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Log Title: Star and Drew

Log setting: A fiercely hot and muggy afternoon on some street in the slums.

Log Cast:
Starlight
Trace
Drew

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Head bowed, eyes downcast, blue braids fall around his gaunt face and help serve to shield a solemn Trace from these lovely surroundings. Trudge, trudge... He walks slowly today. The heat takes its toll on him too, and his shirt is soaked around the neck and beneath the sleeves, his skin greasy-slick. It's a long, ugly walk home.

A panic. It's like yer body doesn't know what the fuck's goin' on. Temperature is insane. Black and white. A sobering day, surely, and gothy-boi leans like a pro next to his woman. Both lifeless. Street-babies. Child's drugged eyes slide up and down the walk, not really focusing on anything or anyone. Sedated. And he mutters, "I dunno how cool'ee is, but he gives me food alla time and doesn't make me suck his dick. Not yet anyway. His buddy does porn, said he did some awhile back." and Star smirks. "I can't imagine that old fuck in a flick, man. Sure ain't sumthin' I'd wanna see." He sniffs, then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Yeah, the drip. He takes a drag and exhales, cheeks puffing out. "But there's this chick that, I guess, comes over a lot. She's alright. I mean, I'd probley fuck'er." And a quick catch, "If I wasn't wit' you." Yeah baby, you're my only piece right now. I love ya. He shrugs and glances away. Spots Trace around now and watches, eyes narrowing.

Sure, it's hot. But things are okay. Everything's good. Walker's air condition is waiting for him, and cool blackberries and peaches left over from his birthday. It's like a far-away fairytale palace right now, and he tries to focus on only that as he forces one foot in front of the other, again and again. But there's something queasy and foul wrapping itself around his stomach, something fuzzy clinging to the fringes of thought. And then it surges forward like a sudden lurching symphony and attacks all at once, rather than the slow waves he'd been dealing with. He swoons and only catches himself by some miracle on a dingy bus stop sign on his right, snagging the rust-covered pole and hanging on for dear life. Holy shit. He grimaces and clings, still a moment. A hard swallow. Then slowly eases himself back to a tentatively steady upright. Wow, what was that? But everything's okay. Things are fine.

Drew listens to Star babble on without a flicker of emotion touching her face. She has those dead eyes going, drugged shadows looking past her surrounds to get lost in an intangible void. However, she -is- paying attention in some capacity because she comes up with a flat reply. "Don't matter what the guy looks like." Obviously in response to the porn topic. "The guys can be ugly as fuck as long as they have big dicks and stamina." No comment about the girl he said he'd fuck, though. She drifts her gaze off the whore she wasn't really focused on anyway, letting it drop down to her hand wrapped in with Starlight's. Sweaty mess, ick. She adjusts her grip and then goes back to her heavy-lidded staring. Who's there? Trace? There is the vaguest spark of interest in the depths of her dark orbs as she watches the blue-haired wonder.

Starlight doesn't move the help the older boy, he simply watches. Who knows, maybe the wall'll fall down if the child steps away. His eyes, however, narrow even more and he tilts his head a little. Actually showing some interest. "Wunner that fuckin' snitch is? He's usually right on Blue's ass," Star mutters, so quiet maybe the girl next to him missed it. He moistens his lips and takes another drag. Kid just lets the smoke flow out on it's own, doesn't really push it. Releases Drew's hand and wipes his his thigh. Too hot for affection. Then boy slides down the wall, sitting on one foot. His arm draps over his knee, ciggie-hand dangling and he just couldn't /possibly/ look cooler. A bead of sweat drips down the side of his face, even as hawks up something rather interesting sounding from deep in his throat. Head turns and the mess ends up a few feet away in a nice little yellowish gel-pack. Back to Trace. Entertainment. As a matter of fact lots of people are watching Trace. This place is hell, man, and there's hardly ever anything exciting happening, so when someone looks like they're gonna eat concrete, people wait'n see if they do. Pleasantville.

