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Log Title: Party at Beight's Motel

Log Setting: Beight's Motel -- Lower East 3

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

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

Log Cast:
Walker
Trace
Jean-Batiste
Alisynde
Glass
Avril
Cherry

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Rattle. Rasp. Clank. Giggle. Someone - Batiste, by the sounds of it - is trying to unlock the door while restling with...god knows what.

Trace is lying on the bed stomach down, chin propped up in his hands. The room is dim, lit only by the bathroom light and the television, the latter of which sends bluish flickering light dancing up the grey walls and slanting the lamp shadows. His eyes have that bored glaze that comes from being just slightly fixed and, of course, television in general. He looks up slowly at the sound at the door and calls with a half-grin, "Batiste...?"

Jean-Batiste giggle-mumbles to someone on the other side of the door, then clunks against the doorknob again. "I'm -trying-...but..." can be heard, muffled through the wood. "Trace, you up? Can you get the door..? I found a leatherbabe and dragged her home for you..." He laughs again.

Muffled laughter sounds at the last comment; whatever leatherbabe he's dragged here certainly seems to find the situation humorous.

Trace jumps up at that, even if he doesn't believe you. Ya get points for creative motivation, in his book. He rakes some braids out of his eyes and tugs the door open for the both of you. "Ahh... come in?" he murmurs as he peers out curiously, wincing a bit at the brighter hall light.

Jean-Batiste yelps suddenly. "Hurry! She's-ow!" More giggling, and the sound of paper and plastic rustling. Maybe he's gift-wrapped the leatherbabe? When you open the door, there stands Batiste, looking...well, -happy-. He's got a handful of paper and plastic bags full of various containers. As for the leatherbabe...

Well, Walker is wearing leather pants. That counts, doesn't it? Along with the pants he sports a broad grin on his dark lips, weebling a little under the combined weight of a tray of paper cups plastic-wrapped in place and a portable CD player.
Walker grins hopefully at Trace. "Umm... could ya grab the black case in m'left hand? I'm about ta drop it."

"Hey, baby, where ya been all my life?" Trace smirks and rolls his eyes, "Get in here... What is that stuff, groceries?" He takes the black case and starts back inside with a wave to follow. "If so, cool, coz we're totally out of cheeseburgers..."

Jean-Batiste follows Trace in, grin wafting along with him as he goes. "We brought all kinds of stuff! Well, Walker did...I just helped him carry it all. We're having a party tonight." Yep, that's how long -he- can hold out such a good secret for. "Going away party. For the room." He laughs again, and starts piling the containers and bags on the counter.

Walker trails along after Trace, step slow so as not to drop anything. The tray he slides onto one of the beds, breathing an audible sigh of relief. "Where's a plug? Nevva mind," he grins and heads over to the table to set the CD player down. Dropping to all fours he crawls under the table, cord in hand. "No munchies yet... Glass is bringin' somethin' I think..."

Trace spins around at the mention of a party, smiling brighter now. "A going away party... That's a really great idea! After all, I really *am* gonna miss this place... It was really nice gettin' ta crash here. Guess it's back to the fort or wherever, til' we get Walker's mural done." He moves back towards the bags being unloaded, standing on tip-toe to peer inside. "So what'd you bring? And what music? And is it just us?"

"Well, the three of us, and Glass and Ali...that's all we could really fit in here. Well, and Jason, if he gets back, but..." Who knows if -that- will happen. Jason's off doing Mysterious Jason Things, after all. Batiste grins at Trace, and starts unloading a couple bottles left for Walker to identify, and...Jell-O? "Ali's bringing a special surprise for -you-," he adds, grinning mischievously at Trace.

"Like what?" is Trace's instant counter to that mysterious bit of knowledge, ever terrible with surprises.

Jean-Batiste hums in that annoying 'I'm not gonna tellll yoooou...' way, just grinning like a Cheshire Cat at Trace as he finishes unpacking everything.

Walker crawls back out from under the table in reverse, cord plugged in to his satisfaction. Smudging dust from his fingers to the hem of his shirt he turns his attention to the black case Trace relieved him of. "For music we have..." He unzips the fat nylon case and starts flipping through CDs. "Lords-a Acid... Rammstein... Fear... Machines-a Lovin' Grace... Wumpscut... a little o' evrathin'." He pulls out a CD and shoves it into the player. A grinding, rubbery-sounding tune(?) wrenches out of the small speakers. He giggles as he passes Bat on his way to the counter to start working with the jello.

"How old were you when you first let a man make love to you?" An older man's voice demands Ghestapo-style over the music. "Next, who was he? Next how did you feel at the time?" Walker's taste in music is interesting if nothing else.

Trace offers a mock scowl which quickly evaporates into a grin and then just fidgits a bit. He looks over at Walker. "Well. Well, I like Rammstein okay." He hasn't heard of the others, but then again, he's never owned a CD player. Reaches out, "Hey, gimme some jello... what flavor is it?"

Walker shoos at the hands. "Hey, now! Unless ya want a big ol' bite of Jell-o slidas, you'll keep your fingas out of it." He grabs the tupperware bowl, swinging it lightly out of Trace's reach. "It's Raspberry. An' there should be a small bowl in th' bottom of th' bag that doesn't have anythin' in it 'sides watta. Help yourself ta that."

Jean-Batiste looks back at the CD player, eyeing it up mildly. Well. That's what happens when you let Walker pick the music. He just grins, though - he's in great spirits tonight. Edging up close to Walker, he grins down at the raspberry Jell-O and then peeks up out of the corner of his eyes. Priming the puppy eyes, maybe.

Walker sets the bowl down and begins prying at the lid, dark eyes sliding to Bat with muted mirth. "Get me one o' those plastic spoons an' ya can have th' first one." With a sharp tug the lid pops free and red Jell-O wobbles. It's a bit on the liquid side, even after setting for four hours; liquor does that to Jell-O. "I put chocolate sauce in some o' th' cups. I like chocolate-raspberry."

Jean-Batiste flashes a sunny grin, and moves off obediently to grab the bag of plastic spoons. "Oh...chocolate sauce?" He looks away from ripping the top of the bag open, distracted. "What alcohol did you use to make them with? The last time I made alcoholic jello, we used too much, and we had to slurp it up through a straw 'cause it wouldn't set." Imagine how -noisy- slurping runny jello through a straw would be, and the comments that would fly about. Batiste does, and laughs for a moment, remembering.

Trace blinks. "What? Oh.." That they'd be spiked hadn't occured to him. He gives you both a soft, honest smile though.. "You made some just for me?" He wanders over to the brown bag and finally digs out the small bowl, and though he grins down at it, he doesn't open it yet.

Walker gives a soft laugh as he grabs a spoon and begins dolloping blobs of slickery Jell-O into cups. "Evvaclear an' vodka. Th' trick's ta add a little watta an' make a whole bunch at once. Keeps it from runnin'. I used two boxes..." He flashes a grin over his shoulder at Trace, nearly missing the cup he's aiming for. Blop. It hits the rim and slops down to the paper bottom like something from The Blob. "I figga'd ya might want some so I just made some of it without."

Jean-Batiste smiles gratefully up at Walker, then turns that smile to Trace. "Wouldn't be as fun if you couldn't have some, too...wait until you see what Ali's bringing." He grins all childishly again. Nothing like having a secret and making sure -everyone- knows you have it.

Trace just sticks his tongue out at Batiste briefly before it disappears in light of another grin. He sets his jello bowl carefully on the counter by the sink and then hops back onto the bed, flipping the TV off on his way there. Pulling himself crosslegged, he watching the both of you unpack with eager, hazel eyes. "Anything I can do to help?"

You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First Floor)

Walker shakes his head as another spoonful of Jell-O slides into a cup layered with chocolate syrup. "Don' think there's anythin' for ya ta do 'sides kick back an' relax..." He glances to the door then back down at what he's doing.

Jean-Batiste leans in with a plastic spoon, and tries to sneak a little bit of chocolate sauce. "Glass is bringing the ingredients for nuclear fruit salad, and..." He looks back, spoon wavering in mid air, to grin at Trace. "And X for everyone. Just like that, like it wouldn't cost anything for him to do it. Isn't that cool?"

Well, there's something he could do! Trace hops up and scurries over to the door, tugging it open.

Glass comes in from the hall. Cherry comes in from the hall.

Trace turns back to Batiste, then to Glass. "Wow! Seriously? Man.." He giggles and dances back over to where Walker is doing mysterious and slightly stomach-turning things with his jello and chocolate.

Glass steps in, followed by Cherry. He's got a plastic bowl filled with fruit, not cut up. A couple of mangoes, a couple of pears, a pineapple, a cantalope, a bunch of grapes, and cherries and stuff. Woah. In his other hand is a bottle, wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Walker glances to the door as Trace opens it, a grin spreading as he sees the arrivals. "Hey! Glass! Cherry-Pie! S'up?" He scoops another spoonful of slightly runny Jell-O from the bowl he's balancing and drops the blob into one of the many paper cups sitting on a tray on the table.

A portable CD player behind the cups is pumping out a jiggy and grungy number, akin to German industrial but not quite there. "Baby... come ta daddy..." a man's voice growls out.

Cherry follows Glass in and wiggles her fingers in Walker's direction, "Guess what!" She seems way to bubbly all of a sudden.

Jean-Batiste looks over to Glass and Cherry, waving a plastic spoon slightly smeared with chocolate syrup at them. "Hey, glad you could make it..." he calls. "C'mon in, get comfortable..." He heads for Glass, to take the bowl of fruit from him, eyes wide with appreciation. "Wow, this is great stuff...mangoes! Awesome."

Glass grins at Batiste, "You got a knife?"

Walker sets the empty bowl aside on the floor, nudging it under the table with a foot. "What?" he grins to Cherry as he grabs one of the cups. Tipping it back, he slurps the Jell-O concotion down, lowering the cup with a satisfied smile. "Mmm... perfect."

Cherry wrinkles her nose at Walker and holds up two fingers, "Got laid..Twice." Isn't she proud?

"I've never had a mango..." Trace murmurs, and then looks over to Glass. "But there's stuff in it, huh." He looks as though he's considering overlooking that, just to try this mysterious jungle fruit that he's only tasted so far in fruitopias and tropicana twisters. At Cherry's comment, he just flushes a bit and looks at his toes.

You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First Floor)

Glass hands the paper-wrapped bottle to Trace.

Walker laughs, squishing the cup and tossing it into the trash before grabbing another. "Well, damn, girl! Two different folks or th' same one?" He slurps down the second slider and moves to the door, figuring it to be his turn to answer it.

Glass says, "Not yet. Take a mango, quick."

Cherry grins and makes her self at home on one of the beds, "Two diffrent ones."

Avril comes in from the hall.

Trace giggles takes the offered bottle, then dashes over to snatch up a mango. "Hey, thanks!" he beams, juggling the two. He glances between the door and the bottle. "You want me to get that?" He's growing accustomed to his roll as doorman tonight.

Avril slips in grinning at Walker and his smushed paper cup, holding up a package of styro ones toward him and rasping hoarsely, "Good thing I brought more."

Glass grins.

Cherry rolls her eyes and wiggles her fingers in Avril's direction, "I remeber you!"

Walker moves back from the door, eyes moving to Cherry again as he tosses the second cup in the direction of the trash. "Evrabody, this is Avril... Avril... evrabody." He waves in the direction of the cluttered counter. "Just set 'em ovva there whereevva there's room." He trundles back to the table to flop in one of the chairs.

Avril grins sidelong to Cherry and raises a hand in a wave, nodding, "Yeah...from The Church." She follows Walker to the table and lies the stack of cups down where she can find a clear spot.

Avril's Desc:
She stands only about 5'4", small by most standards, but lean and well-developed, efficient power in a compact size. A heart-shaped face and almost elfin features lend to her youthful look, even though her eyes seem to contradict that impression. In contrast to her black lashes, her eyes seem an uncommonly pale shade of gray, almost icy in their clarity. Only full garnet lips manage to balance her sharp gaze, and while she might be considered 'unique' she'd never be thought of as a classic beauty. Her skin is too dusky a shade, indicating mixed heritage, and her black hair entirely too curly, though it has at least been tamed into a silver barette at her nape, falling to the middle of her back.

Casual and unpretentious, she wears clean but slightly baggy blue jeans, the extra length at the ankles falling over the tops of black leather engineer boots that shine with chrome buckles. A sheer black chiffon top hugs tight around her ribs, but is tucked in neatly just the same, accentuating the smallness of her waist. Easily transparent, the shirt clings hungrily to her very erect nipples.

Glass snorts.

Cherry nods to Avril and bounces off the bed and towards Wakler, taking up her costomery spot on his lap, snuggling against him.

Jean-Batiste glances over at Avril, stares a second, then clears his throat gently. "Yeah, I have a knife..." he murmurs to Glass. "Want some help cutting that all up?" He looks to Trace, and nods towards Avril, as if to try and silently say, 'Get a load of -that-'. He heads for his backpack, rummaging through it.

Trace just blinks at the former leatherbabe as she breezes past him into the room before he even had the chance to get the door for her. For lack of something better to do, he pulls the brown bag away from the bottle Glass handed him and peers into it curiously.

Glass nods to Batiste, "Yeah. I have never made a fruit salad."

Walker leans forward a bit to drag his cigarettes from his back pocket lest they be smushed like the dixie cups. That done he tugs one out and lights it, licorice and clove mingling with the scents of raspberry Jell-O and alcohol. "Anybody want a slida? If ya don' grab one I'll slug 'em all down." He gives Cherry a little jiggle in time to the bump-and-grind music, grinning at her.

Avril ruffles Walker's hair as she moves around the edge of the table, sorta wandering over to wherever Batiste is about to get to work on the salad. She looks like she's about to help...just waiting to be told what to hold, cut...or shoot...one never knows just where her gun is, after all.

Glass says, "Naw. Can I have a cigarette?"

Cherry wrinkles her nose at Walker and proceeds to go about her normal duties of nibbling, licking and just making a scene with him, ahh life, ain't it grand?

Trace blinks at the rum. Well, this isn't his department. He carries it over to Batiste dutifully and sets it on the counter beside where he's going to work on the salad. Still holding his own mango, he grins about and asks, "So, ah. Anyone know how to eat these things?" He rubs at the shiny skin eagerly.

Glass looks at the fruit. He takes a cherry and eats it, says, "We should save some out, for breakfast, and for me and Trace."

Walker knows where Avril's gun _isn't_; the shirt she wears makes that evident. Without disrupting Cherry's attentions he shoves the box toward Glass. "Did ya bring th' X?" He offers only his sweetest smile to the fellow, eyes large and hopeful under the black liner.

Glass looks at Trace, "It makes a big mess." He smiles at Walker and nods, "Yeah. You want?"

Jean-Batiste draws something out of his backpack while his back is turned. A soft, metallic *shik!* is heard - he turns around, handing a switchblade to Glass, hilt-first, as if it was some fancy Ginsu paring knife. "It should work...here, on the edge of the table, we can work here." And his own weapon of choice? A straight razor. "Sure," he says to Trace. "I'll peel it for you."

