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Title: Nelson's gift

Setting: Nelson's apartment, 134 Heritage

Log Cast:
Trace
Nelson
Julien

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Trace knocks on the door.

A man shouts from somewhere nearby, "It's open."

Nelson is on the couch, busily reading over a text on organic chemistry. Isn't it nice to know how visitors rate in this place, as he doesn't even glance up for a moment, let alone answer the door in person? A few notes are jotted in the book's margins with a well-chewed pencil before he does glance up. Then his expression brightens. "Trace! Hi."

It's a cute little 'Shave and a haircut' knock by the way. Trace stands just beyond to doorway, grubby and chalk-smudged as ever. A bright purple streak on his cheek is especially comical, probably left over from an itch or absently brushing away a fallen dredlock. Your call makes him hesitate awkwardly for a moment. He's never been to your place, and he's shy enough about showing up here, but walking in? Nonetheless the door is pushed open, just enough to allow for his whip-slender frame to wiggle on past the door, along with the white box in his hands. Well, you know what's in this box, which is typical for clothing, like the kind you get at Lazerus or Sears. He already went and gave away what the present was earlier. "Hallo Nelson," the boy greets with a sheepish grin.

Nelson closes the text and sets it on the coffee table. "Come in, come in." After all, you come bearing gifts. "I asked Jason if he'd seen you, and now here you are." Wow, in his own digs, the chemist is /much/ more amiable. The lack of strangers all around makes a world of difference. No half-smiles and hesitant glances. You get the full force of Nelson Mirth, eyes bright with warmth so contradictory to his street presence he might just be the good twin, and the real Nelson has been stuffed in a closet. "I think Jason thinks I'm a freak." he informs cheerily.

"Oh yeah..?" Trace giggles, moving over to the couch to sit near Nelson's good twin. Not right next to you, but not far away either; enough room perhaps to stick another bony streetwaif in between you and he -- the bad twin Trace, maybe. "Well then he's sure ta like ya," the bluecap concludes. He holds the package out to you. No need to put off gift-giving. Inside there is indeed a nice, expensive-looking burgandy shirt. It's been set in there with colored strips of tissue paper, bright and vibrant against the dark elegant silk, childish even by comparison. Also tossed in is some pink cellophane grass left over from Easter. "The store, it had reg'lar white tissue paper what came with it, but I got some better stuff," he explains with a grin and a shrug.

Nelson doesn't waste time digging in, either. Twenty three or merely three: you be the judge. He sure is childlike about prezies. Even knowing what it is doesn't stop a quiet and delighted murmur as he prods around shamelessly through easter grass and bright tissue. He makes paint. You'd better believe he knows 80 different shades of burgundy, and likely has a preference. At least that's how he admires this particular display. "Easter grass!" he even takes time to note with a little laugh. "This is great." A pause, then, almost solemn by comparision, he says "You realize what this means, don't you?"

"Yeah, Easter grass," the boy smiles brightly. "I had some leftover from when I played Easter Bunny this year..." But your question makes his brows quirk. He doesn't realize, apparantly. Not unless you plan to like give him a similar package with a big danish in it. Eww, skip the tissue and tinsel-grass, however, if that's the case. It'd get all sticky. Then again, knowing Trace's appetite he probably wouldn't notice or care. "Realize what?"

Nelson says gravely "I have to get you a danish." But then, you saw that coming, didn't you? "I don't have any in the apartment because I try not to keep weapons around, but we'll have coffee and danishes soon, right?"

"You WILL have to get me a danish," Trace agrees with cheer. "A *big* one. With, um. That good cheese stuff onnit, an' the white frosting stuff? And that apple ooze they put on some. And marshmallow cream." Okay, this is starting to become one wacky danish. Probably have to custom order it, or have Batiste help you make it or something. He tips his head to one side and muses, "What else kin go on danishes?"

Nelson leans back, considering this. "Well," he says "I must admit I'm not much of a danish man, but you know the kind with the cherry stuff on it? Those are good." No comments about TooFar's nickname for him. Cherry is a perfectly manly thing to be called. "But marshmallow creme- I never even heard of that on a pastry." He considers his shirt a moment, then carefully sets the box aside, claiming a handful of Easter grass before the lid goes back on. This he toys with, separating the strands with fastidious, precise care. "Did you know there's a pastry in Europe called 'an american'? I'm not making this shit up."

