Walker nods, jiggling the bed a little with the motion. "No prob. Like I said, braidin's no problem." Light as the fluttering of a butterfly's wings he sets to the next braid. "You're hair's not real long so this'll go quick. Th' fact that it's straight helps too."

Trace lifts his shoulders helplessly. "Who knows? But it's gotta be better than this blondish stuff that's coming in." It really is blonde when freshly cleaned, but it's also currently wet, so nobody'd know that yet. "If we just make it like pasty goop, I could maybe just use my fingers. Hmm.." He looks down at the packet.

Jean-Batiste calls towards the bathroom, "Use some of the wrapper from the bag of candy? That'll help keep your fingers clean, and it won't soak into the plastic?" He reaches back and picks up the completed braid, smiling with delight. Life is good, at least temporarily. He sighs contentedly.

Jason peers a little at the roots, chewing on his lower lip in thought. After a few moments, he asks, "Do ya really hate yer hair /that/ much? 'Ve always wanted blond hair, actually." Jason, with his red hair, wanted blond? Doubtful.

Walker runs his fingers through the remaining hair, seperating another section. "Plastic's not a half bad plan. Too bad we don' have a spoon. Then ya could just spoon it on like salad dressing..." He grins and works up the next braid, smooth and even as the first two, moving on to the next. He shifts a little as he begins to lose feeling in his legs.

Trace brightens. Wow, that would work. He glances over at his older friend with slight admiration, like ooh, Batiste has brains. He gives Jason a strange look, and then really gives the question thought. "Well... I don't hate my hair. Blue's a magic color, though... I mean, look around, what's blue? Not blueberries, they're colored like bruises, all black and purple. But the magic stuff... sometimes a morning glory, or a butterfly wing, or the sky... Yeah, that's all what I want. Y'know?" He looks to Jason with a slightly hopeful expression..

"D'you need me to move or anything?" Batiste asks when Walker shifts around a bit. "Wow, this is great..." He pats down another newly-formed braid, and grins with anticipation of getting to look in the mirror. Without looking towards Trace and Jason, he says, "You oughtta be a poet, too..."

Trace giggles, a little flattered. "Naw... I hate writin' stuff down. I think somethin, it comes out pictures."

Jason blinks a little at Trace. No, not in confusion, but, well, he didn't expect that answer out of the kid, and, well, he's impressed. That much shows in his eyes. So he bestows on Trace one of those really small, but really meaningful smiles that people usually don't see with all of Jason's lopsided grinning and sarcastic smirking and nods.

Walker glances over at Trace, a phantom smile brushing his curved lips. "I'm all b'hind dyin' hair. I prefer th' black m'self. My stage manager'd freak if I showed up with blue or green hair but I can skate with black." He looks back to what he's doing before the braid he plaiting goes awry. "Nah. You're fine. I just had ta get th' circulation goin' again."

Trace returns the smile, ruffling a self-conscious free hand through his hair. "Let's do this then, huh?" He moves to where he tossed the empty candy-corn bag that got torn asunder and brings it over to the sink. Then he sprinkles the kool-aid powder onto the lid in a little pile.

"So...what are you performing, anyways?" Batiste asks, glancing back out of the very corner of his eye. "I think I asked once, before, but I can't remember what you said..." He uncrosses his legs and recrosses them again, curling his toes tightly to make the tiny joints pop.

Jason crouches down while Trace does the mixing thing. He knows what he's doing, Jason isn't quite sure. While Trace is occupied, though, it's clear Jason's chewing on something in his mind, possibly newfound respect for a junkie street artist? Who knows.

Walker inches his way around the side to begin braiding the last locks of hair. "Mostly lounge shit here of late 'cause o' Mardi Gras but my agent promised ta get me back onta th' stage before summa," he replies. "He's just not sure what he can pull out for me yet. Heard him talkin' about Th' Madness o' King George, but I'm doubtin' he'll score me anythin'. Not enough good female roles."

Trace mixes the sharkadelic dye with the corner of the plastic bag, and then when he's satisfied with the consistancy, he scoops up a bit of it. He turns to Jason and grins, "This would make your hair purple. Not that I think you should go purple... red suits you." He smirks and adds, "Much more'n blonde." He balances the glop on the plastic, turning it when it starts to run too far one way. "Hey, uh... if you just hold out a piece of hair, I could get to the root pretty easy, I think."

Jason tilts his head slightly again, green eyes being pulled out of their thoughtful stare. "Suits me?" But then he grins at Trace's predicament and nodnods, leaning over and parting the other kid's hair at the front and then gently pulling out a length to be dyed.

"So you sing, too?" Batiste turns his head to look at Walker, and keeps it slightly turned so Walker can reach the last few locks easier. Shyly, he admits, "I don't know a lot about theatre. Just a little bit of Shakespeare I remember from school, and that's about it." He rubs his knees, nervous and excited.

