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Log Title: Money in Vein
Setting: The playground, nighttime.
Log Cast:
Trace
Alisynde
Jean-Batiste
Jason
Glass
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Alisynde sits on a swing, wrapping her hands around the chains. She runs the swing back as far as she can, then pushes her feet off, setting the swing in motion.
Alisynde is in the middle of an upswing, and doesn't dare look over to see if she actually /heard/ that noise or not, although her head does automatically turn to the side ever-so-slightly.
A figure emerges from that brush, but he's tiny, unintimidating. A child. A moment is spent huddled, then slow clumsy moments brushing away leaves and twigs from his clothes and hair. The shadow slowly pushes himself upright. Crunch, crunch.. Stumbled steps on fallen leaves herald the little boy Blue's entrance. He nearly falls once, unsteady on his feet, but ambles over towards you. "Z'at you, Ali?" Looks like her. But best to check these things out. After all, you could be, uhh, an axe murderer who looks a whole lot like Ali. Or something.
Alisynde startles, and nearly falls out of the swing. Her heels dig into the ground, abruptly stopping her forward motion...and she looks over, one hand clasped to her chest. "Jesus fucking Buddah on a pogo stick..." She peers a bit closer at the twig-boy. Recognition dawns. "Trace?"
"Wull... wull yeah, I mean.." the blue-haired boy mumbles confusedly. Didn't occur to him that Ali might mistake him for an axe murderer who looks a whole lot like Trace. "Yeah, s'jest me." Kind of takes him awhile to get that out. He stumble-trudges over to the swing and takes his good old time trying to carefully get himself into it without missing the plasic seat and falling on his ass. "Sorry a'scar't ya.." he slurs softly. "Dinn' mean'ta." He leans his cheek to the thick chain, fingers curling around the cool metal, and sighs. Not a content sigh, but neither is it heart-heavy. Just letting out breath.
Alisynde pushes her glasses down in an attempt to get a better look at Trace. "I didn't realize anyone was here...did you want me to vamoose, let you be by yourself?" A concerned look is shot his way before she manages to quelch it. It's not often she runs into mumbledy-Trace by himself. And she worries about him when he's mumbledy. Although, maybe he was just asleep.
"No..." Trace looks up at you, and there's something needy and wounded beneath the serenity blanket, stifled and smoothed, but peeking out through glassy eyes. "No, stay?" he asks softly. Little emotion in his voice, but he says, "Been lonely." He looks away, out towards the dark, thick-trunked trees that encircle the playground. "N'less y'came here t'be 'lone. Know I usually do. Then I'll get my'self back home, y'know?" He cants his head slightly towards the bushes he recently crawled out of. Home, at the moment.
Alisynde smiles at him. "I'll stay...I just came to swing, actually. These are my favorite swings. I really like this place." A blink, then two, as something sinks in. She looks over at the bushes. "You've been staying here? But.."
Trace rubs face, digging at the eye-sockets mostly, palms flat to his cheeks. "Yeah..." he says muffledly, and then drops his hands, blinking away the pressure from the rubbing. "Yeah, but iss a temp'ry thing, y'know? I jest... m'layin' low. Fer awhile. S'no big thing." Sure it isn't. He looks over at you and smiles vaguely, wondering, "Hey Ali... Wanna see somethin'? I got pierced t'day."
Alisynde nods. "I'd love to see it. Oh..and Trace? If y'decide you want t'lay low in a place, you're always welcome to crash at mine. Won't tell anyone you don't want me to..It's not like I'm getting a lot of visitors or anything..." She breaks off at the thought. "Unless that'd upset you.."
"Naw..." Trace shakes his head and looks down. "Grace offered t'let me crash at her place too. But I jest..." He sighs softly, reaching up to dig fingers into frizzy blue and scritch at his scalp. "Guess I the truth is... I want 'em t'be able t'find me, if they really wanna. They all know here's where I come when I don't wanna crash at home, or if I wanna go someplace t'think, or brood, or... whatever reason I might have fer wantin' t'be alone." Kind of embarrassing. Isn't the point of taking off not getting found? Apparantly not. "But thanks. I do pershiate th'offer." He turns in his swing slightly, chains crossing above him, and tugs his shirt down at the neck, stretching it, so some of his upper chest is shown. Against his collar bone two barbells pierce the skin, silver and capped with two little balls. The skin around the holes is red and aggravated, having been pierced just today, and slick too, as though he's rubbed some kind of lotion or antiseptic on the area. "Cool, huh?" He leans forward for you to see.
