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Log Title: Smoke Dragons
Log setting: Somewhere in the French Quarter, and then Caddy’s apartment
Log Cast:
Dana
Jason
Trace
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Dana's hands move to her hips as she once again glares at Jason. "Now... if you will kindly tell me where I am, little smart ass, it will make things a lot easier on us." The nervous chewing is gone as well as the tears and fear in the woman's eyes. While the remanents of tears drip down her cheeks, Dana shows no other real signs of the fit before.
Jason just blinks at this tiny chick, /really/ looking at a loss now. "Um, yeah, big, scary me," he says dryly. "Lady, seriously, I think yer missin' out on yer meds." He leans out from the wall a little and points up the street towards the mounted policeman milling around in the crowd a ways away. "Why don' you go ask Mr. Powiceman over there 'n I'm /sure/ he'll be helpful."
Dana rolls her eyes slightly. "You can't just give a straight answer can you?" Her next words are almost spit out, anger seething in her every move. "You men are all alike. You look down on women and assume they can't do shit for themselves. All they are good for is cooking, cleaning, and fucking in your eyes." Her piece is said. She could start a fight but... well, this one isn't stupid. She knows she is short. In a bit of a huff she turns on her heels and starts to stalk away, muttering about calling a cab.
Whu-oh. Looks like his friend's caught in a situation. Trace, huffing a little from too much walking, watches from a ways off. He studies the distraught girl as she starts to stalk off and looks faintly relieved, taking this as the cue that it's safe to approach. He pads up to his redheaded friend, but his eyes linger on the girl as he says breathlessly, "*Here* y'are. I been looking. What was THAT 'bout?"
Jason blinks a couple of times... but then can't help but let out this stifled giggle. Oh man, of all the people to vent on... Scrawny, rather unthreatening to normal people, and, well... Someone in that little head was just a /weeeee/ bit off. But he just shrugs and wriggles his fingers. "No second date, huh?" Damn, he lets that one go, though. Nooooot gonna deal with it.
Dana walks straight up to the officer and seems to demand he tell her where she is. Pushy little bitch isn't she. Her jaw is set in determination, hands remaining on her hips as though glued in place. It might be a good thing she didn't hear Jason's comment. He might never have gotten rid of her then. She nods curtly to the officer and heads on off uptown.
But we /will/ deal with /this/. Hey Trace. Green eyes find his blue-braided friend and a quirky grin finds its way out to the fore. "Hey, sorry." He shrugs one shoulder and looks after the girl as well, wetting his lips. "Y'know, I'd tell you, but yer sanity might break 'r sumthin'." He shakes his head and looks back to his friend. "Well, at least you smell better."
Dana heads uptown.
Jason glances cop-wards as well and shrugs again, making a face. "Tried ta avoid the one in the park, 'n there's one out here." Phooey. So, that would be a 'no.' "Didn' feel like chasin' no one either, so..." He waves his hand to where he's leaning back against the wall. "So here I am, gettin' harassed by freaky chicks who think I give a damn." He quirks another smile your way.
Derrick comes out of Pontalbo Apartments.
Derrick has arrived.
Derrick glances at the two lads whom he's seen around on the street. His eyes try to gather their general well-being before hopping in a conveniently passing cab.
Trace pulls a face at the cop. Yeah, they spoil all the fun. Still in a tone just for your ears, "Well, les' get out from under their noses, then. I scored some green last night. Jest'a little, an' nothin' too fine, but I'll share it with you." There's more he's not saying, hidden in that slight unease clouding hazel eyes.
Jason perks up. Did you say 'green?' We want green. Giiiiive us greeeeen. Even though he clearly sees that 'more' stuff hiding in there. Considering he started it by asking where you were last night. I mean, he trusts you in the, um... okay. He just prays for the best, but anyhow. He nodnods and grins lopsidedly at you. Lead me to the green, O Moses.
Trace grins at your enthusiasm. Well, maybe you dubbed him Moses, but he's sure not doing too hot a job of parting this Red Sea of tourists milling about the street. So he gives you a glance, then starts ducking and weaving his way through the bodies, dodging limbs and drunken staggerers with all the ease of any local streetrat.
