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Log Title: Question of Faith

Log setting: Bourbon Street

Log Cast:
Glass
Trace
Alisynde
Merton

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Glass makes his way through the crowds of Bourbon, weaving neatly among the people. He's got a cigarette in one hand and a brown-paper wrapped rectangular package under one arm, probably a frame. He has a distracted look as he smokes and walks, but still manages to avoid bumping into any drunken tourists.

Trace is slumped down against the wall of the Raven, crosslegged and cradleling a paper basket of cheese fries in the fold of his legs. His fingers are a cheesy mess, but he doesn't seem to mind too much at all. There's also a half-full milkshake in a cup beside him, and he takes two sticky cheese fries and dunks them down into the milkshake clumsily. They come up a orange and pink mess, peppered with a few drowned green chives. How lovely. The they get popped into his mouth, the mess suckled off lazily as he scans the crowd. His eyes catch on you suddenly, and he blinks, first instinct to shrink back against the wall. But then he changes his mind and, though he doesn't straighten, calls, "Doug."

Glass pauses at the sound of his own name, and looks around. Nothing. What? He frowns a little and starts to walk again, when the pair of curly headed women (sisters? Lovers, by the way they're arguing) seem to make up their differences, at least enough to continue their barhopping and clear Doug's view. Dark eyes light on the blue-haired boy leaning against the wall. The sight makes him pause again, and his befuddled expression hardens, jaw tightening, night black eyes freezing over and glittering falcon-cruel. He says nothing, but looks at you for a long moment before advancing again. His gaze stays on Trace, but by the angle of his approach it seems that he means to pass by.

"Doug, wait," Trace clarifies meekly, "C'mere." Because apparantly just saying 'Doug' wasn't enough to convey his implied 'Doug, I'd like to speak with you please.' "Did, um. Did you talk to Ryan? I tole' him I'd like to talk to ya.. Wasn't sure if. Well. I guess ya was jest walkin' by..." He looks down, cheeks flushed and having trouble meeting your cold gaze. He sets the cheese fries down on the sidewalk beside the milkshake.

Glass stops and turns a little to face you more fully. Trace is subjected to another long moment of his angry black stare, before he says, "No. I haven't talked to Ryan." Another pause, brows furrowed. His fingertips clench on the package he's carrying, making the brown paper crinkle. "What do you want?" Sharp words sharply spoken. Funny how people ask that question when they really mean 'fuck off,' or something like it. He stands there with his feet planted a little wider than usual and his head a little lower, and those angry eyes. Eventually he remembers to drag on his cigarette.

Trace flattens himself up against the wall as best he possibly can, pressed by the weight of his instinctive cowardice. "I jest... I wanted to talk with you," he says softly. "I been wanting to 'pologize fer what I said to you last time we spoke. I wanna 'pologize f'lotsa things, really." He sighs and averts his eyes again. "Look, I'm sorry f'what Jason did. If ya gonna kick my ass or somethin' get it over with, alright? N'then maybe we can talk like we should once ya vented."

That hard look sort of crumbles, turning into something else, something wailing. Whatever it is, he hides it by looking away, down the street. When he looks back at you it's a snarl that sits on his pretty face like a brutal deformity, ugly and hateful. He steps forward as he speaks, "What the fuck do you have to say to me? You're fucking sorry? What the hell did you do, hand over the lead pipe?" That cool faintly accented voice twists into a whining and ugly parody of Jason's, "Nurse! Gimme the crowbar, stat!" Another step and he shakes his head a little, onyx eyes burning. "You faithless little fuck."

Trace's eyes widen at your words and expression, and he shakes his head adamently, braids tossed about around his thin face. Distress threads his voice. "Naw! Crowbah? Pipe? He on'y used his hands. Ah din' do nothin'. God Doug, that was the most terrible thing Ah eveh hadda watch in my whole LIFE!" He shakes his head again and covers his face with his hands, rubbing at his sockets miserably. "Faith is one'a the only things I'm good at. Lotta good it's done me. How dare you say I helped hurt him?" He says it without anger, however. Merely plaintive. "Doan' y'see how much this's torn me up? Ah'm split raht down the middle!"

Glass shakes his head with a quick and violent motion. "I don't give a shit if he used his grandma's orthopedic dildo! God damn it! It doesn't make any difference, he's hurt!" He gestures with his cigarette, an angry sharp movement. "And -fuck- you if you think you're good at faith! And fuck you again if you think you didn't help hurt him! Idiot! You don't even wait to ask him about it, you just call him a whore and leave with your fucking psychopath friend and turn your back on everybody else who loved you! And now you tell me you -had- to -watch- while he beats the shit out of Bat? You stupid fuck. Everybody -knew- that would happen. Everybody but Bat." A kind of weariness starts to come over his features, and the angry stance softens, sagging a little.

