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Log Title: Promise to Kick
Log setting: Starts in the park, ends up at Walker's house. This log takes place the day after the log Weakness.
Log Cast:
Jason
Trace
Jean-Batiste
Glass
Walker
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Jason's swinging slowly back and forth on one of the swings, his back to the entrance, head tilted /way/ back so he can stare at the cloudy sky. He's the only one on the playground right now. It's kind of lonely, but it looks like Jason's enjoying it. It's a peaceful lonely.
Trace trudges slowly towards the playground, hands clasped gently behind his back, eyes lowered. Well, he saw the red hair a ways off. Now it's just time to face the unpleasant. He moves closer like a dog who's done wrong, nose down, eyes not meeting yours, that imaginary tail tucked low.
Jason hasn't seen you, but he does hear your footsteps in the sand as you get closer, breaking into the sounds of creaking chains and silence. He leans back a little more and blinks a little at you, upside down (hair dragging a little in the sand), then gives you this tiny little smirk before straightening up. "Let's swing," he murmurs, not looking back anymore.
"But we need to--" Trace starts with soft protest, but finally nods and drops down onto the swing beside you, pushing off gently, swaying. Ooh, silence. He leans his cheek to the chain a little, not very enthusastic in his swinging to say the least -- not at all like the night he tried to demonstrate how, as a child, he truly thought he'd be the first to do the full loop if he could just swing high enough. He doesn't try now, but the memory touches his thoughts and he ghosts a smile across his lips.
Jason doesn't really swing either. Just sways, mostly, quiet and thoughtful. Whatever he's thinking about doesn't really reveal itself in his face. There's just a faint not-quite-smile quirking one corner of his lips. Finally he rests his chin on one of his hands hanging on the chain, peering at you through his hair. "We needa what?" he asks simply, expression mild.
"Talk," Trace admits. "Or I gotta talk, anyway. And ask you somethin'." He looks down at his laces, cheek still pressed to the chain, fingers lacing up around the metal links.
Jason mms?, his head tilting slightly to one side. "'Bout what?" he asks curiously, his eyes running over you - though lingering mostly about your cheek and hand. He doesn't look at all angry like last night. Or sad. Just... there.
Trace peeks over at you. "I just..." And trails off. A very shy beginning. He knew this would be hard, but damn... "I just, I really... admire you," he finally gets out. "Fireheart. Yer just so bright 'n proud 'n clever 'n.. 'n beautiful and everything I wish was me." As he rattles off what he sees in you, his eyes flood, but his expression is still calm -- perhaps a little weary. But once he's started, word follows word, and it gets easier. "I wish I was like you. Magic and so... brave. Even when you mess with stuff yerself, it's all about fun. And that's what it *should* be, it's fine then... yer fine then. But it's not about fun for me anymore. So I just... I respect you. You'd never... fall into a trap like this, yer just stronger 'n me."
Jason blinks a little as you talk, starting to grin lopsidedly when you start rattling off his perceived strengths (of course), but then... getting a soft, sad smile as you continue. He rests his cheek half against the chain, half against his hand, his hair falling over his shoulder, and reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek. A soft, gentle, and, yes, loving touch. You can see that much in his eyes. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. You just said it all yourself, if in not so many words.
Trace swallows hard as your fingertips touch his cheeks, and he flushes a little. "I just... the thing I wanted to ask you, I mean I was wonderin' if, y'know..." He croaks it out, "If you'd... help me?" His lips tremble a little, and he bites them, stop that. Calm Trace, yes. "I just, I just, I can't... alone. Y'know? But I thought about how I talked about it that one time, when, when I said I just needed a real reason, y'know? Like there'd been no reason before.. And I always figured that reason would be like a girl, or, y'know, I became a dad or something, but I think... maybe mine came sooner than I thought. And I just, I'm in this trap..." He looks down at his lap a few long moments and finally gives a very sad little laugh and peeks up at you, mimicking, "Hate bein' stuck."
Jason rubs his thumb beneath your eye, pushing out the water in your eyes and wiping it away, his eyes on yours the whole while. You can almost see him say it in his eyes, you don't need to be calm, cause he is. His fingers go back to rubbing your cheek slowly and he gets a little crooked smile, murmuring finally, "Hurts ta see you trapped... 'R you sure?" There's resolve in his voice, he'll do his for you, and give it his all... But he's also giving you an out. But it sounds like you got only one chance at the out.