Avril beckons for Trace to come over to her side, rasping softly, "You gotta scrape the seeds out first...they're sorta tart."

Glass says, "There's only one big seed in a mango."

Cherry perks up a bit, getting a wicked grin as she glances at Glass, oh my, least she got laid recently. She shifts in Walker's lap, finding his ear as she purrs.

Jean-Batiste glances back at Avril, frowning lightly. "Seeds, in a mango?"

Glass points at Avril, "You're thinking of a pomegranate. I didn't bring any of those."

Avril nods to Glass, "Yeah..." She looks over to Batiste, arching an eyebrow and grinning, "You mean we aint got but one mango?

Trace nods a little, "Well, y'know, Batiste'll peel it first n' then we'll worry bout seeds. However many there is." He looks over at his fellow artist and snickers, "Yer just fulla weapons, huh. Gonna whip out an uzi on me next?"

Glass looks into the bowl, "We got two, I think."

"An' one of 'em's mine," Trace asserts with a grin, "Coz I never had one before."

Avril leans against the counter on a hip, muttering softly, "I'd take the seed out before peeling it...juice is gonna get everywhere."

Glass dumps the bowl of whole fruits out onto the table. He chops a strawberry in half and drops it back into the emptied plastic bowl.

Walker reaches over, arms around Cherry, to change the CD. He drops in Gravity Kills for a change of pace... well, not so much of a change. More thumping, grungy music grinds out of the CD player as the prelude to 'Guilty' fires up. "I'm glad y'all are handlin' th' killin' of the fruit... I'd get it all ovva th' place."

Cherry snickers, "I don't cook." What a surprise? Even though she'd be good with sharp objects, her job and all. She just goes back to purring and nibbling.

Avril chuckles faintly and offers a shrug to Walker, "That aint such a bad thing, cause if there's enough X to go 'round, we'd prolly all be lickin' da juice."

Glass chops the top off the pineapple. "There is. Who wants some?"

"Ooh, me!" Trace beams at Glass.

Jean-Batiste glances back to Avril again. "The pit's inside the peel. It's tricky like that." He grins for a moment, then looks at Trace. "Can I have a piece, too?" He starts to carve up the mango into wedges, leaving the skin on. He doesn't answer the comment about weapons, nope. "Yeah, I want some. After I'm done with the razor, though."

Cherry raises a hand, "Me." Scary huh?

Avril turns to Glass and raises a hand silently, not getting anywhere near that pina while it's being chopped.

Glass looks around, "Line up and say your prayers, then."

Walker grins, finding Avril's comment most appealing. "I'm up for lickin' juice," he grins wolfishly. Then his attention's on Glass. "Hand a hit this way - " He cuts off and looks at Cherry, brows high. "Oh, no.... _you_ don' need any. You're already on a permanent X trip."

Cherry grins and actually bounces out of Walker's lap to skid to a halt in front of Glass, "Ya know ya love me."

Glass pulls a little snuff-box from his pocket and takes a tablet from it. He places this atop one of the strawberry halves and says, "Come get it."

Trace smiles at Batiste, "Yeah, course you can have some!" Then he's trying to weasle his way in front of Cherry to get at the tab first, though he's probably not quick enough.

Avril shifts slightly against the edge of the counter, just sorta looking over the assortment of folks...all younger than herself, before asking to nobody in particular, "So what do all ya'll do?"

Cherry grins and makes a grab for the strawberry, with nothing less then her mouth, maybe Walker's right?

Glass feeds the strawberry half to Cherry.

Walker decides to wait till the crunch around Glass has eased off a bit, addressing Avril's question. "I waste money an' drink too much," he replies smartly with a truly benign smile. One brow waggles at her.

Trace giggles over at Avril. "You askin' us about what, actually like jobs or somethin'?" Then he looks back to Glass, still waiting for his own tab.

Avril smirks to Walker, replying dryly, "Oh...you must be a musician."

Cherry smiles and be's nice to Glass and gives him a kiss on the cheek, "Dankee."

Glass puts another pill on the other half and gives this to Trace, or lets him eat it out of his hand, if he's a mind to.

Jean-Batiste's either a cook in another life, or a mass-murderer - he carves up the mango neat as it's possible to carve up a mango, and sets the slices down for Trace. He nibbles at the fruit surrounding the mango pit, while starting on the peaches, carving them in half and twisting the pits out neatly. Doogie Howser, Chef, maybe. He watches Glass a little, but his real attention's on the fruit salad.

Walker chuckles, shaking his head. His long hair sifts over his shoulders with the gesture, threatening to tangle in his multitude of necklaces. "Close enough... I _am_ a stage performa." How many times has he been relegated to the ranks of musician now? Too many to count. In a heartbeat he's at Glass' elbow, smiling sweetly just for him. Or for his drugs. Whichever.

Glass cuts the pineapple, and makes a little pinapple esctacy hor'dourve for Walker.

Cherry snickers and slaps at Walker's ass as she steps out of the way, feltching a grape.

Avril inches a finger out to try to nab a peach slice from Batiste without getting cut with that switchblade...she's real careful.

Trace takes it out of Glass' palm, thank you, not half so brazen as Cherry. "Thanks!" he chirps, before immediatly dropping the tab and plucks up a piece of the freshly carved mango, first swallowing the X dry, then chasing it with the fruit.

"Don't eat the-" Batiste chirps, maybe too late. "-peel..." he finishes, grinning at Trace.

Cherry glances at Avril, wiggling her fingers, "I shove metal objects through various parts of people..Fun huh?"

Glass hands a similar treat to Avril.
Glass says, "I am a professional mooch."

Walker takes the fruit wedge daintily, sucking on it a little before popping it into his mouth. His eyes widen a little as his rump receives a smack, glancing over at Cherry with a tight-lipped smile as he chews.

Avril nods to Cherry as she reaches out to take the berry cocktail from Glass, murmering softly, "Got some pics of pierced up folks in my portfolio."

Glass puts the little snuff-box away and holds out his palm to Batiste, two little tablets resting there.

Trace gags and spatters, but it's already gone down, and uncomfortably at that. "Augh...." he winces, though he's grinning faintly. "You know that feeling when you can feel it kinda scratch all the way going down...?" He hacks again, but there's no help for it. "Geez.. Thought you'd taken the peel off already. Shoulda looked at it closer, I guess..."

Cherry grins and rubs against Walker, making cutsey faces at him, "Cool, ya gotta show 'em to me."

Jean-Batiste's got the straight-razor - Glass has the switchblade. He makes sure to edge back when Avril reaches for some of the fruit, though. No bloodsports for him. He finishes the peaches, sucking some of juice off his fingers. Grinning at Trace, he says, "Sorry...hold it by the peel, like a rind? It's easier to eat, and you waste less fruit..." He looks to Glass, and the two tablets. Mmm. To imbibe or not to imbibe...

Avril nods to Cherry, grinning as she eats her spiced up berry and murmering around the pulp, "Sure...Walker knows where I stay."

Walker swallows and looks back to Avril. "I still want a picture," he sticks in. No; he's not going to let that rest till he has one. He moves back to his favored spot in the room, goosing Cherry for her trouble. Dropping back into the chair, he draws a leg up, one arm loosely wrapping around it as the other hand reaches for his cigarettes.

Glass shrugs at Batiste.

Aw, what the hell - Batiste reaches forward, and neatly picks up one of the tables with fruit-sticky fingertips. "Thanks..." he murmurs, grinning at Glass.

Cherry grins and rolls her eyes, changing tactics and going after poor Glass now, hey, she's ice and doesn't /try/ to make poor Jean and trace blush.

Glass grins back. The last tablet he tosses back dry, following it with a grape.

Avril nods to Walker as he parks himself, remaining at the counter to nibble peach pieces, chewing fuzz and pulp alike with obvious relish, before finally asking, "Which one you want...the one of my butt?"

Trace casually ambles over towards Jean-Batiste, from behind so as not to interfere with this frightening bladework. He leans closer and whispers something with a cat-like grin.

Cherry's teeth find Glass' ear, eaqual oppertunity nibbling here.

Walker shakes his head as he lights his cigarette, brow furrowing. "Actually if ya have one of ya on all fours, that'd be cool..." He exhales slowly, relaxing to wait for the effects of the small pill to kick in.

Avril nods to Walker with a chuckle, "That can be arranged." You sense Trace snickers softly and pleads, "Gotta promise me one thing. When the X starts workin' an' I get all cuddly, you just... well, you promise you'll keep me the hell away from Cherry, eh? An' I'll do the same for you.."

Jean-Batiste peers at the tablet for a few more seconds, then pops it into his mouth and washes it down with a messy piece of mango, before starting on the grapes. He cuts them all in half, popping them in the bowl, working quickly before he starts obsessing on how -slippery- the grapes feel... He pauses to listen to Trace - and laughs out loud. "Oh, man. I -promise-..." he says to his friend, grinning at him.

Glass yelps, "Hey."

Walker brightens perceptibly. "Cool! Black an' white?" Oh, he hopes it's black and white. Color just seems to take away from most of that styling of photo. In his opinion, that is. He risks a glance over at Bat and silently reminds himself of the promise he made last night. He'll try to keep it...

Glass looks at Cherry, "I don't want you to bite me."

Cherry pokes Glass in the belly with a finger and glances around, dissmissing Trace and Bat and glancing at Avril, "I would..But you'd like..scary the hell out of me."

Avril nods to Walker, murmering softly, "yup...since it aint taken yet, can be with any sorta film you want."

Glass blinks.

Jean-Batiste suddenly grins to himself, shooting a sidelong look to Glass behind his braids. He finishes up with the rest of the fruit, working quickly. A mess of wet, bright colours starts to pile up in the bowl. He looks pleased at it all.

Trace giggles and snatches up a piece of mango, eating it properly this time, and wanders on back towards Walker, the girls, and poor molested

Glass. "So you both just work with photos?" he asks of the latter and Avril.
Glass goes back to chopping the fruit, after looking at Cherry for a moment.
Glass says, "Yeah, so far."

Can Walker get much brighter? Not with the death makeup on his face. But he sure tries. "Oo! You'd take one just for me?" Happy-joy-joy! He grabs a dixie cup of Jell-O and hands it to Avril, snatching one up for himself. "Too fuckin' cool!"

Avril nods to Trace as she rifles the bowl for a grape, "Yeah...photographer..."

Cherry wrinkles her nose and makes a tip toeing break for the door, her, loose on the streets? How frightening.

Avril looks up, sorta confused, but takes the jello anyways and starts scooping it out of her cup with her fingers, having to sorta...slurp it.

Glass looks faintly baffled.

Trace nods a little, and then glances over at Cherry curiously. Where's she going? Byt he doesn't persue it, and instead looks over at Avril and giggles. "I think you just... drink it, y'know? Tip it back."

Glass looks at Batiste, "Is there another bowl? We should save some out, I forgot."

Avril blinks at Trace, then upends the cup, trying to get the jello to move...it just wiggles and jiggles...but doesnt fall.

Cherry's escape attempt doesn't go unnoticed by Walker. "Where d'ya think you're goin'?" He tips the dixie cup back, gulping down vodka-and-Everclear mixed Jell-O. Mmm... chocolate at the bottom. Slurp.

Walker bends to drag the empty Jell-O bowl out from under the table, waving it at Glass. "Will this work? It'll need ta be rinsed..."

Cherry eeps and glances over her shoulder, "Skinny dipping?" Like that's likely..She shrugs and tip toes back to Glass, poor boy.

Glass smiles at Walker, "Yeah, sure."

Jean-Batiste looks over at Glass, in the middle of -carefully- cleaning fruit juice off his razor. "Mmmn? Oh, yeah." He sets the knife down. "Walker, you got more of those cups before we add rum to all this?"

Avril shakes her cup o' jello until it sorta lets go of the sides, tipping it up to munch at it absently.

Walker favors Cherry with an odd look. "Too cold ta go skinny-dipping." He pulls himself to his feet and totes the sticky bowl over to offer to Glass with a pleased-to-serve smile; the kind stewardesses and hotel reservationists wear. "No... but Avril brought some cups. I'll grab 'em," he directs at Bat before moving back to the table.

Glass goes to rinse the bowl, oblivious to Cherry.

Cherry glances at Walker and snickers, "Only cause ya balls would shrink and so would ya dick.." She grins and almost hits the floor and tries to get Glass' legs between her and Walker before she gets a good spank for her saucy words.

Jean-Batiste finally moves over to retrieve his alcoholic chocolate-raspberry jello creation. Heathen that he is, he starts eating it with a spoon. (Well, imagine how pink he'd turn if those awful slurping noises came from -him-.)

Glass fills the cleaned bowl with fruit from the larger one, and sets it aside. "Somebody else pour."

Avril sucks the drops of chocolate from the bottom of her cup and tosses it into the trash, turning to head into the bathroom...where the sound of water running is heard shortly thereafter.

Glass eats a peice of pear from the non-alchoholic bowl.

"I will, if you want... And if you tell me when to stop," Trace volunteers, blushing. He'd do anything for a distraction from... well, *whatever* it is Cherry's talking about.

Glass says, "I don't know when to stop."

Walker grabs the cups and wanders back to Bat, raspberrying Cherry. He rips the plastic away a little too roughly - bags never open the way they should - and sends white cups scattering everywhere. "Oops," he grins.

Trace giggles, "Well, like *I* do?" He looks over at his friend. "Batiste, you know, don'tchya?"

Jean-Batiste leans back on the counter, nodding a little to the music, grinning to himself as he polishes off the jello in a moderately neat manner. He sucks the chocolate sauce off the corner of his mouth, suggesting to Trace, "Pour until the rum covers the fruit, like a marinade, you know? It-" He laughs at Walker, and crouches down to start picking up plastic cups.

Cherry snickers and proceeds to nuzzleGlass' neck, ok, back to normal.

Glass steps away from the touch.

Walker begins the tedious process of retrieving cups as well, duck-walking about the immediate area to stack cups. "What d'ya call that concoction, Glass?" He doesn't bother looking up from his task as he scoops and piles.

Cherry blinks, ohh that's a new one.

Glass says, "Beats me. I didn't invent it. It's what Batiste asked me to bring."

Trace takes up the rum and pours, watching the liquor uncertainly the entire time. *glugluglug* "Hey... hey, z'is enough?" He nudges Batiste gently with one elbow.

"Nuclear fruit salad. We just let it sit for, like...well, as long as we can stand to let it sit. The longer the better, though. That's...yeah, that's good," Batiste says to Trace, grinning at him.

Trace rights the bottle and searches for the cap. When he doesn't see it, he just sets it back on the counter and shrugs. Surely someone -- Walker, most likely -- will finish it off before we have to worry about storing it anyway.

Avril returns from the bathroom, all cleansed of the juice that was running down her arms from her once-sticky hands. Since the bed's not occupied, she crawls right up into the middle of it and curls up on her side, just watching the chefs work.

You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First Floor)

Cherry slinks towards Walker's anbandoned chair and curls up in it, her chin resting on her knees.

