The spot between Batiste's shoulderblades shivers a bit at the thought of vodka straight, though he watches Walker drink the concoction down with a sort of sick fascination. He turns to look at Trace, and smiles at him. "That's okay...I'll try and comb through it a little for you, if you want? Oh, and the complimentary bar's open, thanks to Walker. Want a Fuzzy Navel?"

Trace is only wearing his jeans, both the shirt and towel tucked in one armpit. Man, he's skinny. Ribs jutting and everything. He's got some bizarre scars here and there too. A few look like cigarette burns, but the rest are unidentifiable. "So, uh... Jason's hair isn't very braided," he notes, ignoring all the comments about his cleanliness. Then he looks to Batiste, and clears his throat a little. "I, uh... what's in a fuzzy navel?"

Jason tilts his head back at Batiste. "Hey, you gonna do us both?" He flips his hair back over one shoulder, as if to punctuate. Jason cheerfully helps out with, "Lint!!"

Trace gives a small chuckle at that, moving over to his original perch at the end of the bed.

Jean-Batiste looks back at Jason and rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Both of you at the same time," he replies, rather sarcastically. He grins, though, and looks over at Trace. "It's peach schnapps and orange juice, it's pretty good." He looks towards the shower. Decisions, decisions.

Walker laughs. "Next time I'm gettin' stuff for Backlashes instead o' 'Navels..." He sucks down more of the drink he's holding, the various colors of the drink not quite mixing together. Makes for an interesting looking drink.

Jason asks, actually a little timidly, as if he doesn't want to hedge in on Batiste's territory, "Ya know, *I* might be able to do his hair while ya do mine, Bat...?"

"What's peach schn..." Trace halts mid-question, his eyes falling on the wine bottle. He swallows hard. Brings his hand up to cover his lips, trying to make it casual. Probably failing miserably.

Walker looks over at Trace as he cuts off, pierced brow raising at his expression. "You just see a ghost or somethin'?"

Jean-Batiste nods to Jason, saying, "Sure, as long as Trace is cool with that. I think I've got another..." He trails off, and looks back towards the bar, then to Trace, then to the bar again.

Trace shakes his head briskly, embarrasedly, but he looks a little ill to be honest. And he doesn't move his hand, either.

Jason furrows his brows at Trace as well, but then shrugs, chalking it off as, well, whatever he chalks it off as. His manic little mind isn't terribly open for the viewing. He takes a big swig of his drink, then leans over and nudges Batiste with a grin, murmuring, "So, am I gettin' some braids tanight or /what?/"

Jean-Batiste moves over towards the bar suddenly, and picks up the Thunderbird, turning to put his back between the bottle and Trace, and carries it over to the little coat-closet by the door. He sets the bottle down on the floor, way back in the corner, where you have to be near the door to have a chance of seeing it at all.

Walker doesn't look remarkably convinced. Glances to the others, he hopes to find some clue-in to the odd behavior. Jean's the next to be favored with an odd look. Whatever... Grabbing another smoke, he lights up and snuggles a little further into the chair to tend his drink.

Trace lowers his hand slowly, watching Batiste. He's flushed and terribly embarrassed, but smiles faintly at his friend's courtesy. "So, uh..." Change the subject, yeah. "I get in front of Jason? Or Batiste first, to get the tangles out?" He smiles at the red head. "You *can* braid, right?"

Jean-Batiste dusts his hands off, looking like he just solved some bothersome problem. He heads to the bed, and leans over to rummage in his backpack until he locates a tiny little comb. "Yeah...you in front of Jason, Jason in front of me, I think?" Rubber bands, next. He stands by the edge of the bed, not sitting down just yet.

Jason shrugs a little at Trace, flashing his grin, eyes sparkling. "I dunno, never tried." He giggles and winks playfully. "It's not like I ever had anything to practice on," he says with a flip of his still-wet hair.
Jason scoots over to the middle of the bed and arranges himself cross-legged. Mm, hair, fun. Well.. Walker gets to watch - it's a great spectator sport, don'tcha know?"

Walker smirks, thinking this should prove to be a most entertaining sight. Who needs HBO? He stretches his legs out, crossing an ankle over the other. "Braidin's not so hard... it's French braidin' that's the bitch..."

