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Setting: First the playground, then the motel, a brief stint at a drug store and McDonalds, then back to the motel for the most part. This all takes place the night after Trace breaks Batiste�s two-months clean record and directly before the second mural.

Log Cast:

Jason Riley -- Sly red-head with a nose for mischief and a peter pan complex

Trace (Kevin Anderson) -- Street kid, sidewalk artist, heroin junkie, kinain.

Jean-Batiste Vesanieux -- Also an artistic street kid, older, shyer, and quite possibly the kindest of the three.

Holly Windholm Walker -- In his own words, a freak, professional female impersonator, and a confusion to morality, gender and fashion sense.

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The playground is deserted. As it tends to be in the middle of the night. Except for Jason, that is. The kid has this penchant for doing what no one else does at times that no one else does them. He swings slowly back and forth on one of the swings (natch), absently kicking his feet back and forth while he stares up at the sky above. It's probably the creaking of the swing-set that brings your attention to him, actually. Anyhow, he's still got the braids that Jean-Batiste put in his hair, sticking out haphazardly everywhere, but yet managing not to look terribly stupid.

After awhile, Trace fumbles his way out of the bushes, making plenty of noise to announce his coming. He gets up and dusts himself off a bit, picking at bits of twig and leaves that cling to his unkempt hair and clothing. He peers about at the ground, and stoops to pick up a fallen apple, but wrinkles his nose a bit when he sees that a good half of it is rotten. A pause... he turns it to the good side and brings it near his lips, but finally thinks better of it and lowers the spoiled fruit again. It's about then that the squeak of the swing registers, and he looks up suddenly with surprise and drops the apple.

Jason hears you coming, of course, but doesn't really change his rhythm until you finally notice him. Upon your dropping of the apple, he stops cold and looks over to you, smirking crookedly (as he always seems to do). The faint moonlight catches off his eyes as they go over your typically ragged form. He scuffs his toe in the sand and calls out quietly,

"Yeah...?" Trace wanders over when he instantly recognizes your voice. His grin is slow, but affectionate. "I was just in there... Go on in next time, I don't mind at all." He shrugs back towards his newly adopted fort. "Batiste's still in there. He snores, y'know. But soft-like." The artist snickers a bit. "Anyway, why're you waitin? Somethin' up?"

Jason's eyes spark in the darkness at mention of Batiste, his head tilting to one side. "He crashin' with you?" But he doesn't wait for an answer before he gives you a lopsided grin again. "Jus' bored s'all. Figgered you sleep too much 'n need some excitement. 'R sumthin' like that." He giggles softly and flashes a wink.

Trace nods and grins. "I *like* to sleep. But I wasn't, in there, really. Cleanin' up a bit. If people are gonna be comin' round, I figgered I oughta stack up the pictures, make a bit more room." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Anyway. Sleep's good, but so's excitement. So whatever you feel like doin', I'm game." He giggles and glaces at the bushes. "Can't say the same for Batiste though. Last I checked he couldn't walk so good." He wanders over to the monkey bars and hops up, latching onto a rung with slender, dirty fingers and holding fast, legs dangling.

Jason gets this huge grin when you give him carte blanche with the festivities. Surely countless things came to mind. But he just giggles to himself and pads after you to the monkey bars, hands shoved in coat pockets. "Whasswrong with Batiste? He get sumthin' bad?"

Trace just hangs a moment before releasing one hand and making a frantic grab for the next rung. Arms now stretched above him in a V, he doesn't try much else, just dangles and answers, "Naw, naw, he's feeling goood... Just fixed after two months clean. Two months, can you imagine? After that it'd feel SO good, he is SO lucky..." No remorse at all, or even regocognition that there might be something tragic in breaking a boy's attempt to clean himself up. Just a big envious grin before his fingers slip and he falls back down, landing soundly, with just a small spray of sand when his battered sneakers hit ground.

Jason doesn't seem to mind terribly, just smirks at you with a weird look in his eyes. He, well... he actually doesn't care one bit wandering over to you. "Who's comin' over?"

Trace shrugs. "Dunno. Batiste, you, whoever. It's just I've had someone over twice now and I thought I'd shove out some room for if it happened again." He smiles again, somewhat eagerly. "So what're we doing? I d'wanna just be bored all night, I'm in too good a mood."