Trace shoves icky-damp blue braids away from his shiny brow and braves a glance to those around him. One of the less-intimidating pedestrians who doesn't look away quick enough gets a faint scowl from the boy. Yeah, move along, motherfucker. Nothing to see here. He blows out a breath and directs his gaze up the street. Whoa. How daunting. It just looks as though it could stretch on forever, building after building, sidewalk block after another, all of it littered with tourists and hawkers and other human waste. Where are your rose-colored glasses now, boy? His brow furrows and he shakes his head faintly. Nope. Enough of this walking shit for now. Time for plan B. Wait, he doesn't have one. So... hrm. Plan B is just temporary, but basically entails sitting the fuck down for awhile. He looks around for a stoop or something to huddle under until it cools down at bit, and it's only now that he spots Star and Drew. Ohh... geezus, they been standing there? Well, he's going to play it off. He takes a few tentative steps closer and greets quietly, a rasped "Hey, Star." Yeah, he wants to be around here. Hangin' out in da N'awlins ghetto, yeah. Fun stuff.

Drew pulls her attention away from Trace long enough to watch Star slide down the wall. Hrm. She ponders the possibility of doing the same but decides against it. Sure, it wouldn't take any effort to get down there but to do so guarantees the task of having to exert the energy to rise at some point. So, she decides that the leaning thing is the way to go. Like the boy, she wipes her sweaty hand on her leg and resumes her observation of Big Blue. Just one more set of eyes on the kid. God, it's hot. Fuck. Perspiration even on her eyelids. She shifts her stance a bit, as if tossing her weight to her other hip will keep the sweat from rolling down between her ass cheeks. Nothing more annoying than a slicked-up butt-crack. Fidget, fidget, scowl. As Trace approaches, she just kind of tilts her head and sweeps a glance down to Star for a reaction.

Sniff, then swallow. Star's eyes remain on Trace. Kid doesn't have the grace to act as if he didn't see the blunder, why the fuck should he? And his chin lifts in an indifferent greeting to the boy. "Sup, Blue?" Nickname? And a grin, cute by default. Child lifts his hand and pulls his hair off the back of his neck, his underarms, while showing very little hair-growth are wet. More slides down his face. All exposed skin is glistening, body fighting to keep cool. "Ain' gonna innerduce me tuh yer girl?" And his eyes slide over to the pole. Fucker. Lifts his brows and laughs, but it's nearly silent. Wide-mouthed, choked from the throat, you know the type. Star doesn't get up, he's comfortable against the hardness. Apparently the child feels confident enough to stay down, despite the fact that it means he's looking /up/ at Trace. But wait, woah. A couple freaks pass, stoner lookin' fucks. Children by most anyone's measure, but around Trace'n Star's age. Up up. Kid pushes back, sliding to his full height, which is still a few inches under the kid with the braids. Confrontational, immediately, his dark orbs settle on the pair and he watches. "So wassup?" he says, apparently to the boy he knows, not to the ones he considers some sort of threat. Cautious. Never take your eyes off the enemy. The nameless punks? Well, they just glower right back with volcanic intensity. Drew was right. At any moment this entire fucking block could blow. So hot.

Trace flinches a little at the laugh and the cut over his near fall by the bus stop sign. He's even got ammo resting in the back of his mouth like something faintly vile-tasting as he recalls the night Star was weirding out in Jackson Square. But it would never make it past his teeth. Truthfully, it's hard to say if he'll ever really, truly be able to befriend either of you. Such a sensitive boy, with vastly honest, open prairie eyes, who somehow has lived here this long while without building up armor. So he just glances away to admire the long path leading home again as he mumbles, "Yeah. Yeah, me'n her go way back. But I thought I'd hold off, since ya never introduced yers neither." A glance back to the girl with dead eyes. Then the stoner kids walk by, and he glances at them. Quiet, no confrontation in his own hazel eyes. He takes a step back, not really a retreat, just satisfying the need to get allocate some weight against something steady. Though perhaps it'd look like retreat. He slumps and watches intently.