Having just freed his hands up, Trace darts for the door. He's been playing the doorman all night it seems, why stop now?

Glass looks at the door, "Only three more people can come to this party. I'll run out."

A woman shouts from somewhere nearby, "Candygram!" Alisynde comes in from the hall.

Walker straightens from his crouch to amble over to the door, tower of cups wobbling dangerously. He banks off as Trace beats him there to put the tower of cups down on the counter before they topple.

Glass grins at Alisynde.

Alisynde sticks her head in the door, grinning toothily. "Landshark!"

Avril glances up from where she's curled up in the middle of the door, waving to Alisynde.

Glass says, "Hey, droog."

Walker giggles and waves to the woman in the doorway. "Hey, Ali! C'mon in and join th' fun!" Then he's motoring back to the table to change the CD. "Any music preferences, folks?"

"Hi Ali!" Trace beams, before dancing on back towards Batiste and the fruit. He plucks at his pile of mango bits and sucks at the fleshy yellow part cheerfully.

Cherry is curled up in a chair, her knees hugged to her chest and her chin resting on her knees.

Alisynde is holding a paperbag, full of stuff. "Hey, hi, hello. Daquiri?"

Jean-Batiste grins over at Ali, having just straightened up from picking up the rest of the cups. "Ali!" he calls cheerfully, then looks over at Walker. "Lords of Acid..."

Alisynde bobs an awkward curtsey as she moves fully into the room. "Lord Douglas." A warm smile for everyone. "Hi, Trace, Jean, Walker, people.."

Trace looks over at her again acutely. "That's what you brought?" he asks with an eagerness he tries to surpress. "Is it...?"

Glass smiles.

Jean-Batiste ambles a couple of steps to Trace, and props his chin down on Trace's shoulder, murmuring a few quick words to him before straightening up.

You whisper "I told her to bring some for you, 'cause you liked them so much..." to Trace.

Walker obediently drops in L.O.A. on request, hiking the volume just a smidge as 'Rough Sex' pumps out. "I want Daquiri!" He makes it to Ali's side in one bound, grinning at her.

Alisynde says, "Yup. I even brought ice, so we don't have to go out. Oh. And a hammer. I do have a blender, but it doesn't crush ice well. So we gotta crush it and then blend it."

Glass says, "Would you like to take a pill?"

Alisynde pulls various kinds of daquiri mix out - although there seems to be a lot of strawberry - the bag of ice, ahammer, some whipped cream, cherries and rum. And plastic cups.

Walker blink-blinks. "Blender! That's what I forgot!" He huffs an exasperated sigh, contemplating the journey back to his house. "I knew I was forgettin' somethin'..."

Cherry unfolds herself from her chair and hits the floor already walking towards the door, dodging people to reach it.

"Oh... oh, you're all the greatest, you know?" Trace pipes as he bounces over towards Ali. Either his X is hitting him pretty fast, or... nah, it's probably just the propect of more daquiris. He looks over at Walker. "Oh... You need one'a those, I guess?"

There seems to be an abundace of rum at this party. There's a bottle sitting on the table next to an enormous bowl of cut fruit. Another, smaller bowl of fruit sits toward the edge.

Jean-Batiste looks just altogether too happy with the world at large. He nabs another cup of chocolate raspberry jello-stuff, and sits down on the edge of the bed Avril's curled on, offering her a shy grin.

Avril flicks a meaningful glance over to Glass before her eyes slide back to Cherry....and her departure.

Glass looks at Avril, "What?"

Walker glances to Cherry as she makes for the door. Maybe she's going to get a blender? "Where're ya goin'?" The hopeful grin on his face spells out the wanted answer: 'I'm going to go get a blender, Walker'.

Avril tips her head toward Cherry's moving figure, arching her eyebrows quizzically. Isnt he going to do anything? She still doesnt say a word, and doesnt move away when Jean sits down near her.

Cherry glances at Walker and shrugs, "Home, or to pierce somethin' new..Duno..Check ya lata though."

Glass chuckles.

Alisynde finally digs out the blender , battered as it is.

Trace hovers besides Ali, and lights up at the sight of the necessary appliance. "You need help cuttin' the tops off them strawberries?" he offers helpfully.

Glass says, "Make a mango one."

Walker blinks. Well, that's not what he wanted to hear. Damn... "Uh... okay..." He brightens again as Ali pulls out a blender, a broad smile tugging his dark lips. "You're a life-sava, Ali!"

Trace giggles at Glass. "We don't got 'nuff mangos, silly. Just two, and I'm near half done with mine..."

Glass says, "I shoulda got more."

Cherry flicks a peace sign at the room in general and makes good her depaurture, it's almost scary thinking of what she could pierce next on herself, considering what she already has pierced on herself.
Cherry leaves the room.

Alisynde grins. "Sure. If you want to do that, actually, I'll hammer the ice.." She blows a kiss to Walker. "Of course I am," she says brightly. Her glance rests on Cherry for a moment, but she doesn't make any move to interfere with her departure. S'cool with her, apparently. "Don't have any mango mix, Glass. Sorry."

Trace waves a little at Cherry's surprise departure. "Well, uh... g'night!" And secretly hopes she doesn't offer to show him her newest piercing when next they meet, wherever it may be.

Avril squirms about a little bit on the bed, watching Cherry with slight consternation. This makes her restless for some reason, because she cant seem to quite get still for several seconds.

Jean-Batiste is a bad person. He seems quite completely relieved to see Cherry leave. He tries to muffle the expression in chocolate-covered Jell-O, though.

Glass seems pleased about it, actually.

Walker moves back to his chair to grab another cigarette, dropping into the seat and sprawling contentedly. "Well... I s'pose that gives a little more room ta spread out... I don' think there's enough room in here ta really dance when th' X really hits on, though." Pity. Of course slam-dancing's possible but the idea's to trash the motel, not break it entirely.

Avril pays Jean back, however, cause after all that wriggling about, she gets settled with her elbow on the top of his thigh, using him to prop herself up, while she watches the daquiri mixing begin...trying to learn.

Glass takes a peice of pineapple from the small bowl, then looks at Alisynde. "You want some?"

Jean-Batiste grins over at Glass, then. Bad people of the world, unite. He giggles softly to himself for a moment, stopping abruptly when Avril's elbow is suddenly in the picture. He looks over at her, startled, then just grins a bit, and turns his attention back to finishing his second cup of jello goodness.

Alisynde oohs. "Pinapple. Please?"

Glass grins at Alisynde, "With or without rum? And do you want some esctacy?"

Alisynde pulls a swiss knife out of her pocket and hands it to Trace. "Be careful with this. I don't want to have to take you to the hospital."

Walker lights his cigarette, slowly savoring the flavor. He then picks up a dixie cup of Jell-O from the table, peering into it as he shoves a finger in. He eyes the alcoholic mixture dubiously as he squishes it about, one corner of his mouth tugging up a little at the texture.

Trace takes it delicately, and then glances over... "Well, how bout I just use the one Batiste left lyin' there, huh? So, y'know, we don't got more sticky knives'n we absolutely need.."

Glass looks at Walker and the jello.

Alisynde mms. "With rum, and..." She bites her lip a little. "Never tried anything other than pot, speed, and acid once. Oh, no. That's not true. I had a 'lude once, too." She eyes the switchblade for a moment, then nods. "Probably a good idea, Trace."

Walker doesn't seem to notice Glass' eyes on him as he's rather enwrapped with his Jell-O smooshing. His original intent was to check it for chocolate at the bottom but he's lost track of that missive. Watery Jell-O has a sensation unto itself and must be explored.

Glass glances back to Alisynde, "Well, do you want to try?"

Trace hands back the blade and smiles. "All s'gonna do is feel like speed that... well, makes you feel real cuddly ta people and love everybody. And you'll get a lil' warm, and drink a lot coz you'll dry out... And.." He scritches his head, trying to think of more. "It's real safe, really.. not addictive or nothin'." He shrugs and takes up Batiste's blade, starting to work on those strawberries.

Jean-Batiste shows his lack of table manners, and cleans the last of the chocolate syrup out with his finger, cleaning it off with relish. He sighs happily, grinning around at nobody in particular, and ambles towards a garbage can. When he turns around, he sees Walker's Jell-O exploration, and laughs softly.

Alisynde says, "So it'll be like super bouncy and snuggly?"

Glass nods, "Yeah. You'll want to dance."

Trace beams. "Exactly! And you'll wanna touch an' taste an' smell *everything*, coz it'll all be so interestin'.."

Walker draws his finger back out of the cup to be licked clean. Tuning back into the conversation, he pulls his finger out of his mouth to smile warmly at Ali. "It's fun. It's like acid sorta only not so harsh an' much... fuzzier." No, that's not quite the descriptive he was searching for. Oh, well. "Music sounds betta, it feels good just ta move."

Avril sorta flops on her face when she gets deprived of Jean's thigh, having to catch herself momentarily before a little whimper comes from the back of her throat. She squirms, then heaves herself up to try to locate something wet, heading to snag a cup and pilfer some ice before deciding what else to put in it.

Jean-Batiste notes, very belatedly, "It's fun." Well, duh. He decides not to follow his own advice, and scoops up a cupful of fruit salad without letting it soak, catching the drips in his mouth as he straightens up.

Alisynde hms, still chewing on her lip. "Sounds like that'd be alright. As long as it doesn't go bad on me..there's a reason I won't do acid anymore."

Glass pulls out his little pillbox and offers Alisynde a tablet.

Avril shakes her head to Alisynde, murmering softly, "naw...this is more of a body trip...like microdots." She inspects the fruit cocktail bowl, then tries to drain the rummy dregs of fruit juice off into her glass of ice, without spilling any fruit...she's real careful.

Walker shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah... it's all good. But you'll probably want ta do thin's like rub your face on th' towels... X is also a... well, it makes ya see thin's clearer. Problems an' stuff that didn't have answers? Sometimes they can be found on X." He pulls a long drag off his cigarette, hotboxing it.

Trace giggles, having real fun with these strawberries, slicing their little leafy heads off. And you are convicted of having too many seeds, chop! And death to you for being too lumpy and not strawberry-shaped, chop! He giggles. Wow. The executions continue relentlessly.

Alisynde takes the tablet and dry swallows" She smiles at Avril. "Never did that either. 'M Ali, by the way." She sticks her hand out.

Glass looks at Trace and giggles.

Walker's attention meanders over to where Trace is mutilating the edibles. Wow... those look awful tasty. He slides out of his chair trailing scented cigarette smoke over to the youth's side where he peers lustfully at the chopped and juicy fruits.

Avril has to touch the fruit with her hand, but that's okay cause she's already hand her whole arms in the bathtub with hot water and soap tonight, so she's pretty sterile. She sorta chews her lip cause her hand is nasty, so she leans down reach fast and kisses the back of Ali's hand...which prolly brings back memories for Walker...and announces with a somewhat shy smile, "I'm Avril."

"Back, you can't save him!" Trace blurts out of no where with a laugh, mock-stabbing at Walker.

Glass takes a chunk of pear from the small bowl.

Walker hops back, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender against the blade. "Aww..." he whines softly, eyes liquifying. "Just one... please..?" A flutter of lashes accompanies the pleading look. And softer: "Please?"

Trace just laughs uncontrollably, the knife wavering precariously in his fist as he doubles over slightly. Now'd probably be a good time to take that blade away from him.

Jean-Batiste finds a patch of wall near the CD player, leaning there and nodding gently to the music. He eats chunks of fruit out of his plastic cup, using his fingers, wrestling with the slippery morsels. He laughs - presumably at Trace and Walker's antics - and half a grape dives out from his fingers in a graceful but suicidal arc. "Shit," he giggles.

Glass laughs.

Alisynde grins a bit, and remarks. "That's the first time anyone's ever kissed my hand, y'know."

Avril blinks a bit when something wet and pulpy smacks her cheek, and she turns to look at Jean oddly before turning back to Ali and wiping at her cheek absently with her sticky hand, before she realizes it's sticky, "Oh...I do that alot...when...oh hell." She just sorta winces when she realizes just how nasty she got herself.

Walker plucks the blade from Trace and a cut strawberry as well, quickly popping the latter into his mouth before Trace can object. "Thanks," he mumbles around the tart-sweet fruit. He sheathes the blade and slides it across the counter, out of harm's way.

Trace still chuckles a little and grabs a strawberry for himself, popping it into his mouth and chewing ungraciously. "Now no more, the rest's for daquiris," he scolds, though whether he means Walker or himself is uncertain.

Glass grins.

Alisynde looks at Avril's ear rather intently, then reaches behind it and pulls out...a Wet One. "Wet One?" And a glare is shot Walker's way. Don't even /think/ it, bucko.

Walker pretends he didn't hear that so that later he can steal more and fall back on that selective memory to vindicate him. He looks over at Ali, grinning hugely. "Frequently and often!" Nope, the look didn't shy him off at all this time.

Avril blinks a bit as she takes the offered handiwipe from Ali, chuckling softly, "Thanks...that was cool."

Jean-Batiste giggles breathlessly, around a mouthful of grape and peach and...well, whatever else he popped in there before realizing he should stop to chew. He peeks down at the CD player, considers messing with it, then decides his fingers are too covered in fruit juice and rum to risk it.

Alisynde calls over, "There's another bag of strawberries in the ..you are a sick and twisted man, Walker."
Alisynde sticks her tounge out at Walker, then turns back to Avril. "Hey, thanks. I'm a street magician, actually."

Walker slides around the beds toward the table, swaying with the music as he tugs his CD folder over. "Thank ya, Ali. That means a lot ta me comin' from you." He continues to groove to the music as he flips through the plastic-housed CDs, looking for something in particular.

Avril nods silently in agreement with Ali, then takes a swig of her juice rum stuff with her clean hand, departing for the bathroom once more...this whole X trip is revolving around warm water for her...as a person who loves her bath, it's just heaven to wash her hands right now.

Glass hops up onto the bed.

Trace forgets that he's supposed to be slicing strawberries, apparently, as he moves over to one of the beds and crawls up onto it, lying down on his stomach and folding his arms in front of him. His chin is rested on the backs of his hands, and he peers up at everyone happily as they bustle, cutting, concocting. Though there's something eager in his eyes, and in the way he drums his fingers, that says he's probably not going to be able to sit still there much longer.

Jean-Batiste peers down at the CDs Walker flips through with a solemn face but shiny, hectic eyes. "What're you looking for?" he asks, slurping noisily from his cup of fruit and rum. There. He slurped noisily. Not that he'll admit to it later, of course.

Avril returns from the bathroom and moves on over to the bed Trace has claimed, easing down to rest on her side and damned near spooning his hip. Yeah...she's snuggly alright, she just doesnt say much about it.

Alisynde picks up the hammer, and pulls an entire towel out of one pocket. She wraps it around the bag of ice, and then starts wailing away. After the ice is crushed, she loads up the blender wit strawberry daquiri mix, ice and strawberries. She finds an outlet, and crooks her fingers. Grinning manically, she hits the buttons. As many as she can reach with her ten fingers. And that blessed whirring sound fills the room.

