Jean-Batiste's still floating a little, but nothing -too- serious. All good things, even especially wonderful ones, must come to an end. Yeah, I'm okay. I'll just take my money and leave the backpack here, in case we get stopped or anything." His face goes blank, filled with angelic pathos and innocence. "Someone must have spiked my drink when I went to the bathroom." He laughs, grin immediately returning. "Yeah, that's cool. Think there's a drug store just down the block, too." He counts out his money, looking pleased at how much is left, then moves over to grab Jason's hand. "C'mon, no tiring out -yet-..."
Jason acks as he's grabbed and allows himself to be dragged off the bed and to his feet. He makes a pouty little face at Batiste (managing to be rather cute in the process) and sniffles. "Fine, I'll be hyper a little more..." And like a switch had been flicked, he suddenly darts to the door, unlocks it, flings it open, and is out into the hall like a flash.
Trace smirks. "Corner drug stores don't usually carry blue hair dye..." Then he considers. "Wait, then again, this is carnival... They actually might." He shrugs. "Oh well, I could do with some fries n' stuff about now." He rustles through his canvas, comes up with the wallet Jason gave him the other day, and shoves that into his pocket. Lastly, he reaches deep into the satchel and comes up with a pinch of something brownish which he sprinkles into his palm, quickly snorts, and then rises. Won't do much but tide him over, since it seems he's gonna be pretty busy most of this night. Rubbing at his nose, he calls with cheer, "Coming!" And follows the rest of you into the hall.
Jason'd probably get you all busted by the cops if it wasn't Carnival, just the way he's acting. And he's probably the one here that's /not/ high on something. Well, actually, it's kinda hard to tell if he is or not, but anyhow, he's all over the place out on the street. Swinging from lamposts, darting across the street and back again, orbiting you guys, everywhere. Prolly just a little on the annoying side, as a matter of fact. Well, if you're one easily annoyed by ferret-like energy in people.
Hands dug into his pockets, Batiste trots along with the both of you towards the beautiful golden arches in the distance. "You could use blue Kool-Aid, too," he notes to Trace. "But you'll have to wash your hair a bunch of times before we check out, to make sure that it doesn't run all over your face in the rain or something, after." He grins. "It'll taste good, too. Sharkadelic Blue, or something." Batiste seems mellow enough still that Jason's antics just bring on a lot of laughter and a sort of envious look, his own bouts of manicness much shorter. "So, we eat here, get some hamburgers to bring back for a snack later, you figure?" he asks the both of you, while Jason's on a close orbit.
"Sweet.... Sharkadelic hair," Trace comments, trailing Jason's wild behavior with a grin. He doesn't join him though, just plods peacefully beside Jason. "Bringin' stuff back sounds good to me. After all, Jason's gonna get us kicked outta McDonalds if we sit down for long." This is said with a slanted smile, while the hyper boy is NOT in close orbit, naturally.
Jean-Batiste looks from Jason, to the approaching McDonald's with an expression between amusement and horror. "This McDonald's doesn't have a playground in it, d'you know?" he says in a low voice to Trace.
As if reading Batiste's mind, Jason exclaims from about half a block ahead, "HEY!!! This McDonalds has no playground!!!" It's like this was some sort of personal insult to the kid or something.
Trace gasps playfully at the thought. "No playground or ball pit and curly slides or anything?" he cackles. "Well shit, what's the point? We ought've just ordered a pizza, saved us the walk..." He grins.
Jean-Batiste gently grabs Trace's arm, and tugs him along into a jog. "C'mon, we'd better catch him before he starts building something outta straws." Or - the horror! - gets his hands on the ketchup machine. He grins back at Trace. "We'll be lazing for a whole night, little walking'll be good for us."
Jason looks back and sees the both of you hurrying up and, as if it were some challenge or something, he suddenly turns and takes off at full speed towards the Golden Arches, giggling the whole time.
Trace laughs, picking up the pace a bit, though he's still no match for the boisterous Jason. "Yeah, yeah... Just keep in mind YOU're the one who told him to not get tired on us."
Jean-Batiste reaches the McD's doors, and leans into one, holding it open for Trace, looking back at the blue-haired boy with a weary grin. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He looks inside the restaurant, stomach grumbling already at the smell.
When the door opens, you can hear Jason demand, "Brrrrrring me grrrrease! Ooh, Arch Deluxe!"
