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Log Title: Meet Elizabeth

Log setting: On the streets of New Orleans, afternoon

Log Cast:
Trace
Elizabeth

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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, greenish-brown in color with 'Demon Boy' printed across the front in small black letters. The short sleeves leave his arms bare, revealing ugly, bruise-black track marks on his inner forearms. All in all, he looks fragile, dangerously skinny, and ultimately lost.

Elizabeth shuffles along, not really noticing others on the street.

Trace is hunched on the sidewalk, deep into the muse rush of etching out a drawing on the sidewalk. A little pile of chalk rests beside him, as well as a plastic go-cup from the Raven with the decorative-yet-still-legible word "Donations" scrawled on the concrete along the base of the cup.

Elizabeth settles in near Tace, watching the lad work on his drawing. She puts down her guitar case, looks up for a moment at the sky and sniffs.
Elizabeth, satisfied for now that no rain will fall on her while she plays, takes out her guitar and leaves her guitar case open at her feet. She strums and starts singing close enough to Trace to continue her observation of his progress.

Today's sketch is a wind-maiden racing along the breeze, laughing her hair bubbling out behind her and trailing off into wispy clouds. She is done in pale blues and whites, all sinewy lines and gentle curves, one arm languidly outstretched before her, directing the path of her flight. Her face is a mask of smooth rapture, for while she's clearly enjoying herself, she's a cool wind and doesn't wish to show her joy so openly.

Trace looks up at you only once you're right beside him, pulled out of the depth of his drawing. He smiles, hazel gaze flickering down the guitar.
Trace takes the donations cup and empties it of the few scraggly bills inside and about half of the change, then sets it back down and murmurs in a soft voice that rasps just a little from having been quiet for a long time, "From now on all that comes inta' the cup, we share."

Elizabeth sings softly so as not to disturb the fragile youngster. She takes an immediate liking to him and, although continuing to play to the passersby, directs her vocal softness directly toward the lad. Between verses, she mouths "Thank you," to Trace.

Trace smiles, glad that this will be the equal sharing of talents, on the same ground and all that, rather than charity work on Elizabeth's part. Though... not like she couldn't use a meal or two as well, he considers on second thought, giving her one last friendly glance over before returning to his work. The wind-maiden gets a few more wild tendrils added to her blue-silver mane. She is nude, but wind-maidens are not sexual creatures, not meant to be looked upon by the common lusty eye, so the breasts are just hinted at, nipple-less, and the curve of one leg hides any other possible unsightly displays. He does seem to enjoy the curls and ripples of that hair, though; she's got an awful lot of it by now.

Elizabeth strums her guitar, her mind racing ahead to a verse of her own making. In it she rhymes wind with sinned and maiden with Satan. Although a little contrived, it floats effortlessly off her lips into the cloudy day like part of the weather. She strums to a finale and sits down beside Trace with the guitar across her lap.

Trace hmms... He grins a little, and peeks back at her; so the maiden's outracing satan? Well, okay. Too bad he's not quite sure how to draw some nice brimstone beneath her. He drops the chalk as the song comes to it's end and peeks over at her when she settles down beside him. "What's yer name? M'Trace."

Elizabeth hooks her ratty hair behind one ear to see Trace a little better. "Ellie. But you can call me whatever you want."

"Well, Ellie works fer me," Trace shrugs a little, and arches his back to get cramps out from being hunched over too long.

Elizabeth points down at the chalk drawing. "I'd like to be her. She looks beautiful."

Trace lets his gaze drift back to the drawing. "Yeah. Yeah, me too," he agrees somewhat dreamily, with a faint grin. Then he looks up with a tiny flush and clarifies, "Not, uh, that I wanted to be a girl, I'd be like a boy wind-spirit. But I'd have long hair like that, and I'd be completely free, free to do anything..."

Elizabeth nods, still raptly looking at the picture. "Yeah. I feel free most of the time. Then someone slams me back in my place and I feel trapped all over again, you know? What do you wanna do?"

"What do I want to do..?" Trace wonders, looking down at the silvery maiden, then up at you curiously. "You mean, like right now, or do you mean like goals and stuff for the future...?"

Elizabeth giggles. "I meant... never mind. Answer both ways."

Trace chuckles softly, and it seems he needs a moment to think about it. He wipes his hands on his tattered jeans and leaves light blue streaks, and then regards them as he murmurs, "Well. For like the future, I'm gonna... I mean, my two friends and I, we're gonna get this apartment, right? I mean, it's all dinky, just two rooms, but it'll be better'n out here... It's in that building there." He jerks a thumb towards Lafitte's, the gay club, or more specifically the narrow alley near it. "In there's a door that leads to some apartments. It'll be nice. And um. I'm sick right now, but my friends is gonna help me get better soon, so that's something. And, uh... okay, the other question. Um. I dunno that one!"

Trace giggles a little. "Weird how it's easier fer me t'plan out what I want tomorrow 'n never today. The future's jest easier than the Now, I guess.."

Elizabeth nods. "I'm sometimes like that too. I got lots of plans for the future. But you sick like you need a score... or you sick like the AIDS or something?"

Trace studies her and then shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the maiden. "I don't got no AIDS. Shit. If I did, ya think any amount'a friends could fix that?"

Elizabeth is not fazed by his observation. "Yeah I do. The power of friendship it the most powerful thing in the world. But I study drugs, and poisons... and I know about herbs that can do things that doctors... well they don't know shit sometimes. You know?"

Trace looks at her puzzledly. "So... so yer sayin' you know herbs an' stuff what'd cure AIDS?" He smiles somewhat incredulously, though does allow, "But you're right about doctors not knowin' nothin' sometimes."

