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Log Title: Kiley in Jackson Square

Log setting: See above.

Log Cast:
Kiley
Trace
Jean-Batiste
Glass
Alisynde

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Trace dodges easily through the crowd, one hand holding a tin can, swinging it gently in time to his steps, so that the little colored chalk bits within rattle pleasantly. He looks to be of much greater health and cheer than he was the night prior, his cheeks no longer so pale, and even a little bit decorated! A streak of green dashes down one, and he's got a smudge of black near his temple. Obviously he's been hard at work, even so early... Now bright hazel eyes hunt down a new spot, someplace close to a crowd perhaps, but not directly underfoot. Nothing like trying to fill a donation cup honestly when your hand has been trod on by careless tourists and passersby.

Kiley finishes with the couple, violating them enough for one day and then sits up a little straighter and peers around, bottom lip captured between her teeth. Hmm, what next. Mustn't let anything get away. And the camera lifts again as two elderly men come around the corner path and head towards the girl. Click click. Then down off the bench, one foot on the ground, the other knee sideways and still on the bench-seat. Best angle, ya know. She's grinning as she takes the shots, but suddenly pulls the camera away and peers down at it. "Darn," Ky says, then sits her butt down and makes to change film. She tries to hurry, afterall the two old guys are gonna be gone before...well maybe not. Taking their time.

Trace locates a promising patch of sidewalk and stands there a moment, eyeing those who pass and making sure it isn't about to be hit by a stampede. A beignet cart is nearby, manned by a pudgy, bearded man with ever-busy hands, and Trace looks upon the bored line of folks consideringly. There are different motives and methods to sidewalk drawing. Sticking to portraits of pedestrians and taking requests, that brings an almost guaranteed dollar into the donation cup. Or he could draw what he wanted... Sucking in his lower lip to nibble at it, he finally shakes his head and moves slowly on, concrete patch abandonned without regret. He tries a new direction, aimed for a prettier, less littered and trafficked portion of the Square. But on his way a familiar -- though considerably less blinding -- flash of Kiley's camera distracts him, and he stops and looks her way.

Kiley�s Desc:
Definately young, this girl couldn't be a day over sixteen, if that. And very pretty. Flawless complexion is dotted here and there with a smattering of freckles, mostly on the uppermost parts of her cheeks. Her lips, quick to grin, are glossy and full. Hair, ringlet curls, touches down past her waist and in a very dramatic 'V', is dark auburn red with strawberry highlights-- sunkissed. But her eyes, her eyes are almost surreal. Crystal-clear light green with little spots of blue and gold. Framed with baby-long lashes, dark and constantly peering around, as if really curious.

Casual dress, she wears a pair of faded blue-jeans that hug in all the right places, but are so long they drop down over her steel-toe boots. Boots which are usually unlaced. A little baby-tee covers what it should, but leaves a small bit of her tummy exposed. A silver navel ring pierced through, glistens, shiny. Most all her fingers have rings, silver, and there are several bracelets around her tiny wrists. Dog tags hang down from a silver chain around her neck. Complete.

Short and small. That's the name of this game. Reaching to a very proud five feet two inches and weighing not a bit over a hundred pounds, this girl appears healthy, as if fed regulary. Doesn't seem to want for anything in the 'take care of me' department. Looks happy, most of the time.

Trace�s Desc:
Peeking out from beneath blue braids bound at the ends in rubber bands of various colors, you catch a glimpse of strikingly youthful hazel eyes, large and widely set. He's a disturbingly slender, slight child, sixteen at most and only 5'3" in height. His arms are bone-slender and knobby at the joints, his angled face gaunt, with a look of longtime malnutrition.

He's got a multitude of piercings up and down both ears, as well as a slender silver hoop through the nose. He's garbed in baggy, tattered jeans that are caked with colorful chalk smears on his upper thighs. His t-shirt looks fairly new, though not expensive at all, just a plain black one. It leaves his arms bare, revealing ugly, bruise-black track marks on his inner forearms. All in all, he looks fragile, dangerously skinny, and ultimately lost.

Fox comes into the square from downtown Decatur.

Fox has arrived.

Fox comes up the street with bounce in her step, singing loudly and cheerfully, if badly, a strange version of singing in the rain.

Fox says, "Just singin in the rain, no needles in the brain! What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again! No clouds in the sky, no fist in my eye! Just singin, and laughin in the rain.."

Kiley crawls again to her spot on the back of the bench and chews on the inside of her cheek as she watches people come and go. Camera is ready, though, should anything intere-- well, lookie there. It's that blue-haired guy again. Her face lights up more than it has been, if you can believe that and she doesn't scream it, but in her silence, expression shows: It's /You!/ ~And the cheesy music blasts.~ Blink blink. Ky looks to Fox, momentarily distracted, but then right back to Trace. Soft smile, this time. She doesn't make to blind Trace, just watches him, curiously.

