he had to resort to apologizing in the first place, anyway, and now his embarrassment is increased by the snickering redhead in the ratty clothes. No. He positively refuses to be phased by a street rat. He sniffs and then looks back to Trace. "So please do pass that apology along to Jean-Batiste as well, because I..." He pauses. Hmm. "You know what? Nevermind. I really ought to... tell him myself." He smiles. "An apology isn't the sort of thing you pass on, now, is it? And I'm sure it's not how Anthony wanted me to handle it. So.. I'll just catch him some other time. And since my /first/ one was met with such amused disapproval, I vow to make my second much more.. sincere." His lips curve in a smile.

What? Did Jordan just say 'I vow to get my ASS KICKED?' Yes, that's what Jason thought. He turns with a smirk to murmur something to Trace, but that very last sentence of Jordan's... Oh yes. Jordan getting sincere with Batiste... If bitchy here was looking to press buttons, he just found a big one. But not exactly a smart one to push. Jason's eyes slowly return to the future road-kill in the shiny dress, something rather dark shining in their green depths. But he gets a very slow, very nasty-looking smile and asks in a deceptively pleasant tone, "And just /how/ sincere were you thinking of making your apology?"

Trace gets this bizarre urge to giggle. He can't, because he's holding his breath now, with something like foretelling excitement fluttering and bubbling in his stomach. He's absolutely sure Jordan just tied his own noose. He keeps his lips carefully pursed, but it's hard, because he's such an expressive boy. His eyes gleam with something dangerous. He casts a fleeting glance to Jason, checking for reaction, sure his own gleam will be nothing compared to the blaze in his fireheart's bright green orbs. Yep. Just as he figured. He turns back to Jordan gleefully. Come on. Gloat. Tell him you're going to do something raunchy, and be sincere about it.

Glass finishes lavishing attention on Holly's sleeping back. Sitting up, he looks over at the three and gives them the full attention that they deserve. He still doesn't see fit to comment, but he certainly seems interested.

"Mmmn," Jordan murmurs, flickering his ice gaze over to Jason and then letting another smug smile curve his lips. "I don't see how it's your business," he decides. "I'll be as sincere as I like." And he /nearly/ leaves it at that. He makes the smallest movement, as though to turn, but swings back again and can't help it. Gushing over pretty potential playmates to anyone who will listen is one of his favorite pasttimes! Even if the gushing is wasted on such lowly company. So he turns back and admits, "Though for such a one, it does deserve my utmost sincerity, truly. Not sure if he plays on my side, but my! Take a wire brush to the boy, and some disinfectant, and you would have yourself one /pretty/ plaything..." He laughs, and now does turn, waving an airy hand and calling, "Anyhow, ta. Must call for that cab."

Glass looks at Jordan and lifts a brow.

Nonono! You can't leave quite yet. Jason isn't done hearing about your sincerity. Even as Jordan makes his last turn, Jason's up on his feet and slipping around between the rentboy and the stairs, that smile /ever/ so nasty-polite. "You know," he practically purrs, emerald eyes dancing with ever-so-sweet malice. "I'm kinda curious how you'd play with your... playthings." Perhaps the streetwise might sense the danger lurking about Jason right now. That casual stance blocking the stairwell conceals a form ready to move - perhaps to pounce upon certain queen-like peoples and claw their eyes out, despite the proximity of sleeping hosts. Could at least get one out before someone dragged him back. The grin twitches wider. "That's a very pretty dress, by the way."

Trace claps a hand to his mouth as Jordan speaks, and Jason leaps up to stop him. Something's at war inside him. This can't happen. Walker's *right* there, and this his house, and, and, and... Trace definitely has the streetwise to sense that a certain detestable rentboy is about to meet a terrible fate. And a strong part of him is not displeased. But even so, he picks himself up off the couch and hurries over to Jason's side. A timid hand is placed on the boy's shoulder, and he leans in to murmur something urgently.

Jason senses "Trace leans in and murmurs... something that totally catches him by surprise. It's not what he thought to say. He'd though to perhaps disuade you or calm you, but instead murmurs in a somewhat fierce rush, "Wait until he goes out to wait for the cab. It'll be dark, there'll be less ears nearby..." Then he pulls back and blinks a little. What's gotten into him? What is he *saying*? But he doesn't call it back."