Walker tugs out a silver CD and sets it atop the carry-case to await its turn in the player. "Aural Ecstasy," he obliges Bat, lips parting in a grin at the noisome drinking. "Only th' best-a techno." He grabs another cigarette while he's near them and begins to sway again, long hair swaying the opposite way thanks to potential energy. The fingers of his free hand move to twist in the tangle of necklaces he wears, enjoying their variety of textures. "Mmm! Daquiris!"

Glass dances on the bed.

Walker looks over at Glass, grin broadening. "Shake it, Glass!" He pulls a drag off his cigarette, wiggling more as the song shifts to one faster-paced.

Trace tenses slightly as Avril snuggles up next to him, but doesn't move, glancing over to look at her. "You.. gonna have some daquiris when they're ready..?" he asks shyly, just for something to say. He's a little unnerved, because her face is so close to his, but fascinated too. I mean, wow... people's eyes look *so* neat close up like that.

Glass shakes it, laughing.

Jean-Batiste whoops softly, and puts forefinger and pinky to his lips, wolf-whistling at Glass. Grinning madly, he leans back against the wall, gulping down more of his drink, forgetting to grimace at the rum's bite.

Glass sheds his blue raincoat.

Alisynde counts. 5..4...3..2..1 - daquiri! She pours the mixture into cups, then makes a second batch when the first doesn't quite come up with enough for everyone in the room. Rum is added to all but one, and stirred. She grabs up the can of Redi-whip, and tops the drinks with whipped cream and a cherry. Except for the non-alcholic one. That gets two. After the second batch is done, she fills the last glass, and leaves the rest to sit in the blender for now. That one is also laced with rum, whipped cream and a long-stemmed cherry. She keeps that one, gives the one with two cherries to Trace, and tells the others. "Come'n'git daquiris if y'want 'em."

Avril cranes her neck to check out Glass and his impromptu dance, grinning and rasping softly, "Shake, shake it baby..." Now all we need is some Dr. Dre and it'd made sense. She turns back to Trace, still smiling, and nods as she reaches up to scritch her nails into his hair, rubbing his scalp absently, almost massaging...yeah, she knows it feels neat as hell.

Glass waves his arms above his head, and dances. Oo! Clothing coming off! Walker gives a mighty cheer as the coat drops then bounces over to Ali for a daquiri. Yum! Rather than taking a cup, however, he grabs her instead in a big hug, wiggling against her in time to the beat.

Glass grins at Walker.

Jean-Batiste finishes off the last of his drink, sputtering momentarily on a grape, then twists through everyone to stand in front of Walker and Ali, grinning up at them. Rather than disturbing their wriggling, he reaches for one of the cups of dacquiri. The one with the long-stemmed cherry. Sneak, sneak...

Avril has to roll over and watch this..this is just compelling. The more Glass dances, the more she grins, offering a hoarse whoop, "Take it all off!" As she settles down so Trace can drink his drink without her messing with his hair.

Trace mmms and closes his eyes. "Wowwww..." He gives a short, soft giggle. "Hee, that tickles so *weird*..." One eye cracks open. Whoa, what's Glass up to?! He'd been distracted by this beautiful scritching, y'see. And then Batiste there... He's got a daquiri! What, they're done? He leaps up, just as Avril removes her hand on her own accord.

Glass unbuttons his shirt and turns to dance at Avril, grinning.

Trace scuttles on over to the daquiris, snitching one and dropping in three extra cherries with a not-quite-apologetic grin before bouncing on back towards the bed to watch what's going on.

Avril giggles madly and applauds for Glass, then starts searching in her pockets for dollar bills...she's only got about seven, and they're all crumpled and dirty, but she waves them at him anyway.

Glass hops off the other bed and dances over to Avril, dropping his shirt behind him.

Alisynde heeys. "How'm I supposed to tie cherry stems into knots if you steal my stems?" But, no matter, she pulls out another, and claims a daquiri for herself, still somehow managing to keep dancing with Walker.

Avril grins over to the other four, just making sure everyone else is seeing this too. What style! What showmanship! What a ham. She just giggles and inches off the bed to dance with Glass, nudging his hip with her own before trying to make a break for the table where the daquiris are.

Jean-Batiste sneaks away the daquiri with the long-stemmed cherry with his sweetest, slyest grin to Ali, creeping away a couple of steps and promptly bobbing his head to slurp up the cherry, stem and all. He chews slowly on the crunchy sugary goodness, watching Glass - he tries to whistle at him again, but only a brief warble comes out.

Glass lets her go, and stops his dance.

Walker grinds one last time against Ali before settling his attention on the daquiri waiting for him. "You can do that too?" He aims at Ali as he lifts a cup. "I only know a handful o' folks that can... Don' know if I could still do it now that I got m'tobgue pierced, though..." And up goes the cup for a long chug-a-lug. Icy chill... woohoo!

Avril arrives at the table, grinning, and snags a daquiri with no cherries. She hates cherries except in pies anyway. She grabs one for Glass as well and takes the dancer his hard earned treat, slurping hers happily.

Glass sips the drink and says to Avril, "Merci." Jean-Batiste awwws towards both Avril and Glass, then goes quiet, mouth shifting around in a number of silly expressions. You know, stem-tying expressions. He takes a small eternity about it, forgetting repeatedly to concentrate on -what- he's trying to do, instead of -how- it feels.

Avril nods to Glass with a smile and hands him the crumpled bills, just cause she dont know what else to do with them while she's trying to drink this thick yummy stuff.

Glass pockets the bills, grinning.

Alisynde shivers with delight as she takes a long drink from her glass. And she slowly licks the cream off her lip. "I can.." She picks up tip of her stem with her teeth, and drops it into her free hand. "What's it like...having your tounge pierced?" She then reverses the cherry so she grasps the stem and sucks the red globe off of it...then pops the stem into her mouth.

The CD player receives a very scandalized look as it finishes the last song. How dare it stop playing? Bounce-bounce... Walker tugs LOA out and slides Aural Ecstacy in, the electronic jam of techno filling the room. It's only then that Walker realizes that he's sloshed daquiri on his hand and damned if it isn't cold. Interesting, but messy. He licks at his hand, cleaning up the mess.

"'thfun," Batiste replies to Ali, as he draws something small and stem-looking out of his mouth. He looks down at it, and a wide grin smears across his face.

Trace doesn't bother with that tying... He's got *five* cherries bouncing around in there, and boy, is he pleased about them. He just stares as the shiny fruits bob in the slush, swirling them around... He digs his fingers in to fish one out, but lets it linger in there, because it feels so strange and cool... Finally, he takes it out and pops the cherry into his mouth, then sucks at his chilled fingers too.

Glass swills back about half of the frozen drink in a few moments.

Avril almost chokes on her drink watching Jean try to tie that stem with his tounge, having to lean against Glass for a second, she laughs so hard. He's just got that svelte and slightly evil look...this fun face stuff isnt him.

Walker slurps up the last of the daquiri, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. "It hurts... not s'much as doin' your navel, though." He tugs his own cherry out to see if he can still tie a knot.

Alisynde mumbles something completely untintelligible, then spits out a tightly tied stem-knot. "Nonono. I mean, what's it /feel/ like? After it's pierced an' your tounge returns to its normal size, that is?"

Jean-Batiste looks around for a place of honour to set his trophy of salivatory triumph upon. He decides on...the television. Good enough. He ambles over, grinning down at the little knotted stem as he sets it there, then looks at Ali. He just grins at her over the rim of his glass, as he thirstily drinks down a bunch of his daquiri.

Trace slurps noisily at his virgin daquiri and then starts to set it down on the endtable... but then reconsiders. What if he forgets which one is his? He gets up off the bed with a bounce and launches himself at the television, setting the drink on top of it. He manages to slosh only a little bit over the rim of the glass during its energetic transportation.

Walker's eyes roll ceiling-ward as he works the cherry stem, finding the tapping of his tonguebar most appealing. But he's not going to lose sight of _this_ mission. Nosiree. His jaw works, lips pursed slightly. Triumph shines in his eyes and out comes a cherry stem with - not one - but *two* knots in it (though the second's a little loose due to the shortness of the stem). "Well, if ya really want at know..." he purrs to Ali. "C'mere."

Trace giggles as he nearly runs into Batiste, and laughs, setting his drink down. The pink slush that's trailing down the side puddles at the bottom of the glass. "M'sorry..." he giggles, holding up a hand. "Didn't know you were coming here..." That just makes him laugh a little more, for some reason.

Glass swallows the remains of his drink and says, "Dance."

Jean-Batiste laughs, and reaches out to steady Trace, being Mr. Stable himself. Yeah, -right-. "Hey, careful...so is it good?" he asks, nodding down at the virgin drink, slurping again on his own. Even a frozen palate doesn't hurt. It's just...cold. And plastic-y. He makes a face, obviously trying to lick the roof of his mouth.

Glass picks up his shirt off the floor. He looks at it blankly a few moments.

Avril tips up the glass and finishes her slush off carefully, disappearing back into the bathroom...and the water keeps running in the tub for a while this time.

Avril has to go, all...it was fabulous...please just assume that I got naked and got in the tub to take a bath, and by the time I returned, everyone was either gone or passed out.

Alisynde should be wary of that. But isn't...although she does pause long enough to secrete her vest away, and push up the sleeves of her shirt. She's distracted for a moment by this, and pushes her sleeves up and down, feeling the fabric on her skin. Slowly, she drifts back to Walker, still playing with her shirt.

"Yeah... yeah, yeah," Trace giggles and bobs his head. Wow, *three* yeahs. A good day usually yeilds two. "Mmm. Every'thin's good. You?" He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Glass tosses his shirt onto the bed with his coat and looks up at the ceiling.

Smoothly Walker closes the short distance between himself and Ali, lips meeting hers without permission or even a warning of what he's about to do. Apparently her fixation on her shirt doesn't deter him in the least.

Jean-Batiste finishes the rest of his daquiri, and just grins beatifically at Trace. "Mmm..." he remembers to reply, concentrating on sucking the coolness off his bottom lip. He glances up to Walker and Ali, watching them for a second with a throaty little giggle. He blushes a little, and realizes, damn, he's wearing too much clothing, too. He sways over towards a corner, shedding his flannels along with the music. Not as nicely as Glass did, but he doesn't realize he's doing it to the music, just yet.

Alisynde's eyes, which were half-lidded, pop wide open, and a very surprised "Mm!" coming from her mouth...right before she gives into the sensation with all the enthusiasm of a starving man who has just been presented a banquet.

Glass watches Walker and Alisynde.

Trace blinks over at Batiste. *That* he didn't expect. This, from the kid who doesn't even come out bare-chested after a shower... Then he giggles and wanders over towards Glass and mumbles something at him, with a sly glance at Ali and Walker.

Glass turns his head and grins at Trace, "Yeah. That'd be good."

Trace just laughs and moves to go sit on the bed, eyes flickering between Ali, Walker, and Batiste with amusement.

Glass starts to dance again, doing an almost balletic pirouettte in his steel-toes.

Walker stays lip-locked with Ali for a long moment before sliding away, an impish grin on his face. Though he's left a small smudge of dark on her lips, his lipstick seems none the worse for wear. Smudge-proof? Not entirely but close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.

Jean-Batiste doesn't pull of his T-shirt, just yet. He starts to untuck it, gets it pulled up across his stomach...and gets distracted by something or other. He looks down at himself for a small eternity, grinning lazily, then lets the T-shirt flops back down, rumpled and untucked. He's moving more to the music now, eyelids drooped, smile still smeared across his face.

Trace has a dischordant dance to his steps as well, as he works his way back over towards Batiste, snatching his drink back up on the way there. He mumbles something at *him* too, eyes bright.

Trace whispers "Was just tellin' Glass... It'd be cool if Walker were all done up like Holly." He giggles. "We'd be seein' some lesbian action."

Alisynde looks postively beatific, one hand reaching up slowly to brush against her lip.

Walker beams brightly 'round the room and lifts his daquiri for a refreshing drink, feely most tingly all over. "So... anyone else want ta know what it feels like?" The look he sports tries to be unpresuming and sweet but surfaces more devilish than anything. The ash tumbles from his cigarette unnoticed by him as it powders on the carpet.

Glass laughs, finishing his twirl, "Yeah." Trace blinks. "Ah. S'okay, Walker," and then he giggles. "You an Glass just go ahead 'n knock yerselves out."

Walker lifts a hand to curve a beckoning finger to Glass, allowing the wicked grin to bloom in its fullest. He sucks a drag off the cigarette before squashing it in the ashtray, relieving his hand of that distraction.

Jean-Batiste's eyes widen at Trace's whisper - he shoots a surprisingly wicked grin towards Walker and Ali, then laughs softly to his blue-haired friend. "Yeah..." he murmurs, belatedly - spent too long thinking it over again. His eyes flick over to Walker and Glass, grin returning.

Glass heads over to Walker, starting to laugh and not stopping.

Alisynde lets her handdrop, and a wide, wide smile appears. She murmurs, "Thank you." to Walker, then in a sudden whirl of energy, grabs up the swiss army knife, and slits her jeans lengthwise.

"Oh my god, they're gonna.." Trace mumbles to Batiste, eyes widening slightly as he grins. He thought they were bullshitting, obviously.

Alisynde seems unsurprised. Then again, she's rapidly turning her jeans into shorts.

Walker giggles as well, eyes flicking to Ali as she carves up her pants. His attention returns to Glass with lightning speed, however, as he slips up close, the arm not supporting his drink slipping around Glass' shoulders. He nips playfully at the fellow's lower lip before sealing the kiss.

...so she's a little distracted. (Ali) Jean-Batiste starts to giggle. Softly, then louder, until he's moaning to the invisible Gods of Laughter to -please- let him stop because it's wobbling his heart around inside his ribcage...

Glass stops laughing when he is kissed, rather by necessity. He slides his bare arms around Walker.

Trace giggles too, and slings an arm around his blonde-braided friend. He leans his head against Jean-Batiste's, confiding through his laughter, "Man. Y'know, Bat, z'much as I love you, man... and as bad as this X gets to me, there's just some places we ain't goin'..." He just giggles and releases him, sipping at his drink and still laughs a little into his glass, watching everything happen with bright eyes over the rim of his glass.

Walker holds the pose with Glass exactly as he had with Ali; eyes shut as he explores this horizon. He parts the kiss with a grin, not able to slip away as easily from Glass since that notable's arms are around him.

Glass licks Walker's lips and steps back from him, letting his arms slide down the other's sides as they part.

Jean-Batiste finally convinces his heart to stop bobbling around inside his ribcage with a final groan, and grins up crazily at Trace. "You sure?" he teases, pucking his lips up for comically loud smoochie noises. He giggles at himself - feels funny - then looks over at Glass and Walker, shaking his head at them. Another wolf-whistle, this one fairly soft. No need to shatter sensitized eardrums.

Trace just cracks up again at Batiste's smoochie noises, and nearly drops his daquiri.

