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Log Title: Peaches
Log setting: It is Tuesday, June 5th, 2001, at Walker’s home in the kitchen.
Log Cast:
Trace
Jean-Batiste
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The house is quiet, Walker gone off to rehearsal, Glass either slumbering on the couch or gone home to Shay's, depending on what his player has to say about it. Behind the staircase in a dusty, unused corner of the house, is a nest made of blankets and pillows stolen off Walker's waterbed. In it sleeps Jason, curled and cuddled in Batiste's lap. Batiste is awake, of course, leaned up against the wall in a melancholy, drowsy state, occasionally petting Jason's tangled red hair. He tries to call to you, but his voice scratches in his throat - he starts to cough, and waves wordlessly to you if you look his way.
At the cough, Trace turns and catches sight of your wave. He looks from Jason to you and gives a half-smile, his feelings still bruised by the younger boy, but the much-needed sleep and the sweet sight of him resting there softens the blue-haired artist a little. He moves slowly closer, finally crouching down close to the two of you and looking down at Jason. "Y'git his hand fixed better? Or find out what happened...?" he murmurs very softly, not wanting to wake the redhead.
Jason mumbles for a moment, and Batiste bends over him, fussing a lock of hair away from the closed eyelids, murmuring soft syllables to him until he quiets again. This is how he looks to others, maybe, when he's curled up with you in a beanbag or on the waterbed. His eyes raise to you then, weary and a little dull with redness, though they soften as he smiles at you. "Hey," he murmurs, voice soft and scratchy. "You feeling better?" He looks down to Jason for a moment, to the gauze-wrapped hand, and nods slightly. "I don't know what happened, but...he let me clean it up, finally. He..." He frowns deeply for a second, confused. "He got -bit-. By someone, not a dog or something. Nearly bit a chunk of his thumb off." He shakes his head a little, not understanding any of the who's or why's that fact brings to life.
"Yeah... yeah, m'okay." Trace's eyes flare when he hears what happened to Jason's hand, much of the muzziness leaving him as his gaze centers on the bandage. Of course he'd assumed Jason had just cut himself perhaps climbing a fence, or maybe that it was a dog bite, after last night's cryptic words. "By someone. Well... we gonna fuck up this someone? We gotta make him tell us who done it, people can't just go... go 'round biting Jason and not have me get in their face 'bout it."
Jean-Batiste chews on his bottom lip, looking down at Jason's face again. He sighs softly, and shakes his head a little. "I...I don't know. If we can find out who did it..." Despite the knives he carries, despite his willingness to use them when it comes to defense, he doesn't seem to eager to go out looking for trouble. He turns his eyes up to you, dark and troubled. "What if it was his sister? He was so angry when I told him what happened, Trace...maybe he hurt her. I don't know." He moves a little, starting the process of slipping free of Jason. "He said something to me last night, though, about you...tell you in the kitchen?"
Trace's brow furrows slightly. Jason's sister might have bit him? "Well... well, if it was his sister who bit him, I guess... we can't do nothin' bout that. Between brother 'n sister n'all.." He figits a little as you start to rise and finally murmurs, "Yeah.. yeah, okay. T'the kitchen then. Gonna scratch together a snack anyway."
Jean-Batiste takes a few minutes to carefully settle Jason in the nest of blanket and pillow, tucking his injured hand against his chest before moving the blankets around him. He crouches beside him, brushing hair back from Jason's face for a while, then straightens and follows you into the kitchen, lighting up a licorice clove on the way. "I don't know -who- it was," he murmurs, smoke leaking out of his mouth. "And...I don't know if he'll tell us. But we can ask. Maybe he'll surprise us." He shrugs a little. Most likely, though, he won't.
Trace nods, but he's got similar doubts, and heads on towards the refridgerator, tugging it open and peering inside. The light from within makes his pale skin paler, erases the shadows except for the ones beneath his eyes that don't ever fade no matter the lighting. He leans closer and rummages around in the back, finally pulling out a waterbottle and struggling with the plastic lid as he bumps the fridge closed with his side. Some snack.
Jean-Batiste leans up against the counter, arms folded, and watches you come out with nothing but water. He chews the inside of his cheek for a second, then offers softly, "You want me to make you something? Share a peach with you?" He doesn't move from his heavy perch against the counter, though his eyes follow you with extra intensity to try and make up for it. Not that he's often hyper, but he seems extra lethargic right now. Thoughts storm around behind his eyes, trying to escape.
"Peach sounds good," Trace relents, finally working the lid off his water bottle and taking a sip before murmuring, "It's the kinda peach with the fuzzy skin, right? I don't like the shiny skinned ones with no fuzz; they're no fun." He takes a seat on one of the kitchen chairs, sitting on it backwards with his arms draped over the backrest and his water bottle dangling from one hand.
