Jason swings his bag o' burgers around and grins up at Batiste, then looks to Trace and winks. And then he's off again, though at least towards the motel.

Trace tosses the carton into Jean-Batiste's plastic bag casually, though there's something in his eyes that reveals he's really quite pleased with himself. At least it makes up partly for Batiste covering the room cost this first night. "Yeah, let's get back. I wanna celebrate. And steal one of Jason's cold cheeseburgers, if I can get away with it."

Jason calls back from up ahead, "Over by dead body!" He giggles brightly and nearly runs over a couple as he takes off.

Jean-Batiste grins at Trace. "I'll start braiding his hair, and you can grab a burger while he's trapped." His mood is giddy, buoyant - maybe Jason's mood -is- contagious. He starts to jog after Jason, keeping up with Trace on the way back to the motel room.

Trace huhs. Jason's got a good set of ears, that's certain. He sighs good-naturedly and sprints after Jason and Batiste, one fist around his candle, the other holding a packet of sharkadelic blue kool-aid. He's slowed down for a moment when his sneaker lands on someone's fallen beads instead of smooth concrete, and he skids and nearly drops what he's carrying. He manages to keep his grip, however, but it slowed him down even more and he pipes, "Hey, wait up!"

Jean-Batiste chases after the scampering, utterly manic Jason at a speed somewhere between a fast walk and a slow jog, making sure not to get too far ahead or behind Trace. He's carrying a very full-looking plastic bag with a drug-store logo on the side of it, and seems pleased with the world overall. He stops when Trace calls out, and looks back towards him, then passes the message on to Jason, "Hey, Jason! Wait up!"

Trace scoops to grab the purple beads before picking his pace back up to a jog.

Walker wanders up the road coming from the opposite direction. He squints a little as he sees the figures ahead trying to get a better look. He angles that way, curiosity piqued.

Jason almost runs down a poor, unsuspecting couple in his dash down the street, but veers off at the last second by grabbing a lamppost and swinging back around towards Batiste and Trace. Braids bouncing, he skips back to the other two, swinging the McDonalds bag around like it wouldn't matter TOO much to him if the contents flew all over the place. "Whaaaaat?" he mock-whines, then giggles. "Yer all too fast fer me, ya know that?"

Trace shakes the beads as he runs, for they'd been dropped partly in a puddle, and then slips them around his neck. He catches up to Batiste, and is panting a little, exerted even from the short sprint. "Geezus. Jason, someone slip you some caffine or somethin?" He grins at his friend in braids.

Jean-Batiste scowls grinningly at Jason, and gently swings his shopping bag to bump Jason's arm. "Yeah, yeah. We know. We're all hyped on pickles, okay? You should have eaten more of them." He grins sidelong at Trace, then looks around, mumbling about getting his own Mardi Gras beads.

Jason suddenly spouts out, "It's the CHEESE!!" and swings his head so that he swats Batiste back with his hair. Then, dancing backwards with a grin at the other two boys, he sings out, "Awhooo! Werewolves of London!"

Trace snickers and tugs the beads off again, and starts to work them over Batiste's ball cap. "If you want 'em, there ya go.. and didn't even hafta strip for me either." He grins.

Walker pulls on his cigarette, casting it aside with a grin as he draws close enough to recognize voices. "Ain't you hoodlums evva heard about somethin' called curfew?" he calls, leaving a trail of scented smoke in his wake. Kicking a broken bottle aside, he adds: "Not ta mention disturbin' th' peace?" There's very little in his tone that rings close to serious.

Jean-Batiste laughs at Jason, swatting the mass of red hair and half-unravelled braids out of his face, shaking his head at him as he dances out of reach. "Geez," he complains, grinning all the while. He pulls off his cap to help Trace get the beads over his head, dirty hair falling around his face. Definately time for a shower. "Oh, yeah," he sniffs at Trace. "You just don't want to see my tits." He looks down at his chest, and tries to squeeze his nonexistent breasts together to make cleavage. Looking towards the sound of Walker's voice, he gives up his fruitless breast quest and waves at him. "Walker, hey!"

Trace giggles at Batiste, then glances over his shoulder when Walker calls out. "But we're on our way home, Officer Walker! Honest!" He gives a bright, innocent smile. Jason blinks! and darts behind Trace, holding the other kid between him and Walker. "Beat it, it's the fuzz!"