Trace gives the very slightest nod and counters slowly, "But first, we wait til' after the mural. Coz we owe our whole new home to that, we got obligations, an' I can't fill 'em goin' through the agonies, y'know?" He nuzzles against your hand for a moment, and his face nearly crumples, but Trace pulls it together after a few moments and he looks up at you, pleading, �I'm scared I can't do it, and I'm scared it'll kill me, and.. and you promise you'll still love me if I can't do it? I gotta know that..."
Jason frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly. Conditions and excuses. But then you nuzzle into his hand and his face immediately softens, a soft sight being released. He brushes your cheek and jaw some more, then reaches up to run his fingers through your braids. A faint smirk, "Yer gettin' pimples, y'know..." And then another sigh and he's serious again. "I'll always love you, no matter what.. But..." And then he goes quiet. But the look in his eyes says that you've set things in motion, things that won't stop now, /can't/ stop. "Even if it kills me, I ain' gonna leave you 'lone in the trap, kay?"
Trace gets up off the swing, holding a hand back out to you. "Let's... let's go. The only other thing t'do now is talk to Batiste. He-he needs to quit with me. How can I quit, if he's still fixing, y'know? I... I think he will though. He... he's kept control of it, y'know? Batiste don't got a problem. He's stronger 'n me too."
Jason takes your hand and slides out of the swing. Twining his fingers with yours, he just nods a little. "We'll... let's talk ta him, kay?" He starts to lead you out, but pauses and looks over to you, smiling faintly. "'N, Trace...? I'm not one ta know 'bout strong things, but... yer a lot stronger 'n you think."
[Off-camera, the two boys head out of the park and back to Walker�s house, where they wait for Batiste to return home.]
Jean-Batiste opens the front door and steps inside.
Jean-Batiste opens the front door and steps inside, quietly closing the door again behind him. He's got one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cigarette between long drags off the filter. His head is bowed a little, the brim of his ballcap shading his face.
Trace sits up anxiously at the sound of the door opening, getting up onto his knees where he'd been seated on the couch, straining his neck a little to peer in. "Ah... ah, Batiste? Z'at you?" he calls, his voice holding a slightly shrill edge to it that is half hopeful, half frightened.
Jason comes tromping down the stairs, shaking the whole staircase as he goes. "I guess they're still out at the Ra-" He freezes halfway down and blinks at the person in the entry-way, then grins brightly. "Hey, Bat! We were jus' hopin' you'd get home."
Trace nodnodnods at Jason's words, twisting his hands together and looking over at Batiste.
Jean-Batiste drags again on his cigarette, glancing around restlessly from the entryway. He's about to call out and see if anyone's home when Trace speaks up and answers his question for him. "H-oh, Trace. Hey. How you feeling?" He pads into the living room, lingering in the doorway, leaned up against it as he looks in. His eyes are a bit bloodshot, though any expression beneath that is shuttered away. His mouth gives away some sort of irritation, though, in the way it purses and makes his cigarette smoking a twitchy, restless endeavor.
Jean-Batiste glances over his shoulder at the sound of Jason's descent and twitches one corner of his mouth in a smile. "Hey...yeah. Didn't feel like sticking around the Raven anymore, so here I am. What's up?"
"We just, y'know," Trace starts vaguely, glancing over at Jason once for support before looking at Batiste. "I just, um, we need to talk to you about something, and so... y'know, are you busy?" He's slightly intimidated by how haggard Batiste looks. Maybe after Jason's calm demeanor, he'd expected -- or hoped -- for something similar from his other friend, no matter how unlikely.
Jason comes trotting down the rest of the way and pads into the sitting room where Trace is, stopping as he passes Bat to lean up and give the taller boy a soft kiss on the cheek and offer a gentle smile. He notices the tired look. But Trace does need that support right now, so he settles himself on the couch beside the blue-haired boy. He's quiet support.
Jean-Batiste glances around for an ashtray near enough for him to reach without having to move. Finding none, he ashes into a pocket, then keeps smoking. He closes his eyes when Jason kisses his cheek, then reaches out a hand to brush through long red hair before it's fluttered away to the couch. The hand digs back into his pocket as he looks to Trace, curious, uncertain. "No, nothing's up. Just came back to see what was going on." He tilts his head, resting his temple against the wall as he blows smoke towards the floor. "So what is it?" he asks, eyes roaming restlessly between the two of you.
Trace rings his hands together nervously, hazel gaze resting on the floor somewhere between the couch and Batiste. "It's just, um, do you wanna sit..?" He glances up just briefly, then drops his eyes again. His words pick up speed rapidly as he continues, a hurried, frightened ramble. "I... I just been thinking about stuff. About how I don't... wanna be like Glass. And I don't wanna be like what Jason talked about, when he said that stuff about how, how things'd be fer me when I'm older... God! That's... the worst, it can't happen, I'm *always* gonna draw. That's who I am. I don't wanna be a, a junk creature, that's not me! It's *not*..." He finally clenches his teeth down to stop the flow of words, forcing a few deep breaths in and out. Every other time this has come up, he's gotten hysterical, but he wants to be calm now. A glance to his quiet support. He wants to be just like that, smooth and unflustered. He can't pull it off exactly, but the effort's there.