Trace slips on in after you, glancing about, but it seems Caddy has once again left the apartment to the boys. Hazel eyes land on Jason and he blooms a smile. "What?" Gee, now he *really* doesn't want to go into last night. Jason's just way too happy right now. Well, it's just another reason to put it off, which is perfectly fine for a chickenshit like Trace. He stoops briefly to pick up his canvas bag, but his eyes are still on you, curious.
Like Jason's gonna let you cop out on this. HE asked you, remember? No, your doom is coming. He knows it's not good just by the way you're acting, but he's not gonna let it get him down in advance. Anyhow, he whips out a velcro wallet and waggles it. "He even smiled at me when I touched his butt!" He giggles, nose wrinkling, and then trots on over to you. "So, pathetic weed? Gimme? Where'd you get it, huh?"
Trace lights up at the sight of the wallet, making a grab for it playfully with his free hand, but doesn't pursue it. Your questions and promptings turn his attention back to the canvas satchel, and he rifles around inside it, coming up with a plastic baggie and a nest of tangled snarls of green-brown, peppered with seeds, lining the bottom. "I haven't gone anywhere near my old dealers since... y'know," he admits quietly, still smiling. "But I ran into an aquaintence who was headed up there last night, an' I asked if they could pick me up anythin' fer a delivery tip. It was more 'spensive than it shoulda been, but you know how things is lately." He sighs and shakes his head. Dry spells are evil. "But anyway, so it might be harsh, an' there's seeds an' shit, but y'know. Better'n bein' high on life. Coz that shit's weak." He giggles.
Jason does, indeed, snatch the wallet back, flopping down in the corner where your stuff and... well, like the one thing of his are stashed. "Dunno, I think I'd 'find' his wallet fer him if ya didn' have no green here." He rips the thing open and woohoos! as he finds a wad of cash. A wad of... ones and fives. Oh well, better than nothing. Just like weed with seeds is better than... well, mebbe better than nothing. "So, okay, why /didn'/ you come home last night? Waitin' fer weed?" He knows it's not the case, but hey. Flipflip through the wallet. "Okay, him and a chick... Fag hag."
Trace looks immediately uncomfortable, but drops his eyes down to his baggy. "C'mon, let's get settled first." Doesn't that bode well? The bluecap tugs you towards their corner where the mattress still lies folded and uninflated, and the blankets are in a tangled disarray. He sinks down onto his pillow and sets his bag and the little stash of weed down, and pats your pillow for you to join him. "You roll. Yer better at it. I'll pick seeds an tell ya what's up." He takes his good old time fumbling about in the bag before coming up with a book of papers to pass over, and a lighter. That's all set before you, and he takes up the baggie and starts picking through it, first finding a good, healthy pinch for you and setting it down on top of his sketchbook for you to use. Then he throws himself into seed duty, setting them in a little pile atop a flat place on one of the blankets. "I went to the Raven last night t'find Grace. And we talked awhile, but that's not what I'm tryin' to tell ya bout. Um. She left and, well. And I talked awhile with a new friend there, this guy Nelson... He, um. Well, there's stuff I wanna tell you 'bout him too, but not now. That's not the important part, really." Clever fingers root out elusive little seeds relentlessly. You have no place to hide, muaha. "But, um. I guess. The important part was when Bat showed up."
Jason gets all settled beside you, still perusing the contents of the wallet. Part of the fun of this job is finding out what goes on inside the wallet. He gets the papers and stuff within range and continues to pillage the wallet while waiting for you to talk and pass him some roughage to roll up here. Hmm, well.. you have some for him already. Okay. Just one more picture. "Oh, wait, it's his sister or something. Wonder if this is his..." Oh well. He shrugs and tosses the wallet over his shoulder and dutifully goes about rolling the first one. Nimble little fingers get going quite well. In fact, he's nearly finished with a perfect little j when that last sentence pops up. That's when he freezes, looking at the cylinder between his fingers. "Bat...?" he asks softly. Like he didn't hear your right. Okay, he thought his cheerfulness was unassailable but he was SO wrong. Oh well, he pretended Bat didn't exist long enough. "So... what happened?"
