Log Title: Sweet Sixteen!
Log Setting: Starts in Jackson Square, but mostly takes place in Beight's Motel on the evening of August 14, 2001.
Log Cast, in order of appearance:
Trace
Jean-Batiste
Starlight
Mikaela
Off. Leonidas
Derrick
Walker
Benjamin
Jason
Alisynde
Coil
Glass
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Jean-Batiste scurries into the square, head ducked against the rain, shoulders hunched in a little. But...hah! He's dry! Well, his upper body, at least. Thank God for windbreakers. His legs and feet are completely wet, but he doesn't seem to mind in the least. He's carrying a large paper bag with handles, which appears to hold several plastic bags within it.
Off. Leonidas comes out of Pontalbo St. Ann.
Starlight is crouched near a curb, soaking wet. He's smoking, but has his hand cupped around the vice, protecting it from the elements.
Off. Leonidas quietly and leisurely strides through the square, her eyes keeping a constant vigil on things around her
Trace hesitates, noticibly. He doesn't know this alley, nor does he know Kae all that well. Biting his lip once, "So that's where you, um." Dumb question. Okay. But following people into alleys, when you just told them you've got money, it isn't wise. So he stalls a moment and considers. Star seems to trust her. And getting any significant amount for a mere twenty-five is pretty incredible. So with a sudden drop in confidence, he takes a step closer to the alley and murmurs, "Well, how much kin' ya get me? If it's less than a quarter bag, ain't worth yer time 'r mine prolly.." All this said softly, mind, in case any cop ladies in the area might feel heroic.
Mikaela shakes her head at Trace, to what ever he asked her and ducks into the alley. Such a well used alley it is, even if she was going to take the kids money, some one would definately notice the altercation. On top of it all, she seems very nice today, in a good mood. Mikaela enters Pirate's Alley.
Off. Leonidas heads out to St. Peter.
Starlight watches Trace, frowning a little. He stands up and shrugs, moving toward Mikaela. "Kae, wait up." Star picks up the pace, trying to catch up with the older girl. Looks like he has a plan.
Jean-Batiste must be in a particularly buoyant mood - he crosses one of the concentric rings of lawn and hops double-footed into a puddle, spraying it out in all directions. He grins down thoughtfully at his feet after the fact, as if asking them 'Was it good for you, too?' then looks around, squinting against the rain. Aha! Trace. Trace and Mikaela. Mikaela heading into an alley. And the cop just left. Well, this will never do. He shouts, "Trace! Hey, Trace!" and jogs towards his friend.
Starlight's eyes corner as Bat starts shouting and the kid makes a bee-line in the opposite direction. Not. Going. To. Deal. With. Him. Today. Nope. Walks over toward a bench, avoiding the puddles, mind you, and climbs up, sitting on the back. Another drag and he glances to the alley.
Derrick watches from a building corner as Starlight, the kid he met earlier, suffers more problems.
Mikaela enters the square from Pirate's Alley.
Trace halts, just before following her in, and cranes his neck to scan the square for Batiste upon hearing his call. Isn't it convenient that he's got a beacon for a hairdo? He catches sight of the older boy and grins broadly, though somewhat sheepishly. "Oh, um. Hi. I was just..." A vague gesture to the alley with no good excuse.
Mikaela steps back out of the alley, a pale brow raising as she watches the Square before her. She slides a nail down the side of her nose, waiting.
Trace senses "Jean-Batiste jogs to a halt beside Trace, and glances sidelong at Mikaela before returning his attention to his friend. "Keats isn't around? Why're you messing with her? She's trouble. You need something, I'll get it for you, okay?" He nods towards the opposite side of the Square."
Derrick pulls a stick of gum out of his pocket, unwraps it thoughtfully and watches the scene with interest. Then he shuffles off the side of the comfortable building brickwork and strides towards the bench, also avoiding the puddles.
Starlight takes down the last of his smoke, then flicks the butt in the center of the square, not really aiming for anything. He lifts his hand and pushes some wet strands of hair away from his face, and peers toward Mikaela. How patient is the girl? His eyes flicker toward Trace, then to Bat and then away. Intimidated, or perhaps just not in the mood. Trace is somewhat cool'n stuff, but Bat, well, he can be a hard-ass, believe it or not. The child hadn't noticed Derrick, until the man starts walking. Offers a chin-lift in greeting. Yes, he remembers.