Walker smirks at Trace's comment, pulling a black box from the folds of his kilt. Tugging a cigarette out he shoves the box back into his kilt. "Th' only fuzz on this person's on m'arms," he chuckles. "What're ya up to tanight?" A flare of light from his zippo illuminates his pale face briefly.

Jason tilts his head, green eyes dancing with humor at the box and kilt thing. "No fuzz nowhere else? How odd."

"But they're nice tits..." Batiste giggles to himself, ambling up to stand near Jason and Trace, grinning at Walker as he lights up. "We're celebrating our success as muralists extraordinaire."

"Yep! We're going back to our motel," Trace pipes up. "They're gonna dye my roots back blue again, and we're braidin' the rest of Jason's hair and there's cable there and a real shower and everything. And beds." He winds down and just smiles up at Walker. "Wanna come?"

Walker gives a soft snort but chooses not to expand on the last comment he made. Least said... "Cool..." he nods once to Trace. "Did you guys do anymore pictures?" He grins to Jean, exhaling a plume of licorice-and-clove smoke. "Sure... ya certain they got beds? I mean, that is ratha unusual for a motel..."

Jason finally comes out from 'hiding,' giggling. "We traded the beds for HBO! *I* Thought it was worth it."

Jean-Batiste grins, and nods up the street towards the motel before starting to walk in that direction. "Yeah, it was pretty freaky. They had mints on the pillows, and everything." He laughs at Jason, trying to swat one of the braids sticking out at an odd angle. "-You- just want to wait for the movies that come out after midnight. Pervert."

Trace grins and joins in on the teasing with a brief, "Heh, Jason DeSade!" before looking back to Walker. "Nah, the pictures get drawn tomorrow. We're gonna do another big mural, maybe try and get enough to stay in our motel room another night or so."

Walker tsks, brushing his long hair over his shoulder. "It's not perverted... it's natural. A pervert molests a hamsta while watchin' th' flicks." He pulls on his cigarette, taking in a long drag. "Where are ya guys gonna draw at next?" Not even going to bother with asking _what_ they're going to draw. No point.

Jason eeks and ducks under Batiste's swing, trotting alonside him. "Hey, how can *I* help it if Showtime soft porn rocks, huh?" And then as if nothing was odd with the idea, he looks to Walker and asks, "You mean molesting hamsters is wrong?"

Trace rolls his eyes and grins at Batiste, with a look like 'when can we sedate Jason?' "Let's get back to the motel!" he suggests aloud. "We're never gonna get his hair all braided if we don't start soon, and we all get showers too..."

Jean-Batiste grins back at Trace, sharing that sentiment. They'll feed him burgers carefully laced pickles later. Maybe that's the secret Jason-sedative. "Yeah, c'mon," he agrees, and picks up the pace, chop-chop, until everyone starts crowding into the motel room. "So, how are we gonna decide who gets first shower?" he asks the room at large.

Walker gives a rolling chuckle. "I'm not exactly th' utmost authority on right an' wrong. Nevva could keep th' two straight. But I do know that if it's small, fuzzy an' has got claws, I'm not gettin' personally acquainted with it." Entering the room, he immediately horks a chair. "Flip for it," he suggests.

Jason suddenly breaks from the pack, trailing a "Meeeeee!" as he darts for the bathrooms, giggling wildly. "...or run like hell an' lock th' door," Walker adds with a broad grin.

Jean-Batiste groans, and rolls his eyes at Jason's hasty retreat. "Fine, -be- that way..." He laughs, and heads over to the dresser, pulling his backpack off it and taking it to a corner of the bed to rummage through. "Don't use all the hot water!"

Trace rolls his shoulders, grinning. "M'in no hurry. Hey Jason!" he calls through the bathroom door. "Leave us the candy you lifted from the drug store. I got a serious need for chocolate or laffy taffy or something." To Jean-Batiste, he asks curiously. "You can't use all the hot water in a motel, can you? I mean, maybe you could, but it'd take a REALLY long shower..."

Walker stretches up to reach for the ashtray on the table, dumping the cheap matches out as he positions the flat glass coaster near his elbow. "I stayed at a place that didn't _have_ hot watta runnin' through th' pipes. 'Course it didn't really have a sink, eitha, so that wasn't a big surprise."