Drew watches the little interplay quietly, offering nothing--verbal or otherwise. Her face, her eyes, are blank. It's too hot to feel. Lifting a hand, she pulls it through sweat-damp hair and stretches her curls taut before releasing them. Her dank locks only falls back into place slowly, as if--in this heat--they, too, are too tired to move. The buzz of words exchanged stick to the air around her, the girl shutting it down to static, and she follows the flow beneath the conversation by turning her dark gaze to the stoner kids. No confrontation. No retreat. She doesn't care.

A little smirk for Trace, Star's recognition of the boy's words, but his eyes, those dark dead orbs never move from the punks. It's like the little boy is too fucking proud to admit he'd get creamed, despite how obvious it is. The two boys just keep on walking. Another day. Too fucking hot to kick the little guy's ass. Saved by the heat, yet he'll never see it that way. Nope. Another little smirk and his hand lifts, offering a taste of smoke to his mouth, lungs, and then it drops back down, lazy-like. To Blue. And he tilts his head toward Drewberry, "Drew." There. Right so they're not friends. Star doesn't /have/ any friends. All these people're just a backdrop. Not really involved. He scratches his upper arm, then wipes his hand on his jeans again. "Fuckin' hot, man." Duh.

Trace looks relieved to see the punks walk off. His gaze flickers to Drew, not looking her up really. Star's too hot-headed to brave more than a flickered glance and a nod. Back to Star. "Yeah. Yeah, August is terrible." He presses his cheek to the brick, cool in contrast to the thick, humid air. Mm, not bad. "N' I got a long walk ahead still. Can't believe this shit." He sighs softly and looks over at Star. "You guys here sparechangin'..?"

Star wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, then gets out another smoke and jump starts it with the one he brought all the way down to the butt. The used is flicked, smoothly, into the street. High arc on that one, too. He leans over as Drew mutters something to him, then nods. Girl starts walking toward a corner market. His dark gaze flickers back to you and softens a little once the girl is out of sighs. "Yeah, I guess. How ya doin'? Ya alright?" He wrinkles his nose a little, then peers up the street toward where the assholes went.

"Yeah. Yeah, well, I mean. M'in some trouble," the blue-haired boy admits with quiet honesty, glancing at the retreating girl. "Someone tryin' t'rope me inta shit I don' wanna do. But it's cool. I kin' tell 'er to fuck off. N'people got my back if that ain't good 'nuff." Sounds like he's working on convincing himself more than you right now. He lifts a hand to rub hard at his eyesockets briefly. Heat makes you sleepy. Crashing doesn't help, either. A small shudder takes his shoulders for a moment, but he shrugs it off and straightens further, pulling himself up out of the slump a little without taking his weight off the wall.

Star flicks at his ciggie with his thumb, eyes moving to you and then down. Pensive. He takes another drag and wipes at a bead of sweat that attempts to drip all the way from his temple, then shrugs. "Always people wantin' sumthin'. Usually hasta do wit' gettin' 'em off. 'S fuckin' life, man. Till I'm 18. Then it's all fucking perfect. Be 18, the whole world changes," quiet words, with hope to help? "Cool thatcha got it all set, man." And he slides his gaze up to yer face, head tilting a little. He can see right through you. Now, you wanna explain, or you wanna blow it off. Either way works. Kid definately has a different demeanor with you when alone. He's not as strong. Not as together. Not as tough. Nothing to prove, really.

Trace nods a little. Yeah... Eighteen. Magic number. He can put some faith in that. The kid is quick to put faith in something, but likewise just as quick to snap it away again if it lets him down. "Together, yeah... Yeah, I mean, this girl don' wanna get off though, she jest wants me t'help her make some money. But her way's fucked up, it'll never work." He considers something. Eighteen wouldn't really help him out of this situation, now that he thinks about it. Then he remembers, "Oh. Check it out. Gotta ID a few days ago, see..?" he fumbles a card out of his pocket. It's a really good one, too. Some expert took the kid's case up. Photo that's really him and everything. It only makes him just barely eighteen though, not old enough to drink, but then again the skinny kid could never pull off much more than eighteen anyway. "S'nice, huh?" He pockets it again. "Anyway."