"I DIDN'T KNOW!" Trace insists trilly, sitting up, and finally clambering to his feet. It's a clumsy action, and he needs the help of the wall -- kid's not quite sober, it seems. But not so out of it that this conversation isn't twisting up is chest with hurt. "I did have faith! I believed f'so long that it weren't Bat's fault. Naive an' stupid, now I realize, but I tried t'put my blame on Ben an' Walker. An' I had faith in that night. I thought they could work things out. But Bat hadda go an' tell Jason that he didn't do nothin' wrong by breakin' his heart like he did, that there weren't nothin' t'all wrong with that. And yeah Doug, it was wrong what Jason did. Really wrong, okay? An' when I could 'member how to move I grabbed Jason's shoulder an' he stopped. But what else was I poseta do, huh? We... I can't 'splain it, really, but um. Jason knows some.. first aid stuff he tried to do, but it didn't work an' we couldn't help him. We tried to. I know that doan' make up for it. So we jest called 911." He rakes his hands through his braids with frustration and despair. "God Doug, you think I doan' feel bad about all this shit? I got shafted more'n you! I've lost everythin', okay?"

The shrill and loud words seem to have a bracing effect, and the weariness is gone. This is probably not a good thing, because the anger isn't. He drops his cigarette and pushes a tension-clawed comes forward to grab Trace by the front of his shirt. Baring his teeth he snarls, "And what about Ben and Walker??" Glass gives the clumsy boy a sharp shake, hauling him backward and forward, "And what about me?" Glaring, "Huh? What about me?" Another shake, then he holds Trace there and stares at him a moment, panting from an exertion that is far more emotional than physical. When he speaks again his tone is calmer, but that too might not be a good thing. "And Bat did nothing wrong. You can't break a promise you never made." Another pause. "And maybe there was nothing you could do. But if you had held your faith with your friends, then maybe this would not happen. Maybe Jason loves you enough that he would stop acting like a psychopath if you refused to stand for it. Probably he would just leave, since he can't seem to love what he cannot control." Trace gets another shake, this one not so hard. "And you can easily loose what you leave behind."

"Let go of me...!" Trace pleads, not at all comfortable with your hands on him. The kid's touchy enough about who he lets hug him, and this shaking just freaks him out. He writhes and gasps softly, "Please let go. I'm *sorry* for Ben and Walker. I can't apologize enough. It's jest... when I went back to pay them back the money, and then when Walker still shouted at me, and they threw out all our stuff, we were so hurt. We thought they didn't love us anymore. Maybe never did love us and just was after Bat." Made sense to him, anyway. Can't trust grown folks. They grow up, lose their hearts, and let you down. "An' I'm sorry for you too, Doug. But at least you all still got each other. I lost near everybody, an' I have no more home an' I'm always hungry an' lonely... So don't go talkin' like I came outta this unscathed."

Glass lets go, smoothing your shirt with the palm of his hand before he lets it drop to his side. Weariness again. It seems that he is finished, and he sighs, looking down at the toes of his boots. "Yeah, right. You act like everything they did for you was nothing, you steal from them. You act like you don't love them any more, and then when they yell at you, you're mad, because they're acting like they don't love you any more." He lifts his face and meets your eyes again. "You're not that stupid, Trace. Don't you see what happened?"

"I never stopped loving them," Trace whispers, eyes flashing, still a little spooked from when you grabbed and shook him. "Never. We took money just for a hotel room, an' I gave that back to 'em. We took their bong, but in turn they took Jason's recorder an' panpipes... Pipe fer a pipe, y'know? Not t'mention the clothes an' the PSX and all that crap." He sighs and shakes his head. "That's not the point though. I'm sorry for everything. There's nothin' I want more'n t'turn back time an' do things better... I hate what's happened. I blamed the wrong folks, okay? It wasn't Ben an' Walker, and it wasn't you neither. But we took our action, like hot-headed fucks, an' now I doan' know how to make amends. I'm tryin', though. S'why I wanted to talk to you, an' Ben too. But I'm scared to talk to Walker. I think he'll always hate me."