Alisynde looks impressed. "That'll look really amazing once it heals...although I imagine it was pretty painful." One hand drifts to her own collarbone, absently rubbing it. "Don't think I could do that, myself." She doesn't make a comment about Trace's wanting to stay where he could be found. It does make sense, in a way. They know where he is, and don't have to worry, and Trace can be by himself to think. She /does/ say, "Lemme know if there's anything I can do, while you're here, though. Lunch, whatever."
The bluecap grins the fullest he's shown yet, nothing compared to his usual sunny happy-Trace expression, but clearly pleased his unique new piercings were given the official Ali stamp of approval. "Y'really like'em?" he asks needlessly, craning his neck down in an attempt to see them for himself, but like the last hundred or two times he tried, he still can't see them except for the faintest glimmer of silver out of the very corner of his vision. "The girl who did it f'me, Nadine, she almost didn't wanna... I talked her inta it though." He lets his shirt slip back into place and curls his hands around the chain once more.
Alisynde reaches in a pocket and pulls out a small box. Opening it, she removes some padding, and pulls out a small mirror. "Wanna see if we can angle this so you can look? Might not work, but I'm willing to try.." An abrupt grin. "And, yes, Trace. I really like 'em. Did I tell you I was thinking of getting a tattoo...? Except..I don't know what I want. Maybe I should pierce something instead." She hms. "Maybe not. I dunno." Another grin, but this one's not quite as big. "I've been feeling restless lately. Like I want to do something, change something, but I don't know what."
"Know what y'oughta do, if s'a tattoo y'want?" Trace murmurs as he carefully takes the mirror and tugs at the neck of the shirt again. Ooh, there it is! He almost gives another full grin. Pretttty. Hee, there's the other one! He smiles over at you, then it flickers. Hrm, wait. Weren't we talking about something? Ah, yes. "F'ya gettin' a tattoo, oughta go to this place Grace went. She got a tattoo like on her neck, right? And it turned out *so* awesome. It was great... He'd do ya good ink, if ya went there too, prolly. I kin' find out the name'a the place from Grace if y'like."
Alisynde nods. "'D 'preciate that. Like I said, I'm not sure if I /will/. But I might."
Trace spends another full minute or two admiring his latest mutilation, and then gives you a somewhat sheepish half-smile and passes the mirror on back to you. "Thanks f'lettin' me use that," he says politely.
Alisynde carefully repacks the mirror. "Anytime, hon." She holds up the box. "Need a mirror with some of my tricks, but I'm really afraid of tripping on my face and breaking it. Shards of glass in my skin aren't my idea of fun.." She grins.
"Oh, no?" Trace gives a subdued chuckle and leans waaay back in the swing, skinny marked arms straightening out but clinging to the chain with a tight-fisted grip. "Was gunna be my next piercin' too. Jest a big shard'a glass stickin' outta me. So hip, y'know?"
Alisynde pushes her feet into the ground, swinging back and forth just a little. "I was thinking a big ol' meat hook for me. Right below the sternum." She grins, obviously joking.
Jean-Batiste and Glass head into the playground, walking slowly, sharing a licorice clove between them. Batiste is looking a little bedraggled and weary, his expression jumbled between too many emotions to settle on one for any length of time except, perhaps, nervousness.
Note to self: Don't try tricky manuevers on the swingset when you're really out of it. Your grip just isn't that trustworthy. So when Trace leans way back like that, legs dangling, and then Ali's comment elicits a giggle out of him, his fingers slip and he falls onto his back into the sand with a hearty thump, his legs all tangled up in the swing he used to be sitting on. It knocks the breath out of him, and he hitches a gasp and blinks up at the cloudy sky startledly. Huh. That was sudden. Trace meet sand. Whoomp. That's his actual thought process, and it gets another sedated chuckle out of him, though he makes no move to get up from his disgraceful position.
Glass walks along, close beside Batiste, with an arm around his shoulders. He seems calm himself, quietly happy to be there with his friend, trying to be a comfort, something stable at Batiste's side in the face of fear and worry.
Alisynde halts again, and looks over. Did Trace..? Yes, he did. But he looks unhurt. So Ali just grins a little and says, "Comfy?"