Trace heads inside, immediately lifting his eyes to the bright photographs of burgers and tossed salads in black plastic containers. Suddenly he feels ravenously hungry, and wonders slightly at why it hasn't bothered him until now, the fact that he hasn't eaten in a day and a half. Good distractions, he figures with a mental shrug, and steps in line behind Jason.
Jean-Batiste knows why he hasn't eaten in nearly that long. Very good distractions. Well. Very -effective- ones, at the very least. "God, I'm starved..." he murmurs, looking up at those same bright pictures. "I think I'll get, like, ten hamburgers to go, and a milkshake, and a super-size fries, and a quarter with cheese. Yeah." It sounds almost trancelike. His stomach grumbles loud enough to be heard, and he rubs it, blushing a little.
Jason proceeds to order like six cheeseburgers and a Big Mac, plus fries, a Bladder-Buster
Jason ordered like this: "I'll have three cheeseburgers, a coke, a cheeseburger, large fries, a Big Mac, a cheeseburger, a McBlizzard, and... hmm... another cheeseburger."
Trace's turn. He flushes as he looks into his wallet, which holds about fifteen dollars. The eternal junkie question now arises: how much to spend on mundane things like food, shelter, clothing, and how much to put away for more pleasant future investments? "I, uh... small fries. Well, medium fries. Yeah. And... water? And, uh, gimme just yer classic hamburger with everything. I mean like, you pile as much shit onto that thing as possible while still just the price of a classic hamburger. Okay?" He grudgingly hands over two singles and then pinches out the proper amount of change from the coin pouch section.
He seems oblivious to poor Batiste's stomach as it rumbles behind him, taking his good old time, down to pennies before he finally makes proper change and heads off to sit by Jason.
Considering most of Jason's order has been already languishing under a heat lamp for the past three hours, it's filled rather quickly. By the time Trace sits next to him, he's finding the /most/ amusement one can get under a buck by flinging the pickles from his cheeseburgers at the window and watching them stick, then slowly slide down. It goes *splat!* *inane giggle* *splat!* *even more inane giggling* etc.
Jean-Batiste turns his head to watch Trace walk off with his rather meagre looking meal, and steps up next, sighing a little. He orders ten cheeseburgers to go, -two- quarter pounders with cheese, a super-sized fries, and a chocolate milkshake. After waiting impatiently for his food, he ambles over towards the
two of you, loading his food off the tray and onto the table. After unwrapping his quarter pounder, he spills his fries into a communal pile in the middle and says, "I got super-sized...dig in if anyone wants some." Quietly, so to not get the manager's attention, he adds, "Hey, I like the pickles, save me some."
Trace giggles at the display, though a small part of him is slightly appalled at the waste of good pickles. He blinks at all the food that now manages to capriciously balance on the booth's tabletop, and snatches up his own classic hamburger so it won't be lost in the sea of everybody else's food, and starts to unwrap it.
Casually, though not at all unnoticed, Batiste slides the second quarter pounder over in front of Trace and says, "My treat. You've gotta be starving, I know you haven't eaten in as long as I have." He takes a bite of his own burger, loads in a couple of fries, and chews with an expression approaching rapture. Well, lesser rapture.
Trace looks up at Batiste, and the protest that rises into his throat stays right where it is. He sweeps the quarter pounder closer and mumbles sincerely, "Thanks, Batiste."
Jason pauses and blinks, mid-pickle-toss as everyone sits down with their food. He looks baffled a moment as to anyone would /want/ to eat pickles, but then he just grins and nods to Batiste. Then he sets about unwrapping and eating his Big Mac... which he does with frightening speed and sloppiness. It's like he inhaled the thing.
Jean-Batiste is trying to be a good influence and eat slowly and neatly, but... who does he think he's kidding? He's wolfing his food like the good starving kid he is. He pauses after swallowing once, and grins at Trace, a smudge of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. "Hey, you're welcome. No problem." He finishes his burger and starts dunking his french fries in his milkshake, asking with a full mouth, "You guys ever eat your fries like this? S'great."
Trace sticks with his usual trick. The classic burger and half the medium fries get inhaled. Gone in less than thirty seconds, no joke. But he knows the slower you eat something, you'll feel full and satisfied longer. So he takes his time with the quarter pounder, and nibbles at the fries, pacing himself very carefully.