Jean-Batiste suggests, "Well, how about you just try and help him get some of the tangles outta his hair, while I braid yours? We want him to be able to keep the braids in for a while afterwards, after all, not just reknot his hair back up." Bringing his drink along with him, Batiste settles down a little ways behind Jason, then looks at Walker. "You know how to do that? Did you teach yourself?"

Trace grins. "I can't french braid for shit. My sis used to want me to do hers like that when ma couldn't, but I always fucked it up so bad..." He takes his spot in front of Jason.

Walker shakes his head after another gulp of alcohol. "Nah. Somebody had ta teach me. Most pain-in-th'-ass thing I evva learned how ta do. An' then I had ta learn how ta do it on m'self. M'hair was longa then... I thought m' arms were gonna fall off." Imagine that one; Walker trying to braid his own hair, which must've been down to his rear at that point if it was longer than it is now.

Jason drains the rest of the drink (with rather frightening efficiency) and sets the glass aside on the bed. He wriggles his fingers, then snags one of the combs floating about and cackles softly to himself as he eyes Trace's hair.

Trace glances over his shoulder nervously. "You be gentle, eh? That's like six months wortha tangles in there." He pulls himself into a cross-legged position and snatches up a candy corn left over from the big spill, tossing it into his mouth.

Jean-Batiste finishes about half of his drink, and sets it in his lap. He tells Jason, "Okay, I'm not gonna do tiny little braids, 'cause that'd take, like, ten hours. Unless you want me to only do a few along each side of your face, or something? Otherwise I'll do pretty small braids, but all over your head." He looks at the mass of red hair before him, and down at his comb, seeming nervous for a second.

Walker motions to Jason's glass with his foot. "Ya want a refill?" He offers since he's the only one not involved in the hair-styling. Downing the last of his own drink, he takes a long drag off his cigarette.

Jason reaches up with his comb for Trace's hair, ooohing softly at Batiste and nodding. "Like a couple down each side? Wouldja mind?" He bounces a little with a giggle of nervous energy, then peers closer at the matted blue mass before him. Another cackle... and he actually /is/ gentle as he starts at the front of the other boy's hair with the comb and nimble fingers.
Jason looks over in the midst of his first tangle (a small one) and nodnods with a huge grin to Walker. "Strong 'n fruity!"

Trace leans his head back, fixing his eyes on some point where the wall meets the ceiling... A smile touches his lips as he thinks, 'hey, that feels nice.' He's not used to being taken care of at all.

Jean-Batiste nods a little to Jason. "Sure, I can do some tiny braids on either side of your face, and you can leave the rest down, that way. It looks kinda cool of you pull the braids back and knot them together over the rest of your hair that way, too. Whatever you want." He shuffles in a bit closer, knees bumping Jason's back, and tentatively reaches forward to start on the first braid. "So, did we ever decide what we're gonna draw tomorrow?" he asks, as he combs the little bit of red hair out, and divides it in thirds.

Walker bends to grab the glass, sweeping it up to the table in a fluid move. Working quickly, he mixes up a strong-and-fruity Fuzzy for Jason. "Anyone else want somethin' while I'm playin' barkeep?" He leans forward to hand the glass over, catching his hair before it falls into the drink.

Jean-Batiste starts the first braid at Jason's temple, pausing with the three thin locks of hair woven between his fingers, his other hand bringing his glass up to hurriedly gulp it down. A little breathlessly, he asks, "Yeah, could I have another too, please?" and holds the glass out for Walker with a shy smile.

"I'm fine," Trace announces softly, before resisting a grinning glance over his shoulder towards Batiste.
"Griffins and castles and stuff, remember?" He laughs a little. "Well, guess you might not..." He fiddles with the cracked, plastic end of one shoelace idly. "Jason knows, I told 'im about my griffins the next day. He's gonna play music for it."

Jason grins over at Walker gratefull, placing the glass between his legs and going back to working on Trace's hair. He gently tugs the other kid back towards him so he can tilt his own head back for Batiste to work on. For as filled with energy as he is (even now), he's remarkably patient with Trace's hair, eventually just discarding the comb and picking through it with his fingers. Occaisionally he lets out a soft giggle, though if it's at his own thoughts or Batiste's attentions it's hard to tell. Once, though, he mutters, "One big dred.." with a snicker.