Walker giggles most giddily, swaying a bit as he's left to his own balance. The teeter is perfectly timed to the music, making it hard to tell if that was a purposeful gesture or not. His attention is pulled to Bat at the whistle, grinning broadly. "Thank ya." He offers up a half-bow and trundles to the bathroom to fetch some water; drinking alcohol with X means lots more water is needed.

Alisynde cuts off the last part of the leg, turning the jeans into shorts. "Walker?" she calls, softly. "Walker? Do you have any Angelo Badalamenti? Twin Peaks soundtrack?"

Glass lies down on the bed, flat on his back. He starts to dig his shoulders into it, rolling a bit like a dog does.

Walker's voice is distorted a bit by the acoustics of the bathroom; a minor detail normally not noticeable. "Fire Walk With Me's in there somewhere, if that's what you're looking for." The water runs in the sink for a long moment. Too long to fill a glass, definitely.

Alisynde pouts slightly. "I wanted to hear Laura Palmer's theme." But she goes rummaging through the cds anyway. Maybe she'll luck out.

Trace decides it's time to be superman. He launches himself at the empty bed -- *leaps* with his arms outstretched -- and lands with a pounce on his stomach. Heehee. Then he rolls onto his side and smiles up at Ali. "Like yer new shorts," he compliments.

Glass says, "Rrrrowrr."

Jean-Batiste's eyes wander around in a very meandering way from person to person to the bumpy ceiling, to the is-that-a-candy-corn in the carpet, to the silvery rainbow shine of the CDs. He smiles at the world at large, closing his eyes, and just dances, all languid and uncaring of what he looks like. Truth be told, he's a decent dancer - at least, when he's not worry about what he looks like.

The water finally shuts off and Walker emerges from the bathroom with a glass of water, smiling proudly. Proud of what? Who knows... He pauses near the counter to munch on some more fruit as he watches Bat dance, chin lowering just a bit. He resists the impulse to comment, afraid Bat will stop if attention's drawn to his swaying. And so he watches, nibbling delicately on a strawberry fished from the box that escaped Trace's butchery.

Glass writhes on the bed.

Alisynde glances over, and grins amazingly widely. "Thanks." She kicks off her sandals, then..and replaces the ending CD with Fire Walk With Me. The low, sensual sounds of the soundtrack wend through the air. The Lennon specs have gone off somewhere, and with a deft motion, she removes the tie holding her braid. She pulls the braid apart, then piles up the hair on top of her head and lets it flow down. But something's not quite right. Warm..warm. Ah. She slowly pulls her shirt up, then off, leaving her in only a black lace bra and shorts. Thusly attired, she starts languidly dancing to the music.

Trace ohs! "It's Jello time!" He'd nearly forgotten about that bowl that'd been saved just for him, sans vodka, but now he leaps off the bed again and scurries towards the small bowl of jello, already imagining how amazing that's going to feel sliding down his throat. He peels the lid off and tosses it onto the counter, carrying his prize back with him. No need for spoons. If this is going to feel good on his tongue, he's going to like it on his fingers too. As he walks back, his eyes are mostly on the the jello as he walks in. But then he just happens to glance up and... whoa. He just blinks.

Alisynde's Desc:
Pale blonde hair crowns the head of this woman: a mass of waves that easily reach to her tailbone. Wide-set hazel eyes glitter a bit strangely, the Lennon specs gone from her nose for the moment. Warmth suffuses her face, that lone dimple flashing often as she smiles.

A black lace bra is worn over winter-whitened flesh: the lace accentuates the curve of breasts, while covering just enough to tantilize. Slightly ragged shorts cover part of a pair of long legs,the beginnings of fringe hanging down to tickle the smooth skin. The rest of her outfit has been secreted elsewhere, leaving her toes free to caress the rug.

Alisynde digs her toes into the carpet as much as she can, and just continues to sway with the music. With her hair down, she even resembles Sheryl Lee a little - especially as she unconsciously mimics the movements the actress used in the Twin Peaks movie.

"Mmm," Batiste comments, in reply to the change of music - he might have said more, but it's lost in his hands as he rubs his flushed face about seventeen times more than is necessary. Still grinning to himself, his fingers finally splay out through his braids, counting all the little bumps of bleach-blonde hair as they stroke back. He still dances, eyes closed, travelled a little towards a wall - he'll doubtless bump into it in a few seconds.

Trace puzzles about this. Arousal. Huh. I mean, he should be used to it, supposedly, since aren't fifteen year old boys usually full of raging hormones? But he's not, honestly. Heavy heroin use really does stunt the growth of *some* things, other myths aside. And yet this X helps bring that out again, and it's really confusing! I mean, of course she's older and everything, and who'd want *him*, but... wow. He decides it's time to sit down. Because, well, that's what you do when this happens, you sit down!

Glass rolls onto his belly and rises up on his hands and knees, arching his back. His movements are timed to the music.

Alisynde is oblivious to whatever effect she's having on 15-year-old boys. Or 17-year-old boys. Or 22-year-old boys. Or whatever-age-Walker-is-boys. The music is everything. She is the music. She must dance. And that is all that is important to her right now.

Walker grins at Glass' wriggling, finding a subtle beauty there in the motion. Dancing, writhing.. everything's beautiful right now. Oh! Ali's shed clothes! More beauty! Glancing about he feels just a little left out as he notes that almost everyone has shed at least one article of clothing. Not wanting to feel that way, he quickly remedies the situation by shedding his creeper boots. Hmm. Not exactly satisfying even if the flat carpet does feel neat under his black socks. Off goes the t-shirt but the fishnet shirt underneath stays put. "We should play some kinda game or somethin'," he comments as he wriggles out of the garment. It drops to the floor without a second thought as he starts to dance again, moving in Bat's direction.

Walker's Desc:
Hello... is that a man or a woman you see? Standing at 5'8, the individual looks to be no more than about 125 pounds. A glossy fall of midnight-black hair slides over the slender shoulders like an ebon river. At once delicate and chiseled, the exotic face is set with eyes of deep green framed with lush, sooty lashes. Pale skin is further paled by the addition of stark black eyeliner layered thick around the intense eyes; full, pouting lips have been painted black-burgundy.

Under the fishnet shirt the lean curve of his torso is a war. Though well-toned his chest is baby-smooth; completely devoid of hair. A network of scars, some old and some fresher - two lines are still bearing scabs - cover the turn of his shoulders, not quite reaching his arms proper. Both nipples are pierced with small steel rings, as is his navel.

Walker is decked out in a variety of jewelry ranging from golden hoops in each earlobe flanked by three studs on a side to a tangled noose of cords and chains around his neck rife with pendants of odd sorts. His left brow is pierced twice with steel bars and he also has a silver stud set in the right side of his nose.

Glass stalks across the bed on his hands and knees, possibly pretending to be a tiger, "What game?"

Alisynde murmurs, "Games. Games are for later. Music, now."

Trace has the bowl of jello placed stratigically, and just smiles faintly. "Well... I'd be up for a game, maybe. But yeah, what?"

Jean-Batiste grins, wicked and lazy and altogether pleased with everything. His hands have stopped on his shoulders, just to either side of his neck - now and again as he dances, he bows his head and rubs his cheek agains his fingers. Step-step, sway, step-step *bump*. He blinks and looks over at the ungratefully hard wall, eyes opening for the first time in a while, mildly confused. Oh. Right. He's still in this world.

Walker was hoping someone else would suggest that. The only thing that's coming to mind is train-jumping and there's not a train for miles. "Umm..." He stalls, dancing as he thinks. There's not a part of his body that isn't moving save for his head and that's thinking.

Glass tiger-stalks along the edge of the bed.

Trace smiles, arms curling about his torso. "We could play Truth or Dare."

Alisynde flicks her hands out, swaying side to side, feet stepping back and forth. Her eyes have flickered closed, but she's still at least somewhat there, for she says, "Truth or Dare works betta if you've got more clothin' on."

Glass says, "We could put it back on. But I don't want to."

Walker looks to Trace with a delightfully naughty grin. "OooOOooo! I haven't played that in years!" He blinks and looks directly at Glass, puzzling a bit. He could have sworn when he saw him out of the corner of his eye that he *was* a tiger. But no. It was just a trick of the light. "Yeah. I don' want ta eitha. I just took it off an' I don' want ta crawl through th' tunnel again."

Trace puzzles about this one. Yeah, his thoughts are honestly working it over, even if he's slightly hypnotized by Ali's swaying. "Why? Truth or Dare's about admittin' stuff and doin' stuff, not takin' off yer clothes."

Some of the dancing dreaminess leaks out of Batiste's eyes - he peers around at everyone, ending on Glass. He looks like he's about to just fixate on him, then impulsively crosses the few steps to the edge of the bed and reaches down to scritch behind one of Glass's ears, grinning a little. He seems to be on a silent kick.

Glass rubs up against Batiste as he gets scratched, all feline-like. "MMmmm," he says, almost a purr.

Walker pulls in a deep breath, enjoying the rush of air as he undulates to the music. A quick sip of water and... where did he leave his cigarette? Bathroom, maybe? He slinks that way, twirling lightly into the bathroom with a flaring of black hair. A few moments later he dances back out of the bathroom with no cigarette but a refilled glass. Crossing the floor lightly he dances right up to Ali, shadowing her movements as he seems them.

Alisynde opens her eyes and smiles wickedly. "Trace, m'love...every game of Truth or Dare I've ever played has wound up with me takin' off some clothes." Step, sway, step step step. She continues to move in time with the music, one undulating wave of person. Her toes rub the surface of the carpet almost sensually, as she, in her turn, dances up to Walker. "Well, hello there.."

Jean-Batiste giggles softly, almost silently, and leans gently against Glass, scritching along the pseudotiger's jaw. Whiskers, he suddenly thinks, and touches Glass's cheek, seeing if maybe they're invisible.

Glass lifts his chin to get his jaw scritched. He's got whiskers. Well, he's been a day or so without a shave, anyway.

Oh, *that* makes him not wanna play. Trace just grins. "So. What'll we do then?" He touches his own chin somewhat self-consciously, and smiles, lowering his hand quickly. No whiskers. Ah well, maybe someday..

Walker moves precisely as Ali does, slender body echoing her motions with supple grace. Then he abandons the mimicry to reach out to touch her bare arms. His fingers travel lightly over her skin even as he continues to move to the music. Without shame or fear his hands move over her collarbone and over the bra, eyes full of wonder at the unmatchable sensation of warm skin.

Glass says, "Rrrr," and continues to stalk along the edge of the bed. It's a tiger-dance he's doing.

Alisynde ms. "Well. I suppose we could play truth or dare. Just not do clothes-related dares..or..oh, I don't know. I.." she loses her train of thought as her head moves back and forth. One arm stretches out, fingertips slowly running down the line of Walker's jaw even as she lets him explore her skin.

Trace's eyes widen, and he glances away, trying not to giggle. Ooh, look elsewhere, find distractions... Oh yeah, the jello! He digs in with his fingers. "I'll play if other people wanna, but..." But you seem distracted. He giggles softly and crams a handful of jello into his mouth.

Walker murmurs without taking his eyes off Ali's body and where his fingers move: "Truth-r Dare." Sounds quite like a decision. "Who wants ta start?" His chin lifts a little, moving into Ali's touch.

Jean-Batiste -swears- he can count every single whisker...he just forgets to remember what number he ends up at. He grins down at Glass, all fixated and delighted, then starts petting his hair, fingercombing through it, looking forlorn for a second when Glass cat-dances away. "Let's play," he decides, speaking up, grinning over at Trace. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his fingertips together, still feeling whiskers.

Glass turns, stalks back, and rubs his cat-dance over Batiste's back and side.

Walker's jaw is silky-smooth under Ali's fingers; it's easy to believe he's never grown a hair on that chin ever. His eyes part from the work of art that is Ali to grin smile at Bat. "Great minds think alike..."

Alisynde runs her finger down Walker's throat, and rests it for a moment on his clavicle. Then one finger from her other hand joins it, and she tap-tap-taps softly.

Trace looks around, surprised that the idea passed, fingers still in his mouth. He makes a slurping sound and removes them, then wipes his hands off on his dirty jeans and sets the jello down on the table, moving over to sit on the floor by Batiste and Glass' mattress, to get a sort of circle going.

Walker gives a serpentine wriggle at the touch, goosebumps rising on his arms. "Oo! That tickles! But in a good way..." Another delicious shiver then realization dawns that Trace must've volunteered to start the game. His hand moves to Ali's, fingers wrapping over hers lightly to tug her to where Trace is sitting.

Glass puts his arm over Batiste's right shoulder, and rests his chin on his left, his jaw against Batiste's neck. He says, "You have eyes like mine. I like that. Are you black?"

Alisynde lets herself be tugged, but says softly, "Let me get a drink first.."

Walker lets Ali's hand free, remembering he was originally going to grab his cigarettes. Altering his course he angles back to the table to scoop up the box, lighter and ashtray, humming to the music. Then he's sweeping back to Trace, hands full. Planting himself next to the blue-haired boy he grins brightly and nuzzles the other's shoulder with a cheek. "You startin'?"

Jean-Batiste's turn to purr: "Mmm..." he comments through a lazy grin at Glass, rubbing his shoulders back against the pseudotiger much like Glass earlier wriggled against the bed. He nuzzles against Glass's jaw, murmuring, "Mmmwhat? I...don't know...didn't know my dad's family..."

"Um, but I don't... I didn't mean I'd start.." Trace protests. "But, uh. Well. Who wants me to pick them?" he smiles sheepishly at last, and nuzzles back a little, because that feels nice on his cheek.

Alisynde disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of water running can be heard..for a long time, it seems. Nearly as long as when Walker was in there. And she, too comes out with a glass of water. You can see a faint trace trickle down the side of her mouth. And she sway-steps over to the others.

Glass moves to accomodate Batiste's rubbing more pleasantly, and says, "My grandfather, with a whole bunch of greats, was. His name was King Marvin LeRoux."

Walker melts a little against Trace, dreamy smile on his delicate face. "Pick Ali... since she's still standin'." No better logic than that to be found.

Trace ohs, "Yeah. Okay. Ali! Truth or dare?" he smiles blithely, from where he's curled up with Walker.

"Marvin LeRoux..." Batiste echoes, repeating it to himself about four times. It feels good to say, the silent 'x' tasting silvery. He sighs dreamily, nuzzling again at Glass, bringing a hand up to start petting and finger-combing his hair.

Glass chuckles, "Not Marvin. King Marvin."

Alisynde seems to bonelessly slide to the ground, even as that is said. She lowers her face, and rubs it against the carpet in short, smooth strokes, then looks up, with big, bright eyes. Her voice is liquid smoke as she says, "Truth." And a slow smile creeps upon her face. Thought she was going to say dare, didn'tja?

Apparently Walker was as he mouths the word 'dare' several times till his attention is drawn by the turn of Trace's leg. His hand moves to feel the drape of fabric over his leg, fascinated. He pinches a fold, rubbing it twixt his fingers, trying to define what words would most appropriately and finding none.