Elizabeth shakes her head with a smile. "I don't know about nothing to cure AIDS. All I know is that there are herbs that do amazing things... I gotta learn a whole lot more about them." She sniffs and rubs her nose. "You still on drugs?" She points to the bruises on his arms. Then proudly she adds, "I've been clean for three months."

Trace curls his marked-up arms around his slender chest in a somewhat defensive self-hug. "Well... I... yeah." He looks down, then up at you through a parted curtain of frazzled blue braids. "Yeah. But I mean... m'comin' off soon. When we finish this mural for this friend of mine." He tips his head to one side. "Three months. S'pretty good. What was yer hang-up?"

Elizabeth shrugs. "I been on and off lots of shit. Mostly crack though. Bad scene." She frowns at Trace. "Yours is horse huh?"

"Junk, yeah," Trace admits, pointing her towards the prefered term of the French Quarter heroin junkie, at least among the crowd he runs with. "I done lotsa stuff, but I never done crack." He lifts his shoulders faintly. "Dunno. Not my thing, I guess. But really... Yer doin' really good. I ain't seen three months clean since I been doin' it." His tone is quiet, maybe a blend of shame and being honestly impressed, and it keeps his tone hushed and humble.

Elizabeth touches Trace's arm. "I ain't all that proud. I've gone five months before and then got right back into it."

Oooh. Trace rather wishes he hadn't heard that. So hard to grasp at these elusive hopes and hang onto one once you've caught it. "What... what was it? I mean, did somethin' happen, t'make you?" He so badly wants to believe that once the sick part is over, it'll be smooth sailing. He's a boy who walks the streets without armor, with open, eternally honest eyes that relay his emotions like neon signs.

Elizabeth chuckles at the kid's enthusiasm. "You're gonna do fine. I was... too... I just followed a bunch of people around and did whatever they did. I don't totally regret all of it. But being clean sure makes me feel better in general."

"Yeah? Like how?" Trace demands hopefully. "Coz it's like... this is for a friend, more'n me. My friend Jason, it just... he tole' me he don't wanna see me trapped. An' I jest, I couldn't stand how he looked at me sometimes. All... disappointed or something." He curls his arms up tight again. watching some point across the street. "He's jest important t'me. An' I want 'im t'be proud of me an' respect me as much's I do him."

Elizabeth puts her hand down on the sidewalk just behind Trace. It's akin to a hug, but she is not actually touching him. "Everything is clearer. If you wanna get soemething done... it gets done faster and better when you're off the shit. And you have a... sense of accomplishment I guess. You know? You're gonna do fine." She looks into his eyes. "Really. I mean it."

Trace leans forward just a little as Elizabeth comes so close, shifting away from her slightly and betraying a small amount of discomfort at close contact. But he doesn't lose his friendly nature or shy from her direct gaze as he murmurs, "Thank you. I.." He bows his head now. "You give me hope."

Elizabeth smiles at Trace. "You afraid of me?" She breaks out into a chuckle, a high-spritied laugh that is rather infectious. "That is a real switch. Mostly guys intimidate /me/... or just beat the shit out of me. You want a blowjob or something? Would that make you feel better?" She giggles.

Trace blinkblinks. "Er. I. No!" Once the surprise has faded from the boy, he just looks at you, head cocked to one side slightly. A faraway sorrow plays across his face for a moment, but smooths away for the most part as he says, "I... no. I'm not afraid of you, I jest don't know you. I... It's not... I'm not used to people... close." It's the best he can explain it. "Dunno." He assures you, "I couldn't hurt nobody. Or intimidate. I'm a lil' runt." A tiny giggle.

Elizabeth sighs. "You'd be real surprised who can hurt who. I just roll with it. You know?"

Trace shakes his head a little. "Maybe s'why I can't be close til' I know someone. Then you don't get hurt. See? Things like that, they take time." He's still a little weirded out by the whole blowjob comment, maybe, because he fidgets a little. "Why'd people wanna beat you up? You don't look like someone who'd get that, you seem nice."

Elizabeth frowns at Trace. "You're so sweet. But that's a load of shit. Guys beat on you for kissing them the wrong way. Or looking at them funny. Guys are crazy. You're probably too young to be like that yet. But wait 'til the frustrations of life get to you. Maybe you'll take it out on the first dumb bitch you see too."

Trace's lips purse at that, his brow creasing. "An' maybe you gotten yerself into too many bad situations ta with bad guys t'say somethin' terrible like that." He looks down, traces a gentle finger along one of the spirit maiden's curves. "I wouldn't never hurt a girl'a mine. That's jest... an awful thing to assume. Jest you wait, I'll find a girl an' she'll be my whole world an' I'd never, ever wrong her..."

Elizabeth smiles at Trace with a tear escaping from the inside corner of her eye. She wipes it away and says harshly: "Yeah. Whatever."

Trace shakes his head, not looking up. Solemn. "You don't even know me. You have no right."

Elizabeth stands up. Why can't she talk to a man... even a young bright-eyed innocent? She yanks her guitar case up in frustration and mutters down to Trace. "I gotta go. I didn't mean to be a downer. You'll be cool. I just... it's just my problem. Sorry." She turns to walk away towards downtown.

Trace bites his lip, now choosing to look up at her retreating figure. Then he turns his attention down to the donation cup. Just change, silver and bronze lining the bottom of the cup. Nothing worth chasing her and demanding she take her share. "Thanks fer yer song..." he calls after her quietly.

Elizabeth, her voice cracking with emotion, calls back. "I'll be around. Listen to me sing... you'll... get a better idea of what I mean. And it really ain'y you, Trace. You're a good guy." The last part of her sentence is choked off with distance and a sob.

Elizabeth heads downtown.
Elizabeth has left.

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