Glass sighs heavily and starts to scoot toward the end of the bed, as if in preparation to rising. Perhaps he means to intervene, but he's certainly being reluctant about it. Waterbed effect. He looks at Trace, then at the two in the doorway, "This is fucked up," he informs the blue-haired boy mildly. His dark gaze goes back to Jordan and Jason at the head of the stairs, "You got no class," he says. "Weren't you gonna go call a cab?"

Jordan has little streetwise. And what he does have, from the two weeks of work before he was 'rescued' by Anthony and swept into this life he is so comfortable with, has surely been blanketed by now. Now he is Invincible Jordan. But he'd have to be blind at this point, with rage itself manifested before him, to miss the seething malicious intent beneath Jason's silken words. He fidgets where he stands, with a glance back to Glass, then a skittish look to Trace. Ah, good. Yes, call the wild dog back, lock him in the bathroom or something. See, it pays to apologize! People come to your rescue. He says to Glass, "Yes, I'm getting a cab /now/. Please do step aside, boy. You shouldn't meddle in affairs that don't concern you."

*Ka-Klink!* What was that? Oh, yes, that was someone releasing EvilJason's chain. Jason tilts his head a little at Trace's rushed whispered words, then pauses to look into the boy's hazel eyes for a long moment. A deep breath, then a small smile and a nod. Jason starts to step back out of the way... But Jordan /HAS/ to go and say that. Blink. Ohhhhboy. There is an instant of murder in Jason's eyes. One of those points that, if he had a gun pointed at Jordan, the trigger would have just been pulled. But... no. Jason smiles viciously and bows low, sweeping an arm out towards the stairs. "All yours," he murmurs low. Allll yours...

Glass sighs again and gets to his feet, glancing at Jordan somewhat resentfully as he starts to cross the floor, "M'moiselle. Your manners are atrocious," he points out. He's not coming to the rescue at all, he's heading to the dresser to get another cigarette.

Trace watches Glass. So he's not getting help with this? Well, alright, that's fine. He says carefully, "I'm... gonna go down too. T'grab a drink. I'll bring somethin' back fer ya, okay, Glass?" A look to Jason. "You want somethin' t'drink, Jason...? Come help me. You can help me make that chocolate thing you was showin' me the other day..." Chocolate diffuses any situation, right?

Jason senses "Trace's smile is slightly strained. Sure. He might be trying to diffuse the situation. With his back to Glass as he says it, he can probably pull it off. But the truth is you never showed him how to make any chocolate drink, and it's probably more likely this is an attempt to help you and him ditch Glass so he can't spoil anything."

Jordan looks between the boys for a moment, but then shrugs it off. Whatever. Go play with chocolate. He's got a cab that's going to send him off someplace nicer than all this, be it slinking home or taking Ben up on that hotel offer. Probably the latter. He sweeps on through the door without another glance and starts down the stairs carefully. Must mind the platforms.

Glass lights up and drifts over towards the cluster of boys at the head of the stairs. "You don't need to bring anything back," he says. "I'll go down." He watches Jordan start down the stairs and blows smoke after him before looking back to Trace and Jason.

You sense Jason wasn't going to be so sneaky as to wait until Glass was unavailable to pry him off of Jordan. As a matter of fact, you might have just saved the rentboy (and possibly Jason) from serious injury... At least until Glass decided to tag along...

Jason lifts his head and looks up to Trace, brows furrowing a moment before he slowly nods in agreement. "Yeah, chocolate," he murmurs as Jordan passes by him, unmolested. But then Glass wanders up and Jason gives the young man a.. look. An odd look. And then grins and pads down behind the slow-moving Jordan. "Love the shoes," he comments idly as he glides down the stairs. And then, just above Jordan's shoulder, Jason murmurs in that idle tone that isn't so idle, "Did I mention that Batiste is my boyfriend?" If one were to look back at him, one'd see a smile so cheerful as to be labeled evil, because that's what's lurking in those unnaturally bright green eyes of his.