Noticed. Trace looks chagrined for a moment and drops his eyes. What's with this girl? Second time she's looked, really *looked* at him, and he's not used to that from strangers. No, a stranger's eye -- especially one of Kiley's seeming station -- will catch on blue hair, but glance away upon taking in the rest, most often. Drawing. Yes, he came here to draw. He blocks out a spot further away from the line of pedestrian traffic and, even if he's decided he owes himself a picture all his own, of course he must set the cup out. The chalk bits are emptied into a little, multi-colored pile beside him, and then he sets down the tin can. Selecting a piece of chalk, he starts etching out something near the base of it in blue-purple, full of curls and stylized dips and swirls, much practiced, so that it's both fanciful and clearly legible. It's almost art itself, this word: DONATIONS. Once it's completed, Trace flickers his eyes back to the girl with the camera, just to see if she's still watching.

Fox dissappears amongst the crowd she appeared from, a daphodil in a daisy patch.
Fox heads towards the riverfront.

She is most definately still watching. And to make matters worse, she's sitting up real straight as if to actually /see/ what you are doing. But she's a bit away so it won't be the easiest thing. Kiley smiles again, as you look toward her, but then directs her attention around the square. You were with some people last night. Are they joining? Hmm, nope. Looks like you are alone today. And that's positively gorgeous. But for now, she'll stay put. Mustn't be pushy. And to be sure, she removes her camera from around her neck, her 'too much hair' do, rising, and then flopping back down. You were uncomfortable with pictures before. She peeks at you from under curly dark-red and if you are looking, drops her eyes away, shyly. Nothing on this girl would suggest snobbery, despite her pearly-white polished nails and expensive equiptment. Demeanor is definately kind.

Alone he is a decidedly more quiet, introspective, and dreamy Trace than he might be otherwise, with Jason around to keep him on his toes with banter, or strange hispanic guys putting him into defense mode. He does peek up to watch you for a moment before lowering his eyes to the sidewalk and rubbing at the back of his neck, smearing with with color unconsciously in a shy gesture. Drawing. Must keep on task. He starts out with a plain stick of black charcoal, and works out the start of a figure, his strokes very light, careful. Just outlines, mostly, and plotting out shapes, filing away ideas for later attention and detail. A feminine figure, if you're able to glimpse it from there at all, standing up straight and tall.

Jean-Batiste comes into the square from downtown Decatur.
Jean-Batiste has arrived.

Hands in pockets, Batiste moves into the square with a thoughtful expression upon his face. Surprise, surprise. Still, he's thoughtful but not pensive, so that hopefully counts for something. He's not smoking one of his licorice cloves currently, instead rolling a coughdrop around in his mouth.

Trace is in his typical place when hard at work trying to earn money, getting dirty jeans on the dirty ground, caking his hands with charcoal. The cup is out, his usual signature 'donations' scrawled around the tin can he's using. Every once in a while he peeks up at the photographer girl shyly, but she's a ways off yet, and his shoulders are hunched, eyes quick to avert to his picture, with the body language of someone acutely aware he is being watched.

Kiley is sitting on the back of a bench, camera in hand, but no longer around her neck. She's obviously not going to be taking any pictures of the boy she's now watching. Each time Trace peeks at her, Kiley is looking, and each time she offers a friendly smile. But enough of this. She simply /must/ talk to him. She must. And so up on her feet she goes, then jumps down off the bench and heads in that direction. That is, until she spots Jean-Batiste. Wait a second! Didn't she just look around for Trace's friends. And they weren't here. But look, that's one of them. So she just stands there, smiling dopey-like, looking up toward the sky. Nice day. Nice trees. How embarrassing!

Caricaturists, oil painters, panhandlers, hustlers, street performers, musicians...all of them are looked at by Batiste, and passed by, not being what he's looking for. He moves steadily around the Square, eyes roving, spotting...Kiley. Standing there. Looking goofily up at the sky with that please-don't-notice-me smile. He glances away, rubbing at his mouth to keep the smile obscured, and hurries towards Trace, calling, "Hey, I didn't know Picasso had blue hair..." as he nears.

Glass comes into the square from downtown Decatur.

It's not like she can really help it, ya know. I mean, the two of you together? It's utterly brilliant. So, back around her neck goes the strap, thick curls pulled through, and she walks reverse toward her bench, snapping all the while. Trace is a photographers wet-dream, really. Shadowey and malnourished. His arms battered, his skin punctured in attempt to individualize himself, or perhaps to join. Whatever the reason behind this guy, lurking there in the background is passion and creativity and dreams. So, he has no privacy. All bets off after Jean-Batiste joins. She steps up onto the bench, still walking backwards, and sits her butt down on the back-rest. Little grin plastered on her lips.