"They eat Americans in Europe?" Trace giggles. "Cool." He glances down to watch you play with the cellophane grass. "Well, I guess I'll try cherries on my danish too. But marshmallow cream would be good. It's good on everything. Seriously, Nelson -- ice cream, fruit salad, french toast, spaghetti... everything! Honest. I s'pose I could jest bring a tub of some and put it on afterwards," he decides musingly.

Nelson lays each strand across his knee, patient as he untangles the stuff. Not compulsive at all, no no. "Spaghetti?" he says dubiously. "Ice cream I'll grant you, and maybe fruit salad, but it's pure sugar, Trace. That's not good for you." Then he imparts a touch of wordly wisdom, "Americans are these kind of round, dome-shaped pastries with white icing on them, and chocolate swirls. I thought they tasted like plastic, personally."

"Well, I ain't actually *tried* the spaghetti idea," Trace admits with a grin. "But I know it'd be good. So far everything that's had marshmallow cream on it has been good. It even makes veggies not so bad!" Isn't that a wonder? Trace, the carniverous wildman, choking down veggies. Wonders really don't cease. "But anyway, I know it's all sugar, but who cares? Ya think I'm gonna get fat r'somethin?" This makes him giggle and poke at his flat tummy. It's always been somewhere between flat and caving inward. Probably always WILL be. He's doomed to be scrawny.

Nelson's face undergoes a series of expressions, all hinting at and then denying utter disgust. Not at the tummy prodding. Let's face it, he's a bit on the scrappy side himself. "On veggies?" he asks, then shudders. No, don't elaborate on that. "You realize that refined sugar is like.. it's like smack on your blood stream. It's totally not something your system was meant to handle."

"Uh, Nelson?" Trace giggles. "Like learn yer drugs r'somethin. I had smack in my bloodstream before an' ain't nothin similar tween the two. Maybe it's more similar ta tweakin' r'somethin. Hyped up, ya know? But anyway, god, gave up the junk, so ya gotta leave me *somethin*! I kin put marshmallow cream on my broccoli if I feel." So nyeah. "I doan' think it's gonne make my heart bust up anytime soon or nothin. Rot my teeth, maybe. But I ain't had no cavities." Hasn't had a *dentist*, either, but they don't hurt, so his pearly whites MUST be fine. Right?

Nelson glances at you, one brow lifting dubiously. "I don't want to learn my drugs. Trust me, you don't want to see me hyper anyway." The untangled strands are gathered up off his knee carefully, and he starts smoothing them out so they're clasped in his hands with all the ends even against each other. The effect looks like he's holding a shock of pink cellophane hair, freshly shorn. "But you're right. You can eat it if you want. I'll reserve the right to make faces at you." And he does, poking his tongue out so maturely.

Trace giggles merrily when you stick out your tongue at him. "Okay. I doan mind faces. I think you should try some, though. Um, marshmallow cream, not drugs. Stay stupid bout them, they suck. Anyway um, when you wanna go get danishes? Like so I don't come over when you're busy with work or doin' chemist stuff or somethin." He shrugs a little. "Is chemist stuff fun? Did you ever cause explosions or turn anybody green? Can it be radioactive and mutate stuff?"

Nelson laughs and leans back into a comfortable sprawl. "We can go get danishes whenever. Bring the marshmallow creme because I don't think they have those kind in, well, existence. For a good reason." And he makes another face. Like, what did marshmallow creme ever do to him? "I think chemist stuff is fun. Never turned anyone green or blew anything too big up. I haven't touched radioactives since college. But I've worked with something that eats through glass. That's pretty fun."

Trace is just all lit up hearing you talk about your work. There's an honest interest there. Chemicals are Mysterious when you never got past pre-algebra, let alone anything that had to do with real chemistry. So it's all like modern magic! Bubbling witchbrews in vials and beakers. Fun Mr. Wizard stuff. "Take me to work with you sometime!" he demands. "Please? I wanna see stuff eat through glass!" And don't you just bet that HE'll find some way to make the chemicals you work with day to day turn someone green. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Tell people I'm yer boy and it's fer one'a them take yer kid to work days." Well, hmm. You're a bit young to be his father, honestly. "No wait. Tell 'em my parents is dead and so I hadda go with my uncle. I be ya nephew. Z'at work?" He practically bounces in place. He's gonna be a chemist! For a day anyway. Won't you take him? Pleasepleaseplease?