Jason shrugs one shoulder, green eyes dancing. "Whatcha wanna do? Figured you'd have /some/ ideas now that yer all hyped 'n stuff?" His grin turns more sly. "Ya still owe me, ya realize.."

Trace tips his head to one side. "I do?" Then, "Oh! You mean the picture. Right?" He smiles a little shyly, not used to his work being on demand.

Jason giggles brightly, obviously enjoying your response. "Sure, that too. Ya been doin' anything lately?"

Trace thinks a bit. Um. "We, uh. Since the picture Batiste and I made? Uh." Not really, has he. It just hasn't occured to him 'til now. He smiles with faint embarrassment. "It's like... after that violet girl went dancin' for us, made the tourists drool and fill my cup to spillin' over, there hasn't been much motivation to draw or anything." He flushes a little. "But I'd draw you. I mean, I said I would, and I want to. With your hair in braids like that." He chuckles, but he doesn't quite seem to be teasing you. Almost though. But they really *would* make the picture fun, he realizes.

Jason giggles! again, flushing out of pleasure more than embarassment. "Well, 'course you gotta draw /me/, an' sometime soon, but you ain' seen nuthin' else?" He's obviously referring to the first time you two met, when he told you to draw what you saw. Of course, he can't help but run a hand over his wild braids as he speaks, his attention drawn to them.

"Well, uh..." Trace flushes a little. It seems really stupid to him now. "I saw... griffins earlier. I mean, not really, but I was feelin' real good and everything was too bright, even the little candle at our feet, it was all fire and fierce, an' everythin' feathery all over, and flying... And I thought, like griffins. And when I think something like that, I start to really think on it, like the picture's gettin' drawn out inside my head..." His flushed rambling grinds to a halt, and he gives a foolish grin. In a small voice, "So... uh... I wanna draw 'em when we do the next mural in Jackson Square."

Jason practically beams at you, his smile is so broad and, well, fierce, his eyes lit up from within by it. "You /better/, with a big fire besides! An' I better be there too, 'else you 'n Bat're gonna get somethin' from my mind." He nodnods, trying to look intimidating (or something) and failing horribly.

"If it's from your mind, s'prolly gonna be interesting, so..." Trace giggles and shrugs. "Sure, sure... big fire with it, and you gotta be there, and make, uh.... griffin music." He beams. "I have no idea what that is, but maybe you can figger it out."

From within the fort, rustling papers and several low groans can be heard, as Batiste rolls off the mattress and struggles up to hands and knees. Progress towards the 'door' can be heard...then stops. A minute or so passes, and then he emerges, slowly making his way through the underbrush, dragging his backpack and cap with him, hair a tousled bleach-blond nimbus.

Jason laughs happily, the sound easily heard at the fort from where he and Trace are talking by the monkey-bars. Jason's not one of the models with volume control, so, well, it's no surprise that Batiste can't sleep through it. Anyhow, he winks playfully at Trace and pats his coat (probably meaning his recorder). "Don't worry, I got music fer all sorts of fantastic beasties! S'all good."

At the sounds from the bushes, the blue-haired kid looks over and grins. "Oh... Rise and shine, Batiste!" He seems cheerful, at least. Not dragged down, but also not anxious... At this point he's just "got his head straight", as he so often puts it. He gives a wave. "You doin' okay...?"

Jean-Batiste crawls out from the bushes, into the dead winter grass, and sprawls out right there, face-down. A second later he pushes himself over, flopping onto his back, and grins sleepily and upside-down at the both of you. "Couldn't be better," he murmurs, barely loud enough to carry. He chuckles at himself, then starts to push himself upright, ambling towards the two of you and rubbing his eyes as he goes.

Trace giggles. "See, I told you! Hours later, and even still... Dammit, he's lucky." He tsks and shakes his head. "So Batiste, Jason's tryin' to think up excitement for us." He looks to Jason, then grins and tugs on one of the braids that still remains from Batiste's playing with it earlier. "Anything yet?"

Jason can't help but laugh even more at Batiste's shambling antics, ducking his head so some of the braids that the older boy put there fall into his eyes. "Yer lookin' pretty good there, Batty. Whassup?" Jason eeps and grins at Trace, sticking out his tongue. "Yer jus' jealous. 'M thinkin, 'm thinkin'!"

Trace giggles as Jason makes the face at him, and then smirks, "*Course* I'm jealous! I oughta come off for some time just to get it that good." He chuckles, not at ALL serious, of course. Returning his attention to Jean-Batiste, "Anythin' you feel like doin?"