"Well, he..." Trace licks his lips, keeping his eyes focused down into the baggie. Pick, pick, pick. Jordan river take me hooome... Okay, no. "He jest... he'd gotten back, an' he was zombie tired, y'know? He... came over, an' sat down with Nelson an' me. And, um. We talked." He finally shakes his head, sighing, almost ashamed of himself. "We didn't talk. I mean, we talked about nothing. We might as well have not said anything. I didn't tell him... what was goin' on, or anything. It was just like 'oh, shit. What now.'" He flinches a little and now peeks up at you through braids. One eye is covered by one of the frazzled blue ropes, but the other looks to you pleadingly. "I'm sorry. It... it felt good to see him. I missed him rustlin' my braids about like he does. Is that -- I mean -- is it wrong? I mean, are you mad at me f'that?" Please don't say I'm a traitor for still loving him. "We gotta... find him an' talk to him, I think. I mean. If, like... what if it was all Ben an' Walker, y'know? Like they.. got him drunk, or... I dunno. I mean. At least know what's goin' on." His lips purse. "I'm sorry," he says again.
Jason slowly finishes the joint and places it back down again, almost numbly. He's seriously not in the mood for weed anymore. He doesn't look up at you or anything as you speak. Doesn't say anything either. Just has this knot forming in his stomach that he can't seem to avoid, really. Anger? Pain? Both? But, yeah, as much as he doesn't want to, he feels... just a little hurt at you. Even though he knows he shouldn't. "I mean, I guess it's my thing, y'know," he mumbles, internal thoughts suddenly becoming external. "Between me 'n them 'n you jus' left cuz of me so..." Must... rationalize... this. But then he suddenly growls and throws himself back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, drunk. Musta /stayed/ drunk too, cuz he fergot to tell me sumthin' was up. Fergot ta feel bad'r sumthin'." THEN those green eyes, the fire that usually heralds Bad Stuff in them, they go to you. "/We/ ain' gotta do nuthin, Trace. It ain' /my/ respons'bility ta go find him." Okay, getting mad here. But you just told him that he has to go find Bat and talk to him. And you're making excuses for him. And... and... Is he the only one that got hurt here or something? The only one who remembers that betrayal? It made him FORGET, but even Forgetting couldn't make him not feel it.
Trace says meekly, "Please don't be angry with me, Jason. Please. I'd die if you was angry with me. Okay? I jest... I couldn't help it, y'know? It's like... it's a hard habit to break, when yer close to someone." He knuckles at his nose and looks up at you. "Okay. Yer prolly right. There weren't no excuse, and I'm sorry. I jest, I didn't know how t'confront him right there, an' I didn' wanna face him alone an' without you..." He huddles up some, arms curling around his chest as he still regards you. "An' yer right. He should come to us. I jest, I meant... It'd be good to hear his side of it sometime, that's all I meant. Didn't mean you should go crawlin' t'him."
Jason looks away from you, jaw grinding as you speak. And yeah, tail lashing. It's not just you. He knows it's not just you. But it's still... BAT'S back. That motherfu-.. that... He... "Yeah, a hard habit to break. If you love someone." A snarl, sharp canines flashing. "Guess that means he tried /real/ fuckin' hard. Or mebbe he didn' need to, huh?" He fixes those eyes on you. "Mebbe he didn' need to." And then the tail practically knocks his newly-rolled joint to pieces, it snaps so hard. "I can jus' imagine his side now. 'But it slipped! Over 'n over!'" He had this bottled up so well, dammit! He suddenly throws the papers down and launches himself to his feet, storming to the other side of the room. "You /know/ he ain' gonna come to us. So what the fuck does it matter?"
Trace hitches his shoulders in the tiniest shrug at your last question. Boy, does he feel Scolded. God. "I kin' follow you everywhere, an' support you in almost anythin'. An' be yer..." No, he can't call himself a pretty thing. "An' be yers. But my heart needs time, okay?" Because truthfully, Batiste was his dear friend, but not his lover. He can't possibly feel the slap and sting half so sharp as you. His blame on the family's destruction is placed more in Walker and Ben's hands, than in Bat's. "So anyway, I guess... yer right. But I'm gonna hope he comes find us. Gotta hear his side’a things..." He sighs, setting the baggy down and twisting his hands together, watching the fingers weave and part. "I guess I was hopin'... when he saw the house f'sale, or if he talked with any of 'em, he'd... y'know. Try to make things right. Or come say how bad he fucked up. Or... I dunno. Something." He drops his head further, sadly.
