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Log Title: Shorn Tresses and Good News
Setting: Caddy's apartment, vaguely afternoon
Log Cast:
Jason
Trace
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So, unlocked. Means someone's home. The door swings open and in comes this kid who doesn't even knock or anything. Geez. He looks distracted, though, as he runs his hand back and forth over the red fuzz that is his hair. Wondering. Amazed. Even... a little giddy, judging by the... oh my god. Crooked grin. Jason's bright eyes lift and find you and he just gets this huge 'look what happened!' silly, lopsided grin going.
Jason's Desc:
Even the closest of friends might wonder who this kid is. Perhaps no more than fifteen, his slight form nonetheless gives the
impression of some wild animal - the lean 5'6" frame is built for speed and almost perpetually at the ready to be used for such a
purpose. His hair, once almost a trademark of his, is now gone, leaving only a deep red fuzz that permits his piercing eyes
unrestricted access to the world. Those eyes - even if not accentuated by the small steel bar through one thin red brow, the
brilliant green orbs would be unforgettable. In them lingers the old mischief, but just beyond waits a deep, hungry cunning. A
smattering of freckles graces high cheek bones and a small, fine nose still gives the hint of a playful boyish demeanor though -
something helped along by the lazy half-smile that often curls one corner of his slender lips.
A dark forest green tanktop drapes from his narrow shoulders, both emphasizing the spareness of his form as well as the pale fairness of his skin. Deep-pocketed baggy jeans hang loose from his hips, held up by a slightly too-long canvas belt yet still allowing the occasional peek at dark boxers. The toes of second-hand tan skateboarding shoes peek out from the tattered cuffs of the jeans. A short silver chain is looped about his neck as well as a black leather thong that disappears beneath the shirt. A couple of rubber bands are about his left wrist.
Trace is seated on the blow-up mattress, back slumped against the pillow which is propped against the wall, with his bare feet spread out before him. The black sneakers have been kicked off and abandonned, and now sit a few feet away. There's an ashtray on the mattress, a few tiny roaches within, though nothing's burning now. Done killing braincells for now, he's trying to draw, but it doesn't look to be coming well. The pencil is nibbled at idly, the page before him blank. Doesn't seem to be bothering him though, his expression neutral leaning towards content. Perhaps he's not even trying any more, just tranced out and lost in that expanse of white before him that is his non-drawing. He looks up slowly as the door opens, and it takes his surprise a moment to register on his face; but there it is, in the form of a blinking half-grin as his brows hitch up and he mumbles, "Wha.. what'd you do?" Well, it's obvious what he did, now that the bluecap thinks it over. So he amends, "You chopped yer hair off?" More rhetoric. Okay, so we're slow this afternoon.
Ohhh, darn. He kinda expected you sober and like... yelling at him or something. Or at least have you jump up and rub his head. That'd be cool, heh. Oh, hell, it doesn't matter. He bounds over like a little puppy, still grinning huge. "Trace! My head feels like a feather!" Man, just imagine all that hair wet. And now imagine that considerable weight gone in like... an instant. He scrambles over and bounces onto the mattress on his knees (geez, gonna pop it sometime), digging into his jeans' pocket. Shit - new clothes too. You know, there's a certain freedom in change. A release, y'know? He's feeling it bigtime. No more Bat. No more hair. New second-hand clothes. Let's get pierced again! "I saved you some!" he announces, pulling out a long red braid, tied at both ends with the tattered remains of the green ribbon he wore the first time he met you. But before he can hand it over, he suddenly ducks his head between your face and your page, demanding, "C'mon! Feel it! It's SO cool!" And to demonstrate how it's done, he vigorously rubs the fuzz on the back of his head, giggling at the sensation on both ends.
Trace bubbles a laugh at your childish, happy enthusiasm and reaches out to rubrubrub vigerously at the red fuzz and then try a slow circle rub, to get that feather effect. "It feels so nice. I can't see yer tail no more, so when I wanna pet somethin' fuzzy I'm jest gonna rub yer head, okay?" He grins slyly, like this is so clever of him that he still remembers the tail after it's turned invisable. Well okay, it IS something to be proud of. "But yeah," he mumbles as he plucks the braid from you and studies it. "We'll go get more piercins. It'll be fun. I gotta think of someplace cool to get it." The braid is draped over his lap in favor of some more skull rubbing.