Jean-Batiste settles down into a boneless heap of bony limbs near the both of you, still smiling that drowsy, secretive grin. "I'm feeling good," he murmurs, pinpricked eyes shining with a hectic light. "Just visiting an old friend." He smiles more, and rubs at the back of his neck, sighing blissfully to himself. Belatedly, he adds to Trace, "I could braid your hair, too, but we'd have to comb it out first."

"Oh, THERE's excitement," Trace laughs. "Barrel of laughs. I can picture it. Ow, quit it, ow, dammit, ow!"

Jason adds to Batiste's assessment, "After breakin' the protective shell off first!" He skips out of range of Trace's arm, just in case.

Jean-Batiste realizes he's a bit behind, and shrugs languidly. "Anything, doesn't matter to me what we do." He laughs at the both of you, saying, "Well, you'd have to wash your hair first, of course." He giggles for a moment, rubbing his own dirty hair.

Trace smirks again. "Yeah, where? In a fountain? Bird bath, maybe?" Then he suddenly remembers the motel plan. "Oh.... Do you guys still have all those wallets?"

Jean-Batiste cocks his head a bit to the side, thinking. He hugs his backpack to himself as he does, snuggling it like a teddy bear. "We should do another mural, maybe? Yeah." He nods sagely to Trace's words. "So we could get that motel room for a night or two. I could really use somewhere warm to crash for a couple nights. And a shower." He looks over at Jason, asking him, "D'you still have them?"

Jason mmms and smiles innocently, rolling his eyes skyward. "Coooooould be..." Jason rocks back and forth on his heels a few moments, then can't help but break out giggling. "'Course I do! Never leave home without 'em!"

Jean-Batiste leans over towards Jason, nudging his arm. "So how much -money's- left in them?" He grins. "Unless you know someone who pays good for used wallets?"

Trace brightens considerably, as Jason's words remind him of something else. "Oh, Batiste, still got the cash from that one travelers check? I'd nearly forgotten it... And I ain't spent the money from that one wallet you gave me..." He shrugs a little. "We might have enough for tonight, and then we could do a mural tomorrow and maybe Jason could lift s'more, and then we probably could pay for the next night or two."

Jason ooohs softly and nodnods, then makes a shooing motion with his hands. "Go get yer stuff, we're off ta the Sleepy-time Motel and Motorlodge!" And then adds cheerfully, "With free HBO!"

Jean-Batiste blinks, and checks inside his boot before grinning widely. "Yeah, I sure do, except for the bit I spent on gumbo at Crossroads the other night." He looks over at Jason for a second - a somewhat odd, confused look - then shrugs it off and grins again. "And some money from the mural, too, still." He laughs, his manner growing a bit more lively. "Yeah, let's do it." He fingercombs his hair up under his hat, tugs it on, and pulls his backpack with him as he climbs to his feet.

Trace gives a woop of approval and starts off, bounding towards the bushes and working into them. The leaves jostle a bit, as he crawls his way back to the fort. He's gone two or three minutes.

Jean-Batiste peels a bit of dry skin off his bottom lip while he waits for Trace to return. He asks Jason, "D'you think we should score anything on the way?" He shrugs his backpack up onto one shoulder.

Jason's eyes follow Trace into the bushes and stay there as he dances with nervous energy from foot to foot. Until Batiste speaks, that is, whereupon his gaze skitters back to the older boy and smirks crookedly, murmuring, "Yeah, sure, yer lookin' in need fer sumthin' right now." Sarcasm. It might not come across well to wasted people, but it's there.

When Trace emerges, he's dragging an old, beaten up canvas satchel with him. It seems fairly full. As he clears the last of the branches, the bag gets snagged but he doesn't waste much time in tugging it free and slinging it over his shoulder. When he does so, it makes an odd, soft 'slosh' sound, like he's got something liquid in there. He grins at the both of you. "Th' way I see it," he announces, "you guys are payin' for this first night yourselves practically, since all I got is that wallet, which technically I didn't even get for us. So, uh. I got a big stash right now, so anyone wants anything from that, just totally go ahead. Also I'll draw you tonight, Jason. And last, promise to do really GOOD griffins tomorrow so's I can pull my fair share the next few nights. Cool?"