Trace shrugs a little, with a grin. "How'm I s'posed ta know what you'd say?" He considers, looking up at her -- even managing to keep with her face and not wander lowere -- and finally says, "Okay.... Tell 'bout yer first time. Y'know, tell ever'thin." He smiles, satistfired, and glances down curiously to see what Walker is doing to his jeans. Heh. Tickles.

Glass nuzzles Batiste's cheek.

Walker draws a quick breath, releasing it in a flurry of giggles at the question. He hadn't expected that one to be the *first* question. And still his fingers persist at the fabric as he boggles at the feel of indirect body heat. He's warm to touch even when not directly touching him.

Jean-Batiste giggles silently, scritching at the nape of Glass's neck. "King Marvin LeRoux," he murmurs to himself - now the silent 'x' tastes like royal purple velvet. He sighs when Glass nuzzles him, and his scritching trails away to a soft rubbing, instead. His eyes flicker down to the others, latching covetously on the glasses of water.

Glass whispers, "King Marvin ran all the way to Montreal, from Louisiana. And he used to kill a chicken. My mother said so. She didn't remember why he killed the chicken, though. It was voodoo."

Trace's eyes light up, and he glances at Batiste, as though to say 'remember? remember the violet girl and the chicken?' He just smiles though, his eyes full of the memory.

Walker experimentally draws his hand back, testing the warmth's range away from Trace's leg. It's like a dome over him. Maybe that's what those new ager's were talking about with feeling auras... Ooo... He's completely lost in his own little world. His hand draws closer to Trace's thigh again, not quite touching but hinting to. It's a physical pressure against his hand... Wow! His dark eyes widen, deeply mystified.

Jean-Batiste's mouth opens a little, and he breathes in Glass's whisper, too interested in listening to the story to remember to nod until the very end. He looks down at Trace for a second. Violet girl and the chicken, violet girl and the...oh! He looks over at Glass suddenly, asking in a whisper, "Did he cut its head off and lick the neck?" his eyes wide and rapt.

Trace nods to echo the question as his own, watching Glass intently, as though Jean-Batiste's question makes perfect sense.

Walker leans in closer to Trace to further drink in his natural warmth, basking without realizing he's on the verge of sprawling on the youth.

Glass murmurs, "I don't know. It was before I was born. Nobody knows. But my mother has a photograph of him. King Marvin Leroux. My eyes are dark because of King Marvin."

Alisynde is silent for a moment, hands kneading the carpet in front of her. Slowly, slowly, she says, "When I was in high school, my junior year, there was a dance. An' there was this guy - from Sacred Heart. Oh, he was fine lookin'. Hair as black as midnight, styled so it fell in front of one eye - rakish looking. He played football, I think. Don't really remember now. I had scored some hash an' was plannin' on sneakin' out to smoke. Or maybe just leavin'. School was a pain as it was, havin' to act like I actually lived somewhere.." Knead, knead, knead. "An' the dance was lame. But this guy..Steven..he asked t'dance with me. An' I said yes. It was a slow dance, an' it turned real sensual. He asked if I wanted t'go for a walk, an' I agreed. We went over to the park, and he started kissin' me. I had already pretty much decided that I wanted t' get rid of m'virginity, so that mom's boyfriends wouldn't have that extra little added bonus if they decided to have their way with me. An' Steven seemed like he was interested. So we made love in th' grass. Ever have grass tickle your ass? It's a neat sensation. It hurt, some. But then it felt great. An' afterwards, he bought me a flower. Only time anyone's ever bought me a flower. He wound up goin' out of state for college, tho. Got together with him a few more times 'fore that fall. Haven't seen him since."

Jean-Batiste turns his face a little, from staring into Glass's eyes to see what King Marvin looked like, to listen to Ali's story, smiling softly as it unfolds.

Trace watches Ali intently throughout the story, and finally smiles. "Did you press the flower and keep it?" But then he remembers he's only allowed one question, and blushes faintly.

Alisynde smirks slightly. "Only one question, Trace. Only one. Ah..this carpet feels wonderful!" She runs a finger along it, then two, then presses her hand in it. "An'...I think I'll pick you, for breakin' the rules. Truth or Dare, Trace?"

Walker drifts into Ali's story, a dreamy surfer on the trip's gentle tide. He leans over Trace's lap, elbow propped on the floor as he stares at her now, transfixed. His vivid imagination combined with her artful story-telling wove quite a remarkable tapestry for his mind's eye. "Great way ta tell it Ali," he breathes appreciatively. "Sorry 'bout your mom's boyfriends... that bites.." He grins up at Trace as the buck's passed, the expression catty yet good natured.

Trace blushes. "Uh. Errr...Truth," he finally squeaks, though it entirely looks as though he'd been about to say dare and chickened out.

Glass wraps his other arm around Batiste and leans against him, warmly.

Walker giggles softly and reaches for a cigarette, content to warm himself on Trace's legs to enjoy the game. He lights one, holding the box for any takers that might want one.

Glass reaches for a cigarette. Jean-Batiste squirms around a little, settling Glass's arms around him just -so-. He smiles up at Glass again, then bows his head to rub his cheek against his shoulder...and spots Walker's cigarettes. "Ohh..." he murmurs, though he doesn't want to move to reach for one.

Alisynde murmurs, "Well. I managed t'avoid them, mostly," to Walker. Trace, she considers for a moment, then grins impishly. "Tell me the absolutely /nastiest/ sex act you've ever done. Down an' dirty. Every detail." She reaches for a cigarette, hand dangerously close to brushing against Glass's.

Glass lights up the cigarette, then holds it to Batiste's lips.

Jean-Batiste nuzzles Glass's hand for a moment, before slowly breathing in a lungful of sweet-spiced smoke and dropping his head back to Glass's shoulder as he exhales.

"Ooo!" Walker murmurs, smirking. "Good question!" Seeing Glass is sharing his smoke, he drops the pack after Ali grabs one. Ahh... the sweet, invigorating scent of licorice and clove. The maids will never get rid of the smell, Lysol or no.

Glass smiles and drags on the cigarette himself.

Trace blushes, looking down to see Walker's silky-smooth black hair, and decides he simply can't *not* run his fingers through it, it looks so nice to touch... He's quiet a long while, and things this question's a bit unfair, because surely it's obvious, who would want him? "I... I haven't done nothin', I'm a virgin," he says softly at last. And bites his lip as he strokes Walker's hair, with an expression that just pleads 'please don't laugh. please don't..'

Any comment or expression Walker might've shared is aborted in favor of a postively raptured look. He heaves a deep sigh, melting further. There's nothing like someone combing or petting your hair, especially when it's as long as his.

Alisynde doesn't laugh. Instead, she smiles, rather softly, an' says, "Don't give it up unless you want to, Trace. Don't do it cause you feel you have to, or cause everyone else is doing it. Let it take its own natural course. It'll be better." She lights the cigarette from the lighter that's suddenly appeared in her hand. It seems to do that a lot. And..poof. It's gone again.

Glass looks at Trace and just smiles gently, then nuzzles Batiste, exhaling smoke down the other man's chest.

Trace still looks embarrassed though, and taps on Walker's head gently in between strokes, asking, "Kin' I have one? I usually don't like 'em, but I bet it'd be neat when yer Xing.."

Alisynde simply says, "An' it's your turn again."

Walker hands the black box up, stirring from his euphoria. He pulls on his own cigarette, flicking the long ash into the tray. "They're great... Nothin' like 'em. Pick somebody." Sweet smoke trickles out as he settles himself again, catlike on Trace's lap.

Trace flashes a grateful smile and pulls a black cigarette out of the pack and places it between his lips, glancing up at Ali. "Oh, hey, that's right... Kin I use yer lighter for a sec?" He reaches out a hand shyly. "And Batiste? Truth or dare?"

Jean-Batiste wriggles his shoulders again, nestling tighter against Glass, rubbing his cheek against Glass's hair. "Can I have some more?" he asks softly, reaching out a few fingers to grasp the black-papered clove... Distraction. He looks towards Trace, grinning gentle and lopsided, and murmurs, "Dare."

Alisynde leans forward, stretching across the circle. She flicks the lighter (there it is again) on, holding the flame steady while slowly turning her face upwards.

Glass holds the cigarette for Batiste to drag on.

Jean-Batiste tips his chin up, grinning, and deftly nabs the cigarette in his mouth to drag from. He takes a short little puff, immediately followed by a longer one, before drawing away from it to murmur, "Thanks..."

Glass smiles and taps ashes onto the floor before dragging on it himself.

Walker rolls the ash off the end of his cigarette, poking it with the ember to crush it. His eyes lift to Trace with mischief. What will he come up with?

Trace is mesmerized by the flame for a moment. His eyes focus on it, then shift to regard Ali, the flame goddess in a black lace bra... Wow. But then he shakes himself out of it and gets the cigarette into the flame, pulling and immensly enjoying the crackle of clove and paper. "Ohh...." he smiles, as the smoke trails away from his lips, and his eyes follow it, up, up.... He giggles and takes another hit, then comments with a big grin, "If it was always like this, I'd be a smoker *so* fast..." Then he blinks and remembers. Oh, right. He's supposed to be thinking of a question. Hmm. The first thing that pops into the artist's curious head, springing from X-loosened lips: "Show us a picture in your sketchbook. I wanna know what's so freaky that you gotta hide it all the time..." Then he suddenly wishes he'd asked something else, and he isn't sure why... He just suddenly feels -- wrong. "Well, I mean.." but he flushes and falls silent. How stupid it'd sound to take it back.

Glass nuzzles Batiste.

Alisynde offers a nuzzle of her head for Trace, after she makes the lighter do that disappearing trick again.

Trace nuzzles back, but it's distracted, eyes on Batiste. Seeking apology already, perhaps? The fingers not holding the cigarette twine into Walker's hair again.

Walker's eyes move up from the ashtray to Trace's face, then over to Bat's. He'd like to see, quite enjoying the look of the picture he now has hanging on his wall. But that was a poorly delivered sentence. He strokes the youth's leg in consolation, feeling his fluster through the body heat. Or so he believes.

Jean-Batiste doesn't exactly frown - the smile just melts gently off his face. He closes his eyes, nuzzling Glass back, lips in his hair, then draws away to slowly climb up off the mattress, swaying gently. "Okay..." he murmurs, ambling towards his backpack and drawing out the black hardcover book. "Do I pick one, or just...find something?" he asks, looking back.

Alisynde withdraws, curling up on her side, wide bright eyes looking at everyone in turn.

"Just... just any one you want," Trace blurts. "I mean... I mean, you don't even gotta, I should ask something else if you don't wanna..." He breaks the rules of this game pretty easily, don't he?

Walker peeps back up at Trace then over again to Bat. "Pick somethin' ya like..." he encourages softly. In his estimation, Bat's willing to play the game and stick by the rules... but let him choose rather than flipping to a random one.

Jean-Batiste flips to the back of the book, and starts turning the pages in reverse order. He could pick something trite, one of his bad sketches, but...no. It'd stick out like a sore thumb, right now - it'd even -taste- wrong, he bets. But...should he show one of his good pictures, his -really- good ones? He pauses on a page, looking from it to Trace, then brings the sketchpad back over. He sets it down on the floor, then moves back from it, so people can turn it around and examine as they see fit.

This page is worked in smooth, straight pencil-strokes, no smudging or gentle shadings to be seen, the lines and shapes having to speak for themselves. A bed fills the page, simple and unadorned, with faint lines of furniture in the background - a dresser, a bookshelf, an old television. Sprawled out across the bed, covered in a thin, rumpled bedsheet, is the slim form of a sleeping boy. Though painfully gaunt, the youth retains a sort of elegance within him, like an angel fallen to earth. His toes and ankle dangle out over the edge of the mattress near the bottom of the picture, the bedsheet rumpled and jumbled up around his knees before smoothing out as it lays sleekly over the rest of his nude body. One arm is free of the sheet as well, resting against his side, palm-up. Marring the bird-boned perfection of the limb are the dark, ugly smears of track marks. The boy's face is turned away from the picture, hidden in a wild, tangled mess of hair. The image is one of shattered innocent - written at the top of the page in a somewhat awkward Gothic script is 'Fallen Angel?' It appears to have been erased a number of times before decided on. As an afterthought, blue chalk has been used to colour the boy's hair, the only spot of colour on the page. It smudges out from the tangled locks, reminiscent of a halo.

Alisynde ohs very, very softly. Her eyes drink in the picture...and then turn to look at Trace.

Glass stares at it for a long time, silently. His eyes are thoughtful, the colour of the space between the stars.

Alisynde says "That's marvelous, Jean. :) Sigh. I don't want to go. But I have to. Work in 7 hours and I haven't slept yet. Pretend like Ali got all snuggly and crashed and left at some point or something?"

Falling into a drawing is a remarkable and dizzying experience. Such painful beauty to behold. It's at once blinding and soothing. The sharp, bold strokes so demanding; a master of the senses. And the cool blue... a gentle oasis in the starkness of the reality that is the picture. Walker's eyes sparkle with hints of tears, the impression of the drawing a tangible thing.

Glass murmurs, "Deu. Oh." He looks striken now.

Trace gasps softly and just stares at first. His eyes grow wider slightly, but don't leave the page, not yet... Written all over his face, awe and horror, it's me, it's me... He lifts liquid hazel eyes briefly, to meet Batiste's gaze and only his, and nods faintly. "It.. it's really good. I..." Too real. He should have never asked, there were a thousand other dares he could have picked. He gently eases Walker's head away, carefully as he can, and he's trying to hold it back but a tear slips over his cheek before he can turn and dash towards the restroom, calling, "I'll... hold on, I've gotta use the...." He just trails off. Yeah, sure he does.

Glass looks at Batiste, murmurs, "I do not want to think of it. It makes my bones ache. So lonely."

"I should have picked a different one," Batiste decides, peering down dry-eyed at the picture. Distractedly, he nods to Glass, so solemnly. He reaches for the picture, tracing one of the long coverlet-lines, then suddenly closing the sketchbook with a papery snap. He straightens up, swaying again, and ambles for his backpack, spending a small eternity tucking the book away again.

Glass smiles faintly and sorrowfully, "Years and years."

Trace slipped quickly into the bathroom and closes the door gently behind him. After a moment, the water comes on...

Walker blinks dazedly as Trace bolts for the bathroom, still reeling a bit. Wow. He's never going to ask Bat for anything more realistic than the sketch on his wall at home. Too deep a prospect. He remembers his cigarette at long last as the ash falls to the floor, rolling back on the carpet to stare at the ceiling again. The different perspective helps ease the transition to some other facet of reality and notes the music has ended. He pulls himself off the floor and weaves his way to the CD player, enjoying the earthy scent of the shadows mixed with his cigarette smoke. "Th' drawin's beautiful Bat..." He can't help but proclaim his feelings on it even though Trace is hidden in the bathroom. "It's beyond real..." He drops in a Cake CD and wanders back over to his spot once more.

Glass sighs gently, and looks forlornly at Bat. He probably just wants his cuddle-friend back.