Jason pipes up from where he and Trace are doing the blue-thang, "I sing! But I suck!"

Jean-Batiste quips back, "What's that got to do with singing?" And turns pink for saying it. Damned fuzzy navels went to his tongue.

Walker nods, then adds for Jean's benefit since he can't see the nod: "Yeah... I'm really betta with stage actin' though. My agent would argue but that's cuz he's only lookin' ta make th' most money." He gives the finished braid a tug. "You've got a good face for th' stage; nice 'n versatile." He grins over jis shoulder at Jason. "Yeah, we heard ya in th' shower. On th' upshot your warbling probably got rid o' any insects in th' room."

Trace slops the blue goop on generously, diligently. "Suits you, yeah. You're like fire sometimes. Not like you're angry, that's not what I mean at all, just like you're..." He flushes and even though he was clearly going to say more, he grins as though he suddenly feels foolish. "Oh, nevermind.. geez." To the other two, "You think Batiste could be in theatre? Well, he'd have to speak up a bit, he acts kinda shy sometimes!"

Walker chuckles, putting the finishing tugs on the last braid. "All done." He gives a body stretch and falls over on the bed, rolling onto his back. "Speakin's a pretty important part o' theata... unless you're playin' a bit part or a mute. But he's got th' face."

/He/ feels foolish? Jason's actually burning up there. Well, not quite, but he's gon quite red, and subtley too. One of those steadily growing flushes as Trace speaks. Anyhow, he just mumbles something under his breath and moves on to another part of Trace's hair to be glopped. Damn, the kid reacts to the strangest things.

Jean-Batiste shakes his head, still pink around the cheeks and tip of his nose. "Naw, I couldn't act, I wouldn't be any good at it. I remember having to be part of a school play, and it was awful..." Probably because the director kept having to say, 'Jean, speak up. Jean, speak up.' "Drawing, that's all I can do." He twists around to smile at Walker, and pats down all of his new braids. "This is -so- great. Thanks."

"Well, *dammit*, Batiste's hair is prettier again," Trace grins with approval. Indeed... The boy's own hair is sticking up a bit where it's been slopped with sharkadelic goo, and more keeps coming. "It really does look nice, honest."

Walker grins and sits back up. "You're welcome... looks good. You guys're gonna look great tamorrow." He crawls to the edge of the bed and swings his legs off the side and hops up. He grabs a smoke and looks over to the hairpainting. "Too fuckin' cool..."

Jean-Batiste hops up off the bed and heads to a mirror, leaning forward to grin into it. He shakes his head a bit, just to make the braids fly around his face, then grins more. "Awesome," he murmurs. "Thanks, Walker," he says again. Turning to look over at Trace, he sticks his chest out a bit. "And I still have prettier tits, too." He giggles.

Jason just nodnods to Walker's assessment. This hair thing, well, in Jason's opinion, it rocks. He stifles a giggle (and loses his blush) at Batiste's assertation of tit-superiority, but studiously continues to help Trace with his hair, murmuring, "I think Bat's jus' jealous cause yer hair's gonna blow his outta the water when we're done."

"Oh, honey, do you ever," Trace quips sardonically, and then giggles too. He paints at another strip of hair and grins at Jason's words.

"I'll still have nicer tits..." Batiste mumbles, giggling again. He turns, and heads back over to the 'bar', pouring himself another Fuzzy Navel. "Anyone want a drink?" he asks the room. As he tops his glass up with orange juice, he looks over at Walker and asks, "D'you ever perform somewhere we could all get in to see you at?"

Walker laughs. "Ya all have pretty hair _an'_ tits." He grabs the box and zippo and shoves them into the folds of his kilt before sitting down to strap his boots onto his rather small feet. "Yeah... if ya don' mind th' sorts of places." He double-knots the laces of the oversized boots. "I mostly work th' alternative clubs n' gay revues."

The plastic bag Trace is using slips a little, and he gets some blue glop on his finger. Peering at it, he suddenly grins. To Jason, he muses, "Batiste's nose is awfully pink right now, but it really doesn't suit him... It'd look much better blue, don't you think, Jason?" He laughs again and takes a menecing step towards Batiste, blue-slimed hand held before him.

Jason comments dryly, "I can get in /anywhere/..." and moves on to another strip of hair after pausing to lick some blue off a fingertip. He then gets a big grin at Trace's devious comment and steps back (not wanting to be there when the blue flies).

Jean-Batiste shrieks softly, and jumps back, nearly tripping over Walker's feet on his hasty trip back into the far corner of the room. "Hey, don't you -dare-..." he threatens, trying to look all fierce. It might help if he lost the grin. "Don't..." he repeats.