Wait, she's coming over? Trace ducks his head. Yes, drawing takes *so* much intent concentration. The girl he draws is done in very careful lines, trying hard to shy away from the bold and thick lines that charcoal is so fond of spilling out onto a concrete canvas. The girl has a hand lifted to smiling lips, perhaps to daintily hide a chuckle. She's wearing a gown that touches the floor, hiding her all the way to the toes. Right now he's working on some light, wispy lines to indicated pale-colored tresses spilling down her back, away from a crown settled atop her head. A pretty princess... Batiste's call startles him, and the boy jumps a little, pulled out of a concentration deep enough to make him realize, hey wait, if she'd been coming over here she'd have been here by now... A glance. Hmm, back on the bench? Clearly he was mistaken. With a grin full of chagrin, he looks back to Batiste and murmurs, "If I was a Picasso, she'd have her nose on all crooked an' boobs goin' funny directions... An' I wouldn't be drawin' on no sidewalk, neither."

Glass drifts into the square, smoking a cigarette and looking touched by ennui. He pauses when he sees the boys and their camera bearing friend, then stops walking to watch.

Alisynde comes into the square from St. Ann.

Alisynde wanders up with a smile on her face and a song on her lips. "Sunshine, daydream. Walkin' in the tall trees, goin' where the wind goes.."

Jean-Batiste laughs softly as he crouches down beside Trace, fingers to the pavement, looking at his artwork. "Okay, okay...I was just trying to compliment you, you know." He reaches out, flipping a couple blue braids around, then turns his attention back down to the artwork. "How's it coming along so far?" He glances to the donations can when he says this, rather than critiquing the picture. "Want me to grab you a drink or a beignet or something?" he offers.

Alisynde oohs, her eyes widening. She creeps over to where the action is. Creep. Creep.

Glass shrugs and heads over to Trace and his chalk drawing.

And as fate would have it, just as Trace gets company, so does Kiley. From behind a couple of people walk toward her. A boy and a girl. Seperate, but together. Dressed casual, but very definately not of the street. They flank the photographer as she's clipping off a few more shots of Trace and Jean-Batiste. Startled, Ky pulls the camera down and smiles. "Oh, hey." And the male of the three looks toward the object of Kiley's attention. "Back to them again?" he says, remembering the two from the night before. And Kiley replies, "Yeah. Isn't he perfect?" She looks back to the artist and his friend, eyes sweeping over Glass on the way. Ky's friends are not impressed with her choice of art, obviously and attempt, "Come on, let's go get a cap?" Kiley shrugs and looks to the two. "Nah, I think I'll just hang out here a little bit longer. But thanks."

The donations cup is empty, actually. Trace looks down at it with faint embarrassment, then up at Batiste and Glass to murmur, "Well, um. This is kinda like a break, y'know? Not drawin' in the best'a places. Been doin' portraits and kiss-up drawins' all day. Wanted somethin' different. Somethin' mine, y'know?" He digs into his pocket and comes up with a fistful of change and a couple bills. "See? From earlier." He takes two rumpled singles and a few silver coins, dropping them into the cup. The rest goes back into his pocket, and he smiles a little. "Don't need a beignet. Jest get it all gross..." He wiggles his fingers at Glass and grins. Ooh, fear the smudged fingers... Might streak your nose for fun.

Alisynde sneaks a little closer to that donations cup. Sneak. Sneak. She opens her palm over it. Nothing falls out, but it's suddenly got a ten-dollar bill in it. And Ali sneaks off, to attempt to blend in with the crowd.

Glass grins at Trace. "Hey. Good to see you." He doesn't seem alarmed at the wiggling fingers, "You sure you don't want a beignet? I could get some shit from Hooper's Market if you want. Looks like your workin' hard." Lifting his glance to Batiste he says, "As payment, I'll demand a cigarette, though," and casts the spent butt of the one he was smoking aside.

Kiley's male friend leans down and whispers something to the girl, which draws forth a shrug in response. The two look annoyed and step away, heading out of the square. A frown creeps onto Ky's brow, but is quickly replaced by a grin as she shakes her head. Whatever. Back to Trace and Jean-Batiste. And, wow, another person. Three guys, just begging to be photographed. So, she gives them what they want. Even stands up on the bench to get a better angle. Catches Alisynde in the act, too. Cameras are great inventions.

Alisynde seems particularly unfazed by being captured on camera. She just waits for one of the three to notice the money's multiplied, and tries to hide her smile.

Glass doesn't seem to notice Alisynde, but says in a somber tone, "My Droog."

Jean-Batiste looks up at Glass, not rising from his comfortable crouch near Trace's side, and offers a warm, shy smile. "Hey," he murmurs. "Good to see you." He straightens up a few seconds after that, knees popping quietly, and digs into his pocket to pull out his softpack and lighter, offering them to Glass. "What am I paying for, again?" He grins at the young man, then turns that grin upon Ali, greeting her with a sunny, "Ali, hey! Good to see you, too."