Walker decides to actually stand to take the next glass. He whips up another, stealing a sip before handing it over to Jean. "There ya are." He looks from him down to Jason. "So where's m'tip?" He manages to keep his delicate features locked in a poker face save for the tell-tale glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Jason murmurs straight-faced as his fingers work through Trace's hair, "You'll get yer tip soon 'nuff.."

Jean-Batiste looks from his glass, up to Walker, and grins crookedly. "Thanks," he murmurs, and steals a sip from his glass as well. "Your, uh, your tip is...our esteemed company and access to our midnight cheeseburger buffet?" He chews the inside of his cheek for a second at Jason's reply, then puts his glass down and continues braiding Jason's hair. A tiny little plait starts forming, fingers working quicker as they move further from Jason's temple.

Walker drops back down into the chair and reaches for the vodka and the oj. "I betta," he declares with a mock huffiness usually only heard from the mouths of actors. He glances at Jean sideways, lips pulling into a half-smile. "Oh, well. In that case I'm richly rewarded." He splashes the two liquids into the glass at once figuring that will serve well to keep out the hotspots.

Trace blushes a little at the 'one big dred' comment, but giggles too. Well, this sucks that everybody else is braiding but he has nothing to do with his hands. He taps at his shoes restlessly. "Hey Walker, whats those things you're always smoking?" he asks out of no where. "Are they real cigarettes? Coz they smell funny, and they're black and all.."

Jason draws his fingers through Trace's hair, actually doing quite well with getting it all in order. He seems to know how to deal with tangles. He only occaisionally picks up the comb to force one out, and even then he manages to do it without pulling too much out.

Walker chuckles softly, giving the drink a swirl just to be sure. "They're Kalmaines... there sorta like clove cigarettes only they're wrapped in licorice paper. I can't stand th' taste of regular tabacco but I'm addicted ta smokin'. Go fig." He takes an experimental taste, showing a lot more caution with the mixed drink than he showed with the straight alcohol.

Jean-Batiste pulls an elastic out of the bag - a green one will contrast nicely with red hair, he decides - and carefully finishes off the tiny braid, leaving a little tuft of unbraided hair at the end. "There, how's that?" he asks Jason, hopeful and nervous. He grins suddenly, and tickles Jason's nose with the little tuft.

Jason eeks! and tries to duck his own hair as he swats at Batiste's hand with a bright giggle. He turns his head to give Batiste a green-eyed grin and to wrinkle his nose in mock fierceness. "Just for that, you gotta do another one!"

Trace ohs, feeling a bit more informed. He doesn't seem to mind Jason's occasional, necessary tugging at all. He glances back when Batiste tickles at Jason's nose. A thought occurs to him, and he grins brightly. "Walker oughta do Batiste's hair! Then we'll walk around, these weird punks with braids. Like we're in a gang together, and the braids're like our rag." He giggles at the thought.

Walker giggles at the silliness and puffs on his cigarette, the scented smoke mingling nicely with the smells of the sweet liquors and shampoo. Looking to Jean, he tips his head a little. "Want me to?" He takes another sip of his drink; it could use some ice but he's feeling lazy now and doesn't want to hunt down the ice machine which would probably be out of order anyway.

Jason snickers at the thought as well as he starts combing his fingers through Traces hair a few more times to catch any snags he missed. "Yeah, we'd be /scary/ like that. Show all the homies we bad."

Jean-Batiste laughs softly, and grins back at Jason. "Okay. I figured I'd do three on one side, and then let you see how it looked before I did any more. Maybe-" He stops when Trace starts to speak, then shakes his head in earnest embarrassment. "I haven't showered yet, it's still all dirty..." And, well, it really is. "It'd be all gross to braid up..." he insists. "I, well...I could go grab a shower quick, and then that'd be cool and all?" He adds, grinning again, "I know how to do jailhouse tattoos."

Walker starts to nod, stopping to wrinkle his nose. "Jailhouse tattoos? What's that?" He pulls a last drag from the dark filter and adds it to the other butts in the rapidly-filling tiny ashtray.

Trace laughs at Jason when he briefly goes g-funk, then -- still chuckling -- turns peek over Jason at Batiste. It would momentarily disrupt the finger combing. "Sure, sure... go shower. Maybe me'n Jason can get the Sharkadelic stuff in my hair while you're in there. He's nearly got it combed through, somehow." He touches at what's supposed to be a matted clump with disbelief. "You're magic, y'know," he grins at Jason.