Trace feels it deep in the pit of his stomach somewhere, something twisted up and tainted and gleeful at what he thinks is coming. It's like one of those dreams that he doesn't tell anyone about, where he hurts people, and... likes it. But this isn't a dream, that's the mad part. The wooden floor's solid beneath him, the creak on those steps so familiar. He looks on with a wild, earnest gleam now, no longer trying to hide it from Glass. Go on, go on fireheart... I won't tell; I got your back. Go ahead...

Jason's look gives Glass pause, and he ends up following up the group on the stairs, smoking his cigarette. The gleam in Trace's eyes does not escape him and he starts to move a little faster to catch up with the bluecap, trying to get a better look at his face.

It's one of those slow-motion moments. The words take forever to register, and when the do, it's a slow turn and Jordan peers up at him, baffled. And then the shock, to see Jason's intentions written there so clearly that he's sure he must have been mad not to have taken heed before. Written all right there... And Jordan knows fear. This little redhead dressed in his rags has shattered right through ego and apathy and all the trappings that weigh him down right now, and pure, primal fear floods his expression, blue eyes bright and savage wild with a sudden adrenelin rush.

Oh, that look is SO sweet to Jason. It's gulped up into his eyes, swallowed down deep into that dark heart of his being that is all too evident right now. Like a secondary kick, the rush flows right from Jordan's eyes and into Jason's own veins, making him almost shiver from the pleasure. And in return? Jordan can see the animal in Jason right there. That part of Jason that is not human, which doesn't think anything like a human. All thought of whose house this is have fled. The fact that its owner has fallen into a deep sleep just above is irrelevant. All that exists right now is Jason, Jordan, and these stairs. He's no fighter, but he /is/ cunning. And here, on these stairs, his speed has the advantage. Jordan, meet stairs. Jason's foot flashes out and hooks around one of the bitch-boi's platforms and there's an instant of non-movement in which Jason murmurs, grinning toothily, "He /does/ clean up nice, by the way..." And then, throwing himself back away from the other's reach, he yanks Jordan's foot out from beneath him.

A soft yelp, quickly cut short, and the world speeds up with a surprising impact. Half-turned, with the platform yanked out from beneath him, that foot where his weight had been placed flies up and Jordan falls back... The first to hit is his shoulder, on the steps, and then a secondary impact of the back of his skull lashing back to strike the stairs as well. But still caught in a tumble and too disoriented to do much in the way of putting his hands up, the next few instances of flesh and bone meeting the iron stairs are not so violent as that first landing. Even so, the fall lands him at the bottom of the stairs and quite unconscious.

Trace blinks. For a moment he's still, so intent, and his lips twist into a tiny grin at the first crack. He starts down the steps, but upon finding Jason in his way, he ducks nimbly past the boy in one quick duck and hurries down the remaining stairs. He stands over the fallen prettyboy with an odd mix of triumph and disgust. "Did that hurt, *kitten*?" the bluecap spits out Ben's pet name for the bitch, and grips his hair, lifts, then slams an already damaged skull down against the ground, thunk. And his hand lingers there, in silky black hair, hunched over the victem. Something inside him shudders. He draws back slowly, back, back, one step, another. More and more shaken by the moment, with two sides of himself engaged in a clawing, vicious war.

Glass blinks when Jordan takes a tumble down the stairs, and watches the fall from his place further up, seeming unpreturbed. He expected that. Trace's darting down doesn't suprise him either, but when the blue-haired boy slams the fallen Jordan's head against the floor he starts, "Trace! Jesus!" He sounds more amazed than horrified, but not by much.

Jason watches The Fall with adrenaleine-sped vision, like it was all in slow motion. The first impact, the jerking of the head, the rolling body and the tumbling stop. All with this satisfied half-smirk. He stands there, on the stairs, just radiating self-satisfaction at the unconcious form laying there below him. And when Trace slips past him and takes revenge for frustrations out on the prone form... He just laughs, a giggle that's somehow sick in that it's frighteningly close to his normal giggles. He glances back up over his shoulder at Glass's exclamation, then down past Trace (oblivious to the moral fight) to the living room. Hmm, seems people heard the ruckus. Ah well, time to get the 'shocked' look onto his face. Oops? Hehehe....

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