Alisynde cranes her head around a awe-struck tourist, and grins at Glass. "Lord Douglas." She beams at Jean, and steps out. "Jean. Hallo."

Glass bends and reaches to pluck a cigarette from Batiste's pack, "How about crossiants and butter and raspberry jam? Some kinda drink, too?" He straightens up and finds a lighter in the pocket of his coat, then uses it to fire up the cigarette. When he speaks again it is on the breath of smoke, and he turns his head to smile at Alisynde, "Hey. What's the word, Droog?"

"Good to see you too..." The blue-haired boy offers Batiste a warm smile, then drops his eyes to his picture, picking up the charcoal again. Detail is added to the princess' dress, sometimes scrubbing with the tip of his blackened fingers to shade in folds. When Glass speaks, he looks up with confusion, and then just shrugs it off. He tries a subtle glance back to Kiley without getting caught by her, or called out for it by his friends, and blinks in surprise to see her standing on the bench. What? The tiniest amused, shy grin, before blinking over at Ali. Oh, *there's* the Droog. "Hi Ali!" Unfortunately, when he's on break, Trace just doesn't pay much notice to the donations cup. This not art for tourist's spare change, it's art for art at the moment. "What's goin' on?"

Alisynde quirks the corners of her lips upward, and says to Glass, "Magnolia."

Glass draws a deep breath, "Magnolias, huh?"

Alisynde nods, solemnly. "Sugar Magnolias."

Jean-Batiste will probably notice the change in the donation cup before Trace, thanks to the annoying little accountant that lives in his head. He hasn't noticed it yet, though. As he finishes tucking the softpack and lighter into his jeans, he reaches for Glass's smoke with a cheeky grin. "Croissants and jam sounds -really- good. I'm starved. Get something really big to drink too, though, okay?" He grins curiosly at Ali and wonders, "Sugar Magnolia?" His eyes stray down to the sidewalk again, as Trace rubs and sketches, all curious and fond. Art Is Good.

Kiley grins as Jean greets Ali and keeps on snapping. Curious this, her hand lifts and twists the lens to /her/ left, and then she jumps down off the bench and steps up a little closer to Trace's creation. But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and it would appear that Ky has plum run out of film. She frowns down at her camera and then sighs. Perfect timing. /He's/ here and she's out?? Dang! She shifts her weight and blinks her gaze toward the cement where Trace chalks and a tiny smile appears on her lips. He is busy, though. Very popular boy.

Glass laughs and sings a little, "Blossom's bloomin', head's all empty and I don't care?" He shakes his head, "I haven't been down by the river today, but I bet my baby isn't there." He hands his cigarette to Batiste when he notices the boy reaching, "Okay, I can get like a gallon of juice or something? What kind you want?"

Glass looks at Kiley, his attention appearantly attracted by her camera falling silent when she runs out of film.

Alisynde chuckles. "Exactly." She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear at Jean. "Don't tell me you haven't heard my latest Grateful Dead listening sessions? Or have you two been out again?"

Jean-Batiste steals Glass's cigarette away while he's looking at Kiley, takes a shallow drag off of it, then offers it back to him. He glances back at Kiley for a second, grins to himself, then looks at Ali. "Huh? Oh, no. I haven't heard it at all...you ought to get out more, hang with the natives. You know. Breath in..." He takes a dramatically deep breath. "...some local ambiance." He giggles softly.

Glass takes the cigarette back from Batiste, absently. He calls to Kiley, his voice still soft but the direction of his gaze making it clear who he's speaking to, "What you shooting?" He says it gently, watching her with mild curiousity.

Alisynde arches eyebrows at Jean. "Honey. I /am/ some of the local ambiance. And you are a very silly man."

"Grape!" Trace pipes with enthusiasm. "And lotsa jam." Whether or not he wants croissants with that is still up in the air. Surely he'd be pleased as anything just to be allowed to dig his hands in and eat plain jam for breakfast. A grinning glance to Batiste. But surely the MommyBat would not allow such a breakfast. He blinks over at Glass when he speaks, then shyly follows his gaze and manages to keep it there a few moments and smile before looking back to his princess sketch and informing her highness, "She's been gettin' pictures' a us. Dunno why..."

Jean-Batiste gives Ali a cheeky grin and settles back down into a crouch beside Trace, waiting for him to pause in his drawing to affectionately jostle his shoulder. "Well, okay. Breathe in some of the local tourists, then. They're so cool, you know?" He looks to Kiley again, then leans in to whisper to Trace, grinning the whole time.

You sense Jean-Batiste sounds somewhere between amused and pleased when he whispers to you. "She's been watching you again, huh? So what do you think of her?" He draws back after bumping your shoulder, grinning crookedly.