And when you put it that way, Jason suddenly feels like some jealous, abusive husband. But on the other hand, he can't... seem... to... He thought you knew. How he felt. "What about mine?" he asks softly. "Did I, like, take up too much time for /my/ heart or something?" He paces around in a tight circle, tail snapping around behind him. "'Course, y'know, did he say 'I fucked up bad' las' night? Or like, 'where's Jason?' Yeah, I bet that was on the top of his head. Not anythin' like 'shit, I gotta get outta here 'fore Jason shows up 'cuz, fuck, I'm horny an' Walker's home.'" Heh. Silly Jason. You thought you were over this already, didn't you? Nope. Raw still. What'd Star say the other night? Broken. Yeah, big, strong Jason. Pacing in a false forest like a caged animal.
"No... no, you din' take up too much time," Trace insists, the plea sharp in his tone as he finally looks up from his huddle. "I jest meant... try to unnerstand, I can't jest hate him. I can't." He sighs. "It was wrong what he did; really, really wrong. An' it hurt me too. Because alla them risked what I'd based my.. my whole fucking life around, jest fer their moment a pleasure. An' that ain't right. It were selfish an' jes' generally fucked up. An' yer right, I prolly reacted wrong last night. But I jest... it was three in the morning, and he was so out of it, and I dunno, I jest didn't wanna start anything. I put it off. I ran away from it, okay? I'm jest, I'm this fuckin' coward, an' I was too scared t'confront him without you." He falls silent again, shrinking back but still keeping his shiny gaze lifted to you bravely.
Jason shakes his head once, hard, whipping his hair about. "Fuck it, Trace. Jus'... it don' fuckin' matter anymore. They jus' gonna fuck 'n they don' fuckin' care what they did. I don' care. It doesn't matter to me anymore." Yeah, he doesn't care. "Why we even talkin' about it, huh? It's over." There. "He ain' comin' back 'round, an we both know it."
"Matters t'me," Trace insists. "It was my world, y'know? My whole security. I didn't wanna be a runaway twice." He sighs softly and pulls himself up off the ground, pacing over to you and standing tentatively in reach. "But we... we doin' okay. And I guess... in that sense, it don't matter. Coz we ain't broken." So there. "We found us a place. We been able t'scrape t'gether meals so far. An' I mean... in that way, we're still alright, so even if he never does come to try and make things better, we still know we gonna be.. alright." Lame assurances, perhaps. But he's trying so hard, clinging onto his steadfast hope. "Won't y'come share this j with me?" He glances back towards the corner, then looks to you again.
"An' /my/ world didn' sorta do a backflip there??" Jason whirls back on you, jaw starting to quiver with the sheer intensity of the emotions going through his body. Green eyes fix on your hazel, clouds roiling within. And then, suddenly and very quietly, "This better be some good shit." He steps past you and throws himself down on the limp mattress. Wants to be anything but coherant now. Gonna hit Caddy's booze if he has to. Then, when he's numb, he can cry and then pretend you never told him anything forever after.
"Ah din' say it din' f'you, neither!" Trace cries in retort. "Ah was jest sayin'... God, Jason, I know how much ya--" He just breaks off with a soft, frustrated sound and averts his gaze. Stands down, shows throat. He speaks quietly, emotions more under control but still unconcealed as ever, "It ain't, member? But it were the best I could score." He follows now, taking a hesitent place beside you. "Yer floppin' scattered my pile of seeds," he points out irrelevantly in a whisper, looking down.
Jason shakes his head slowly, looking up at you through his knotted hair. "Were you plannin' on plantin' a forest or sumthin?" he comes back, quietly. No fight in it, though. "Look, let's jus' fergit about it. S'over. S'been over. All I want is ta get fucked-up, kay?" He pats beside him. "Jus' wanna get fucked-up with you, tha's all." He can't look up at you, though. He's too ashamed. At just now. At all the times previous. At... ever trusting Bat and Walker and Ben and... at everything. Broken.
"Alright," Trace says softly. He picks up the joint with thumb and forefinger, and then grabs the lighter. Both are taken with him as he scoots into the patted, indicated spot next to you. Almost dry braids are fanned out around his face as he lays back, though slightly turned towards you. Moving in close, chin against your shoulder for a moment, he places the j between your lips carefully and then takes the lighter and flicks a flame into life for you. "You first," he says hushedly, poising the fire.