Nelson says delicately "Trace, you wouldn't even pass for my nephew. I'm maybe seven or eight years older than you, tops. Maybe my little brother. Besides, there are restricted areas. I couldn't get you into R&D, but I might be able to show you a few things. You probably don't want to see my cubicle. I know *I* see too much of it." He's actually considering this. Okay, no one had better ever cast him as the designated grown up, because he's dropping the ball on that one mightily. "It'll be boring, though. Lots of numbers you probably don't care about." He pauses, then says "Though... you know. I do guest lecture. I could probably get some stuff and bring it home to show you."

"No no, nasty's good!" Trace insists firmly. Hell, firm? He's practically whining here, really. You're not going to show him the cool stuff? "I wanna see the gunk that eats the gla What's wrong with it, does it smell bad? Is it gunna eat through yer coffeetable or somethin if you try and show me?" He lets his mind take on a brief second-track, looking to Julien and smiling, "Hi, Julien." On the couch is a box with a burgandy silk shirt inside, along with brightly colored strips of tissue paper and some pink easter grass, though Nelson's playing with a handful of that. "So whatchya gonna bring me if ya don't bring the glass eatin stuff? It's not fair, I never got to the chemistry classes in school! I never got to blow nothin up."

Julien, while getting coffee, growls a little bit. "Oh for fuck's sake.." You hear him shifting a bit in the kitchen and then he chuckles. "Well.. this is something I didn't expect.." he comes wandering back into the livingroom with a lopsided grin on his face. "Ben just paged.. wants to know if I want to go out." He looks at Nelson with an expression that doesn't immediately strike you as definable. Its a combination of excitement and contentment- but dusted over that is an expectation as he looks at Nelson almost, but not quite, asking him if that's alright. The easter grass gets a brief look and he raises his eyebrow. "Hunting rabbits?"

Nelson glances to Julien and waggles his brows. Depends, Julien- are you a rabbit? "Well, if you want to use me as an excuse not to, feel free. If you want to go, how about I page you later and we can do.. lunch?" He glances to Trace and says, all matter-of-fact and academic wisdom, "Actually, the substance in question is called hydrofluoric acid, and it is odorless, colorless, tasteless- having every single outward appearance of plain tap water. It soaks through the skin, you see, without sensation. You don't actually feel it until it hits your bones. It reacts with calcium rather violently." And that's why the glass eating stuff isn't cool.

Nelson promises earnestly "I will." He's even chaste about returning that kiss, though he whisks at Julien with the Easter grass in passing. Hey, playing with plastic grass is cool.

Julien darts into the bedroom, gets dressed, and is out the door in seconds flat. It doesn't have a fleeing aspect to it- and he doesn't seem to be in a hurry- he just seems the type that is able to get dressed and leave somewhere in a practiced hurry. Ahem.Julien makes his way out of the apartment.

And that's why the glass eating stuff is REALLY FUCKING COOL! Trace's eyes dance excitedly. "I wanna see it..." He wiggles fingers at the departing Julien, then looks to Nelson. "Hey, um. Nelson? Kin I talk t'ya bout something? I mean.. You kin say no! I'd understand if ya did. I mean, ya busy with work an stuff, ya don't got time fa stuff. It's cool." He's apologizing for asking before he's even asked, self-conscious lil kid that he is.

Nelson watches Julien leave with unabashed fondness. Oh yeah, he's got it bad for the guy. "Hmm? Trace, why do you want to see it? It looks like water when it isn't /killing/ you. Just splash water on yourself and then picture your bones melting." Then, with a carefree shrug, he says "You can ask me anything you like." And he seems to mean that. What could possibly be wrong about anything his brother in blue hair could ask?