Jean-Batiste's fingers fidget with his backpack strap, and he glances down, finding a sudden fascination in the nearby vegetation. He shrugs gently, mumbling to Jason, "Was just an idea..." as Trace returns from the fort. He finds a shy smile again, offering it to the blue-haired boy. "That's cool. I don't mind covering extra for the room."

Jason seems more enchanted with the thought of being drawn (especially if he can get Batiste sober enough to do it too) than with the money thing. In fact, money seems to be incidental to this whole enterprise of murals and stuff to him. Go fig. Of course, it looks like he's doing fine enough by himself. He gives Batiste a playful nudge with his elbow (partly to let him know he was playing), then snags the older boy's arm and starts to drag him towards the street with a grin to Trace. It's like he was running out of time or something.

Jean-Batiste peeks up at Jason when he's nudged, then laughs softly and flails back with one arm, trying to snag Trace in turn, stumbling after Jason at first, then catching up. They're off to see the wizard?

Trace gets tugged along after the two of you, his grin splitting his face. This is all so neat! A motel, and HBO, and Jason seems so flattered just by the prospect of some silly drawing, and Batiste's all happy and not coughing, and we're drawing tomorrow, and real beds, and... wow! Life is good.

[ The trio hike to Beight�s motel, done off-camera. ]

Beight's Motel -- Lower East 3

Within this small room are two beds, separated by two identical nightstands. Along the one wall is the heater with its own controls, and against the other is a double set of dressers. One one rests the complimentary tv with a chained remote control resting on a nightstand. A door rests quietly open in which you can see a simple bathroom with a clawed bathtub and white plastic curtain.

A small bible rests on the end of one bed, and two small chocolate mints await someone on the pillow of each bed.

Jason swings the door open and ushers both of you inside like he was some kind of usher or something. Doorman, that's it. He supposed to get tipped? He giggles and follows you both in. "Okay, who gets the shower first!?"

Trace immediately dives for a bed, bouncing onto it stomach first, tracked arms out like a blue-haired Superman. "Haha..!" But then he rolls onto his side and grins up at the both of you. "I could care less. But I get the floor, alright? You guys paid more." He pushes himself upright.

Jean-Batiste produces a decent chunk of cash at the front desk, paying for one night and blithely ignoring the look the clerk gives him as he signs the form in his untidy script. He steps into the room, grinning at Jason and nudging him on the way by, and swings his backpack atop one of the dressers. He spots the mints, and heads for the unoccupied bed in a hurry, pouncing the mint. Durned things move quickly, you know.

Trace doesn't touch the mint on his bed, leaving it for Jason, aquirer of wallets.

Jason lets out this joyous laugh, as if this scene embodies everything that is perfect in this world and he was allowed to watch it. He bounces in after Batiste, braids and pony tail bouncing as well, and flops onto the bed behind Trace (snagging the mint in a way /he/ thinks is sneaky). Sprawling out on his stomach (and shoving the mint in his pocket), he props himself up onto his elbows and says, "Oh, I dunno... It's not like we all could fit on /one/ bed, sheesh."

Trace stands up, leaving his canvas satchel on the floor beside the bed he recently pounced. Then he snatches up the book at the end of the bed, with a sarcastic grin. "But I don't care what you guys say, I get dibs on the bible, alright?" He giggles.

Jean-Batiste unwraps his very own, precious mint, and bites off half of it, letting it start to melt on his tongue before rolling it around a little. He offers the other half out to Trace, asking, "You wah' th' reft of 'his?" The chocolate must be melted to the roof of his mouth. He makes a face, trying to lick the chocolate off, then rolls his eyes a little at the bible. "Hey, go ahead and keep it. I was gonna suggest we burn it."

Jean-Batiste glances over at Jason for a moment, and nods in agreement to his earlier statement. "Yeah, no reason anyone's gotta sleep on the floor. I mean, we can flip a coin for who gets a bed to themself, or somethin', if you want?"

"Blasphemy! No I don't want your heathen mint, infidel!" Trace laughs, and then hugs it to his chest. "I'm gonna draw in it. I think it needs to be illustrated, don't you?"

Jason oohs! and perks up at that, somehow managing to get his legs beneath him and sitting up indian-style. "Can ya do the one where he's bleedin' out of every pore? Or, or... Um... The angel of death, yeah!"

Trace grins, "Ooooh... The bible's got that stuff?" He looks at it with some new respect. "What's an angel of death look like, d'ya think?"