Jason licks his lips just before you put the j there, wetting them. Okay. We can calm. Just breathe deep. Inhale... He ignites the end and sucks in a deep breath, bright new cherry flaring. He lets out a tiny, choking cough as the roughness of the weed scrapes at his throat and lungs, but he holds most of the smoke in, passing the dawg over to you. He looks towards the ceiling for a long moment before blowing the smoke towards the false sky. Eyes, glittering from his emotions, close as he leans against you and hides his face against your shoulder. Things shouldn't hurt this much, y'know? He thought he was doing so good. Managed even to not think about things for awhile. But that mo... he /had/ to come back.
Trace knew he'd come back. He may have cheated, and his selfish actions may have helped shatter the family, but the bluecap knew it was only a matter of time before he would return from looking after his friend and expect to take up the role of GuardBat once more. Trace's hazel eyes are clouded with his introspection as he takes the joint from your fingertips and takes his pull. Still holding the hit, he turns his head to nuzzle at you, nudge you up out of hiding so you can take the joint back. Yer turn. He turns his head again to blow out his cloud of smoke, but still doesn't speak yet, opting to nestle comfortably against you.
Yeah. Take it up once more. Only, in Jason's eyes, the position was foresaken the moment that Bat decided that momentary considerations took precidence over everything else. Your nuzzle does, indeed coax him back up, and he returns it in kind, brushing his cheek against your cheek and neck. No, no words. The cherry flares once again as he sucks in the harsh smoke, though this time he's more prepared for it. Holds it longer too. Just whisps of smoke snaking out from his nostrils as he presses closer and curls himself around you, even his tail. Needs the closeness right now. Cheek to your cheek, he gently brings the j to your lips.
The smoke is pulled in, thoughts awhirl behind his eyes. They close, hazel shuttered and shielded, as he keeps in the smoke and his thoughts. All mine, all yours... At the time, Trace had absolutely no idea how literal those words would become. Not exactly the way he meant it at the time, that's certain. After Bat's party... That's when it started to fall apart in Trace's eyes, though the events leading up to it precluded even that. And now where is he? Huddled in this strange apartment with you, and there really is no other person in this world now to whom he shows any steadfast allegiance. All the others have let him down, proven false and unfaithful, almost unloving. "Nothing's noble, nothing's pure," he mumbles softly, slithery smoke dragons slipping past barely parted lips and careening heavenward at each of the hushed, somber words. "Not even you'r me. But at least... I kin' trust you, and follow you, and know ya never wrong me so." One hand slips down to brush fingers over the familiar and beloved length of red and white-tipped fur wrapped close. "Lets me know I still got somethin' sacred."
Jason tilts his head to one side slightly so his smoke goes up instead of into your face as he lets it go. Your dragons get swallowed up in his cloud, but it's an equal joining. "S'kinda ironic that they got the house 'n the money 'n..." And everything but you. "Ain' never been noble... don' 'member bein' pure," he murmurs soft, lips brushing against your cheek. "Jus' wanted..." Wanted what? He takes the j and drags on it, leaving it hanging. His tail twitches beneath your hand, but otherwise stays still. Just a heavy lump of fur. "Ya are sacred," he mumbles, warm smoke wrapping about your ear as he does so. "Untouchable." Fingers brush against your other cheek. "Everythin' worth touchin' is."
Trace chuckles with shy appreciation for your smoky, whispered praise. "Always thought the same of you," he admits, turning, finding his face held so close that the tip of his nose almost brushes yours. Smoke still floats up to swirl above. A chuckle, warm gold-flecked moss-brown drinking in the bright, electric green. "Fireheart. S'parta what it meant. Beautiful 'n untouchable an' wild." It makes him think of the mural, but that was a work of three and so he flinches just a little. "But I d'wanna be untouchable alla time. That's so lonely. So... stay close, an' we'll be secret exceptions, kay?" He grins foolishly at the idea and breaks the intense gaze, leaning in to nestle his cheek up close to your neck, pulling in a sigh that's nearly content. Closer than he's been since he returned this afternoon, in any case.
He's caught. Caught when you drink in his eyes like that. Ears flicker at your words, tail twitching once under your hand. "Yeah, lonely," he says very softly, fingers staying on your cheek. But then you break away and he suddenly flushes, biting his lip. He slides his fingers up through your braids and holds you to him, breathing deep. He finds the joint again and takes a drag, luckily catching it before the cherry died.
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