Flump! Soon as you start that slow rubbing, he's draped across your lap like the braid, closing his eyes and letting out this happy, contented sigh. A side-effect of the fuzz he hadn't thought about, but now is quite happy about. "Mmn, ya could rub my butt if ya want, I won't compl-..." And then it strikes him. Shining eyes peek up through... no hair! Heh. They peek up at you, blinking. "Ya 'member?" he asks hushedly. And then suddenly he pounces you, kissing you before he remembers, well, one usually doesn't /do/ that sort of thing to straight boys. Oh well, who cares? "Ya 'member!" It's like... oh, hell, he can't figure out what it's like, but it's like one of those really happy birthdays where you get everything you asked for and more. New Jason, new Trace. Fuck the rest.
"I 'member!" Trace promises with a glee all his own, not protesting the kiss, and snaking arms around you to cling fierce. "Some stuff's confusin'," he admits in a shyer voice, "But I know you gotta tail, an' you can't tell me you don't. And you got ears, an' yer magic an' Different. An' I'm a bluecap. An' Wendy has bugs in her hair, and I *ate* one! I 'member..." Well, that's all the important stuff, right? He still hugs so tight for another few moments, and then his embrace relents as he peeks up at you. "I feel forgiven," he says softly, smiling.
Jason rubs his newly-fuzzy head against your cheek back and forth affectionately as you recite your memories, returning the cling just as fierce as you give it (and hopefully no one comes in, cuz, well, you don't /seem/ a straight boy at times like these). When you look up, he looks down and says at this important moment... "My bug sucked." A pout accompanies the sullen words, but then he just kisses your forehead with a smile. "Then ya are." Oh wow. There's so many things he /wants/ to say as he settles down beside you, head resting on your shoulder, one arm still about your waist. And he usually doesn't /want/ to say much. But things seem so much different. So much brighter. It was like Da'n stepped in and nudged him to change himself just as everything else was changing. Fingers creep down to his leg where, deep in one pocket, a diamond key that you can't see right now rests. His impromptu working that night on the roof seems to have worked its larger goal if not its smaller one. Maybe he /is/ free now. And you with him.
Trace blushes a little because he can't exactly remember *what* his bug made him see... All he knows is that his vision was cooler than Jason's, so he can take some pride in that. He still grins and nuzzles your crown once before murmuring, "I been thinking of letting my braids go to dreds... What do you think? I mean -- it'd be easier, not having to always undo 'em an' braid 'em up again so they *don't* turn to dreds..." Of course that's not his true reason, though it does help sway him. But he always saw the braids as symbolic. And nobody else has braids now. Why cling to that old dream of three bound into one? And after all, he can get into this 'change' kick too. "What ya think?
Jason held onto his braids for a little while after finding out, but yeah, he took them out one day and never put them back in. He's busy rubbing his head back and forth against your shoulder and giggling when you ask the question, so he blinks up and replays the words in his minds. Braids to dreds... Yeaaaah. You see his approval light up in his eyes. "That'd be so cool," he murmurs, reaching up to lazily bat at one of the dreds. "Like yer old dreds, 'cept, well... intentional." He wrinkles up his freckled nose at you playfully. "I dunno, ya really wanna do that?" He knows what the braids symbolize and what they mean to you. Just gotta be sure you wanna join him.
"Yeah," Trace says softly, only half-smiling now. "Yeah, I think it'd be... appropriate. Doug tried to ask me last night why it is that I chose to follow you, even now that the family's regroupin' an' he said I could probably be a parta that if I wanted, but I was yer.. yer sheep." He sighs softly, lips twitching in a frown at the expression. "I don't think I'm yer sheep. My mind's my own. But Jason, even if I think -- lookin' back -- we went too far with some things, I still feel... justified? Yeah." He nods a little. "I feel justified stickin' with you, coz you never did wrong me, an' I think over all you been more honest --" Heh, he calls the pooka honest. But means it. "-- An' more deservin' of my loyalty and... and my faith." He swallows with emotion and seeks out one of your hands, clasping it.