Glass sighs. He looks at you tiredly for a long time, stepping back and away from your nervous reaction. Another sigh and he shakes his head too. "Yeah, sure. Look, there's nothing you can say that will make me understand why the fuck you would act like that. Ben and Walker did right by you, always. And I sure as fuck tried to. Went out of my way for it, no? But you turn your back on all of us because Jason says so." He makes a face, full of bitter hate, then shakes his head. "Pipe for pipe is bullshit." There's a pause and he looks at you, not so angrily now.

Trace flinches. "God, Doug, you talk like I'm Jason's sheep. I was pissed, okay? I blamed them. I thought they'd twisted up Bat's misplaced affections an' used him. I guess.. I jest couldn't conceive'a him actually wantin' Ben and Walker. They're like -- they were like -- *parents* to me, an' Jason too. We thought it was the same for Bat. Now we know better. But I mean, I know up until all that you'd done good by us. We did the same, I thought. It's jest we all screwed up an' now everything's a mess. And I doan' know how to fix anything, much as I miss everybody." No hate in his eyes; they're all youthful pleading and distress.

Glass sneers some, "Cut it out with the 'we' shit. Jason was never anything but a prick to me." Hate. From the look in his black eyes he'd like to see how much smack he'd have to trade to get Jason's -hand- brought to him in an envelope. The chill look softens some and he looks at Trace again, instead of through him. "You, well maybe that's different." He shakes his head, "You, I thought you were my friend. And maybe you haven't done anything to me, not really. But you know what happened to me and you call me a whore. You call me a whore, and Batiste too." He shakes his head. Hate's gone from his eyes, hurt now. "Yeah, sure, you were pissed. That doesn't mean you're not a sheep. What the fuck makes you think that -you- should be mad about -Jason's- boyfriend?"

Oh, that does it. "You think this hasta do with them fucking fer me?!" Trace demands with a shrill, desperate cry. "THEY WERE MY LIFE! My whole WORLD was centered around them, an' the family, and I lost a parta myself when things shattered! I could care less about boyfriends, all I know is I'll never have my best friends together like we was ever again!! It's all been ruined coz of this! I'll never share another party with Ben an' Walker coz of this *shit*! I'll never sit 'round the table sharin' Bat's cookin' with anybody, I'll never talk with Ben 'bout books or come to him for advice, never see Walker dress up all like Holly an' confuse me with bein' suddenly beautiful in his shows! I'll never pass that bowl around with y'all, jest as ya finally taught me how ta smoke it! All that is LOST TO ME! An you ask my why I got a right to be mad? You wonder why we're psycopaths lately? Cause that was ALL I HAD! Look at me, fuckin' look at me! Do you think I ever had anything more than that?!" Cheeks silver-streaked now with moisture and reflected light, he simply pants softly, as words finally fail him. Still something desperate and pleading in his eyes.

"If the family was your whole world, you should have stayed with them and listened to them. You spat in our faces and went off with Jason. And if I know that he's quick to blame and slow to listen, then -you- sure as fuck should have. You took sides, Trace. You took sides and didn't even -try- to hold things together. You do not know the whole story and I cannot tell you, because Jason is making sure to remind you that I don't know shit, and you are busy calling me a whore." Glass speaks rapidly and the drop-off into silence is abrupt. He looks at Trace's pleading eyes and sighs, a sound of weary grief. "And I know what you had," he says eventually. "I know it was all you had. I don't understand how you could throw it away like you did. And for what. It's like everybody was fucking blind."

Alisynde comes down Bourbon from downtown.

Alisynde ambles up the street, her ever-present carrying case - unsurprisingly - present. She's looking a bit grumpy, for some reason.

Glass stands talking to Trace and looking tired, irritable and tense. He's got a brown-paper wrapped package under one arm.

Trace sinks down to the sidewalk now, dropping down to his knees and running his hands up through his ratty braids, tugging at them gently. "Doug. I didn't mean to call you that, okay? I was angry and frightened and I shouldn'ta. I already tried to apologize, but I kin' see that ain't enough. I don't know how to fix anything, okay? All I know how to do is run away. I was furious and so scared too, an' it jest looked like everything collapsed over somethin' so stupid, just some goddamn sex. Bat knew -- you can't tell me he didn't, or he wouldn'ta hidden it -- but he knew it would shatted Jason, if he found out what was goin' on. An' it did. But I mean... It's done. We ain't dwellin' on it no more. Jason's gone an' washed his hands 'a Bat, so don't spect no more violence from him. An' me... I guess I jest wanna see if there's anyone left who will forgive me fer my part in things. I jest, I doan' know what to do. It's like it all got blown up so much that now it's bigger'n God." He shakes his head helplessly and peeks up, fingers slowly unclenching from his braids.