Jean-Batiste pulls a carton of Marlboros out of the drugstore bag, and smiles down at it like the face of the Messiah was printed on it. As he starts to tear it open, he looks over at Trace and says, "Well, a little shitty place like this, yeah. They probably don't have a huge water heater. That's okay, though, I don't mind waiting a bit."

Jason pops his head back around the door, his big lopsided grin seeming to take up the majority of it. "Well, ya know, we /could/ share..." And he lets out another round of giggles as he reaches into his pocket for the candy. He tosses the two bags (candy corn and some wrapped peppermints) onto the bed closest to the bathroom, then ducks back inside. Through the still-open door, you all can hear him tun on the water and hum something cheerful to himself.

"Pervert," Batiste mumbles to himself, grinning against a cigarette as he tears open a soft-pack and lights up happily.

Walker eyes the candy as he pulls on his cigarette. "Ya know what th' difference between bein' kinky and bein' a pervert is?" he offers conversationally, wishing he'd brought his flask. Oh, well.

Trace makes a grab for the candy corn eagerly, and then settles himself on the end of the bed where Batiste is opening the filched carton. 'I don't mind the wait either," he announces, and tugs at the bag of candy corn, trying to open it. "I love these things," he smiles, and keeps on trying to pull the plastic apart. Finally, he gives it a frustrated, violent yank and the candy corn goes flying in a white-orange-yellow starburst, scattering all over his lap, the bedsheets, and the floor, reaching as far as where Walker is sitting. One lands in his ashtrey. "Uh..." Trace looks around with embarrassment, and then lowers his eyes to his empty bag. He giggles.

Jason hears the candy-corn go flying and lets loose another bright giggle, then calls out, "You gotta pick 'em all up with yer /teeth!/" He ducks back around the door again, sticks his tongue out at everyone, then slams the door, singing something at the top of his lungs.

Jean-Batiste gets a couple quick hits of nicotene into his system, then relaxes enough to try and blow some smoke rings. They're lopsided rings, at best. His next round of rings are destroyed when he's pelted with candy corn - he laughs and coughs at once, and picks up a couple candies near him to pop into his mouth. As he chews, he asks Walker, "Waht's the difference?"

"Like hell I am!" Trace retorts with a grin, plucking candy corn out of his lap and popping it into his mouth. He looks to Walker curiously.

Walker plucks a couple of candies off his lap, popping them into his mouth before fishing the triangle of orange, yellow and white from the ashtray. "Here... keep this one; it's dirty," he grins as he flicks the tiny missile at Trace. "Th' difference is," he intones with a most serious look. "The kinky guy uses a featha. Th' pervert uses th' whole chicken."

Trace giggles and wrinkles his nose. "Ba-bawk!" He picks up the ash-covered candy corn and flicks it towards the sink. And misses. Oh, the maids will be thrilled with tonight's occupants, surely.

There's a shriek from the bathroom, but it's swallowed up by more giggles and the sound of the shower. Apparently Jason just stepped in.

Jean-Batiste starts to cluck as well, stopping with a laugh when Trace starts before him. "That's bad," he says, though he's grinning. He turns his attention down to his drugstore bag and his backpack, unloading the various goodies he picked up - and unlike his miscreant friends, payed for. "Poker for candy corn?" he suggests, when he gets to the deck of playing cards.

"I'm in," Walker agrees as he crushes his cigarette out. "I don't s'pose any o' y'all picked up drinkage did ya?" It's worth a hope. He scoots forward a little till he's perched on the edge of the seat.

Jean-Batiste pulls out one of those 99-cent bottles of cheapo shampoo and conditioner, and hands them over to Trace, followed by a little tail-comb out of his backpack. "Load in, like, a handful of the conditioner when you shower," he says. "And try to comb through it while the conditioner's still in. It'll help." He piles a jumbo bottle of aspirin into his backpack, and tosses a bag of rubber bands onto the dresser. He grins crookedly at Walker. "Oh, yeah. I look twenty-one."