Trace wrinkles his nose. "That's pretty nasty, Batiste," he comments wryly. "Then again, I used to eat peanut butter and pickle sandwiches as a kid, so I got no room to talk."
Jason's fries take about two seconds longer to be consumed than the burger. The soda is all but forgotten. He doesn't even bother with the cheeseburgers, though, and moves straight on to the McBlizzard thingie. Yes, can we say brain-freeze? Jason gets it about three bites in, whereupon he grabs his head and moans in agony.
Jean-Batiste shakes his head at Trace, mouth too full to speak at first. He washes the fries down with more milkshake, insisting, "You ever tried it? Go ahead and give it a try, if you haven't. It's really good. Seriously." He pushes the milkshake a little towards Trace, then looks over at Jason and groans softly in sympathy. "Oh, no...hold your tongue against the roof of your mouth, it'll help..." At least, that's what -he- was always told.
Jason sticks his tongue out at Batiste. "Corrupter of young souls with your fries and your milkshakes!" And then he moans some more and washes the ice-cream down with soda. Mm, sugar, caffeine. No one sleeps tonight.
Trace shrugs and takes up a fry, swirling it around a bit in the milkshake, and then popping it into his mouth. He swallows it, and shrugs indifferently. "Mm, I still just like 'em regular." He snickers at poor Jason's plight with the ice cream headache, but doesn't comment on it directly, stating only, "Those spoons they give you with the McFlurrie things are really weird."
Jason stops mid-scoop and peers at the spoon, then nodnods emphatically to Trace. "What the heck you supposed ta do with this part? Suck it out?"
Jean-Batiste grins crookedly. "Yeah, that's me. I'm so corrupt." He chuckles a little, and draws his milkshake back towards himself, continuing with the french-fry-dipping. He glances towards the odd ice cream spoon, studying it a second, then looks back to his milkshake. Munch. Crunch.
Trace shrugs lightly, finishing up the last of his quarter pounder and trying to keep the whole of his attention on savouring it.
Jason sniffs! "At least *I'm* innocent. I'll save you all. Aren't you glad?" He gathers up his cheeseburgers and dumps them all into the bag along with his spare fries (and almost his coke, before common sense saves him).
Trace glances at Jean-Batiste, looking to see if he has any better idea what Jason's talking about than he does. Ah well. He flickers his eyes to Jason's food as it is being thrown into the bag and murmurs, "You're not throwing all that out, are you?"
Jean-Batiste looks up from pondering the origins of his milkshake and raises his eyebrows at Jason with a grin. "-You're- innocent?" he says, grin going crooked. "Yeah. Right. And, like, I'm the Pope." He laughs for a moment, ducking his head slightly. Maybe he'll be pelted with a pickle for that.
Jason ooohs! "Your Pontificateness!" He giggles, then sticks his tongue out at Trace. "Of course I am. Why would I like, ya know, /save/ it for munchies in the motel room or something?"
Jean-Batiste giggles softly, noting that, "We've got, like, fifteen cheeseburgers between us." He grins, looking all happy and hectic. Life -is- good. At least temporarily.
Trace grins. "Well, after those pickles, I just had to check." He pops his last few fries into his mouth, the little crispy ones that cling to the bottom of the red cup and sometimes slip through those two holes in the corners. He tosses down the empty container. "Well, I'm ready!"
Jason's on his feet in a second, bag in hand. "Sharkadelic Blue, baby! C'mon, c'mon!" He dances back and does a little spin. God forbid he should be like this /all/ night.
Jean-Batiste finishes eating the last of his french fries, then sticks the lid back on his milkshake and stabs in a straw. "Okay, I'm ready, too. Drug store, right?" He checks his money, then picks up his precious ten-pack of cheeseburgers, heading for the door.
Trace gets up, wadding the wrappers from his two burgers into a ball and shoving them into the fry container to be thrown away.
Trace follows the two of you out into the street.
Jason doesn't bother cleaning up his mess (and boy, is it ever). He just sees that you two are getting up and he's out into the street, bounding towards the drug store across the street.
Drug store. Yes. Time for the drug store. Batiste pauses inside, and recounts his money, then picks up one of the red plastic baskets. Taking a deep breath, he grins at the both of you - even if Jason's already out of sight and harassing the gumball machines - and says, "Okay, let's get stuff and get outta here." He looks over the long, fluorescent-lit aisles.
