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Log Title: Quick Embrace

Log setting: Outside 269 Bourbon

Log Cast:
Trace
Jean-Batiste
And briefly Walker and Benjamin

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There needs to be a camera or something. Some record kept of this momentous event. Coz check this out folks: Trace is jogging! Like, of his own volition! It's really quite a rare and spectacular event. Okay, it's not spectacular. Poor kid's already winded, and he's not even managing any sort of real speed, no fancy weights on his wrists or anything. Goal in mind, too: Chez Ashley-Walker. For the second time in two nights, wow. Better be careful before this becomes habit. As he draws close to the house he skids to a slower pace, but still pants softly with clear exertion.

From #269's front stoop, Benjamin, Walker, and Jean-Batiste are on the porch, both doors just opened and Ben trying to herd the other two inside. Not because of who's on the street, because his back is to the steps and he can't really see it.

The porch is scanned quickly. He's almost too late! Because you know there's no way he's gonna be able to work up the courage to knock on that intimidating iron door any time soon. "Batiste!" Pant, pant. Trace's steps quicken. The call is weary and urgent and plaintive all at once. "Hang on, wait!"

From #269's front stoop, Jean-Batiste is looking towards the street, though, having given the yard and nearby street a final once-over in hopes of spotting the discarded pictures of the night before, and so he sees Trace jogging like the closet, repressed jock that he is. He tenses a little when he's called to. Eep. What will Walker and Ben say? Uncomfortable moment, for sure. He doesn't slink away indoors, though -- instead, he looks to Walker and Ben, murmurs, "Just, um. Just a sec..." and moves to the porch-steps. Won't invite Trace inside, nope. That's the job of the masters of the house. But he won't turn his back on the bluecap, either.

From #269's front stoop, Walker glances over his shoulder at the sound of Trace's voice, stomach sinking just a little even though the last time he saw the blue-haired youth he was crawling on TooFar's back trying to get him away from Bat. Or something. The fact of the matter is that he's had such a good day and he doesn't want it ruined. By anything. Not by bad news or tense meets. He's not in a very coping frame of mind of late and so he simply steps inside.

From #269's front stoop, Benjamin freezes when he hears that voice, and immediately steps aside to give Batiste plenty of room to move back toward his friend. "I'll get that pack ready," he says shortly, back still turned to the street. Heck yeah, he can turn his back, and keep it tunred. Into the house he goes. Trace's eyes flash hurt at the two backs immediately turned on him, and it stops him completely, eyes moving to Batiste. Um? Was this a mistake? Did I get you in trouble? You mean they don't know you still love me? Well, whatever, he's got a need that overrides trepidation, so he still doesn't quite jog, but moves in a quick stride to close the distance between himself and Batiste and fling arms about the familiar slender chest of his friend. Cling. Just shut out all that other stuff for awhile. "Jest... checkin on ya. Um. Wanted ta see ya," he mumbles into the t-shirt's fabric, then peeks up with imploring eyes to survey bruises, touch chalk-stained fingers to Bat's cheek gently. Meekly, "Zat okay, right..?"

No tackling on the steps -- the two of you have bad enough luck with stairs as-is. He staggers back gently when you fling your arms around him, and returns the favour, leaning the unbruised side of his face against your hair. "Hey, blood brother," he murmurs into your dreds, grabbing one in his teeth and making a little puppy-growl sound as he tugs once, twice, then releases. He's smiling when you peek up, the corner of his eye wincing just faintly when you touch his face. "I'm okay," he promises. "And it's okay. Totally okay. Don't worry about them. I'll...straighten things out." Somehow. He's not sure how, but he'll figure a way, yet.

Trace giggles softly, a sound of affection and relieved tension both, as you puppy-tug at one of his dredlocks, and especially as you tell him it's okay to come by if he needs to pull you away for a quick hug. "Love ya." Since it's okay, hey, let's do that again. His cheek finds your chest again, eyes closing with a gentle sigh. "Don't got long. The others is all starvin, and if Caddy suggests one more fricken waffle f'dinner Carly's gonna bitchsmack her. So I made some money today and I was gonna bring em back somethin for we all resort to cannibalism, but I jest wanted ta come by and see ya real quick.." So he jogged here. Kinda makes for a damp and warm to the touch bluecap, but I hope you don't mind hugging those. Surveyal of the bruises can relent for now. They really *don't* look too much better, as bruises tend to get even more purple-yellow and vivid with the next day, but there's not much he can do for you except mumble some advice. Which he promptly starts to do, the soft words punctuated by the occasional nuzzle. "Put some ice on ya hurts when ya go in. And take some, well..." Some what? Ibuprofen? Mild painkillers? None of these things are gonna do jack shit for a junkboi, and Trace knows it well. And not like he's gonna suggest you snort some junk, so. Hmm. "Jest.. well, be sure ya remember the ice." A chuckle. "Have the others wait on ya." Okay, so he doesn't often have to play GuardTrace; he's just not to practiced, or all that good at it. But he gives it his best shot. Always had a good example to mimic anyway.