Trace bites his lip. "Sure, but... Teach me to play? I only know Euchre. And, well, kid stuff like go-fish and war and stuff." He had set the candle and kool-aid packet on the bed, but now he moves it to a more secure spot, on the nightstand seperating the two beds. When Batiste hands him the shampoo and conditioner, that gets set on the nightstand too. He giggles. "I AM twenty-one. I just got, uh, stunted growth or something."

Walker bats his dark eyelashes in mock-innocence. "Did I say anythin' about alcohol?" Dumping the false look he rises, another candy corn dropping from his kilt. "S'there a soda machine around this place?" Trace shrugs helpfully, glancing at Batiste to see if he knows. "There's, uh... spotty drinking glasses and water from the sink? S'all I've seen so far."

"Sure," Batiste promises Trace. "It's easy. You guys can play while I'm braiding hair, or something." He looks uncertain about the pop machine, and thinks a couple seconds. "Maybe out in the lobby? I can't remember, I wasn't paying attention when we came through."

Jason's in the shower about as long as it takes to sing 'Henry the Eighth' about five billion times. Well, okay, not that long - actually not long at all. Considering his hair, he probably just barely got it all wet by the time you hear him jump out and turn off the shower. Maybe he IS being concientious or something.

Walker mutters something about liquor stores delivering and heads for the door. "Be right back..." he ducks out into the hall, the heavy door swinging shut solidly behind him.

Trace looks up at Walker and then lowers his eyes. He busies himself with gathering up candy corn in a pile, picking it off his clothing and scooping it off pillows. He doesn't bother with the ones on the floor yet. "Am I next?" he asks, glancing up to realize Jason has reentered the room. "Like I said, I'm in no hurry."

"So how long have you known him?" Batiste asks Trace, as Walker steps out. He pushes his backpack over towards the middle of the bed, and leans off the edge to start picking the candy corn off the floor. "You can shower next, that's okay. I'll shower when my hands get tired from braiding, so you guys don't have to wait too much on me."

Jason flings open the door, bouncing out with a towel around his bare shoulders (he's wearing his jeans, calm down people :), brushing his hair out with one of those folding-brushes. He tosses his coat and shirt down beside one of the beds and looks around hungrily. "Fee fi fo fum! Where the hell's my sugar, bum?" Or something. He then frowns and peers around the room. "Where'd the Scot go?"

Trace nods, "Thanks." With a glance to Jason, he admits, "He's getting alcohol. I guess I haven't known him much longer'n you. I walked into the Raven for some hot chocolate, and he was in the seat beside me, and he had piercings and so did I so we talked about that and it just went from there." He shrugs and grins. "He's nice. And he comes to watch me draw sometimes. Reminds me of someone I used to know, too, even if he's older..."

Jean-Batiste nods a little to Trace, then looks over at Jason and grins. "So does the shower work okay? No roaches or nothing?" He leans back down, and picks up a few more pieces of candy corn off the floor, tossing one at Jason. "Yeah, he seems pretty cool. Is he with that Cherry chick, d'you know?" Jason's gotten the old braids out in anticipation for some new ones. Snagging the peppermint bag, he sheds the towel and plops down cross-legged on the bed, struggling to get it open.

A knock sounds at the door.

Trace giggles a little. "Dunno. But she sure is, uh, friendly with 'im." He gets up, moving towards the shower, but looks over his shoulder towards Jason on the way there. "Careful, we'll have a mint explosion next..."

Jean-Batiste wrinkles his nose a little as he grins at Trace. "She's...kinda weird, don't you think?" He looks up at the sound of the knock and calls, "Hello..?" He starts to climb up off the bed as well.

Muffled by the thick door: "Honey, I'm home..."

Trace just heads on into the bathroom, figuring it's Walker returning. He closes the door behind him.

Jason says off-handedly as he finally rips the top off the bag, "I think she tried to jump me the other day.." He peers inside, then digs out a mind, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth, grinning crookedly.

Jean-Batiste grins, and calls, "The stripper's here!" before crossing to the door and opening it with a grin.

Walker walks in toting two large paper bags. He waggles his brows at Jean as he heads for the table. "Careful what ya say... I might just start sheddin' clothes." He sets the bags down and starts digging through them.

Jason giggles!, then leans over to peer at the bags, eyes hungry. "Is that /booze/ I spy??" Ooh, alcohol. He's eager already.