Jean-Batiste finally finishes tucking his sketchbook safely away, and turns to look back at everyone. Well, the dwindling number that is everyone. He smiles a little, a weak twitch at the corner of his mouth, then moves over to Glass again, draping his arms around him, off to the side and a little behind, chin propped lightly on Glass's shoulder. He closes his eyes, looking serene.

Glass leans back against Batiste and turns his head to hide his face against the other's neck.

When Trace finally emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, he's gotten a hold of his emotions for the most part. His nose and the skin around his eyes are puffy and red, pale lashes clinging together wetly, but otherwise his face is calm. He moves in a direct path towards Batiste, and moves to his side... He's mostly draped around Glass, but Trace tries his best to get a hug in anyway, because he needs that right now from Batiste more than anything.. He whispers, a hot wet rush in his friend's ear, "M'not an angel... But otherwise, I guess ya knew what you were doin' with that picture... It was good. Really... good."

Walker pulls a last drag from his cigarette and squishes it out in the ashtray. He looks to Trace as he emerges from the lavatory, reading over his expression. "Ya okay?" There's no stopping the question. He needs to know.

Glass slumps out of the middle of Trace's hug.

Jean-Batiste murmurs softly enough that it seems to seep into the music, "Fallen angel." He smiles serenely up at Trace, fingers slipping across Glass to gather loosely around the blue-haired boy, breathing out a long sigh as he hugs him.
Jean-Batiste adds softly, "Don't cry, I didn't want you to cry..." He delicately touches Trace's tear-matted eyelashes then smiles a little, hugging tighter before reluctantly releasing him.

Trace shakes his head again, buried into Batiste's shoulder, hanging on tight while he can and then letting go just as reluctantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I just..." He smiles shakily and sniffles. "You're a really good artist."

Walker watches the others with a silly little smile; the moment would make a great picture for Bat's sketchbook. Too bad he can't see it. He pulls out another cigarette, missing the flavor already. On the subject of missing things, where's his shirt? There's a cold draft coming from somewhere and that just won't do. He proceeds to crawl away from the beds to retrieve said item. "He's a great artist," he murmurs and begins the exotic trip back into his tee.

Jean-Batiste shakes his head in slow motion, denying one thing or another - most likely, some thought he's musing to himself - then smiles languidly over at Glass. "Truth or dare?" he murmurs to him, reaching over to touch a lock of hair and stripe his fingertips down it.

Trace mumbles with a grin, "Sorry I wasted the cigarette you gave me, Walker. I... it.. fell in the sink. M'sorry." He sits back down completely, legs crossing in front of him as he turns his head to regard Glass.

Glass smiles at Batiste, "Dare."

"Get anotha..." Walker's soft voice floats out of the depths of the black cotton. Either he's gotten himself stuck in the cloth or he's found something in the dark depths that needs looking into. Either way it's taking him a while to get the thing on.

Trace chuckles. "Naw... s'okay. I'm gonna find my drink, I left it somewhere..." He peers around, not exactly wanting to get *up* to find it -- just rather hoping it'll somehow find its way back into his hands.

Glass looks at Batiste.

Jean-Batiste tangles his fingers up in Glass's hair with infinite care, studying the pale locks twined around his hand. "I dare you to..." he murmurs, almost too softly to be heard again. "I dare you to..." An idea comes to him, and he smiles into Glass's eyes, dark to dark, finishing: "...do a striptease for us. Like you were before."

Glass laughs gently, "All the way? Should I put my shirt back on?"

Walker surfaces from his shirt, hair half under his collar and over his face. He gently parts the curtain of black, tugging it out of his shirt. He peers about as though he suspects the room might have changed while he was distracted. Smoothing the shirt of his torso he then crawls back to his spot to retrieve his cigarette from where it burns in the ashtray. "Yes!" He chirps. "Do it propa. Got a song ya want ta dance ta?" Bright eyes glimmer with merriment at the prospect.

Jean-Batiste giggles silently, and shrugs gently, then nods to Walker's decision. "Yeah...you can pick the song..." He's so benevolent.

Glass says, "You pick, Walker. I have to take my boots off."
Glass starts to unlace them.

Walker springs up in a rustle of leather pants to attack the CD player. Song.. hmm... There are so many that would be fun. Rifling through the folder of music, he finally extracts one with a big ol' smile. "Here we go..." He drops it in and sets the track forward. "Just tell me when."

Trace giggles a little, but looks a little dubious at this dare... Ah well. He can close his eyes if it gets to be too much for his delicate fifteen year old sexual confidence. He clambers across the carpet, finally having spotted his drink, and scurries back to his place with it.

Glass pulls his boots off and stands up. He picks up his shirt off the bed and puts it back on, followed by his expensive blue-grey raincoat. Glass smiles, "Hm, okay?"

Jean-Batiste sits up straight on the bed, drawing his legs up cross-legged, fingers straying around his ankles and rubbing there. He lost his boots sometime earlier tonight - can't even when. His eyes are wide and bright, and fixated on Glass.

Walker pulls on his rapidly dwindling cigarette - damn, that smoked up fast - and presses the play button. He stays put where he is, not wanting to move lest he miss any part of the floor show. The sultry, throbbing beat of Nine Inch Nails 'Closer' pulses out of the speakers beside him.

Trace laughs instantly at the choice of music.

Jean-Batiste doesn't laugh, though his eyes get darker. Scared, almost, as if he's regretting his dare, or ought to. He doesn't think to look away, though.

Glass starts to dance, quite actively, his coat rippling about him. He lets it start to fall from his shoulders fairly early on, and closes his eyes, caught up with the music or pretending to be.

Trace's laugh is a nervous titter, thinking geez, this is weird, I mean it's funny, but it's pretty weird...

Glass spins, and manages to writhe out of his coat while it's whirling up behind him. He goes spinning off and he begins to laugh, perhaps set off by Trace's titter.

Walker leans back against the table as he watches, feeling the bass of the music in his arm as he does so. What a sensation... In his fixation on Glass' dance he moves to put the cigarette out where the ashtray once was, almost grinding the butt on the table before moving it at the last moment to plop it in a cup of Jell-O. The vocal amusement from Trace and Glass sets Walker off on a soft fit of giggles.

The blue raincoat lands in a heap near Walker, and Glass whirls back to face you. He does a little grind thing, laughing.

Jean-Batiste's completely silent, though his lips move a little with the song. A grin touches his mouth, but only faintly - he's concentrating on Glass's dance too much to remember to grin more. Delighted, yes. Fixated, obviously.

Glass never bothered to button his shirt again, and he drops that pretty easily, leaving him dressed just as he was before he began the dance.

Trace had gone to take a sip of his now-melted and nearly gone strawberry daquiri, but chokes softly on more giggles when Glass starts that hip-grind thing and has to spit some of it back into his cup.

Glass spins again, his arms out at his sides. He brings the movement to an abrupt stop, unbottons the top button of his jeans, and repeats the manouver.

Jean-Batiste makes some sibilant little impatient sound, waving at Trace like he was a kid at a Superman movie screaming 'Take it off, Lois!' His grin spreads a fraction, then pauses. He bites his bottom lip, blushing, but he still doesn't look away.

Trace puts a hand over his mouth, still giggling, and says muffledly, "Batiste...? Batiste, are you gonna let 'im, I mean... all the way?" He giggles more.

Glass gets them all undone in this fashion, and starts to shuffle around to the music with his pants falling down. He's wearing dark boxers underneath.

Walker lifts a hand to the side of his neck, thumb moving over the edge of his collar. Chin lowered, he sports a humored leer. "Watch those drawa's drop!" he cheers.

Glass steps out of his pants and cavorts about, grinning. He kicks the discarded garment to Batiste.

Jean-Batiste spares Trace just -one- teeny, tiny glance away from Glass, grin blossoming across his face into a brilliantly dreamy thing. "It's not a striptease if you stop..." he murmurs, grinning more as he looks back, getting pelted with Glass's pants. He laughs then, grabbing them. Who said only forest creatures could cavort?

Walker bursts into laughter, clapping for the display. "If ya had a garter I'd stuff a dollah in it!" Laughter subsiding to giggles he takes the CD back out and replaces it with an oldie but goodie: The Craft soundtrack. That task accomplished he hearkens to the call of his waterglass by the bed.

Glass is a pretty creature, surely. Slim and lithe and healthy looking. He's got small round white scars on the inside of his left arm, barely noticable. He spins around once more.
Glass sways to the music and hooks his thumbs in the waist of his boxers.

Well, *that's* it. I mean, it's great to be secure and all, but Trace just can't sit through a striptease that's actually gonna show schlong. Very rare a fifteen year old would be that secure, and while Trace can seem older than most maturity-wise at times, it's not happenin' this time. He actually covers his eyes, though does peek out on occasion and laugh.

Perfect bump-and-grind music: How Soon Is Now? Walker settles back to enjoy the last portion of the show, happily sated with water.

Glass sways a little more, and on the next downbeat hops right out of his shorts. Pretty slick. He starts to dance again, not so actively now, waving at his audience with the shorts.

Jean-Batiste's gone silent again, though a grin splits his mouth. It's only there because he's forgotten to -stop- grinning. Mesmerized, like a snake by a snake charmer...er. Well. Maybe mentioning snakes isn't the -best- thing to do right now. He laughs softly and -finally- looks -so- embarrassed. He flushed a raw pink, looking like it might actually reach his toes.

Glass turns and dances for a bit with his back to you. Walker pays the underwear minimal attention, more interested in the waving body. He's not the least bit shy about roaming Glass over with his eyes, quite appreciatively in fact. His smile's a little more devoted than before, admiring.

Glass drops the shorts and turns back again. He repeats his last few movements as the music demands, then stops and laughs.

Trace peeks out... oh GEEZ... and squeezes his eyes shut tight behind his hands. "Okay, you danced, now get your clothes on already!" he giggles.

Glass says, "Do I have to?"

Jean-Batiste looks like he might literally die of embarrassment or flustered sensibilities or what have you...but will die still watching Glass. It was -his- dare, after all. Mercifully, Glass stops after only four or five eternities - with a soft groan, Batiste turns and faceplants into the mattress, groaning softly for mercy.

Walker giggles, finding the two's reactions most humorous now that he has the presence of mind to notice. "Well, ya could sit on th' floor an' I could lay on your lap..." Good compromise. "But th' carpet probably wouldn't feel real nice on your li'l butt."

Glass says, "Naw. Probably not." He picks up the shorts and slips them on again.

"I'm going to -die-..." Batiste informs the mattress. My, but ears just -don't- achieve that colour naturally. After several deep breaths, he pushes himself up and looks back at Glass to say, "You should..." Oh. He's already doing it. "Yeah." His blush starts to ebb - he murmurs to Glass, "You're a wonderful dancer..."

Glass goes and sits next to Batiste again, but looks at Walker, "Truth or dare?" He doesn't bother with the rest of his clothes.

Trace does ALL that he can to alleviate poor Batiste's humiliation, looking at him like haha... you wanted him to striptease...' He just giggles though, not cruel enough to put words to his amusement. But the look is definitely there.

Walker leans back against the bed, grabbing up another cigarette. A flare of pretty light and he's burning down another black cigarette. Good thing he brought extra packs; experience teaches well. He blinks at Glass owlishly; perhaps he thought himself to be just the merry observer in the game of expose'. "Ahh... Truth." He exhales a tight stream of smoke, grinning with confidence. There's little that could be asked of him that he'd be squeamish to cough up.

Jean-Batiste curls up like a puppy against Glass, resting his cheek on Glass's thigh, breathing warmly against his knee.

Glass nods, "Give me a cigarette?" He pauses, then asks, "So what's this dressing like a woman thing? What's that about, really?"
Glass strokes Batiste's hair.

Walker runs the fingers of his free hand over the carpet, familiarizing himself with the hills and valleys of the stiff pile. He nudges the box over to Glass, tipping his head slightly. "What's it about?" He answers with a question. "D'ya mean why do I do it?"

Trace slurps up the last of his drink and then just looks at Walker curiously. He digs his fingers deep into his glass, his original intent to fish around for cherries... But he gets interested in simply the slippery feel of them beneath his fingertips.

Glass takes a cigarette and looks around for a lighter, "Yeah."
Glass takes Walker's hand and leans down to light his cigarette from Walker's.

Walker pulls on his cigarette, further perfuming the air. "Well, I started doin' it ta get parts in th' theata, really. I've always looked like a chick but I didn't start dressin' th' part till they wouldn't give me any more male roles." A sip of the water as Glass borrows his hand. "Make more money doin' that than theata anyway. And folks believe me when I come across as a woman. Ya'd nevva catch me playin' a real convincin' MacBeth."

Glass says, "You don't just like it?"

Trace smiles a little at that, and digs further, even though that's not his question. "Well... so you're tryin' to say it's just because of money and other people?" He doesn't look convinced. "I mean, what's it to you? What do you feel like, girl or boy?"

Jean-Batiste rubs his cheek against Glass's leg, bringing his hand up to touch a few of the tiny hairs. He strokes the skin a couple of times, then looks over at Walker, watching his expression more than really hearing his words. Maybe he's doing that aura thing.

Glass smiles at Batiste and strokes his shoulder.

Walker chuckles softly at the flood of questions. He doesn't seem to mind the extras. "It's a fun career," he admits. "It's easy work, keeps me in shape... An' folks love it. Ta me..." He takes another drag, blowing on the ash like a dandelion to watch the spark, fingers still exploring the carpet. "It's a livin'. An' I feel like me. I haven't felt like a boy *or* a girl since I was in th' sixth grade."

Glass nods, "Okay."

Trace grins broadly at that. "Yeah... yeah, I kin see that, I guess. S'like, right now you feel like a boy to me, Walker. But on stage..." He giggles. "No way. You were total chick."

Glass drags on his cigarette, then holds it for Batiste.

Walker giggles. "Well, that's th' idea. Folks come ta th' show ta marvel at the performa they're told is a guy pretendin' ta be a girl. The betta ya do it, the more they pay. An' I still haven't convinced some of m'fans I'm *not* a woman." Another giggle.

Jean-Batiste just smiles, as if he knows a secret nobody else does. He sighs softly, content, then twists over gently to lay on his back, head pillowed on Glass's thigh, one leg stretched out so he can poke Trace with his toe. He smiles up at Glass, closing his eyes as he draws in some spiced smoke.

Glass sits and smokes, sharing with Batiste so that the other never has to lift a figer. He lies back on the bed when the cigarette is done, and appears to fall asleep.

Glass must really go to sleep. Eventually he wakes up and gets dressed and goes away. Goodnight, folks. This was much fun, thanks!

Trace brightens at even the poke, and playfully stretches a leg to prod him back, because he'd been faintly envious of the both of you. It's easy to get lonely for being physcally touched when you're Xing... He says to Walker, "Your turn, y'know."

Beginning to feel lonely, Walker picks up and moves camp to Trace's side again, reaching to play with a blue braid; much softer and nicer to touch than carpet. "Hmm..." His dark jade eyes jump from Trace to Bat and back again. "Truth or dare?" He asks of Bat, eyes moving to him once more.