Trace looks down embarrasedly. "But, I jest. I mean. She was gonna give me a -- a birthday deal..." Little shrug. Nobody wants to be out on their birthday, right? "Okay, okay..." He bites his lip and glances at Mikaela. Well, thus ends this good deal. He shrugs just faintly and looks again to Batiste. Pretty loyal kid, he is, and whatever Batiste just demanded, it seems he's not going to put up much protest. "I'll 'splain on the way."
Derrick pops the gum and starts chewing, then reaches into his pocket again and hands Starlight a slightly dog-eared business card. No address, just a phone number for The Big DZ's tours. "You look busy, kid. Gimme a call when that thousand bucks ain't there no more."
Jean-Batiste glances back at Mikaela for a second, then nods to Trace, and drapes an arm around his friend to bump shoulders a couple of times before drawing it back again. "Okay, c'mon. We have to hit a Shop-N-Go on the way though, okay? I need to pick up some stuff." Mystery stuff to add to the bag of whatever-it-is he's already carrying, it'd seem. He starts off uptown, giving Trace his very best 'I know something you don't know' grin.
Trace pouts at the look! It's not fair. No one must know what he does not know, it drives him nuts. He just grins this frustrated, affectionate grin. "Alright. Shop-N-Go it is."
Starlight purses his lips and shakes his head. "I ain't busy, man." Reaches for the card and takes it. "What work you got for me? I ain't eighteen, or even close. I mean, have a seat." Star motions to the bench and seems sincerely interested in what the man has to offer.
Mikaela apparently seems to be pretty patient as she takes it all in stride. After moment of watching she moves off in Trace's direction, even after the kid starts to move off, she pulls a paper bacg from a pocket and taps the kid on the back, holding the bag out to him. She doesn't smile, nor frown. Always a good sign.
Jean-Batiste, being generally and completely mistrustful of Mikaela and the half-block surrounding her, glances back over his shoulder and gives her a rather cool, blank look. "He doesn't want your crap," he replies, and bumps Trace's shoulder as if to say, 'C'mon, let's blow this joint.'
Derrick sits down, smiling at the others there. "Y'all may be interested. No one stays working for me for long... because I don't pay too too much, and I know people who hire from me... bigger and better things, you dig? Anyway, the work is like gopher stuff. I got driving and tourmaster positions for kids able to do that... but most start as gophers. Getting things set up at our destinations and that." He pauses, gauging the reaction on Starlight's face.
Trace starts. He turns, and blinks wide at the bag. Not good at keeping his expression neutral at *all*, nope. But she's going to do it *that* blatently. With a mixed expression, dubious and curious, he looks at the bag and then Batiste. "But... but." But *free*, you expect him to turn it down if she's just giving it to him? But he's scared to take it too, because it's so obvious. He glances around, not seeing cops, but even still... Another torn look to Batiste.
Starlight glances over at Bat and Trace, his eyes narrowing some. "Shit," he mutters, but then is drawn back to Derrick. The boy listens, nodding here and there and asks, right up front, "Any sex'r anything? Ever? I mean, this ain't some cover, right?"
Mikaela stnds there, she doesn't offer any spare look for Bat. She's cool as a cucumber, "If ya wan' it take it. If not, doan. But make your own decicion Trace." She says to the blue haird kid, just holding it out.
Derrick shrugs. "You don't like seeing sex or drugs or bad shit, kid? If that's so... you don't wanna work for me. My tours are... they cover the seedy side of the city. But you personally never have to get involved in any of that shit ever again. Word up, that's my promise, I say. Some of the kids still score on teh side... but that's their choice, dig? Anyone ever pressures you to do anything, they answer to me."
Derrick tries to ignore the other goings-on and looks at Starlight's reaction.
Starlight slips down off the back of the bench and sits down on the flat part with Derrick. He is no longer paying attention to Trace and Kae, seeming consumed with the man next to him. "How much money, man? I mean, how much could I make? See, I'm tryin' to support my girl, she's real sick'n stuff. Needs a lot of shit. She can't take care of herself."
Jean-Batiste's eyes widen a little at Trace, and he shakes his head. "It's not worth it, Trace," he murmurs. "Look at her. Look at-" He gestures around to the entirety of Jackson Square, then gestures to the paper bag Mikaela holds out. "That's worth being caught, being sent back? You know it's not." He shakes his head again, and steps back from Trace.