"They're good mints..." Batiste promises Trace, then pops the last half into his mouth, promptly melting it against the roof of his mouth again. "Ooh." His eyes light with malicious mischief. "Can I draw in it, too?" He sprawls out on his side on the bed, head propped in his hand. "Yeah, near the very back, check out Revelations. All sorts of crazy shit in there."

Jason ummms and thinks about that one, reaching up to rub the braids at the top of his head. "Mebbe he's like really beautiful 'n stuff, jus' got shafted with the job he gotta do."

Jean-Batiste curls a little, dropping his head down to his upper arm, rubbing his cheek against it. "Really beautiful, but with really cold eyes, I think," he says softly. "And bloodstained wings."

Jason hmphs quietly, thoughtfully, before adding, "Cold 'cause he gotta do what the Big Guy said, whether he liked it or not, ya know? Not that he don't care, just that he /can't/ care."

Trace bobs his head, both at Batiste's question and also at all the suggestions about the angel of death., "Yeah, yeah... That bloody wings idea rocks, and the eyes too! Like cold coz he'd go NUTS if he really had to care about it all... I mean he's an angel, he's gotta be beautiful. Not buff handsome either, angels aren't like that. He'd be almost girl beautiful, like you'd look at him and go "Y'know, that guy's either a fag or an angel".

Jason nodnodnods at Trace, smirking. "Yeah, cause, ya know, all the cute ones are gay." But then he bounds off the bed and bounces over the other one (barely missing Batiste as he does so) to skitter into the bathroom. From within, you both can hear him /ooooh/ (hollowly from the acoustics) happily. "Hand lotion!"

Trace scampers in after him, calling, "Dibs on some towels! I need towels. Gonna make my place have a carpet!" He peers in to see how many there are.

Jean-Batiste pulls his cap off his head, shaking his hair out again as he stretches onto his back and starts braiding a bit of his own hair. He smiles a little, nodding to Trace and chuckling to Jason, then closes his eyes. "Yeah, okay," he calls after Jason, grinning a bit. Raising his voice, he adds, "Is there any hair conditioner? We're gonna have to soak Trace in it to be able to comb it out..." He trails off, looking to Trace. "I mean, if you really wanted braids, and all."

Jean-Batiste stays on the bed, grumbling at his slow-typing player, and just enjoys the feel of a heated room and a real bed with real sheets and real pillows for a while. "I'll go ask for extra towels in a bit, soon as I don't look so fucked up," he promises.

Several towels go flying out at Trace as he charges into the bathroom after Jason, the latter giggling inanely. Then a couple of washcloths and hand-towels follow anbd Jason comes darting out again, this time narrowly avoiding running Trace over, and bounds once more over Batiste to land on the bed again. He's gone manic.

Trace giggles, peeking out of the bathroom and shaking off the towels and stuff, letting them heap on the floor, except for a few wash cloths which he flings back at Jason. "Braids would be cool, but if it gets to be too much tugging for me, or too much hassle for you, don't bother.. I wish I could've picked up some blue dye somewhere, I mean since we're tryin' to fix this mess tonight anway." He's wandered over to the mirror by the dresser, something he doesn't see very often, and runs his fingertips along his dirty-blonde roots self-consciously.

Jason flops upside down one the bed and calls back to Trace, "Don't suppose the rest could wash out, huh?" He topples over onto one side, bedsprings protesting nastily, and grins broadly at Batiste. "Also don't suppose I could get in on that braidin' action, huh?" Jason's hair, of course, would requires hours of effort to braid fully, but he doesn't seem to mind imposing on someone like that.

Jean-Batiste opens his eyes with a start and laughs out loud as Jason bounds over him, exclaming, "Hey, careful-!" before laughing more. "You guys are crazy..." he says, pushing himself up and sitting cross-legged. "I got some money left, we can pick some up? Braids are easier to take care of, anyways, 'cause you can leave them in and just let them grow out, and they won't tangle up as much." More money he spends on other things, less he'll spend on other, more sordid frivolities. "We need to go out and grab food sometime, anyways... we can hit a drug store and pick up a couple things that I need on the way, and get your dye." He looks over at Jason, nodding shyly. "Yeah, of course. It'll just take a while, as long as you're patient."

Jason sits there, bouncing up and down on the bed like a bundle of boundless energy, grinning broadly and nodnodding. "I'm nothin' but patient!" For those of you who might not be able to tell, Jason could probably sit still for like two minutes if someone tied him down. At least like he is now.