Jean-Batiste's steps slow as uncertainty and nervousness grows stronger, feet balking at carrying him closer to Ali and Trace. He's watching Trace - staring, really. "He's here," he breathes, barely audible even to Glass. There's enough relief, just in the knowledge of -that-, that he almost convinces himself he can slink away again. Almost. No. Keep going. He swallows, glances up at Glass, then picks up his pace again, heading for the swingset. Ali's grinning, Trace was giggling...at least until he piled out of the swing. Maybe this will be okay. Maybe. "Um," he calls, once he and Glass are closer. "Hey..." (repose)
"Verra comfy," Trace mumbles, slowly reaching up to cup his hands behind his now-sand-caked head. "Fuck th'fort, y'know? Ah'll jest... let sand be m'pillow t'night." Sleepy-slurred words float up, quiet and amused. "Actually, I think there's a rock 'gainst m'back." He squirms a little, but that's the most effort it looks like he's going to make to remedy the problem, and soon even that comes to a halt. Not worth it. He'll befriend the rock. He is one with the rock. Is someone calling? Fuck if Trace knows. Gotta try harder than that to get into the junk bubble, which currently consists of Ali, sand, and the swing. Oh, and of course, the Rock.
Alisynde is not in a junk bubble..and is quite aware that the others have joined. She nods a little in greeting, as Trace seems quite content with the sand. Besides, better to just step back, let the others talk. Ali's good a wallpaper. Or swing-set paint, in this case. To Trace, she says softly, "Sit up, and I'll see if I can find the rock, and get it out of your way." She slides off the swing, and crouches down by where Trace is pillowing.
Jean-Batiste looks at Glass again. Should he? Shouldn't he? "Maybe...we should go..." he murmurs, not at all sure about it. He's okay, after all. Mostly. And Ali's here, and she'd take good care of Trace, too. He steals the clove back from Glass, and drags hard on it, watching the ground between himself and Trace with downcast eyes.
Jason steps in from the park.
Jean-Batiste stands next to Glass, leaning into the older boy a little. They're sharing a licorice clove, while Batiste broods to himself, watching the ground near the swingset sandpit where Trace sprawls and Ali sits.
Trace is on the ground. Having fallen off the swing, he's made no effort yet to right himself, flat on his back, feet caught up in the swing. He tries to tug himself up a little but can't seem to manage it with his feet hooked, and he mmphs and squirms some more before falling back again with an apathetic sigh. "M'stuck." But like he said, it's not so bad, you know? Might be better if it weren't cloudy... Then he could be stuck with a view.
Glass shakes his head to Batiste and slips his arm back from around his friend's shoulder. He gives his younger friend a little push, toward Trace, and murmurs to him, "No. We shouldn't go. Talk to him. It'll be all right." He smiles a little, reassuringly.
Alisynde gets up and goes over to study Trace's feet. "Want me to unhook ya? Or I could maybe lift you back up into the swing, but I think you've gotten one of your laces tangled in the chain.."
Kay, no one's been around all week. Which sucks cause Jason has been - even though it's been asleep mostly. Jason's been tired, see? Too much wandering or something. But the fact that both his friends have up and disappeared (which is HIS job, dammit!) has been disturbing. So, finally, somewhere in his busy
'Everybody'n their fuckin' booze," Trace mutters to himself. He's not had good experiences with the vile stuff recently. But then the words start to register. Jason's... here? Whuzzat? He cranes his neck, but it sends his gaze off towards bushes or something. Green, but not the wildbright fireheart's green. So instead he reaches for what's close, and that's Ali, her hand specifically, working at his lace caught in the chain. "Help me up... I gotta..." Run to Jason and beg forgiveness? Just plain run? Well, he hasn't planned it out that far. Just gonna get up now, or attempt it. It's just that he's considering breaking up with the rock; their relationship isn't going anywhere productive. and, y'know, being Up sounds good right now. Sorta.
Jean-Batiste glances back at Glass a final time, and hands the licorice clove back to him for safekeeping/smoking, and steps forward as he murmurs, "O-okay." He takes another step forward, hesitates, and then he's being rump-swatted. -His- turn to jump slightly, and whirl around to look at Glass. Only it wasn't Glass, it was... "Jason," he murmurs, rather stupidly, blinking repeatedly as he watches the redhead breeze by and turn around.
Glass turns a little, a bit suprised by Jason's appearance. He smiles at the redhead, an effort at friendliness that seems halfhearted. "Hey, Jason," he says, accepting the clove from Batiste's fingers and raising it to his own lips. Jason's absence was something he was only half-aware of, and he tilts his head at Batiste's reaction, wondering at the younger man's suprise.
Alisynde nods. "Sure thing.." She gets the rest of the lace loose, and reaches over to help Trace up, to do whatever he needs to. Unconsciously, her shoulders hunch a little...you could cut the tension in here with a knife. Or perhaps a meat hook. There's a little grin for just a moment as that particular thought runs through her head, but to anyone watching, it could be there for hundreds of different reasons. Ali lets the grin escape, and scootches a little closer to Trace. "Lace is untangled, so don't worry about wrenching your anklr or anything." She glances over to Jason, and nods to him - a belated greeting, but it's there.