Trace's eyes widen a little at Batiste's words, and he flushes and looks down, mumbling around a grin words only audible to Batiste and her two-dimentional highness.

Kiley smiles at Glass and looks down again at her camera. No Kiley, glaring at it won't make more film appear. Deal. And then Glass speaks and the girl peers toward him again, eyes slipping to Trace in the process--uncontrollable, really. Maybe even instinctive. "He's amazing," Ky says, sure of herself. And she motions toward the boy with the chalk. "His face, his expressions." How rude, Laura Kiley! To Trace, softer, "Your face, your expressions." Big exhale, deflating some. Far too excited over imagery. Sensory blast. "I hope you don't mind, I've no ill intent." With the utmost respect she regards Glass.

Alisynde nods, and turns to one of the said tourists, who happens to be watching. She smiles prettily to him, then inhales. At the same time, she reaches behind his ear and pulls out a cigarette. She nods her thanks, and lights it off the lighter that's appeared out of somewhere.

You whisper "What do I think of her? I think of her like, y'know, another species... Two different worlds." to Jean-Batiste.

Glass grins at Trace, "Grape juice or grape jam? Hey, you know what I want. Nutella. It's killer on a croissant." His gaze is quickly back on Kiley again and he smiles at her, "I don't mind if you photograph me. I'm just standing around. I meant what film are you shooting? I carry some with me." He drifts over to her, and extends a hand, "My name is Douglas Stevens, M'moiselle." He gestures back at his friends, "This one is M'sieur Jean-Batiste, and she is Droog Alisynde," he smiles a little, "M'sieur Trace, he seems to be busy. But yes, we like his face."

Alisynde calls over to Bat, "Hey, Jean. You're right. It's pretty cool." Shecloses her hand over her lighter. When she opens it, it's gone, and she is free to wave to Kiley. "Hallo...ooh! Glass, if you get me a croissant with Nutella, I'll worship you even more than I do now."

Nutella. Batiste looks up at Glass like he's the Messiah. "Oh, nutella on croissants..." He almost slobbers, his mouth starts watering so suddenly. What a hazelnut slut. "Please, for me, too? I'd love that." He nods a quick greeting to Kiley, then leans back in to whisper to Trace, finishing his words with another affectionate shoulder-bumping.

You sense Jean-Batiste considers that, glancing sidelong to Kiley. "Yeah, you're right," he admits. "But...you know? I think she likes you." He grins at you, then leans into your shoulder, before drawing back and giving you some drawing space.

Busy? Well, not when girls say things like that about him. For such a pale boy, Trace can really get a nice pink blush going when properly inspired. He swallows and looks at Ky, and with a little grin mumbles, "I... Everybody hush 'bout my face." But he does have expressions like neon signs that flash out every flux of emotion for the world to see. He looks again at Batiste, wary for more words that might make him blush. Well, fears realized. He doesn't even bother with a response, but bumps his shoulder back. Embarrassment! He lifts hazel eyes to Kiley and wonders, "Z'is like a school project 'r somethin'?"

Glass laughs at all the nutella-fiends and gestures dismissively, "Of course. Sweet chocolately paste for all." He smiles when Trace looks up to speak to Kiley, and he looks at her, "We can talk about film a little later, M'moiselle. I must attend to this errand before they pounce." He eyes Trace, Batiste, and Alisynde with mock wariness and starts to slip off out of the square, heading riverside.

Kiley smiles as Glass approaches and extends her hand, offering him a greeting. "It's nice to meet you." And she got Trace's name. She did. Ha! "Hi," to Ali, "Hi," to Jean-Batiste and to Trace, just this adoring little expression. Snap Out Of It, Girl. Her brows pull up and she beams, and then gets herself together, kind of. "Oh, I'm Kiley, and I could use 100 or 200 speed today, if you have it?" She says, eyes up on Glass. But it doesn't take long before she's looking back to Trace, her own pale skin flushed with rosy-pink. "No, Trace," said his name, ha! "I just like to make things stop forever." She smiles, then looks down. How stupid did that sound!?

Alisynde paws the ground for Glass's benefit, then turns her gaze onto Kiley. Hm. Adoring expression. In-ter-esting. She smiles a little, and walks over to Jean. She nudges him and murmurs something. Alisynde mutters to Jean-Batiste, "How long... she... over Trace,..."

Jean-Batiste looks up at Glass as he starts to move off, and laughs, calling after him, "Grr! Grr! And hurry up!" He waves to his retreating friend, then straightens up from his crouch to lean in and hear Ali's murmur, grinning knowingly. He bets he knows what this will be about already, see?

Glass pauses and looks back to Kiley. He starts walking backwards away from her, reaching into his pocket. He comes out with a black plastic film canister, grey-lidded, and tosses it through the air towards Kiley, "See what's in there," he calls, "And you better give me one back if you decide to use it!" He grins, disarming the quasi-threat.