Jason mms at mention of the Kool-Aid, even as he sort of stumps himself to do with his hands while Trace is turned his way. Then he gets the compliment and blushes (like, /really/ blushes) and grins, shrugging. "That's what they all say.."

Jean-Batiste tickles Jason's cheek once more with the braid, then ducks away, grabbing his drink as he goes. He gulps down three swallows in a row, gasping a little at the alcohol burn even schnapps can generate, then grins at Walker. "They're tattoos you do on yourself. You just need a needle and thread, some black ink, towels, and ice." Moving over to his backpack, he glances around for a moment, before surreptitiously trying to find something inside of it.

Trace giggles and protests to Jean-Batiste, "I dunno, man, I don't think I can do it... I'm totally scared of needles." His eyes dance with amusement.

Jason finds something to do, play with his braid! He snags it and peers over it with approval, then grins brightly to Trace and swats it against the other boy's shoulder.

Walker nods slowly. "I think I heard about that sorta thing when I was in high school... nevva actually seen one done though. Saw a guy tat a friend of mine with a homemade gun made from a fish tank mota an' a Bic pen."
Walker favors Trace with a tight-lipped smile wishing he had some candy corn to throw at him. "Yeah an' I'm Motha Teresa."

Jason throws in, "Used ta do brands, but..." He smirks.

Trace pokes a tongue out at Walker playfully.

Walker arches a brow. "Don' stick that out if you're not plannin' ta use it. Where'd those peppamints go?" He chugs down a drink before setting the glass down. Rising he peeps around in search of the candies.

Jean-Batiste pulls something out of the very bottom of his backpack. Envy him, he has a change of clothing! Well, if ratty old sweat-cutoffs are enviable. He pulls them out, patting down the rest of the contents of his backpack, then closes it up again and puts it down by the side of the bed. "Jailhouse tattoos are cool," he comments, blithely ignoring Walker's statement. "They hurt a lot, though, sometimes." He heads for the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

Jason /coughs/ and points to the bag beside him. Then, reminded, he pops one of the ones he had snagged earlier into his mouth. He taps Trace on thr shoulder and grins. "Wan' me ta finish?"

Walker blinks at the bag as though it suddenly started doing the hula. Grinning rather sheepishly he grabs a handful and settles himself back in the chair. Unwrapping one, he pops it into his mouth and sucks on it for a bit before sipping at his drink, mint still in his mouth.

Trace bobs his head once, moving back into position. "Feels like ya got a lot of it out," he marvels again. "I hasn't been like that in a long, long time.." He pokes his little finger into a hole near the sole of his battered sneakers, for something to do with his idle hands.

Inside the bathroom, the sink is filled with water, and something is splashed around in it - messily, by the sounds of it. The splashing starts and stops three times, then dripping can be heard. Finally, the shower starts up. Batiste is boring to eavesdrop on. No singing, no manic giggling. Just the sound of the water.

Walker props the glass on his knee, turning the mint around in his mouth. "So you guys're gonna do a fantasy-type drawin' next?" he asks. There's a soft clacking as he rolls the mint over his tonguebar.

Jason lets his braid go and goes to work on Trace's hair with his fingers again. No need for the comb anymore, really. Well, actually, it probably would get the job done quicker, but Jason seems to want to make sure of his handiwork himself or something. This actually keeps him occupied and quiet for a few minutes (letting Trace answer Walker's question).

Trace nods a little, glancing at the shower door. "S'what me an' Batiste decided the other night, but I donno if he still wants to. I kinda do. I had a sorta vision about griffins and I been itchin' to draw 'em since. But who knows? When I get out there, with the chalk and my concrete canvas all spread beneath me, I might be taken to drawin' something else." He shrugs sheepishly. "Never can tell."

Walker nods. "Cool... what time're y'all thinkin' ta head out?" A muffled crunch and the incessant clicking inside his mouth stops. After a moment's chewing he washes the candy down with a nice tart-n-pungent drink of the screwdriver.

Trace shrugs a little. "When we wake up and get ready? I donno.. I think it's somethin' that's just gonna sorta happen, when we get our shit together tomorrow."

Jason makes a small 'mm' sound behind Trace, though at what it's hard to tell. Finally, he admits to his work being done by just toying with the ends of the blue hair at Trace's neck and asking, "Wan' me ta braid some 're should we wait 'till ya get all dyed?"