"Well, I wouldn't put it on ME, I'd put it on glass!" Trace explains, rolling his eyes. But then as you tell him you can ask him anything, he's bashful again. This is embarrasing to ask, apparantly. What's he gonna wonder about, ya think? These street kids see everything, right? Aren't they all junkie, trick-turnin ne'er do wells? So surely he's not gonna ask you about the facts of life or something. Finally he says with hesitation, his eyes on his hands, which are now folded in his lap. "I, um. Well." He peeks up through a curtain of dredlocks shyly. "I useta... like school. I mean. I was a grade ahead. I din' drop out coz I was lazy, or coz I din' do well. I jest couldn't... couldn't be home no more. And I don't like it, how I usedta know all these things, and now I'm so far behind, and if I was gonna try and go back to school now I'd be so behind and all older and it'd be so.. embarrassing. It isn't fair." He sighs softly. "Ben... he was gonna teach me about, about all these books, and important people, and all about the world..." Definitely wistful, this bluecap's tone. "But he.. don't like me anymore. And his learnins is lost t'me..." His hazel eyes lower again to his hands. "Catherine -- my girlfriend -- she gonna teach me some stuff, like what she learn in in highschool right now. But um." Well, there's only so much he can learn from a fifteen year old. "But you know stuff. And it's stuff I wasn't even so good at. Math and science and stuff was kinda hard for me. But maybe you could show me anyway, so when I got back to school I wouldn't be so dumb.."

"You will, then?" Trace says softly, looking a bit amazed, because really he figured you'd tell him to get himself in school or something, or fob him off on less busy nerds you know. Something. He just wasn't really expecting you'd be happy to. "I mean, it-it won't be too hard coz of yer job keepin you busy? I mean...I mean, I d'wanna be a hassle to you, Nelson. I'd... come over whenever you wanted, like jest... well, whenever!" There's a growing excitement in him. "It's jest... really good of you! I don't wanna be dumb, and I feel like I am lately... All the school kids is further ahead than me, and it's jest, I ain't used to that. And it makes me... feel like I ain't doin what I should be doin' in life. But I can't go to school. I jest, I can't. My mom could find me if I was enrolled all official like. They'd pull up records on me maybe, see that stupid missin' persons thing and there'd be cops everywhere and it'd jest, it'd be really bad." He sighs. "And plus.. even if I DID sneak in somehow, like with some fake identity, I don't... got enough changes'a clothes, or-or enough access to a shower. I'dget so teased..." Another pensive sigh. See, he has thought about all this.

Nelson nods to each point. Like after his four years of being shoved in lockers, tormented, beaten up, and taunted he's going to advocate high school to anyone. He's a little quirky, but he's no sadist. "Well." he says. "First of all, you aren't dumb. You haven't had access to the information and, frankly Trace, I'm not sure high school is even a good place for that exposure. There's so much social pressure that so many students don't dare excel or else they're branded for life. High school is a rite of passage, it's not an educational institution. So what we're going to do is this: I'll work out my schedule and find the time. I /wi ll/ find the time. And if anyone asks about you, I'll just casually forget what you told me about the missing person's report. As far as I know, you're just an intelligent young man looking for a little extra tutoring, okay?" He's working all this out already, planning. Definitely something he's into. "If you don't want to get caught and sent back home, then we'll just forget high school entirely and when you're eighteen, you can get your diploma through almost any community college, and by then you'll be so caught up you'll ace the tests."

Wow. Trace's smile, it's just.. super-glowy sunshine extreme. It couldn't get any broader, or his face would just break in half or something. "You... that's so... that's so great of you, Nelson!" He could just hug you! Well hec couldn't, because that's just not quite what he does very easily, but he sure could bounce up to the very edge of the couch like he needs to leap up and dance around. He's got restraint, however. "Wow." He gives a small, giddy laugh. "It's jest.. I met you that day, and I was such a horrible lil punk to you, and now ya gonna go and..." His tone gets softer, but no less happy. "Gonna help gimme back a future."

Nelson leans back and smiles faintly. He's older, you know. More dignified. Just overlook the pink Easter grass he's playing with and he's the very image of a grown up. Well, that and he's usual pretty subdued about those outward emotional response. It's all summed up in his eyes, very bright and very warm. "Oh, Trace. You weren't all that horrible. You were smart enough to spell "Idiot" backwards before branding me with it. That's more intelligence than I'd credit a horrible little street punk with. Besides, we're friends, right? I don't pay lip service to anyone. If you're my friend, you're my friend. I'll help you."