Jason tilts his head. /Not/ exactly the warm welcome he's supposed to get here, people. Trace looks... guilty. Bat looks shocked (not the 'missed you' he usually gets), and it ends up being Ali and Gl ass that give him actual welcome-like greetings. Well, it's kinda clear Jason's not in happyland right now, but he /was/ in a passingly-well mood. Now, though, it's just confusion. He tilts his head and looks between the two pairs, brows furrowed. "Um.." he starts off, suddenly becoming super-aware of this meat-hook-worthy tension that is becoming all too common amongst the group. "What happened now?" Might as well get to the heart of the matter. Cause he certainly seems to be the only one without the Clue.
Trace wasn't worried about wrenching his ankle. Hell, he didn't even know the lace was the problem. It was just this vague stuckness he was sensing, seeing as how he couldn't move and all. He squirms around and finally gets his legs to drop down heavily. Then it's just a matter of rolling and pushing til' he's on his hands and knees, then half-up, then clinging for dear life on the chains of the swings. But finally, after much effort, he's officially upright!
Alisynde rocks back onto her ankles, her gaze flicking back and forth between the various other members of the group. Swing-set paint mode is *on*. After a minute or two, she settles into a more comfortable cross-legged position, jean-clad legs automatically settling into a half-lotus. And she continues to watch...even more clueless than Jason appears to be. She's just quieter about it.
Glass gives Batiste a pat on the back, meant to be friendly and comforting. Having made the gesture, he steps away from his friend and strides over to take a seat on the ground, not far from Alisynde. He drags quietly on the remains of the clove and watches the triangle reunited.
Jean-Batiste blows out a soft sigh, eyes dropping from Jason to land upon the grass. "Lots happened," he murmurs, scrubbing at reddened eyes with a loose-curled fist for a second. He takes a deep breath and looks up, eyes creeping from Jason over to Trace, and holding there. Softly, an explanation to Jason, perhaps: "I, I came to talk to Trace, that's all..." Apparently, this isn't a random occurene these days. His mouth puckers at the corner, as he chews on a raw spot inside his cheek.
Jason blinks a little at Trace. Confused. See, Jason never /was/ mad, really. In fact, he has to search his memory as to what the hell Trace is referring to when the timid question comes, and the response is a small smile. One of those tired things that has some genuine warmth in it. The stupid picture. Sheesh. Jason doesn't care. It's money. And Trace has been out HERE and not in the warm house everyone's gotten used to. He starts to say something, but something in Batiste's tone kinda catches him... His eyes go back to the blond-braided boy. Um. Well, shit. It's kinda clear that this isn't all about the stupid picture. At least, to Jason. Green eyes (no, not the wildfire bright green, unfortunately - too foggy, some chemical dimming them) slide between his two friends. Opposite ends of a line he's not a part of. A small frown begins to form - not out of displeasure, but out of discomfort. Three points of a triangle moving away from each other. "Um... Start from the beginnin?" he asks - no, more begs - softly. Fill me in. Tell me what I've been missing.
Alisynde perks, marginally. A start. From the beginning. Always useful. Especially to the nosy-yet-well-meaning types here on the fringe. She peers over her glasses with bright eyes (amazingly drug free for a change) at the others, interlacing her fingers. Her head tilts slightly into prime listening position, and she is ready for whatever may come
Unfortunately, Trace isn't willing to play along tonight. Sorry guys. He shakes his head a little, pinned eyes flitting between his two best friends. "I... not t'night, okay? I-I wasn't ready fer this.. I don't got the clear head fer it." He looks down shamefully. "Ain't ready t'come home yet either, really. Got stuff t'do..." Damn painting. He bites his lip, expression full of apology, torn and lonely, but... that's how it is. He isn't ready yet. "I'll.. be around. Maybe tomorrow I'll stop by..." Well, he's stopped by every night, actually. Just never made it to the door. Maybe tomorrow night's the night, since Jason doesn't seem upset, and Bat wants to talk, and all those seem to be Good Things. He turns and starts a slow stumble-trudge out towards the park, but pauses, and looks over to murmur, "Hey, Bat...?"