Trace flies at Batiste with a cackle, but stops just short of sliming his friend's face with blue. "Magic word, let's hear it," he grins, eyes lit with dark glee.

Walker curls back away from Jean's stumble, having been fallen on far too many times this past week. As the threat passes he rises from the chair and ducks to the other side of the room, either to avoid any stray blue or to clear a path for Trace. "I need ta get goin' guys. Have fun with th' drink and koolaid," he laughs.

Jason pulls away from watching the ensuing glop-fight to bat his eyes (he sure can get 'em large and watery when he wants too) at Walker. "What? Yer leavin' us? When we need ya most?" Well, actually, the guy already supplied the booze and braids, but still.

"Night, Walker! Thanks for comin' by..." Trace calls with cheer, but doesn't budge an inch, eyes locked with Batiste.

Jean-Batiste backs right up against the wall, and presses himself back just a little more to keep from being blue-ified. "Uh..." He sounds like he's about to call to Walker for help. "Uh, see you soon, Walker! It was fun having you around..." He looks back at Trace, grinning ferociously at him. "-Don't-..." he repeats, giggling nervously, looking from Trace's eyes to the blue glop.

Walker waggles a lone brow. "I'm not stickin' around where I might get stained. I'll catch you guys when you're not armed with koolaid." Giggling softly he tugs the door open. "Maybe I'll catch your drawin' tamorrow... good luck with it!" And out he goes.

Trace growls playfully around his grin, "Haven't heard anything that sounded like a magic word yet... It sure as hell ain't "don't", so you can stop tryin' it."

Jason isn't above switching sides. Once Walker's gone, he gets instantly bored with being a bystander and crouches down, sneaking around behind Trace.

Trace doesn't notice the sneaky red-head at all, his eyes intent and bright on Batiste as he patiently waits, hand poised.

Jean-Batiste starts giggling more, edging towards uncontrollable laughter. "Trace," he repeats, pleadingly. He looks towards Jason for a second, then immediately back up into Trace's face. "Don't..." he repeats, then blurts with a flurry of laughter. "Please! -Please-!"

Jason can be really sneaky too. He slinks up /right/ behind Trace, mischief lighting his green eyes on fire. Ya know, soon as the sole 'adult' of the room leaves, the likelihood of a complete mess being made shot up.

Trace laughs and shakes his head, "No, no, no! Please and don't, those are BORING, everybody picks those for magic words!" He decides that Jason would have been a better target for this, probably. But then, Jason's nose wasn't so pink. "Are you SURE you can't do better? Ask Erzuli, maybe she'll give you something magic to say." Ohh... it's the first time he's so much as mentioned anything remotely related to those strange incidents since the two boys fled Dark Manor. He seems to have taken himself aback, even, and his smile flickers very briefly, faded for just a heartbeat.

Jason doesn't notice the flicker and whatnot, but he /does/ choose this moment to strike. He suddenly flashes out and tickles Trace's bare ribs, giggling wildly.

Jean-Batiste's laughter falters, and he glances down for a second, eyes going troubled. It only lasts for a second though, before his giddiness melts it away. "Uh, uh..." He tries to think of something. "Don't paint me or I'll...hit you with my chicken?" Well. -That's- a loaded comment. He goes even pinker, and starts to laugh again as Jason tickle-attacks Trace.

Trace yelps, terribly ticklish, and he clutches at his bare ribs without thinking. Whoops... He's effectively smurfed his ribs. He whirls around, and his eyes flare with disbelief and playful temper. "You... look what you made me do!" he protests. "I'll kill you!" He laughs and leaps at Jason with blue streaking his chest and his fingers outstretched.

Jason yelps! Victims are supposed to be helpless before his onslaughts! Or something. He makes a belated attempt at escape, scrambling for the bed and whining, "Bat! Helllp!"

Trace scrabbles to reach Jason, and realizing that Batiste will probably be after him in a second, attempts to get one solid, satisfying blue hand print stamped right onto Jason's stomach...

Jean-Batiste whoops with laughter, hooting at Trace, "Nice ribs!" He remembers something Trace said to him a couple days before, and starts howling with laughter, managing to get out, "Fingerpainting!" He pushes off from the wall, scrambling towards Trace to try and rescue Jason from the Evil Blue Hand of Doom. "-I'll- save you!" he laughs, and reaches out to tickle Trace's ribs again. Maybe it'll be a smudged handprint.

Jason lets out a whimper as he sees the Evil Blue Hand approaching and twists to one side to get away. Unfortunately he does it too late and all that manages to get him is a blue streak from his belly to his ribs. At least Bat's defending him, if ineffeciently. Help these days, sheesh. Jason goes tumbling over the bed to land on the other side in a giggling heap.