Kiley nods at Glass and smiles. "Okay." What a nice person. Of course, now she's standing there looking totally stupid again. Joy. Oh wait, he's throwing something at her. She giggles and steps foward, attempting to catch with one hand. Fails. But bends down to pick--it rolls. Steps toward the little black cylinder and bends down again. Comedy for free! "I will, I promise!" she says, after finally capturing the object.

Alisynde gives Jean a teary-eyed, proud sort of look, for some odd reason.

Well, Kiley's words didn't sound too stupid to Trace. Far brighter than all this nonsense Batiste is nudging him about, and a glance back at him and Ali confirms that the nonsense is probably continuing without relent back there. Hmf. He lifts his gaze to settle on Kiley again, biting his lip to keep from laughing as she chases the elusive roll of film. Once she's got it, he says quietly, "Making things stop forever. S'kinda like what I do with sketchbook drawin'... Catch up memories, y'know? Tuck 'em away fer later..."

Glass disappears in the crowd and leaves the square.

Oh, yes. The nonsense continues between Ali and Batiste, most definately. He leans into Ali a little, sharing a shoulder-bump with her as well, and just shakes his head fondly at his blue-haired friend. Le sigh. "So how you been, other than listening to the Grateful Dead, anyways?" he asks Ali.

Alisynde returns the fond shoulder-bump, then leans her head on Jean's shoulder for a moment. But, at his question, she straightens up, and lifts a shoulder in a sort of shrug. "I've been hiding, mostly. Haven't felt real social lately. Just wanted to be alone."

Kiley immediately removes the lid, but before she can look inside, Trace speaks. She's distraced, badly. Like, what film? Her head moves to and fro, a nod to agree with Trace and after a breath to fortify she steps closer to the little group. "Oh yes, my mother always told me that when you get older, you forget certain things that were important. Certain beauty that you held dear. Brilliance lost, forever, never again touched upon. As if after time, your mind loses concepts, becoming, once again, a blank canvas, but with our stills, with our art, we can keep things alive. And always remember." She smiles again, a tiny sparkle as she shares, and stops before the boy, looking down. A clear view of his drawing.

Jean-Batiste's eyebrows raise a little, as he watches the conversation start up between Kiley and Trace, the fond grin just getting wider. He mutters to Alisynde, "Wow. And... a poet , too." He glances down, rubbing at the corner of his mouth, then looks up at Ali again and wonders, "Is everything okay? Something bothering you?"

Alisynde shrugs again, and murmurs something to Jean.

Alisynde mutters to Jean-Batiste, "I'm... It's just...I've... That... not... I haven't been going... lately either.... when... have, I've... guys... times,... and I... want... you.... okay. Always... takes..."

Trace holds his breath as she speaks, just able to nod slightly, brows lifting slightly in his surprise. He finally smiles, and glances over his shoulder briefly, back to Ali and Batiste before he looks over to the new girl and chuckles, "Careful, they're gonna start callin' *you* a poet too..." He grins and ducks his head. Back to the picture. Oh, she's looking at it too. But it isn't finished yet, he'd meant for color, more detail here and there... "It's, um. It's nothing... This ain't no memory, s'jest a sidewalk drawin'. We call it sandcastle art, coz the tourist-tide gonna tromp in and wipe it clear away soon 'nuff."

Alisynde chuckles. "And what, exactly, is wrong with being called a poet? I'd love it, myself. If I was one. But I'm not."

Jean-Batiste glances down, chuckling at the sidewalk as Trace makes his poet comment. He rubs at his chest - or more accurately, something hidden under his shirt that rests against his chest - then comments, "You -are- a poet. You just won't admit it." He grins serenely at Trace, as if this is some long-standing argument he's utterly sure he'll win in the end.

Glass comes drifting back into the square, carrying a brown paper bag. There's a white box of the sort that might contain a cake sticking out of the top of it.

Alisynde spots a bag, a box, a Glass, and..."Nutella!!!"

Kiley blinks and looks down at the film, finally. The smile would more than likely indicate that it is, indeed something she can use. So, since she's here, she sits her butt down on the ground, crosses her legs and goes about taking out the old and putting in the new. "It reminds me of this little TV that my parents got me for Christmas one year. You put the disc in and it tells you a story. Well, there was a princess, and she had to go in this cave. The cave had pomegranates all over it." Her nose wrinkles as she continues, advancing the film. "There was a prince and he had all these gold chains or something, well, I'm not sure what they were but I remember gold." She starts to speak again, but stops as Ali calls out. See, there's a memory there. Always something to someone. She smiles at Glass.