"Love you too," Batiste replies, arms tightening around you. He laughs when you mention Caddy and her waffles, and shakes his head a little, much amused. "I showed her how to make biscuits and pancakes too, sheesh," he mumbles. "You guys could bake up a whole tray of biscuits and just put butter and jam on them, or something, or..." Well, okay, there's not much more you can do than that, when you're kitchen-clueless. "I'll teach her how to make wacky cake soon, so you guys can eat chocolate cake all the time, okay?" he promises. "Soon as she knows how to make a few more things, you guys...you guys'll be okay." A mixed delight, there -- he won't have a reason to pull your fat out fo the fire anymore once the fire's gone. And damp, warm bluecaps are just fine. Much worse things in life, and only a few things that are better. He kisses your dreds again, smiling into them, then draws back to nod. "Yeah. Ben's gonna make me an ice pack, my face is killing me, still. It'll be okay." He looks to the street for a moment, absently rubbing your shoulders and upper back, then murmurs, "Thanks for sticking up for me, last night. And...and for not leaving with TooFar and Star and everyone when they took off. It was...it felt good. I owe you one." He leans over you, and gently bumps foreheads.

"Well, she COULD make biscuits and pancakes I guess," Trace agrees, "But then she couldn't use her thing... Ya know, the thing with um. Where ya lower it and the goo oozes out the sides and it bakes and then ya flop it open and the waffle comes out? Like the waffle-oven. That's the part she likes. So I dunno how fun biscuits r'nothin would be." See, in that house food is brought into existance on a basis of how fun it is to prepare. As you explain how you'll be taken care of by Ben, Trace says nothing, just nodding his quiet approval. Finally your last words make him sigh softly and cling again. "Why would I go with him? He was bein a jerk. And I dunno, they not my family. Well. I dunno who all IS at this point, but it ain't them. I guess I'm glad you ain't mad at me... Before you seemed mad that I tried ta break it up an get him off ya."

"Waffle iron," Batiste supplies. Caddy didn't know the name for it, either. Most weird. "At least she knows how to cook -something-, right?" Gotta stay positive. She could be cooking you runny omelets with rotten eggs, after all. Twitch. When you ask how you could go with TooFar, he just smiles a little, quirky and a bit sad, and gently tousles your hair. "Just...I don't know. I was just worried. It seems like TooFar's friends with everyone these days." A little shrug, as if it's not important. Really. It doesn't bother him that Walker's friends with the perkigoth, or Julien, or Nelson, or or or... Okay. Maybe it bothers the hell out of him. He's trying not to fume about it, though. Honest. He chuckles weakly and adds, "I wasn't, um. Wasn't mad at you. I mean, at -you-. I was mad that someone was trying to keep me away from TooFar." Because, well, the GuardBat had a momentary fit of rabies, or distemper, or something.

"It's cool, it's cool..." Trace soothes. Let's just not talk about him. The boy didn't come here to rub TooFar crap in your face, after all. He came for cuddles and to give some brief coddling to the bruised Bat. "I um. I gotta get going, I think... But lets meet sometime, ta talk, okay? Wanna tell you about Catherine and me, coz it's all really amazing but I'm scared ta tell Jason; and I gotta tell ya about alla stuff I'm gonna learn. Nelson's gonna teach me all this stuff! And Cathy too. And Star might lemme sit in on some lessons fer this private tutoring he's gonna get. And then when I'm eighteen and can enroll without worryin bout my missin person's report --" Whoops, did he mention he's got one of those now? Well consider it mentioned. "-- Nelson gonna get me into this thing where ya earn ya highschool degree through a college, then do real college classes, and--" Rambling. This can be said another time. He pauses and shakes his head, sighing briskly as he gives you a tight squeeze, reluctant to release you. "But another time. You'll meet me sometime soon?"

Ah, your lessons with Nelson. That brings a warm shine to Batiste's eyes, all right. "Nelson told me a little about that," he murmurs, and suddenly hugs you closer. "Told me he'll be tutoring you at the new place, when we get it." Which'll bring you into contact with him on a more regular basis, which makes it even -more- peachy-keen to him. "It'll be great. I'm so glad you'll be learning like that. Proud of you." He nuzzles into your braids, just holding you close for a long moment. Gotta get his bluecap fix for the lonely hours ahead, after all. "Soon," he echoes, earnestly. Yes. Soon. "You take care of yourself, okay? I'll be watching for you." He reluctantly untwines his arms, but doesn't step back; instead, he carefully grasps your face, fingertips on your cheeks, and kisses your forehead. It'd be formal, if it wasn't so affectionate. Only then does he draw back, and smile again at you. Sore jaw be damned. He feels a bit more like smiling. "Love you."

"Love you too," Trace says softly, almost a happy-sad whimper, as he steps away. "I'll see ya." Gosh. It's kinda like visitation rights. Well not really, but a little. You gotta get back to the awaiting Chez, he's gotta get back to that non-home full of hungry kids gathered at Caddy's place... Where does family begin and end now? Trace wonders this as he turns and starts back down the walkway. And still warmed by his blood brother's fierce embrace and his reassuring words, the bluecap decides that it doesn't need to be so specific because at least he knows that no matter who lives where, a piece of that oh-so-elusive concept of family remains between you and he.

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