Derrick takes a deep breath. He looks at Mikaela and knows her easy scores and fast money are appealing. "Let's talk about that. You ever heard of health benefits?"
Sent back. Sent back, oh god... Trace shakes his head, "No, no..." Hazel eyes find Mikaela's blue ones. "M'sorry. You keep it. Sorry..." He turns to Batiste and heads after him, jogging a little to catch up, and then jostling his shoulder. "Kay, let's go." Trace heads uptown.
(Travel spam...)
Decatur and St. Louis -- Vieux Carre
Jean-Batiste walks several blocks in silence. Not a pissy, brooding sort of silence, just a thoughtful one. At a streetcorner he stops and looks back at you, and reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. "Stay away from her, okay?" he murmurs. "Please? She's trouble, and she's going to bring down everyone around her when she gets caught. I don't want her catching you when it happens."
Trace mumbles, "Kay. M'sorry bout back there. S'hard t'say no t'shit like that. Harder'n it should be, obvious as that trouble was. I know you were right." Eyes on the walkway, he stomps at a puddle with a hint of his usual enthusiasm. Splash. Hee. He looks up. "What we gettin' at the Stop-N-Go?"
Jean-Batiste grabs your hand and jogs across the street with you, then pauses on the opposite side to give you a quick, rustle-noisy hug. "It's okay. I know how it is. She's just...trouble. Too much trouble. It's okay." He grins that mysterious, maddening smile at you again, then continues down the street. "What's your favourite kind of fruit?" he wonders, oh-so-innocently.
Trace ponders this question for a moment as he trots alongside you. Maybe he's not a big veggie fan, but fruit is a whole different matter. "Mm... Mangoes? And big ripe strawberries! And starfruit. And... and anything sweet 'n messy 'n fun." He grins big, full of strange anticipation and curiousity. "Why?" Not like he expects much in the way of an answer, but he must ask.
"Oh, no reason," Batiste drawls altogether too sweetly, grinning back over his shoulder at you as he jogs across the street towards the Shop-N-Go. Yes, he's trying to be as completely maddening as possible - though if you start looking exasperated instead of anticipating, he'll gentle it down a little. "I've got twenty bucks, let's get as much fruit as we can get for that, okay? C'mon." He holds the door open for you, dark eyes bright with silent laughter.
Trace bobs his head, slipping past you into the Shop-N-Go. He scans the bright isles, then looks down. Ooh, candy vending machines. He fishes out a quarter and buys himself a candy necklace, wrapped up in a little plastic bag, which is quickly removed and tossed to the floor without a thought. He struggles to get it over his braids without snapping the little elastic string and then grins broadly, pushing his braids back to show off his new jewelry. Then he lets the hair fall back down and intones, "Lead on, the fruit awaits."
Jean-Batiste grabs a bright red plastic basket and hooks it over his arm, strolling damply into the air conditioned dryness of the grocery store. "Okay, so..." He looks around, a little overwhelmed by all the pyramids of fruit displayed in fluorescent starkness. "Grapes!" He heads that way, and tosses in a bag of crunchy red grapes. "Okay, just...just pick stuff." He grins back beatifically at you, then tries to spot the mangoes. "Bananas?" he wonders, trying to remember if you ate those because they were good, or because they were dunked in chocolate.
"Grapes're good. But no bananas," Trace giggles and wrinkles his nose. "D'want banana jokes on MY birthday, thankyaverymuch. Else we get a cantaloupe and ya gotta eat it with no hands." He even winks, rotten thing that he is, before trotting down the isle murmuring, "Ooh, kiwis... Blackberries!" He starts shuffling through the little green baskets for the fullest, most un-squashed basket and gets a dirty look from a plump middle-aged shopper with her hair tucked up in a salt-and-pepper bun. He sticks his tongue out at her and keeps pawing through the berries while she looks mildly huffy at the rude gesture.
Rotten thing that you are, oh, yes. Batiste goes a nice rosy hue and grumbles something affectionate but incoherent behind your back. He heads for the display of plums and peaches, and grabs a half-dozen of each, bagging them up and knotting the top instead of using the twist-ties set out. "So what else...oh! Mangoes! I'll get four..." So extravagant. He picks out the four ripest ones, and bags them up as well, then ambles over to your side, giving the irate shopper a sweet smile. "He's an exchange student," he murmurs. "From Borneo." Because -all- wildmen come from Borneo, after all.