Glass grins and hurries over to the the group, "Hey, guys," He sets the bag down beside Trace's painting, and sits down on the pavement there. "Good stuff," he says, shaking the box as he takes it from the bag and sets it on the pavement. He then pulls a jug of Welch's grape juice from the bag, followed by a short stack of paper cups like those used for take-out coffee. There are a couple of plastic knives in them. Beside that he sets a jar of chocolate-hazelnut spread, and a jar of raspberry jam. He looks up to Kiley, "I've never seen a thing like that, how did it work?" He doesn't pause much before adding, "Have a croissant. I also got some of these cold canned cafe-au-lait things." He plucks one out of the bag and holds it aloft to demonstrate before opening it.

Alisynde bounds over to the feast, eyes alight with delight. Nutella and COFFEE! She pauses, to bow low before Glass, and raises her arms up and down a few times in something obviously meant to be worship. Then she crouches down, scoops up a can of cafe-au-lait and a scroissant, and balances it while attacking the jar of Nutella. Soon, her croissant is slathered in yummy hazelnut-chocolate spread and she's chewing on it with a look of sheer bliss on her face.

Trace isn't going to argue the poet issue. He's tried to deny it many, many times, but he's got some terribly stubborn friends. But they make up for the flaw ten times over, so generous with the stuff that matters in life, like shoulder-jostles, magic ten-dollar bills, and of course, raspberry jam. He scrubs his fingers hard on his jeans, leaving black streaks atop older, more faded stains and smudges. Since they're all so absorbed in this nutella stuff, whatever it is, he hopes nobody notices or minds much when reaches out to sneakily adopt the dark red-purple jar. Less interested in the actual mechanics of the expensive-sounding toy Kiley speaks of, he asks instead, "What happened to the princess? Did she escape the pomegranate cave?"

Sweet, utter, complete bliss. Batiste fixes Glass with a beatific, worshipful smile and murmurs simply, "Wow." He hurries around to perch cross-legged near all the goodies, though not before giving Glass a grinning kiss to the crown of his head. After impatiently waiting his turn at Nutella goodness, he too slathers a croissant with the stuff and takes a tonguegasmic bite. As he chews, he fills up a paper cup with grape juice. Bliss.

Alisynde mumbles, very very softly, "Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds and had to spend six months of the year in Hades's domain. Which is why we have winter. Except in N'awlins, where it just rains even more. Boy, am I /so/ glad it's stopped."

Glass watches Alisynde's attack with some amazement. He laughs and sips the canned coffee drink, grinning at Batiste's kiss and claiming the nutella jar when he is finished with it. Using one of the plastic knives he halves a croissant from the white box, which holds a generous supply of them instead of the cake for which it was probably intended. He slathers the inside of the roll with chocolate-hazelnut goo and hands it, still open, to Trace, "Put jam on the top half. It's so good. You'll die." He grins and sets about making another crossaint sandwich.

So, Glass doesn't get off scott free here. Kiley begins with the *click click* again as soon as Glass sits down and begins to set things up. She stands up and backs away from the group, still burning the images of 'street picnic' for forever. *click click* She can talk and shoot at the same time. "It was a toy, I don't remember what it was called. It was kind of like the little TV's that you wind up and they show a scene, like Humpty Dumpty, but this one you could slip little plastic discs in the back and it would tell you a story, with pictures." Trace speaks and she turns her lens on him. Ooooh, pretty. *click click* Get used to it. "He helped her out of the cave, but that wasn't the end of it. Her dress was stained with red, on the bottom from the pomegranates that had fallen and split open, so he thought she was hurt. He carried her to the river, despite her saying she was ok." She lowers the camera and walks back, sitting beside Trace again, cross-legged. "So while he was getting her water, she realized that he was the man of her dreams. She knew that it was fate that she got lost in the caves and soon after the rescue the two were married and the cities united from the eternal bond the two of them shared." She smiles. "It was worth remembering." She looks back at the chalk-drawing, then to Trace. "Thanks."

Alisynde finishes the last bite of her croissant, and licks Nutella and flaky pastry crumbs off her fingers, looking entirely too happy for a brief, shining moment. Then she looks over at the box, longingly. She clenches her hands into fists, then uncurls the fingers and pushes down. No. We will not give in to our urges. We will, instead, have cold cafe-au-lait. She takes a drink, and comments, "It's better properly iced and not tasting like metal. But s'not bad."

Glass nods to Alisynde, "It's sweeter. I kinda like it." He offers the second croissant and nutella sandwich, sans jam, to Kiley, smiling, "Stop a little bit and have some breakfast, M'moiselle. Don't worry, you don't put me out any. I never pay for food." He watches her camera antics with mild interest.

"Y'welcome..." Trace murmurs bashfully. But suddenly chocolate's being thrust into his hands, and he's not one to refuse such things. He takes it and tears a bite away from the pastry with his teeth before grinning with appreciation and acknowledging, "Was real great of you t'get all this stuff fer us..." He starts to reach for the piece of charcoal now that his croissant was effectively gobbled up and is about to draw but blinks and murmurs, "Oh... " A glance around. "Does anyone know the time..?"