Walker pulls another cigarette out and lights it. "I'll keep an eye for ya tamorrow aftanoon but I'm bettin' I'm gonna miss this one. Got ltsa shit ta do now that Mardi Gras's ovva an' I'm offa vacation."

Trace considers. "Dyed first, I think. Makes more sense that way." He looks up at Walker. "Aww... Well, stroll by Jackson Square when ya get a chance, if ya want. Won't be in progress, but it shouldn't be too scuffed to see it finished probably."

Jason shrugs at Trace (even though the kid can't see him right now) and just keeps toying with the hair. He's got nothing better to do. But he does grin broadly at Walker and nodnods encouragingly. "Won' wanna miss it, I'm sure."

Thud! Bounce-bounce-bounce. Sounds like Batiste dropped the bottle of conditioner, or something. The shower gets louder for a second, as the spray hits the tub, then gets quiet again when something blocks it. A minute later, the shower is cut off, and wet footsteps hop around in the bathroom as Batiste dries himself.

Trace fingers his hair some more, and giggles. "Doesn't feel like it's mine." Grabbing at some more candy corn, he munches on that for a moment before looking up at their kilted guest and chews on his lip a moment before asking, "Uh, Walker? I'm gonna have'ta jack up later... z'at gonna bother you? I can do it in the bathroom, it's no problem.."

Walker gives a short cough, one corner of his dark lips turning up. "Don' botha me none at all. Would make me jealous but I already got mine ealia," he winks. He scoops the glass up and polishes off the drink and settles back to enjoy his cigarette.

Jason smirks over at Walker. "He's so subtle about it, don'tcha think?"
Jason tsks and shakes his head, picking up the comb and going through Trace's hair to get it all smoothed back and stuff. "What'm I gonna do with alla you?" He snickers softly as he combs.

Trace grins at Walker, then turns to look at Jason quizzically. "Why would I hafta be subtle when you all know? S'like if it were someone we didn't know in here, I wouldn't say that.."

Jean-Batiste finally emerges, wearing his ratty black cutoff sweatpants and the cleaner of his two flannels buttoned up about halfway. Guess he's modest. His damp hair is towel-dried, and fluffed out, rather reminiscent of a dandelion. He wanders out, tossing his boots by the door, curling his toes into the cheap carpet and grinning at the feel of it anyways. "Hey, you guys? If you grab another shower, don't get my clothes wet, okay? They're hanging in there to dry."

Trace nods, "No problem. Two showers in a week, that'd like put my skin into shock or something." He flashes a grin.

Walker smirks, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the two. "What's th' use o' livin' if you're not enjoyin' yourself?" He blinks, brow furrowing. "Shit... what was that guy's name from Porgy 'n Bess..?" he murmurs to himself. He fixates on that for a long moment, staring at the ceiling as he tries to pull the name up.

Jason hrmphs irritably (well, for show, at least) and turns Trace's head back so he can finish his job - kinda like the cat cleaning the kitten. He does, however, start giggling at the sight of Batiste when he comes out, grinning broadly at the older kid.

Jean-Batiste brings the smell of soap and shampoo with him as he ambles back towards the bed, finger-combing his hair into a semblance of order. He picks his glass up, and gulps down the rest of it with a flourish before going back to finger-combing, a bit self-conscious at Jason's giggling. "It's not that bad, is it?" He looks down at himself - no, wait. Sweatpants don't -have- a fly.

Sweatpants also have no support, but that's not what Jason's laughing at. Hopefully. Anyhow, he tosses the comb aside and picks up his nearly-forgotten drink and bounces on the bed some, grinning lopsidedly up at Batiste. "Feelin' better?"

Trace looks to Jean-Batiste as he enters. "Fer once my hair's prettier 'n yers, Batiste," he quips, and then giggles. "But don't feel bad, you still got the nicer tits. Now join our gang and get braided." Jason adds, "Nicer, but he won' show 'em off! The tease."

"Sportin' Life," Walker declares suddenly, looking quite satisfied. It's only then that he notices that Jean's out of the shower. "Yeah... ya ready ta get your hair woven?" Grinning, he smashes his cigarette in the ashtray.