Jean-Batiste smiles a little, and pushes himself off the counter, moving for the fridge. "Yeah, that's the kind." He pulls out a peach and quickly cuts it in half, twisting it apart as he wanders over towards you. He hands you the half without the pit, then takes a bite out of his own, looking back to the hallway as he chews. "How upset are you with Jason?" he finally asks you, looking back. "I mean...last night, you guys were fighting. Was it just an argument, or is there something serious going on?"
Trace inspects his peach for a moment to be absolutely sure it's not a nectarine, then sighs and lifts his shoulders in a faint shrug. "I dunno... Just an argument, I guess. It was stupid... I was just tired, and he had t'go and poke in my shit so nasty like he did, and I already felt bad about it... And then he had to go and say stuff. And I just, I wish it didn't happen. I didn't mean to fight with him last night like that." He takes a small bite along the edge of the peach, mostly skin.
Jean-Batiste nods slowly, biting into his peach with a quiet, wet crunch and chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah. He...can be pretty mean, sometimes." He looks down, turning the peach around a couple of times before raising his eyes to you again. "Well, he was worried that you thought he didn't love you anymore, because of what he said. He asked me if I thought he was a bad friend...I told him that he wasn't a bad friend, he was just difficult, sometimes. But that we'd all get through it together, no matter what. I think...well, that he was really worried he'd really hurt you, with what he said..." Of course, getting him to admit to that once he's awake...good luck.
"Well, he did hurt me," Trace admits quietly, looking down at the half-moon of peach in his sticky fingers. "And I know he still loves me, I guess. I just... I don't think he has much faith in me, or trust. And I wonder how hard I gotta work t'win that, or if it's worth the bother, for all that he'll show it." He takes a larger bite of the fruit now, and rubs at his chin with the back of his hand when a dribble of juice escapes.
"There's so much about him that we don't know..." Batiste murmurs, pulling out a chair and turning it around to sit in it backwards like you're doing. "And it's so hard to get him to talk about anything. And it's frustrating when you're trying to talk to him and he just shrugs it off or laughs it off..." He pulls his chair a little closer to yours, and reaches out his free hand to tousle your braids a little, trying to smile. "D'you figure you'll try and talk to him about it?"
Trace manages a tiny smile in return when you fuss with his braids, ducking his head a little to encourage it. "I could try, I guess. But s'like you said... It'd be a lot easier t'just go on like it was nothin'. He'll be kind again when he wants t'be, and I don't really wanna worry about it no more..." He sighs frustratedly, peeling some skin away from the peach with his fingers. "D'ya really think it's worth it, tryin' t'talk it over with him..?"
Jean-Batiste watches you peeling the skin away from the peach and asks out of no where, "D'you like fruit leather? Like...Fruit Roll-Ups, only made with real fruit?" A moment later he pushes the random thought aside and concentrates again on the matter at hand. "If it hurt you...it's better to at least try and talk to him, because otherwise you'll just bottle it up inside, and it'll build until something really bad happens. At least...well, that's advice for a perfect world, probably. If you think it's better not to say anything, I understand." He smiles a little, trying to be encouraging, and plays with your braids a little more, separating the fuzzled, unravelled bits with careful fingers.
"Dunno," Trace smiles a little. "I think that with Jason.. a lot of stuff's gotta be said without words, y'know? Just if we're able to cuddle again tonight I kin' know he's not upset with me anymore, and I'm not with him, so everything's okay again... Talkin' with Jason 'bout stuff like that can be impossible." He slips the strip of fuzzy wet peach skin into his mouth and grins a little. "And only kinda fruit leather I ever had was right off the fruit... Is't good?"
Jean-Batiste's mouth purses up a little as he worries at his bottom lip - he takes a bite of peach to distract himself from his chronic fidget-nibbling. "As long...as long as you're okay with that," he murmurs, looking into your eyes as he says it. "I know there's only so much I can do, to make Jason talk about things, or make him be serious about things, but it's different with you. So I just want to be sure." He brushes through your braids then squeezes your shoulder once, smiling for a moment. "It's great stuff, especially the peach and apple kinds. I'll get some for you sometime, to try."
Trace nods. "S'deal." He sets down the water bottle and reaches up to touch the hand on his shoulder, turning a moment so he can nuzzle it with his lower cheek and chin, closing his eyes. "From now on if girls come 'round and make me brain dead, jest slap me out of it, kay?" He chuckles sadly.
Jean-Batiste smiles a little wider, and turns his hand over so it cups the side of your face, warm and scratchy-soft. He chuckles with you, shaking his head just a little. "I want you to find someone," he murmurs, watching your face. "I want you to be happy." Pause. Teasing, crooked grin. "Even if it's with a girl." He laughs more, then, and actually winks at you. There! Batiste -can- wink.
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