Trace leans into the touch, and reaches up to finger one of the necklaces about Walker's neck with vague fascination. Oohh... He runs his fingers over the smooth parts, then along the sharper edge... He's not even sure what it is, but is positive it must be one of the prettiest things he's ever touched.

Jean-Batiste nestles back with his head on Glass's stomach, looking entirely too serene for words. When he's prodded, his hands reach out to grab Trace's foot by the toes. He doesn't tickle, though - instead, he starts up the most fell of torments...the foot massage. (Fun at parties! Fun for both parties! Er.) He smiles lazily at Walker, forgetting to speak for a half-minute or more. "Truth," he finally replies.

Trace closes his eyes to enjoy the massage, even if his ears are quite pricked for the question. His light lashes flutter open occasionally, and his hands have drifted away from the necklace now, playing along the wonderful texture of the fishnet and warm skin beneath.

Walker's face lights up with delight at the response; just what he wanted to hear. "If ya could be any type of animal - has ta be real... no dragons-r shit - what would you be and why?" He quietly envies Trace's massage then returns his attention to the braid he's exploring.

Jean-Batiste rubs at Trace's toes, then the arch, fingers spreading out then bunching together to rub in a specific spot. He's not an accredited masseuse or anything, but that doesn't mean it can't still feel good. He rests Trace's heel on his chest, looking over his toes at Walker. He doesn't answer for several minutes. "I would be a tiger," he finally murmurs. "Because they're beautiful and terrible...and so strong and brave, and aren't afraid of anything."

Trace's eyes flutter open, despite enjoying this magical massage, to murmur briefly, "But then you'd be scary... and ruthless... And I'd rather you were Batiste." He smiles and wiggles his toes happily.

Walker's expression shifts into a thoughtful albeit glazed cast as he tries to superimpose a tiger's likeness over Bat's. "Tigers aren't ruthless," he disagrees, tone mild. "They do what's needed ta survive. Ya can't blame tigers on th' whole for their wacked out kin any more than ya can blame your neighbor for his fruity aunt."

Walker nestles against Trace, soaking body heat again. Mmm. Snuggly. "Tigers have a great family system an' can keep themselves safe an' provided for alone in th' jungle. Pretty nifty; I couldn't do it."

Jean-Batiste isn't particularly feline in nature - much more puppyish at times - but if he -was- feline in temperament, he probably wouldn't wish he was one. So wishes go. "And they can lay in the sun and they like to swim, and...they're the most beautiful animal in the world. Even if there was dragons, tigers would still be more beautiful." He's thinking something else, almost speaks it, then just grabs Trace's toes and curls them gently to crack the knuckles before rubbing them more.

Trace eeps softly as his toes get cracked, and then peers down to see what the heck Bat's trying to do down there... but then he's back to that nice rubbing, and all protest melts away again. He just smiles and squeezes Walker in a tiny hug, murmuring, "Batiste's turn."

Walker nods, melting into the hug. He can be quite boneless at times and this seems to be one of those times. "Pick somebody," he encourages.

Jean-Batiste grins for a moment, and squeezes both hands around Trace's foot, bending the arch a bit. "Trace," he murmurs. "Truth or dare."

Trace makes a soft sound, but then peers around... Well, Walker just went and everyone else has drifted off.. He should've *expected* this, but didn't for some reason. "Well... well, I'm *way* too comfortable to even think about movin' around for some silly dare, so truth."

Jean-Batiste muses for a while, the massage finally ebbing to stillness, with his fingers folded over the top of Trace's foot. Communal sprawl. "What's the strangest thing that's ever turned you on?" he asks curiously. Time to peek inside Trace's psyche.

Walker looks to Bat, fingers dropping from Trace braid to his neck and follows the gentle curve of tendon. Another interesting question... Even more interesting is the insight he's gaining into the others' thought processes through the questions they ask.

"Holly Windholm!" Trace giggles at first, but he's teasing, really. After a moment he sobers to a soft chuckle, admitting, "Nah... nah, that's not so strange. I think all them guys at that club were. I guess... I guess what it really was..." He looks down at the carpet embarrassedly, or perhaps slightly ashamed. "I was waiting for a fix this one time, back before I had my own needle, and... and there was this girl who'd set up there. And she... I mean, I guess she was a prostitute, and kinda had that dead look, but I don't know... she seemed really pretty to me sometimes, like when she smilled and meant it. And she did mean it sometimes. But anyway, I remember she was prodding her ditch and she couldn't find a spot to hook up and she was getting really pissed off, and she just... tore her shirt open. Just tore it right open, and she mainlined right.. right into her breast, and I was just... like wow....." He looks up, cheeks pinkened. "You guys think I'm sick, huh. Well... It was just.." He shrugs rigidly. "Well, she *did* have nice breasts."

Walker replaces his hand with his head to nuzzle Trace's neck and shoulder. "That'd be bizarre ta see..." He doesn't find the confession particularly twisted. He's more hung up on the notion that someone would shoot up like that right out in the open. "Wicked.." He pulls his cigarette up for a last drag and squishes it in the ashtray.

Jean-Batiste listens with wide, enrapt eyes, expression somehow soft and intense at once. He shakes his head, and strokes Trace's foot gently, soothingly. "I don't think you're sick," he replies, utterly heartfelt. "I don't think you're sick at all." He smiles at Trace, still rubbing his foot gently. "Thank you for telling us."

Trace nods a little, and his hands find Walker's hair again, a soft, black lock near the end this time. He twines it gently. "Well... Yeah, I mean, that's the game. So. My turn." He grins. "Batiste. I gotta get you back, so Truth or Dare."

Jean-Batiste reaches out towards Walker, towards the already lit cigarette. Lazy bum. He grins at Trace, running his knuckles along his foot's arch, then murmurs, "Dare." Let's see what he dares -this- time.

Walker doesn't protest when the cigarette's taken from him, instead crawling up onto the bed to crowd close to Glass' side. Snuggled there to watch the progression of the game, he quietly surrenders to sleep without meaning to.

Trace considers for a minute or so; clearly he didn't have a dare planned out. But after thinking about it for a bit, he lights up... "One sec! Ohh... There's a paper I dragged in the other day, one of those lil' free ones...." He darts into the restroom and snatches it up off the floor. On his return, he's already leafing through the back section with a wicked grin. "O-kaaayy... Lessee. You're going to call....... Ms Cally Cocktease! And she's conveniently left her number for ya in the back of this newspaper right here and you can give her a ring, and get affectionate with her because she's just 'so lonely for a hot man' and that's you Batiste." He winks. "You tiger." The paper gets tossed in your lap.

Jean-Batiste looks down at the paper as he slowly sits up, staring at the picture of Ms Cally licking her lips in what's probably supposed to be a suggestive manner. He stares at the picture a long while, not sure what to make of it, then peeks back at you. "How...affectionate?" he asks softly, dragging hard at his licorice clove as he sits up on the edge of the bed.

Trace giggles and falls into a crouch in front of you, draping his arms languidly about his knees. "You're gonna haveta sound like... well, a regular customer! Just, y'know, ya gotta fake it. Coz I'm gonna be right here listenin' an makin' sure you're impressin' sweet Ms. Cally there."

Jean-Batiste straightens up, swaying gently as his equilibrium tries to adjust. He looks back at you, grinning and rolling his eyes. "The only thing that'll impress her is her paycheque, Trace..." He sighs, still grinning - a dare's a dare - and turns to walk over to the table, setting the phone in his lap and tucking the reciever against his shoulder as he starts to dial. 1-900-ICOME4U or something equally charming, no doubt.

Trace gets up as well and trails after you, taking a spot at one of the chairs where he can be right there to hear all this as well as catch your every expression. "I'll cover the cost with my share of the envelope money, so don't worry 'bout that.."

Jean-Batiste grins a -very- sly grin, shaking his head at you. He's about to whisper quickly to you, then looks down at the reciever. "Credit card, please," he says, waiting a moment before reciting a string of numbers and an expiry date. Another pause. "Yes, that's me." He blows you a kiss, then thbt's you. While waiting for...well, whatever he's waiting for...he pulls the bowl of rum and fruit over, though doesn't take anything from it. "Yes. Thank you," he says into the phone. He sure sounds calm - has he done this before? No, there's a blush starting on his cheeks. He must just be trying really hard to get through this.

Trace spies his pile of mangos and darts over for a handful, even though their drying out just a little by this point, having sat so long forgotten on the counter. He returns to the table quickly and sets them on a neat pile on the table beside him.
Trace sucks the pulp off a bit of mango skin and watches your expression closely once more, trying not to grin too blatently yet.

Jean-Batiste groans softly, a 'Please, St. Jude, help me get through this...' sound. He takes a deep breath, and sits up a bit straighter, eyes closing. A smile unevenly hitches up one corner of his mouth, voice gaining a honeyed tone. "That's me," he murmurs. "Hmmm? Oh, Mr. Wilson is fine." He laughs softly, though it's not as practiced as his voice - it sounds young and uncomfortably nervous. "I thought that's what -you- were for?" Pause. "Yeah, I'd like that. What are you wearing?" Between a string of successive 'Uh-huh's and 'Mmm's, he looks at you, as if to stare at you would pull you into this little nightmarish dare-world he's currently living in.

Trace just laughs when you give him the look, sinking down in his chair and clutching at his sides with sticky fingers -- though he keeps his laughter quiet for Ms. Cally's sake. After a bit he straightens, only to giggle, lick a piece of mango obscenely, and mock-moan, "Oh, Mr. Wilson!" He collapses into further mirth, and the mango piece actually falls from his fingers.

Jean-Batiste watches you lick the poor mango, giving you a long-suffering sigh. He starts to cover the mouthpiece to scold you, when he suddenly turns his attention back to it, a little wide-eyed. "Yeah?" he says, the answer sounding lame even if you don't know what he's answering to. His cheeks flush miserably, though not that nice dark raw colour, yet. "Me? Uh..." He coughs softly, drags hard at his clove, sighing the smoke out before speaking again, eyes closed. "It's long and...uh." Maybe it sounds like a passion-laden 'uh' to Cally. "Huh? Yeah, really hard...and it's, uh..." He looks over at you suddenly, and says into the phone, "And it's pierced, and I like to suck on it myself." There. Hah. Maybe you'll choke to death on your mango. He grins - if you -did- start choking, he'd save you before you turned -too- blue.

Trace laughs! "Ohmigod, Bat, ohmi*GOD*...." He curls up, one arm curled around his chest, the other desperately trying to keep his laughter muffled and quiet. "Did'ja hafta take out a rib fer it, like that one guy..? Haha..." With a few more giggles, though not quite as violent, he murmurs, "When that fortune cookie said you could make friends with what ya kept in yer underpants, it sure wasn't kiddin, huh! Shit..!" He just shakes his head with amusement.

Jean-Batiste gives you another long-suffering sigh, crooked grin tugging his mouth all awry, and listens to the phone again. "Mmmwhat? Yes, really. I suck it all the time. Why don't...yeah, let's do that. I'd like that. Tell me about that." His voice would sound aroused, -maybe- if you didn't see that 'Dear God, I'm going to -die- of embarrassment' expression on his face. He reaches into the bowl of rum and fruit with his bare hand, and pulls out a slice of peach, shaking off some of the rum before holding it in front of him. "Mmmwhat?" he says into the phone again. "Oh, yes. I...uh. Already started..." He slurps wetly on the piece of fruit, making a very convincing...well, you know. Slurpy noise. Now, the tough part. Sex noises. "Mmmm..." he tries. Sounds -totally- unthrilled. Closing his eyes, he slurps again on the peach wedge, sighing out as he says, "Uh..." There. That sounds better. Phone sex with fruit - breaking the law in 48 states.

Trace just clings to his chair for dear life, and doesn't even need to stifle his laughter anymore. He's run out of breath and now it's more just an uncontrollable shaking that makes his sides ache. He is able to hold it off just long enough to make a mocking 'slurrrp!' noise at you before more silent laughter ensues. He waves a hand and gasps, "Okay, okay.. you get the dare prize of the night or something! Haha..."

Jean-Batiste figures that's permission to stop, and does - on a dime. (Well, 4.99 a minute, but...) He hangs up the phone, and...aha. -There- it is. His face goes wretchedly pink - he pops the peach wedge into his mouth and chews it up with a vengeance, grinning weakly as he does.

Trace wanders over and thumps your back, "Heehee... You were an excellent companion to the dear lady Cally, Batiste! Honestly..." Then he looks at you and considers maybe it wasn't the wisest thing, allowing himself to wander into your armslength so soon after the humiliating experience. He holds his hands up and grins, "So, uh. I'm tired, how about you? Enough of this game, right? Unless... You'd want to get me back or something, but I figured you'd just want to go to bed." He grins.

Jean-Batiste does indeed whap you - but only very lightly. He sets the phone aside, and climbs up to his feet, smiling serenely at you, as if the miserable experience was already forgotten. "Well...there was...something..." he murmurs, smile weakening, tentative. He looks down, wriggling his toes against the carpet.

Trace smiles and parts his hands. "Heh. I *do* owe you after that one, so go on, name it." He reaches out for one of your pretty pale braids and toys with the end tassle, runs his fingers over the shiny rubber band, then up the woven braid itself. All unconcsious, it seems, because when it occurs to him he simply drops the braid and grins at you.

Jean-Batiste glances to the side when you touch one of his braids - his hand twitches, as if he's about to reach up, then stops himself. He smiles a little, gaze travelling up your arm to your face, then up to your eyes. "Would...it be okay, if...we crashed out together? It'd just...be sorta nice, to fall asleep holding someone..." A tiny, sober part of his mind tells him that set off every Cheesy Phrase alarm within twenty miles - the rest of him says that maybe it won't be so bad, what with the X and all.

There's a subtle shift in Trace's expression, but an important one -- his smirkish grin fades into something more honest, more affectionate. "Yeah... yeah, c'mere." He chuckles and takes your hand, tugging you towards the bed Glass and Ali didn't crash on, the one closer to the bathroom. He scrambles up onto the bed, letting go of you to tug back the rumpled blanket and slip beneath it. He smiles and pats the pillow beside him once. "C'mere!"

Jean-Batiste follows along after you, a silent presence beside you as you slip into bed. He smiles down serenely at you for a second, fingers clasping tightly together - then he carefully climbs into bed as well, gathering you up in his arms and snuggling you in a puppyish, affectionate way, cheek tucked against your braids. Protective and warm...he sighs softly, murmuring, "Sweet dreams?" The smile can be heard, if not seen.

Trace nods against your chest, though you'd probably just feel it and see the shifting of blue braids. "Love you, y'know.." He says very softly. "Not in some weird way, just... yeah. Sweet dreams." Warm, contented, safe... easiest he's fallen asleep in a long time.

Jean-Batiste doesn't answer for a long while - when he does, it's very softly, a rumble within a skinny chest. He chuckles gently, and squeezes you closer before relaxing his arms into a comfortable heap. "Love you too, Trace." He pets your hair a couple of times, making sure no nightmares cling to the rubber bands, then settles into stillness, slipping away quickly into dreams.

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