"Oh, ladies and gentleman, he found a MAGIC WORD!" Trace cries with glee, very pleased with his streak. "We knew he'd eventu--aii-iiiieeee!!" He curls up at the second attack, "Stopstopstop!"

Jean-Batiste leans over Trace, grinning fiendishly, and tickles him a few seconds longer, laughing almost as much as Trace is, before straightening up and wobbling with schnapps-brightened eyes and a crazy headful of braids. "Okay, okay, just 'cause you asked nice..." He ambles around the bed, looking for Jason, still giggling softly.

Jason pokes his head over the edge of the bed, to check to see if the coast is clear (and to see if there's anyone he can ambush). But what he finds is Batiste stalking him after assaulting Trace. Whuh-oh. With a muffled yelp, he ducks back down and tries to make a crawling-break for the other bed (like no one saw him).

Trace can't quite stop laughing, even after he's been released. "Hehe.... you said... hit me with your chicken....." He gasps a breath, and tries very hard not to clutch at his sides. "And Jason's stomach.... Haha, s'not fair... the original victem'z the only one that gets away clean..."

Jean-Batiste suddenly pounces upon the bed Jason's trying to crawl for, and leans over the edge to grin down maniacally at him. "Ha-hah!" he shouts in triumph, and reaches down to try and sneak a tickle to Jason's ribs, too. He looks away as he reaches, though, giggling to Trace, "You just watch it, or you'll get tickled again..."

Trace pushes himself partially upright. "Oh, the carpet... From the stuff on my head." He looks at the blue smear he created when he had curled up after Batiste's attack, and that sets him off laughing again. "Heh, poor maid!"

Jason blinkiblinks all wide-eyed up at Batiste, helpless as a deer in headlights. Caught! But wait, he made the fatal error of the predator, overconfidence. Jason grins evilly and suddenly grabs Batiste's arm, yanking him off the bed and onto the floor where Jason promptly pounces him and starts tickling mercilessly.

Jean-Batiste yelps in startlement, and tumbles off the bed, landing in a gangly, surprised sprawl on the floor. "Hey, stop, you-HEY!" Batiste jumps like he's being electrocuted when Jason starts tickling him, getting out a breathless shriek. "Nononono, stopitstopitstopit!" His laughter is soundless - out of air.

Trace manages to get to his feet and just laughs at the two of you. He decides he ought to help SOMEBODY, really. Otherwise he'll just wind up fighting a two-front war again. He flicks the plastic bag into the sink and wipes the blue fingers on his jeans, then digs into his canvas bag for a moment and comes up with the water bottle that he usually uses to set up his works. He uncaps it and moves over to Jason with a grin full of laughter and menace.

Jason, unfortunately, thought Trace was his ally in all of this. Pinning Batiste down by sitting on the older boy (though it's not like Jason's hard to displace), he tickles without remorse. But when he looks up to Trace to invite the other to get his shots in, he sees the malice with which Trace carries the water bottle. So he does the smart thing - he screeches and scrambles away, diving back over the bed.

Trace flings the water in that case with a sharp flick of his wrist, which gets water not only flying in Jason's direction, but also towards one of the two beds, and possibly on Batiste as well. Brilliant.

Jean-Batiste stays on the floor, still laughing and shuddering uncontrollably from the tickling assault. "Ohgod, ohgeez..." he pants. He stares up at Trace as he approaches with the water bottle, pleadingly silently with bright, hetic eyes. "Don't..." he starts to giggle-moan - only to get pelted with a line of water. He cries out, and sits up, spluttering, laughing, and wiping his face.

Jason's back and hair gets wet, of course, but it's not as bad as it would have been had he stayed still to get assaulted. After rolling on the ground, he pokes his head over the bed and peers with excited green eyes, grinning. "Hey, what happened to the chicken-whacking?"

Trace ohs! and glances down, murmuring a rushed apology. "Sorry! I was trying to get..." He still holds the now mostly empty bottle and looks up at Jason with confusion and laughs, "Huh?"

Jean-Batiste wipes his face off on his sleeves, and grins warningly over at Jason. "Hey, be quiet..." he laughs, and tries to give Trace an innocent look. "It's okay, it's just water..." He starts to climb up to his feet, shoulders still shaking with residual giggles.

Jason crawls onto the bed and lays on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows with a big, lopsided grin. "That the end of the excitement fer tanight or sumthin?"

Trace giggles and wipes at his brow with the back of his hand, which got splashed by a few drops as well. "Ah... who knows." He snickers. "I like motels."

Jason can't help but giggle at that. "Yup, they rock."

Jean-Batiste tugs at the bottom of his shirt, making sure he's still all properly modest and paint-free, then ambles back over to retrieve his glass. He drinks thirstily from it, grinning back bright-eyed at the both of you as he swirls the orangey liquor around. "Yeah. This is pretty great."

(Continued in First Night in the Motel, Part 6)