Linoleum! Jason's sliding down the aisles before you can even figure out where he's going. They have toys, candy, and soda all in the same aisle! He's in heaven.
Trace is a bit curious to get to this drug store. He may be in his own world sometimes, but the fact that this trip isn't all about his own hair-dye needs does stick in his mind. Wonder what Batiste needs from this place? His cold seems to have cleared up a lot, after all. But he doesn't say anything, just nods a bit. "Sure thing, Batiste. I guess hair stuff's this way."
Not two minutes later, there's a crash to be heard on the other side of the drug store and moment later a bored voice says over the intercom, "Clean-up, aisle nine." Jason, of course, comes tearing up from that direction so as to be as far away from the mess (and therefore unblamable) as possible.
Trace chuckles into his hand, watching Jason scurry away from the aisle nine accident. "What's with you tonight?"
Jean-Batiste starts to wander, picking up an odd assortment of goodies. Rubber bands. A deck of playing cards. A big bottle of cheapo aspirin. A big bottle of 99-cent shampoo and conditioner. A little tube of toothpaste. (-Toothpaste-?) He chuckles softly at the sound of mayhem, and wanders back over towards Trace, heading for the hair dyes to look them over.
Jason trots alongside the both of you. He just gives Trace a shrug and a grin in response to his question. It's like asking why the wind blows, honestly.
Trace is already there, pouting at the large assortment of blondes, reds, browns, blacks, and greys. "Just normal stuff," he sighs, and looks around. "Oh... Maybe this isn't the place to look," he realizes, and points to a Mardi Gras display with items for sale beneath. Tacky tourist junk.
Jean-Batiste waves his free hand towards one of the aisles. "They have fabric dye. It'll turn your scalp blue for a week, though. They got any blue dye here?" He crouches down in front of the shelves, rummaging through a few of the boxes. "I need to dye my hair again soon, too..." he muses.
Jason pulls down a box of red and peers at the chick in the picture, then snorts and puts it back. But then he /ooohs/ and follows Trace's gaze. Tacky! He scampers over and starts browsing through the junk bin. Jason pauses and lifts his head, peering past Trace to Batiste. "Dye it what?"
As Trace and the others near the display, the only thing remotely close to what he's looking for seems to be that glittery-gross spray on stuff, like colored hair spray, and only available in the appropriate Carnival colors. He ponders Batiste's suggestion. "But one week... That's someone who showers. Which makes it like two or three months for me. Which... could work? I donno. It'd work til I found good dye, anyway." Trace ohs, "My *scalp*! Eww, that'd suck. Let's not do that. I'd never get it off."
Jason mutters, "Sounds like a personal problem to me..." And then starts giggling.
Trace smacks at Jason's forearm playfully. "Hush, you. Go pilfer us some candy or something." He grins.
Jean-Batiste's search turns up fruitless, and he straightens up with an apologetic sign. "Can't find any blue. We ought to use Kool-Aid. That spray crap is really awful. There was food back over a couple aisles...I'll go look." Basket in tow, he heads for the foodstuffs aisle, seeming a bit distracted by who knows what.
Jason gives Trace a huge grin and flashes open one pocket. Inside's a couple bags of candy and a small box of... something. Anyhow.. Jason spins away too fast to tell anyhow. He's off towards the video games at the front of the store.
Trace beams with approval. "Aww, one step ahead of me." He trails after Jean-Batiste. "Kool-Aid... Dunno. You really think it'd run down my ears n' stuff? Is there any, even?" He grins. "If there's any Sharkadelic, we gotta buy it. It's destiny then."
*Ready? Fight!* *Sho-ryu-ken!* *Sho-ryu-ken!* *Hya! Hya! Hyahyahyahyahyahya!*
Jean-Batiste detours down the foodstuffs aisle, and starts rummaging. Orange juice crystals. Grapefruit juice - ugh. And...lo and behold...both packets and big cans of Kool-Aid. He shoots a wide grin to Trace, and starts rummaging, locating - aha! - the coveted Sharkadelic Blue. It's one of those awful kiddie flavours, instead of Lemon-Lime or Cherry or something. "Think we need anything else?" he asks Trace, looking over the items in the basket.