Well, shoot, there's one way to ruin a nice giddy mood there. Tell him that news. Jason rests his head back on your shoulder as you speak, slowly rubbing back and forth (hey, he can't help it - it's a new experience). Outwardly, he /seems/ calm about all of it, but you can feel the tension where his slender body meets yours. "Would you want to go back, though?" he asks softly. "I mean... be part of sumthin' like that again? I'm the only one that burned all the bridges, y'know?" Quiet. But then he shakes his head. "Everytime I think I gone too far, though, they go an' pull shit like this an' make me think I didn' go far 'nuff." A hint of anger, but... They have no power over me. Remember that, Jason. This is just telling him what he already knew. It's over for him. He smirks a bit and nuzzles up into your neck. "Be the only one what ain' fuckin' 'round with 'em, though," he murmurs, almost amusedly. His fingers slide between yours and keep there, just staying close in comfortable silence. Something, he suspect, he could never have found with them anyway. No matter how hard he had wanted to.
Trace sighs softly, but grins a little. "I feel.. less anger towards Ben and Walker now. I mean, people fuck up. An' from what Bat said, I think maybe they din' realize you 'spected him to stick to jest you. Still it was wrong, but I dunno. I think we shouldn'a done what we did to their house. Even so... I doan' think I can go back to that. An really, I ain' so sure Walker'd forgive me. But y'know... It doan' matter now. Coz if yer bridge is burned, so's mine. I'm with you, okay? F'revah. It's like... Not an issue. If you ain't welcome, I can't be welcome. So. Like I said that night, it's done." He squeezes yer fingers. "So enough'a them already. I got good news."
Wow. If he had any doubts, he certainly doesn't now. Jason nudges his fuzzy head up beneath your chin and sighs softly - not a bad sigh, just a sigh. His anger towards Ben and Walker actually lessened as his towards Bat grew. Yeah, he knows he went too far with the house, but with Bat in the hospital, how's he supposed to go and apologize. He doubts even Ben'd listen to him. Nope, those things went up in flames and crashed into the water. "F'rever," the... redhead? repeats softly and nuzzles again at your neck. His other hand slides up and toys with your braids, a slight, wistful smile crossing his face for a moment. But then he sits up and leans against you, head tilted. "Good news?" Hey, he could always do with some more of that.
"Good news," Trace insists, blooming a grin as he reaches up to ruffle his palm against your fuzz affectionately. "I talked to Ryan. He wanted to kick my ass at first, but we got to talkin' an he forgave me real easy. You know how Ryan is, so laid back. But he said he'd been betrayed by girls before, an' said he understands how awful it can be.. Anyway, he said all this stuff, but basically he's still a good friend. An' guess what! He's got, like, a shitload of X left over from Mardi Gras, an' I think some trip, an' he said he wanted you an' me an' Caddy an' maybe a girl I wanted to bring --" Gee, wonder who Trace'll pick. "An' we could all go rollin'. He wanna do it someplace peaceful like the park.. Just a gentle trip, you know? Nothin' freaky. An' that was way cool with me."
Jason gets a look when you say that he wanted to kick your ass, but it goes away easily enough. Can't really imagine Ryan wanting to kick anyone's ass, so it makes sense that he gave up that impulse. At least /someone/ understands the betrayal. Even if it /is/ Ryan. But the fuzzhead picks up at mention of X. Hey! X is good. Give us some! He seems surprised that he was included in this invitation, but he's /not/ gonna turn it down. Nooo way. "When's he wanna do it?" the kid asks with more than a hint of eagerness. And then smirks. "I seriously gotta find out where he gets it all, jock always seems to be holdin' and holdin' lots."
"Maybe you should ask TooFar if he wanna come," Trace asks too innocently, smiling at you. Yeah, he can pick up on some unspoken things after all this time. Kid knows you, like it or not, silly fuzzhead. "Anyway, he said anytime now. I spect soon, tho. It'll be nice. I mean.. kinda like a mini party, you know?" And a reassurance that he's still got some friends. "You get along okay with Ryan, right? I mean, he seems to really like us an' he ain't never done us no harm." He shrugs a little. "Anyway, I got no clue where he gets his shit from, but I ain't complainin' coz he always shares with me!" Seriously, you ever SEEN a kid so generous with his drugs? It's insane. "He also gave me a lil' tin of weed. It's, um." He looks down at his hands. "I kinda wanted to talk to you bout it, actually. I mean, it's startin' to make me nervous a little."