Alisynde frowns a little, for as she draws close to the group, she sees Trace sink down and a grumpy looking Glass. She's still a little far away, so she misses most of what Trace says, coming in at the tail end. Neutrally, she merely says to you both, "Hi."

Merton has arrived.

Alisynde is standing near Trace and Glass, looking mildly grumpy, but trying to hide it. Her magician's case is slung over one shoulder.

Merton steps out of the cab, painting out a lively banter with the cab driver as he organizes his things, before stepping out onto the pavement. He waves to the taxi driver, then as the car pulls away, he kicks the back fender of the moving vehicle.

Glass narrows his eyes and sighs again, looking down at Trace. "Get up. This isn't the middle fucking ages." He offers the boy a hand. "And no. It's not enough. I will forgive you. But how am I supposed to forget how quickly you turned around? How insulting that you would think Bat wasn't willing? Or even that it was just sex? Shit." He shakes his head and sighs. "That's so wrong, and so unfair." His face twists a little again, nastily. "And I better not. I don't want to see or hear of him again. He's a selfish, greedy, psychopathic little slave-trading fuck. I'm sorry any of my friends ever loved him. I'm sorry Bat still loves him enough to want to protect him. God knows he never returned the favor." With his unoffered hand he digs in his coat for cigarettes.

Merton turns to look up at the Raven. He spots the assorted young people about. He raises his brows at the conversation, then waves to Ali as he starts to move toward the Raven.

Alisynde inclines her head to Merton, but continues to watch the conversation - her eyes dark. She doesn't comment, just lets Trace and Glass have at it...although her eyes do flick down to where Glass digs in his coat for a moment.

Merton steps into the Raven, the sounds of classic blues drifting out onto the street for the time that the door is opened.
Merton has left.

Trace picks himself back up, with Doug's offered hand even. He mumbles an incoherant greeting to Ali, then looks to Glass with shaken eyes. "Selfish an' greedy..? He was the one who was faithful. He never did cheat on Batiste. He was wrong to react savage as he did, but --" He pulls in a sharp breath and shakes his head. "I can't do this. Okay? I can't do it. Look, I'm more sorry than you know fer what I said to you. It was said in anger an' fear, nothin' more. I felt then that cause you'd had him too, you was parta why things was ruined, but I don't think that no more. It was Bat's decision. So I jest.." He turns a little and scrubs at his eyes with a vengeance, knuckling hard. "God. Look, I hafta go. I can't bear to hear you speak of Jason like that, coz I know you don't like each other, but I care for you both and I--" He chokes on a sob that catches him by surprise, and he shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head in denial. "You fuckers, you keep putting me in the middle of this. You all keep making me choose. Who's right, who's wrong... Who's hurt more, who deserved less... Fuck! I can't handle this shit! I loved you all!"

Glass steps back. Guilt washes over his face, but it's gone a moment later and he looks at Trace with such reproach. His eyes gleam wetly and he speaks slowly, pronouncing the English words prefectly and carefully, "He beat the shit out of my lover." As if saying it that way will somehow make Trace better realize the reality of the situation. He takes another step back and sighs. "I'm sorry if you're in the middle. Hell, I just said it. I'm sorry that you ever loved him." He sighs again, and places a cigarette between his lips. He holds the pack out to Alisynde, his first acknowledgement of her presence. But he doesn't look her way, instead telling Trace, "Look. Call me, okay? We'll have something to eat and just talk," he makes a wry face, "Without me trying to rough you up, all right?" A little apologetic, that, but he doesn't go so far as to come out and say it, or anything. "We'll talk." He sighs. "But I got to tell you, Jason was the only one who ever wanted to make anybody choose."

Trace flinches a little, still teary as he looks to Ali now. His head is shaken just a little, even as he agrees, "I know, that's jest how it was. But y'know... You guys all have some fucked up ideas about lovers. I dunno, I mean it's yer right and all... But I want a girl who will hold only me. She's gotta... be true to me, or she'll break my heart and jade me to true romance and loyalty just like all you swingin', crazy people." He sighs softly and looks down, sniffling. "But yeah. Yeah, I'll call. It was good--" Well, no it wasn't. "I'm glad we got to talk." There, that's truthful. At least they can talk. "I'll see ya round." And with that he turns and trudges back up the street, braids swaying gently in time to his heavy-hearted gait.

Glass smiles at Trace, with actual kindness. "I know you feel that way about lovers, ami. I." He breaks off. "Well, we'll talk." He falls silent and drags on his smoke, watching the bluecap go.

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