Trace laughs and glances down at his left palm, commenting, "Maybe but I weren't clever enough t'think how cool it'd be wearin a stupid 'Toidi' around fer days." The stain is long gone now of course, the only colorings on his hands from the chalk drawings he must have been busy with earlier today, leaving them all dusty and smudged. "But.. yeah. Yeah, we're friends." His smile is both honest and self-conscious at that, and he glances up briefly and then down.

Nelson says wryly "Well, I just considered it karma in action." He slides off the couch, padding towards one of the bookshelves casually. "Besides, how could I quash such creativity? There's such a shortage in the world. And I was far angrier at that cop than at you. I hate being used, and that's just what he was doing. Using me as an excuse to nail you." He shakes his head. "I don't play that game." He traces fingertips thoughtfully over various titles, then pulls free a simple vinyl folder from the shelf, opening it and thumbing through papers as he speaks. "Not to sound moral or anything, but I prefer avoiding battles, and when forced into them, I prefer to fight my own." Ah ha. Here it is. He draws free a leaf of paper and offers it over to you. A simple photocopied Chemical Elements chart.

"Yeah, he wanted t'get me," Trace agrees. "Nuff that he was gonna put some danish squishin' down as assult! Pretty unreal.." He clicks his tongue sardonically and shakes his head, tossing his blue ropes about his shoulders jauntily. He gets quiet as you come over with the chart, one hand darting out to gently take it from you. He skims over the rows of boxes with his eyes, not quite comprehending. "What is this...?" Okay, he recognizes some of them. The easy ones. Gold, silver, platinum, ect.. "What's the big letters mean? Like AU here?" He points to gold.

Nelson says easily- because if he treats it like it's no big deal, then maybe chemistry won't intimidate. Nothing to fear, bluecap. It's all just numbers and symbols, "This is a road map to creation. Everything in the known universe on one piece of paper. Impressive, eh?" He sidles around so that he can look at the chart over your shoulder. Not many people are shorter than he is, so he takes advantage of this where he can. "The big letters are abbreviations, universal so that chemists from Germany, Russia, the US, Africa, anywhere, they can speak the same language. What we call Gold has a different word in every language. This 'AU'stands for Aurum- the latin word for Gold. That way, anyone in the world looking at Au in a chemical equation will know it's gold."

"Aurum..." Trace murmurs, fingers brushing over the square with Au. "That's a prettier word for it that gold." He glances up and asks, "So... everything in the universe is right here? Like you could put some'a these together and make... marshmallow cream? Or sunshine? Or people?" He glances down at the chart. Maybe he wants to believe that, but he can't yet. It's just boxes and letters still. Gotta make him see.

Nelson says "Well... not sunshine. That's a little further in your studies. But yeah, marshmallow cream, people.." His fingertip drifts from carbon, to hydrogen, to oxygen. "Mostly made of those three right there. Mostly. You can put these together in so many ways, and every way creates something different." He steps back so as not to crowd, back to the bookshelves to look for more interesting tidbits. "Now that's yours. You can do what you want with it. Don't worry to much about memorizing or understanding. Just try to recognize it, become familiar with it. If you lose it, don't worry. I got tons of those things left over from college."

Trace nods a little, both hands wrapping around the edges of the Elements chart. Miiiine. He grins a little, looking over the three boxes you jabbed at earlier. "So I'm made outta... air, and car fumes and... z'at water? Hydrogen. Hydro. I 'member hydro bein' bout water. I think." A little blush as he admits, hitching a bony-shouldered shrug, "It's been awhile. School, I mean. Since I was thirteen."

Nelson murmurs as he flips through more papers in that notebook "Hydrogen dioxide. Water. Yeah, people are about ninety percent water. The rest is carbon and gunk." Gunk. There's a technical term for you. He perks up a little, either at something he's reading over or whatever's popped into his mind. "Trace, here's a stupid question, but indulge me. What's between us right now?" At a glance, about five and a half feet worth of carpet and a coffee table, duh.