Alisynde says helpfully, "Day-ish."

Glass shakes his head to Trace and smiles a little, still holding the croissant out to Kiley. "It was no trouble, man. You're welcome."

Kiley grins at Trace and looks at Glass. Ooh, another offering. She reaches for the croissant and nutella sandwich and says, "Thank you, again." Smiles brightly at Glass and looks at Trace.

"S'about...three-thirty?" Batiste ventures, words mumbled a bit as he finishes off the last of his own splendiferous croissant. He licks the corners of his mouth, sighing in deep contentment, then nods. "Yeah, about then, because when I left Walker's place it was three." He drains the entire glass of grape juice, then refills it and starts sipping.

Glass makes a nutella-croissant for himself and takes a bite of it, chewing slowly and with obvious pleasure. He sips some of the canned coffee before asking Trace, "You gotta be someplace?"

Kiley takes a little bite of the croissant and licks her lips, then chews. Her attention is mainly on Trace because, well, he might be going away now.

Trace sits up straight with not-quite alarm, but a good amount of concern before he grabs his tin can and empties the money back into his palm, and is about to shove it into his pocket -- but the ten dollar-bill catches his eye, and he blinks down at his palm a minute. Whoa... Did someone slip a very nice tip in while he was gone...? He grins broadly and holds it up briefly for his friends to see. Then it gets shoved into his pocket with the rest as he glances at Glass and murmurs, "Yeah... yeah, I told Keats I'd meet him at a quarter ta four, help 'im out with some people comin' by... knock off thirty fer it, he said. I gotta..." He drops his eyes and starts scooping chalk out of the little colorful pile and back into his tin cup. Then he glances between them, and finally lets his gaze linger on the photographer girl and murmurs, "I... it was nice ta meet ya, Kiley."

Alisynde lets a smile play around her features as the ten is finally noticed. And she's not going to say word one about it. Then she blinks. "Jean, did you say 3:30? Ack.." She scrambles to her feet. "I completely forgot what time it was."

Ack. Everyone's leaving. No, wait. That means all the more Nutella for him! Batiste isn't -quite- that selfish, though, really. He looks up at Ali, blinking a couple of times, then murmurs, "We'll see you soon, though, right? Don't be a stranger. We miss you when you're not around." He smiles up at her fondly, then turns his smile on Trace. "You'll be careful, right? Be back before too late?" Worry, worry, worry.

Glass gestures at the white box and says, "Take one for the road," to Trace. "Yeah? Sounds like an okay deal. Good luck, eh? I'll see you later." He smiles then blinks to Alisynde, "You too.?" It's hard to tell if this is a question or a statement, either he's telling her to take another roll, or he's asking if she's got to leave.

Kiley blinks a few times. He /is/ leaving. She watches as Trace gathers up his things and when the boy looks at her and speaks, she smiles, though her sadness is clear. "It was really nice to meet you too, Trace." Unfortunately, Trace has the entirety of the girl and she doesn't look away from him, even when Ali says she has to go. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime?"

Alisynde smiles warmly at Jean, and murmurs, "Thanks." To Glass she says, "Doctor's appt. Happy happy." Apparently, she's assuming that he's asking if she's got to leave. Which she does. "See y'later, guys. Bye, shutterbuglady." And she trots off, with a big wave.

"Yeah," Trace assures her. "Definitely see ya. Y'know, I draw out here plenty... " Well, that isn't precisely right. The places he draws are pretty random, actually, but now that he's said this, he decides Jackson Square isn't a bad place to start drawing at very frequently. Not at all... He grins once more, and then turns to Batiste, walking over and clasping his hand. "Promise I'll be careful. Easy money, y'know? An' I'm safe at Keats. Been goin' t'him ages, now... Won't nothin' bad happen." He squeezes tight once and releases. A wave to the retreating Ali, and he grins at Glass and stoops to take his second croissant before heading off down the Square.

Glass smiles at Trace, "See you." He bites into his croissant again and chews pensively as he watches the boy go.

Kiley nods as Trace speaks to her and then watches him. Until he is out of sight and even after that. Her croissant is forgotten for now. It's that in-the-gut thing, when you have a growing crush and you can't even think about eating, cause what if he doesn't like you OR what if he has a girlfriend already! Or or or. Bleh. From two different worlds, really. So he's gone and she looks back to the drawing. In that, he remains. "I think he's a great artist."

"Okay..." Batiste murmurs, squeezing Trace's hand tight before it's released. "I'll see you later tonight, okay? Be careful." You know he has to say it at least -once- more. He settles back cross-legged, watching Trace until he vanishes from sight.

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