Jean-Batiste laughs at Jason, giving him an exuberant, -very- dubious grin. "Oh, yeah. Super petient. I mean, like a -monk-. Don't you agree, Trace?"

Trace is off in his own world for a few moments after being addressed, thinking hmmmm, that's a lot to get done in one night. Braid all that hair, then draw it (plus Jason himself), then take his own shower, then illustrate the bible... Hmm. Then his own time to get himself detangled and braided. And a fix somewhere in there, though all but getting his own hair braided takes concentration. Ack. "Huh?' He looks up, dragging himself back to the present. "Oh yeah, totally." he giggles. "I'm gonna prolly have to draw him in his sleep, now that I think about it."

Jason bleahs and sticks his tongue out at the both of you (even though Batiste is the only one he can see). "I /don't/ sleep, so nyeah. We wanna get food now 'n stuff 'r what?"

Trace decides that he's not going to have time to illustrate the bible tonight, though he'll take it with him in case Batiste wants to help him out with that another time. "I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, but later'd work too. Doesn't matter."

Jean-Batiste looks at Jason and says evenly, "You do -so- sleep. You slept in the playground the other night. I saw it myself." He pauses, then comments oh so casually to Trace, "It's easier to draw him when he's asleep. You wouldn't -believe- what he talks about while he's sleeping." And then he ducks wildly, as if expecting a swat.

Trace giggles at that. "Go on, what'd he say?"

Jean-Batiste looks back at Jason, -very- wide eyed, then shakes his head at Trace as if in mortal terror. "I can't tell you. It goes against every law of mortal decency. It was..." He pauses here, valiantly fighting back a grin. "...unbelievable."

Jason just clears his throat and gives Batiste a look, smirking. "You weren't supposed to be /listening!/" Well, okay, he /does/ motion for the pillow. Jason giggles! "Unbelievable, yet you liked it anyway! Can't fool me!"

Trace laughs gleefully. "Jason's a regular DeSade in his sleep." Wow, the kid knows literature? Or maybe just perverts.

Jean-Batiste laughs, and hops up off the bed, grinning madly. "I couldn't help it! I don't sleep well, and I woke up way before you two..." He laughs more, heading for his backpack, insisting, "I couldn't help myself. It all corrupted me. It was terrible." He even sniffles softly, then looks back at Trace. "See! You know, too." He starts to giggle.

Trace giggles and nods, playing along. "S'why we gotta gag ya tonight, Jason. Our virgin ears just can't take it."

Jason bahs. "You know I'd just /like/ it!" Jason suddenly rolls off the bed onto the floor, springs to his feet, and darts to the door... /locking/ it! He spins around and leans against it, cackling evilly (or as close as he can come), casting a baleful (though humorous) look around the room. "Yer all mine tanight!"

Trace gives a mock shriek at Jason's threat. "Oh no, what ever'll we do?!" Oh yeah. We're gonna get kicked out before the night is through.

Jean-Batiste glances down at his backpack as he starts to pick it up, cheeks going a bit pink. He mumbles something through a chuckle, then laughs. "Um... beat him about the head and shoulders with the bible? He might like that too, though..."

Jason mms and thinks about that, tapping his chin, then shrugs and nodnods to Batiste with a grin. "'Fraid so. DeSade, ya know." He nodnods, then bounds back to his bed and bounces some more on it, hair flying about him with each bounce.

Jean-Batiste goes back to picking up his backpack, shrugging it back up onto his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go grab something to eat before we get doing anything else. That way we don't have to leave again until tomorrow when we go to do the mural."

Jason cackles! *bounce* "An' then *bounce* I'll have *bounce* y'all *bounce* ta myself! *bounce* All night *bounce-tumble*"

Trace walks over to study Batiste curiously. "You're clear enough in the eyes, ain'cha?" Without waiting for an answer, he tugs at the older kid's arm. "Sure y'are. Paid for this room fine, after all. Let's go. Where we eating?" He looks back to the bouncy red-head and just grins. "Whatever you say, Marquis DeJason."

Jason finally just tires of it all and flops back onto the bed, panting, apparently having spent the first wind of his energy to its fullest. He's calming now, honest. Wait, one last spurt as he spouts out, "McDonalds!" and then just lays there with a halo of wild hair and braids and stares at the cool patterns the acoustic tiling makes in the ceiling.

(Continued in Motel, Part 2)