Jason darts a sidelong look your way, brows furrowed, at your innocent little suggestion. You said 'you,' not 'we' so he can't like, y'know, just play it off successfully. Of course, what else is he gonna do? Blush and just like, reveal one of his 'list' members? (Y'know, a list. Like 'is kinda cute, might actually be into it' sorta thing.) So he... plays it off (and prolly fails miserably). "Um, yeah, mebbe he'd wanna go rollin' with us..." A peek over at you. It work? But then he shrugs one shoulder and rests his head on your shoulder. "Ryan's fine. Little too 'blivious, but..." He grins. But he's got lotsa drugs and he's /really/ generous so Jason can overlook oblivious. You get another look. "Make ya nervous? What, it like... talkin' to you 'r sumthin?" A crooked grin. "Speakin' a' which, I snagged one a' Star's j's for us. Hung out last night, kinda."
"Yeah, I was wonderin' where you was last night," Trace admits, but with a shrug that suggests he wasn't truly worried. Unlike some folks he can deal with your mysterious disappearances as just being a part of, well, how you are. "But that's cool. I um, I got some stuff too but I doan' know if I wanna do anymore.." He sighs and digs into one pocket and pulls out the little tin, running his fingers over the shiny metal surface thoughtfully. No typical pocket-hunting needed for THIS little gem. He knew right where it was. It's been burning a hole there all day, nestled against his thigh. "It's.. no skank, I mean it's good. It's kinda... too good." He looks up quickly, eyes dancing across your face anxiously. "I mean, I was tellin' Caddy how nice it was, an' she pointed out that most reg'lar weed doan' feel like that an' prolly it was laced but she couldn't tell with what, and um. I thought maybe I'd show you coz I'm scared to do more of it til' I know. Coz it's jest... it's *really* good, Jason. An' I been fiendin' for it all day, but afta' these this mornin'--" he nods to the ashtray with the two burnt down roaches, "I jest got to thinkin' about it. And I ain't never hearda no junk-laced weed, an' I can't 'magine Ryan'd have nothin' like that, but I jest wanted to show you. It's jest... it felt too good to not be trouble." He drops his eyes embarrassedly.
Jason blinkblinks and peers at the tin, then plucks it out of your hands and sniffs at it a little, wriggling his nose. I mean, he's all for laced weed and, dude, if it's good shit, he's even /more/ all for it. But you said you been fiending over it and, well... As much as he loves getting high and hates being sober, he's never /seriously/ fiended for weed to the point of being frightened. And you say that's what you're doing, so, well, it /does/ worry him. Especially when you say 'junk-laced.' An involuntary shiver goes through him, but he leans over and kisses your cheek. "Want me ta hold it fer ya? We can ask Ryan 'bout it when we go party with 'im, kay?" Now he's curious. Almost curious enough to try it. Well.... maybe when you're not around. Just to see. The tin's still out though, 'til you tell him if you want him to hold it or not.
Trace passes over the little tin without hesitation. Peeling it open, the scent should probably immediately strike you as *wrong*. There's weed there, but bathed in a sickly sweet aroma that wafts out and pulls at the nose like incense. The loose buds in the tin look alright at first glance, but close examination or fingers pinching at them would reveal to the more accomplished pothead that the consistancy is just a little too sticky, the grass clinging together a bit too much. Definitely dunked in something, and quite thoroughly. The bluecap keeps his eyes on that dark little tangle of green in the tin, swallows, and says softly, "I want you t'hold it for me." Tears his gaze up to meet your bright eyes. "Please. I dunno, I doan'.. wanna fiend for nothin', even if it is jest kind bud an' nothin' more. Not now that I'm finally forgiven."
Or.... maybe he won't try it. Definitely gonna hafta ask some people about this. Cuz, y'know, sumthin's just wrong here. S'like... opium or something, geez. The tin's closed and shoved deep into a pocket where it can't do any harm to you. The hand digs around a moment and pulls out that joint he was talking about earlier. "Prolly fiendin' fer whatever it's laced with, y'know?" Hopefully it's not a strong fiend. "Mebbe some good ol' fashion straight-up greenbud'll clear that right up, huh?" He waggles the joint temptingly, giving you his crooked smile. "We kin smoke it later if ya want, though."
Oh sure, you're gonna waggle a j in his face and then tell him we can smoke it later. "Naw, blaze it up," Trace declares, spreading a wide grin at that. "I could definitely go fer some'a that." He impulsively hugs you, for the moment disrupting any attempt you might be making to light it. His nose gets nuzzled against you and he mumbles gratefully, "I was wonderin' if you'd be mad about it or somethin'. But I swear I didn't know nothin' bout it bein' laced or anythin', an' I'm real glad you believe me, an' gladder you'll take it off my hands." He squeezes once more and releases you, smile awash in relief. It's not his problem anymore, and not his fault.
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