Jean-Batiste looks back at Jason with curious disbelief, as if wanting to ask, 'Really, she -did-..?" but, well, Walker's back. He'll ask later. He holds the door open for Walker, then closes and locks it behind him. "So what'd you get? Anything that goes with cheeseburgers?" He grins - yes, more grinning.

Water rattles against the curtain and the bottom of the tub as the shower goes on. (Oh, and he did pick up that shampoo and conditioner on his way in.)

Jason whistles at Batiste and bats his eyes coyly, giving him a shy smile. "Now, sah, would you mind gettin' a boy sumthin' ta wet his lips with, hmm?" In other words, hey, bum, get me a drink here!

Walker produces a bottle of Peach Schnapps, Firewater, a carton of orange juice, a small bottle of vodka and a fifth of Thunderbird. "A little o' everythin' cheap," he grins. "I think th' Schnapps goes great with burgers m'self, but you may think different." He heads away from the table to where the less-than-emmaculately-clean glasses are stored and grabs one. "Pick your poison."

Jason ooooohs and murmurs lustfully, "Schnapps..."

Jean-Batiste rolls his eyes at Jason, and sighs dramatically. "What, I'm already gonna braid your hair, and now I'm running drinks for you, too? Geez." He does, of course, head towards the insta-bar, anyways. "What's in a Fuzzy Navel, anyone know?" he asks. "Isn't it just orange juice and peach schnapps?" He gets two glasses, waiting for his turn, letting Walker fix up his drink first.

Walker nods, reaching for the Firewater. "Yup. Figga'd ta go for th' simple things. Screwdrivas, fuzzy navels, the like." He works the cap free and pours a glass full. Fishing out his zippo, he sets the liquid on fire, a wicked blue flame licking back and forth across the red alcohol. "Sacrament," he grins and upends it, drinking it down flame and all.

Soft, mediocre singing from the bathroom:

"Mary, you dream about places that I've never seen...
Flowers have O's and X's have wings
And all of your passion is cursed with a dark power
But through it you see the most beautiful thi-ings..."

Jason peers down at his stomach, flipping some of the fuzz about his navel. "I dunno... lint, mostly, I think."

Walker sets the glass down and flops into the chair, chuckling. "I hope there's no lint in your navel afta that showa or you did somethin' wrong."

Jean-Batiste's eyes widen as he watches Walker light the alcohol, then drink it down. He looks horrified for a second, as if watching some kind of self-mutilation, then realizes it didn't hurt, and just blinks a few more times. He glances back over his shoulder towards the bathroom door, absently wrestling with the schnapps lid. "So how strong do I make 'em?" he asks Jason.

Jason huhs? at Walker, then peers closer at his belly button. "Oh, silly me. Nevermind." He giggles, then grins broadly up at Batiste. "I'm small, I'm innocent - make it strong 'nuff so I kin fergit the last one."

Glug, glug, glug - Batiste makes Fuzzy Navels that are half orange juice and half schnapps, then. He looks around for something to stir them with, and finds a couple straws wrapped for your convenience, unwrapping one to serve as official swizzle stick for the night. He gulps down a mouthful of his own drink, then carries the other over to Jason.

The shower shuts off, after quite some time. A few minutes after that and Trace emerges. And whoa, he's clean! Where's the charcoal smudges and filth? Who'd have guessed his fingers actually are flesh colored? His hair is a real mess though, and he picks at it embarrassedly. "I... I tried what you said. It's still pretty stuck in a lump, though."

Walker grabs the vodka next, pouring a layer of the clear liquid into the glass before adding more firewater. For variety he splashes some Schnapps on top and squints at the concotion. "You guys evva had Rat Brains?" A quick glance around shows nothing viable to stir the mix with so he simply gives it a swirl and takes a gulp.

Jason ooohs and wriggles his fingers in anticipation, giggling. He bounces on the bed a couple times 'til his fuzzy navel's within reach, whereupon he skillfully snatches the drink from Batiste. A wink and a grin as thanks, but then he looks over to Trace and oohs. "There /is/ a guy under there somewhere!"

Walker glances over at Trace, a brow lifting. "Damn. I think this is a landmark event... I've nevva seen ya clean before." To that he raises his glass and takes another healthy swallow.

(Continued in First Night in the Motel, Part 4)