Jason's hand slides up to rest against Trace's back as the boy tumbles through his explanation. He doesn't look directly at either of you, but is just... /there/ right now. For once in his life, he's just /there/. Smiling a very faint, soft smile. There if either of you need him, but this isn't his show anymore.
Glass and Walker come downstairs.
Glass follows after Walker.
"S'okay, I need to stand up for a little while..." Batiste murmurs. He pushes off the doorway and steps into the living room, hunting out the nearest ashtray and grinding his cigarette out in it after taking the final drag from it. His hands return to his pockets as he moves over to stand across the coffee table from the couch, watching Jason and Trace. He nods very slowly, focussing on Trace now, and murmurs, "I don't want you to be like that either. It'd be like you were gone, and someone I didn't know was there instead." He glances to the sound of footsteps, then asks Trace, "So what did you decide?"
Jason tilts his head slightly up at Batiste, brows furrowing slightly. Concern flits across his face but then hides again, like a bat fluttering from one shadow to the next.
Walker trots down the stairs, shoving things into his pockets as he goes. He blinks at the sound of voices, brows raising a little as he hops off the stairs.
Trace swallows hard, looking from Batiste, to Jason, and then back to Batiste again. "I... I decided that I'd try. I mean, I'd.. give it a shot, because I always thought I would someday, y'know, when the right reason came. I told you that. And I just, I just been thinkin'.. I mean, I figured out, maybe this is my reason after all. Our-our triangle. It means more t'me than anythin'..." A soft sigh, his eyes intense and needful on Batiste. He doesn't even notice the two new arrivals yet. "So... so if I did, if I went through with it, would you too? Because I couldn't, if you still were. I just, I know I couldn't. And I need your help too, I need both of you..." His voice is very small, and he sounds and looks so much younger, pleading this way. "Please. I-I know it won't be hard fer you. You're so strong, you still got control've everythin'..."
Jean-Batiste is looking somewhere between haggard and irritated tonight (or today, whatever) with bloodshot eyes and a restless, twitchy manner about him. He concentrates intensely upon Trace, trying to force his mood well and truly away from the topic at hand. His eyes widen slightly at this sudden revelation, and he leans back a bit, staring up at the ceiling to digest for a few seconds.
Jason gently leans against Trace, pressing his cheek against the other's back, green eyes looking up at Bat. Questioning eyes. Asking eyes. As corny as it sounds, now would be time for a group-hug.
Walker continues up the hallway, peering into the room for the source of the voices. Mild confusion lingers about him like a subtle perfume. Hnh. He dismisses the conversation without analyzing it - it sounds like one of those sorts that his ears weren't meant for anyway - and heads into the kitchen, making a beeline for the telephone.
Glass stands on the bottom stair.
Will it work? And if it works, will it -last-? Batiste asks the ceiling stipple this with his eyes, as he stares up thoughtfully at it. He takes a number of slow, deep breaths, then looks back to Jason and Batiste. To Jason he says, "D'you hear that? We're better than girls." He chuckles softly, and moves to the couch, sitting on the other side of Trace to wrap him up in a gangly one-armed hug, the other hand petting blue braids. "Yeah, I'll kick with you. Anything you need, you just let me know, okay?" He adds, with a touch of a grin, "Even if you start craving bananas boiled in gravy or something, I'll make it for you." A mental addition to the next shopping list: nose plugs.
Walker wanders around the cabinet and further into the kitchen, waiting and waiting. Finally he speaks into the receiver, voice low. "Hey..! ... just about ... just get... somethin'?" He strains to reach the refrigerator without pulling the phone out of the wall.
Trace giggles a little at Batiste's promise. A cook would bring himself to make gravy bananas for him. Wow, that's gotta be tough, even for a minor gourmet like Bat. "Only thing is, we wait til' after the mural...?" he adds softly. "I, I won't be any good to draw once we start. And we owe Walker this mural. It's givin' us that home we dreamed of... y'know? I just, I can't wait... our own place. Even though it's sittin' there empty right now, I just can't wait for it." A soft sigh of released tension and relief escapes his lips. It's not all on his shoulders anymore. He won't be a junk-creature. With their help, he'll just be Trace the artist again, with a home, and these two close.
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