Trace blinks at the sounds, and glances back over his shoulder, partly tempted to join Jason. He kicks ass with Chun-li, after all. Even if she's a girl. She bounces off walls, and that rocks. "Hmm?" he glances back at Batiste. "Oh. No, I don't think so... Wait! That's right, I need a candle. We forget and left the other one burning last night. Burned down... Got red wax all over my picture of Walker. It was kind've a shit picture anyway, but even so...I ought've been more careful." He wanders off towards the rainbow rack of
assorted candles.
*Sonic-Boom!*
Jean-Batiste's eyes widen a little. "We left it burning?" He blinks. Shit. Could have burned the whole fort down, and he probably wouldn't have noticed. He stares after Trace for a few seconds, then heads to the checkout, and starts unloading the basket. As the clerk's ringing it all up, he takes one of the Marlboro hard-packs and adds it to the pile. The clerk leaves it for last, looks at Batiste and says, "Can I see some ID, sir?" Batiste chuckles, grinning crookedly and says, "Nevermind. Dog ate it." Goodies all bundled up in a bag, he waits by the checkout to make sure Trace has money to pay for the candle, before going over to check out Jason's game.
Trace selects a nice, thick white candle and ambles on over towards the checkout counter. Doesn't go straight there, though, but moves over to where Batiste watches Jason play, and mumbles something into the younger kid's ear with a grin.
Jason's either kicking ass or getting his ass kicked... Nope, he's getting his ass kicked, and, well, he seems to enjoy it. After Dhalsim wipes the floor up with his Ryu, he cheerfully pops another quarter in to get E. Honda's butt kicked by Chun-Li.
You whisper "Hey... Before we check out of here, wanna go make another mess or something? Anything, enough to get the desk lady away so I can grab Batiste some cigarettes from behind the counter, eh?" to Jason.
Trace doesn't wait for a response. If he doesn't want to, no big deal. He moves to the check-out desk and pays for his candle with another single from the wallet, his "birthday present". Either way, best have everything else checked out and paid for in case he DOES, Trace thinks.
Jean-Batiste looks from one of you, to the other, and back again...and suddenly is glad he has his receipt in the bottom of his plastic bag. He glances towards the door, then moves over a little to the side, watching Jason's game from another angle.
Jason gets this broad grin as he looks to Trace, their eyes sort of trading this mischevious look. He darts away mid-butt-kicking and heads down the canned-foods aisle. This crash is a /lot/ louder, and a thick red syrup starts spreading out of the mouth of the aisle afterwards. Kinda eerie, actually. *Clean-up, aisle 5* the checklady announces, and Jason's out the door in a blur of black and red. The lady finishes ringing up Trace's candle and, with a /very/ exasperated sigh, slides out of her 'stall' to go see what happened.
Trace "accidentily" doesn't pay attention, watching in the direction of the crash, as his candle rolls across the plastic surface and behind the counter on the other side. With a shrug, he moves around to the other side, stoops to retrieve it, very quickly shoves a whole carton of Marlboros up his shirt, and starts away quickly. "Got our stuff, let's jet!" he grins at Batiste and moves briskly out the door.
Jean-Batiste closes his eyes for a minute and moans softly. "Oh, -man-, J-" He stops. Best not say anyone's name, right this moment. He looks back at Trace, leaning back against the counter, and starts to laugh. Then giggle. Before it can get to anything -too- hysterical sounding, he gathers up his stuff and jets. Thank you for shopping, byebye. He heads out of the parking lot, making sure to pull the both of you with him if you dawdle, then starts laughing again.
Trace keeps one arm tucked close to his shirt front at an unnatural angle, to keep the bulky carton from falling out. He's laughing by the time he's out the door, and tugs it out. Looking it over, he apologizes with a grin, "Oh.... sorry, soft pack. I was in a hurry, just grabbed at red, y'know?"
Jason's already tooling around with a shopping cart in the parking lot as you two come out, which he abandons (and incidentally nearly dents a truck with) when you come out. Bouncing over, he snickers. "Yeah, think we should return 'em?"
Jean-Batiste waits until the three of you are around the corner a ways, then turns to Trace with a disbelieving gleam in his eye. "How many did you swipe?" he asks, holding the plastic bag open to catch the loot. Seeing the entire carton, he -whoops- with laughter and almost hugs Trace. "I have been craving a smoke -so- bad, that's -great-!" He swats at Jason's arm. "Oh, yeah. That'd be great. C'mon, we'd better get back to the motel."
(Continued in First Night in the Motel, Part 3)