Jean-Batiste's eyelids shiver, and he closes them for a second, letting hot moisture collect, threaten to spill over, then seep away unseen. He takes a deep breath and jams his hands a little deeper into his pockets, ragged fingernails biting into his palms. "Where will you be?" he asks Trace, plaintive. Desperate, even. To stay away from here, knowing/hoping the bluecap was here is one thing, but to be here and not know where he is...terrifying. "Where will you go?" Pleading. He looks up, through green-tinged blond hair - it's still unbraided and rather dirty, unwashed since the morning after the Hallowe'en party - and murmurs, "Yeah? What is it?" to Trace.
Glass grinds out the cigarette on the shiney steel toe of his boot. He stays quiet, watching Batiste and Trace with a tinge of concern over his near-perfect features. His hands, having dropped the spent butt, twine together.
Kay. Jason's been pretty freaked over his friends disappearing here. And yet, when he finds them, they start freaking him out more with their odd behaviors. But, you know what? Trace is honest when he says he can't handle this (whatever 'this' is) right now and promising to be around tomorrow. He can do this. A deep sigh, but for once he doesn't feel like Trace is running away blindly. Even on the junk (which, by the look Jason gave him as the boy was trying to get up, he assumes his friend is on), Jason can believe that Trace really will be by tomorrow. But Bat... Bat's acting really weird, and it's obvious that it's prolly linked to this 'lots happened' that's gone and happened without Jason. So, as much as it tortures the red-tressed boy to stay quiet and
Trace hasn't bathed either. The kid looks like hell. Has he eaten? A little crusty trickle of dried blood decorates his arm -- either he didn't notice it, or didn't care enough to wipe it away when it was fresh. "I'll be here," he says softly. "To sleep, anyway." And when he's not sleeping? Well, that's for him to know. Else what's the point of not being home? "I jest.. I guess I wanted t'be somewhere I knew you guys would look for me, so you wouldn't... worry or nothin'," he admits, eyes on his shoes. "I'll be fine though. People takin' care'a me." He shifts, glancing back at the others, and then murmurs softly, "Bat, I need a favor of you." A tiny hand reaches into one extra-large pocket of his jeans, coming up with a baggie twisted tight around it's packed contents. Big enough to fill his whole fist; a huge treasure. This is all said somewhat softly, though he's just not all that discreet. Hard to consider being subtle when you're making all this effort not to just fall down. "Take it, kay? I-I been overdoin' it." He grimaces faintly. Sure, all this is so easy now that he's soaring, but he'll be *so* pissed at himself for this come tomorrow afternoon or so. And yet, "I ain't able t'get nothin' done like this. Please, hang onto it for me, dip in if you like, I don't care. I jest, I wanna go home, you know? I-I can't do anything, like I been, an' I need to, coz I gotta get this done, coz I wanna go *home*..." This fort used to be home, but it's not anymore. It'd damned lonely, that's what.
Alisynde murmurs, "Bye, Trace.." It's beginning to look like she's not going to get filled in...but that's okay. Ali's generally a mellow person - when her nosiness fails, she simply takes it in stride. She's still sitting, an Ali-statue in the sand. Perhaps waiting for Bat. Perhaps not. Perhaps just listening.
Jason sighs softly at Trace. That's all. Doesn't look at the boy. Doesn't comment. Doesn't snort. It's pretty much just as he expected. Money goes in the vein, don'tcha know? Guess Ligeia was kinda foolish with that advance. But Jason's too worried to be angry. Or accusing. Or anything like that. And anything he says... well, it wouldn't matter, now would it? Just make Trace feel like shit. He gives a weak smile to his friend. And that's it. Tomorrow. Hopefully.
'People takin' care'a me.' Batiste looks down, practices breathing for a few seconds, then just nods a little. He almost asks, 'Who?' but doesn't. He won't. -Can't-. There's some answers he just wouldn't be able to bear, right now, if they were what he fears them to be. "O-okay," he repeats, glancing up for only the briefest of moments, fingers tight around the baggie even once it's stuffed away in his pocket. Overdoing it. Trace isn't the only one. He nods a little more and whispers, "Be...careful, okay? Please. I'll be here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow then," Trace breathes like a sigh, and that's it. He turns, and walks, until he's just a faintly blue-and grey shadow retreating out towards the street.
Glass blinks at Trace's stash when the bluecap pulls it out. The sight of that great wad makes him whistle through his teeth and shake his head. He bites his lip at Trace's words. Overdoing it. With that. Not good. Alisynde gets a glance when she speaks, but he doesn't say anything to her, instead turning his attention back to Trace in an instant. Night-black eyes get a worried, pained expression as he looks the boy over. When Batiste takes the bag Doug nods once and faintly, as if to himself. That's not such a good place for it, but it's better than the hand that had it before.
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