Star shrugs. He doesn't understand what you're talking about, obviously. Could be anything that the women wants from you. So he just kind of glances back out toward the street and takes another drag, smoke lingering around his face in the dull heat of summer. But as you produce the card, he turns back, seeming interested. "Damn, that's pretty good," kid says, then shrugs "Gotta get me one uh those sometime." Right, even /with/ an ID there is absolutely no way this kid could pass for 18. Not even 16. Nope. "Where's yer friends?" he asks with indifference, and his eyes even move away from you, lazy, back out to the street. Nah, he doesn't care. But then why did he ask?

"Oh, um." Trace considers this, reaching back to tug icky-damp blue braids off of his neck. "Batiste's maybe out working for Marco. He does jobs fer 'im sometimes. Dunno. An' Jason... just does whatever. He disappears a lot. None've us kin' keep up with him. But I dun' need 'em around alla time. Jest was gonna score 'n get home." See, he can be a lone wolf if he likes. Doesn't *need* the pack around all the time. Okay, that's bullshit. There's no place he'd rather be than home right now, with those three, and air conditioning, and blackberries. It's the very incarnation of misery out here in this heat. But home is so far away, and his energy is drained terribly. Crashed. No motivation. He shrugs a little and leans back against the wall. Slump. Not a bad wall at all, just slightly almost cooling his cheek. Yes, he and this wall get along smashingly.

Trudge, trudge. Shuffle, shuffle. Drew comes wandering back from the corner store, the heat of the day weighing down her gait. It was almost nice, in the shop. There was no air-conditioning but she spent a nice amount of time standing in front of the refrigerator case with door open. But fucking Habib behind the counter told her to buy something or get the hell out. What do people have against loitering anyway? She wasn't hurting anyone. So, she satisfied both his requests and here she is, back amongst the living dead. The girl makes her way over to the two boys, tossing Star a pack a cigarettes despite her constant 'You should smoke' nagging. Settling down on the ground next to him, she opens up her Snapple and takes a swig. No goodies for Trace. However, after a moment's consideration, she holds the bottle out to him. Want a sip? Isn't she nice.

Well Star ain't got no place with AC and he sure as hell ain't got no blueberries or whatever. Different life these two, would seem. Content to stay against his wall, the child's eyes move toward the market. What's taking her so long?? He doesn't offer any words right off, but is distracted again as a few girls pass by. A tiny tug at his lips ends as a grin and he lifts his brows. Not too hot to wanna party. One chick looks back at Trace, then to Star and the younger of the two boys dips his head down in greeting. The females just walk on by. Sucks. Life truly sucks. Drewberry catches his eye as she makes her way back and the boy lifts his chin, then leans forward, somehow managing to catch the pack despite the pussy 'girl throw' thing. And into the front pocket of the flannel wrapped around his waist they go. This heat burns. But as the sun moves a touch, a spot of shade grows over the three of you. Maybe Star's been here before? Shorty leans over, bending at the waist and letting his hair hang down off his neck, then reaches for the bottle. "Fuckin, took you long enough," quiet attitude.

Girls walk by. Hmm. Trace notices them, sure, but gives them no sign of it beyond the shy glance downward. Oh, hi shoes. Then Drew's coming back, and he lifts his head to look at her, since now they're officially Introduced and it's okay. Not that she knows his name probably, but he knows hers, so it's a start. He blinks as she extends the drink out towards him, something unexpected, but... whoops, mistaken. He aborts the motion just before really getting his hand out to reach for it. Shoving more braids away from his wet skin, yeah. That's what this hand's up to. He murmurs quietly, as he glances at the bus stop sign he'd been so intimately getting to know earlier, "Where'zat one head, anyway?" They seem to hang out here more than he; maybe they know.