Jean-Batiste fidgets a bit more, and sits down on the edge of the bed, chewing his bottom lip. "Yeah, it's good to be clean. It's been a while." He runs his fingers through his hair, smiling at the feel of it. "Huh? Oh, yeah...yeah, that's me. I'm a tease." He gives Jason and Trace an impressively adept fluttering of lashes, then coyly undoes one button of his flannel, and giggles at himself. He grins up at Walker, and nods to him. "Yeah, okay. Ready when you are."

Trace turns to Jason. "While he's at that, let's do the dye, okay? He's done with yours, isn't he?" Walker starts to get up then halts and quickly unlaces his boots and kicks them off, nudging them to the side. "Awright then. Let's get this show goin'. Have a seat."

Jason giggles right back at Batiste, downing the rest of the fuzzy navel Walker made him earlier. Again, it's far too easy for him... But then again, it's not like he's not paying for it - it's calming him down considerably, surprising enough. He shakes his head at Trace, showing him the sole braid at his temple (though you can tell he takes pride in it), but he grins anyway. "How're we gonna do this dyin' thing?"

Jean-Batiste peeks over the side of the bed to make sure his backpack's still there, then climbs up onto the bed and tucks his legs up under himself, wrapping his hands around his bony little ankles. He looks up at Jason and says, "You mix it up with, like, just enough water to make it liquid, then smear it on and let it sit for like half an hour, then go and wash it off."

Jason gives Batiste a pouty face, sticking out his lower lip a little. "Ya mean I can't lick it off?" Ewwww, gross! But then he giggles and nudges Trace. "C'mon, le's do it."

"Oh..." Trace looks closer. "I thought he'd done more. Well, my back was to you guys, so..." He tugs at Jason's sleeve and gets up, moving towards the sink. "We need..." He glances around. "Here, we'll use the top of this." The younger artist snatches the lid off the cylinder ice barrel and sets it upside-down on the sink's counter. "We�ll dump the powder in there. I usually just put enough water in to make it pasty. Then we smear it wherever we want blue hair."

Walker hops lightly onto the bed and crawls behind Jean to position himself on his knees there. He lightly runs his fingers over the surface of the damp hair, giving the ends a fluff. "How do ya want it done? Same as you were doin' Jason's?" He looks over at Trace briefly then back to the hair before him.

Trace snickers. "Don't get it on my skin either. I don't want blue patches all over, just after gettin' cleaned up, a'right?"

Jean-Batiste shivers for a moment, and rubs his legs, then nods tentatively to Walker. Immediately after nodding, he shakes his head. "No, a little bigger's better, that way it can all get braided up." He starts to fidget a bit - like Trace before, he's got nothing to do with his hands. He starts rubbing an old scar on his ankle.

Jason gets his arm tugged (cause he doesn't have a sleeve right now), sliding off the bed and padding after Trace. He nodnods to Trace and his directions, then just grins broadly with that 'trust me' look at the last part. "No smurfiness, right."

Trace giggles, smurfiness! "Right. Okay." He fetches the packet of kool-aid, tearing off the corner as he walks back towards Jason and the sink.

Jean-Batiste mumbles under his breath, to Walker, "Bet you they both come out covered in blue..." He grins, and laughs for a moment, then holds still again.

Jason mms, bright eyes on the packet as Trace approaches. Sharkberry, yum. Okay, so he's mellower, but he's not /mellow/ yet.

Walker slips slender fingers through the pale hair, quickly seperating it in preliminary divisions. There's no way the hair will stay seperated for long but its just a maneuver to get a visual for the finished work. He bites his lip at the soft comment, ineffectively trying to stave off the giggles. "I'm not bettin' on that..." Nimbly he begins to braid the first lock of hair, working quickly and steadily to leave an even, flush, tight braid.

Trace considers. The ice bin lid does have a rim around it, so it's not an entirely flat surface, but even still... That'd be good for getting the longer parts, but not the roots. "I'm not sure what to use..." he voices his concern in a mumble, scanning the sink's counter.

Jason tilts his head slightly. "Washcloth won't work? Or will that absorb too much of it?" He leans up on his tippy-toes and peers at the top of Trace's head, as if to get a good look as to what needs to be hit with the Kool-Aid. "'N is it gonna be the same color?"

Jean-Batiste reaches up his hand, and lightly touches the braid near his scalp, and smiles. He almost looks back at Walker, then remembers not to, and speaks to the wall, instead. "That's pretty good... thanks." He scratches his leg, itching most of his calf in a methodical pattern.

(Continued in First Night in the Motel, Part 5)