Hmm. "Wellll." Trace studies you for a moment, but then his gaze is unfocused, thinking about it. "Air... and, um." Brows are furrowed just slightly. "And other stuff. Like when you look at light from outta window on a real bright day, you see more stuff floatin' around, bitty dust pieces that dance when you blow on 'em. So I guess that's oxygen, and um. And carbon, coz when you breath out that's carbon monoxide. No wait. Dioxide. Monoxide's like what you kill yerself with when you put a tube onna end of yer car pipe thingie. And it's in surgeon general warning stuff." Oh wait, we're getting off track here. "Um. And there's..." He shakes his head. "I don't know what the symbol fer carpets and stuff is. And there's no 'wood' symbol. But stuff's made outta wood." He peers at the boxes closely, in case he missed it. But nope. It's not there! "Is the word fer wood in latin..?" You never know. Wood could really be, like, potassium. No, no.. he's heard of that one somewhere.

Nelson listens, and he's either an Oscar calibre actor, or he's intensely interested in your take on this "Perfect." he assesses. "You're already in the right mindset." A few more papers are drawn from the folder, then it's replaced. He laughs, but there's nothing mocking in the tone. "I don't know the latin word for wood. It's mostly carbon, too. I'd bet the carpet is, too. Lots of stuff is made out of carbon. There's just a lot of it around and it's a pretty versatile element. Gets along with lots of other elements. They all like to hang out with carbon." The papers he offers over. A few small paragraphs worth of reading on very basic chemistry, such as This Is An Element and This Is A Proton, Electron, Neutron, etc. On another sheet, a jumble of chemical equations, all on their own, without any dry text trying to explain what the little numbers and arrows mean. "This is more stuff I have lots of copies off. Feel free to trash it. In fact, if any of it frustrates you- burn it. Tear it up. Take out your aggressions on it. I've got copies."

"Um." Trace looks at the bundle and nods hesitantly. "Alright." Then a grin touches his lips as he asserts, "But not my roadmap." He taps at the element chart."I like it." He thinks about someting and purses his lips before looking up at Nelson. "You said how carbon could be all different things, and it jest mattered how it was made. So, um. Like, carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide. Them's almost the same? I mean.. Jest that one little part is different. So like, um." He speaks with hesitance, afraid to say something stupid. "So. Jest one little thing gets tweaked, and suddenly someone's released breath could instead be like... Like what comes outta cars and kills people?" Vital to poison just like that!

Nelson says wryly "Well, see, that's the thing. You can mix up carbon with lots of stuff, but once it's got his posse all sorted out, it doesn't change just like that. Carbon monoxide is one carbon atom and one oxygen atom, kicking around. Poisonous and shit, they go around causing all sorts of trouble, killing folks and kicking ozone's ass in the atmosphere and stuff. But carbon dioxide is carbon hanging out with two oxygen atoms. They're pretty chilled out. They're all cozy like they are, and that extra oxygen atom isn't going to wander off just because. Most of the time, something's got to happen before a molecule changes. They're lazy. They don't like to move unless they have to."

Trace giggles at your descriptions of carbon's social habits. "It all seems really easy when you describe it," he says with a grin. "I mean, I kin see a textbook confusin the hell outta me with this stuff, r'if I tried to memorize like one carbon, two carbon, blah blah blah, it'd never ever stay, but I kin remember carbon monoxide, like what it's made of and what it does and all that, when you put it like that. And it's easier t'think like, 'Oh yeah, carbon's the one that gets t'gether with all these other ones, it's friendly." He admits with a chuckle, looking down at the papers he holds, "I doan' think I been less intimidated when tryin to learn science stuff before. Bet I'll like gettin' taught stuff by you."

Nelson grins and actually blushes, shifting his gaze to the shelves again to look over the books. "Well, I can't imagine the esteemed Dr. Hawking of Cambridge describing carbon as a social whore, but we all have our ways of figuring it out." He pauses a bit, then says "I just want to lay down some foundation here, Trace, because I want this to be good for you, not just for me. And it is. I'm really going to enjoy this. But if you ever catch me telling you this stuff is easy, I want you to call me a liar, because this stuff is billions of years old and as big as the universe, and all we got on our side is a couple millenia of people writing down their observations. And if you're ever just not getting it, and it's frustrating you, we'll back off. No pressure here, right? You're not gonna get an F from me, no matter what."

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