Drew smiles faintly. Seems her brief affair with the marvels of refrigeration has perked up her mood slightly. "Not that I don't adore your company," she replies as Star snags the Snapple from her hand. "But I found myself contemplating the design philsophies of Ben & Jerry's product packaging." Whatever. Weird chick. She glances at Trace and then peers back up at Mr. Glitter-No-More, nudging his leg with her elbow. "Let him have some when you're done." She nods to Blue, just in case the heat has fried the boy's senses to the point where he doesn't know which 'him' she's referring to.

Yeah, well she better have been offering it to him. Star's hand wraps around the bottle and he lifts it to his lips, after straightening and flipping his head back. His hair falls around his face and actually looks clean. Kid takes down a fair amount, but leaves a little for Blue. Hands it over. "Knock yerself out, man." Hmm. Remember how nice Star used to be? I mean, maybe he wasn't totally open, but he wasn't a dick. Wonder what happened? Takes another drag and glances toward Trace's sign. "Think down Conti'n Char." Shrugs and leans back against the wall again, looking bored. His eyes follow people as they pass, back and forth, but then, "Yo, man, fuck'sup, gimmie some brew!" Kid must know the two dark guys who approach. Duh. Older, well, at least early twenties and very cajun. Starlight's off that wall so quick and heading for the two. They both laugh at the child and one picks up his paper-bagged bottle, holding it out of Star's reach. "C'mon," Star laughs, jumping up a little and bumping into the bigger guy. Playful?

Trace looks to Drew curiously. Huh. She really did mean for him to have a sip. He smiles with faint confusion, never having really seen her so... hmm. What's the word he's looking for? Nice? Alert? Somewhere between there. He decides it better suits her, anyway, as he takes the bottle from Star and sips. Just enough to wet his dry, rough throat, before he hands it back to her. Then his gaze wanders up the street towards Star and the older guys as he presses his cheek to the wall again. No interest in the contents of that paper bag, nope. It's this laughing, eager Star that wins his attention.

And off he goes. Drew's gaze follows him lazily as Star breaks from the wall. That small, naked smile remains on her lips, although it seems more as if she's just forgotten to shift her expression than an actual maintenance of good humour. The girl blinks, broken from the thoughts which captured her, when Trace hands back the Snapple. Holding up the bottle, she eyes the level of the iced tea inside and wrinkles her nose faintly. "Christ. Fuckin' camel.." she mutters lowly, shooting a glance back over to the dark-haired boy before taking another sip. Glug, glug. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she continues to watch Star jump through hoops for a chance at a little juice.

The men look friendly enough. Ganja, mon. Dreds and colourful clothing. Baggy. Smiles that brighten up their entire faces. Thing is, this might be the first time that Trace has ever seen lil' Glitter smile. "C'mon, man," the child says, giving the guy with the bag the most adorable little smile. Flirtatious? And it doesn't work. Nope. The other guy grabs Star from behind and holds one arm back. "Ya too yung tuh drink, lil' one." And the other gulps down some sweet salvation. Torture! Star squeals, "C'mon, man. I'll give ya my girl?" Little shit. And the two men look over toward Drew, obviously weighing the offer. Booze or chick. Booze or chick. Hmm. The one guy releases Star and the child whirls around, grinning widly. "C'mon, Monster, I'm dying," child says, then turns on the other guy and goes for the bottle. This time he manages to touch the paper-bag, but dude gets it up out of reach. Damn. Anyway, enough of games. One of the guy pushes Star aside, gently, then they both start down the street. Star stands there, with this stupid grin on his face, then calls out, "Yer gonna regret this when I'm famous! Just wait." Laughter comes from the two, "Sure. Sure." Ahh well. Out of breath now, Star steps back up to the wall, but bends down to get his smoke, having dropped it in all the excitement. "Tried," he says, quietly, sobering up some.

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