"Borrrrneo..." Trace nods solemnly, affecting a made-up, goofy accent as he draws out the word's 'R's. The shopper gets another tongue poke. That's our greeting, see? Means we love you. Anyway. He tugs at Batiste's arm and leads him on down the isle as he says, "Come... We bring many good mangoes to Borrrneooo, yes?" Once out of the woman's hearing range he snickers. "Shopping's fun. So is this it?" He pokes into the red shopping basket and murmurs, "Hey, those are the peaches with fuzz, right? Not that other kind."
Jean-Batiste giggles softly, then nods and promises, "Fuzzy peaches. I remembered from last time. We need...vanilla wafers. And ice cream. What kind of ice cream do you like?" he wonders with a grin, tugging you towards the dairy aisle. "Let's get, like, one of those huge gallon pails of neopolitan ice cream, or something? How's that sound?" His steps speed up a little, excited.
"How're we payin' fer all this...?" Trace wonders confusedly as he trails after you, but he's got a grin that seems to be staying. "I like, um. Superman Ice cream, y'know, the rainbow stuff? And I like anything super chocolate, or anything fulla' caramel and fudge ribbons' or like raspberry swirl..." He's basically just rattling off the whole selection of ice cream, so you might want to just go ahead and pick one.
Jean-Batiste's only answer is a wide grin and a, "-I'm- paying for it." He trails down the dairy aisle and locates a big gallon pail of rainbow ice cream, and hands it to you to carry so the fruit isn't smooched. The vanilla wafers are nabbed on the way back, and added to the bill, which comes up past twenty dollars but is paid for with fives and tens without a blink. "Okay, c'mon," he murmurs as he hands one of the grocery bags - the heavier one, this time, even! - to you and heads out of the store. "We'd better hurry."
Trace is a big sixteen year old, he can carry the big one, yeah! He grabs it and follows after you, close at your heels. Around a grin he whines, "So tell me what's going on..! Why we hurryin'?"
Jean-Batiste laughs, and speeds up a little, just to be a pain about it. "Hurry, hurry!" he says, grinning back at you. "You'll see. C'mon." And off he goes, heading steadily uptown.
Trace looks more and more confused, the more he realizes that Batiste isn't taking him anywhere he expected, specifically Walker's place. He tries to ask a question occasionally, but now more often than not bites it off and just follows. Hopefully this will all get explained. Well, he said he wanted to do something fun for his birthday... Maybe this is all part of it.
All roads lead to Beight's, or something like that. Batiste detours into the parking lot and holds the door open for you with a grin, then leads you down the hallway, all the while humming one of those impish little 'I know something you don't know' tunes. He puts down one of the bags as he juggles around for the key, finally wrestling the stubborn lock open (still rusted with Sharkadelic Blue paste, perhaps) and gestures for you to step in first.
Trace blinks as the Beight's motel comes into view, and is grinning hugely and silent as he's led through the hallways, past all the identical doors with the numbers nailed to the center. Upon reaching the destination room, he just lights up as brightly as possible, and for Trace, that's pretty bright. As you get the door open, he turns to you and murmurs wonderingly, "It's the same room, even, isn't it. Very same room..." And he just shakes his head, at a loss for words as he clings tight to his grocery bag, because this dingy little room always had a special place in his heart. Nice as Walker's home is, the waterbed so perfect for sprawling, the kitchen Batiste warms up with amazing soul food smells -- here he feels their friendship was really secured, the braid woven, and he gives you one last wondering, joyful look before slipping inside.
It's not, you know, perfect. If Batiste had his way, the place would be crammed full of people shouting 'Surprise!' when you stepped in. But he's juggling people with...erratic...schedules at best. And so, when you step in, there's party stuff, and party food, but no screaming entourage. Rainbow balloons are hung and strewn everywhere...-except- where the food and drinks are laid out. It's not fancy, and things aren't in crystal bowls or anything, but it's indubitably a party just waiting to happen. Batiste's been a busy boy today. He steps in quietly behind you, looking over the room - is everything as perfect as it can be? - then murmurs, "Happy Birthday, Trace," and steals in behind you to kiss the crown of your head.
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The loveliness that is Beight's Motel has once again been transformed into Party Central. Rainbow-swirled balloons have been attached to the wall and strewn over endtables and floor alike. Upon the table are bags of ripple chips and tubs of french onion and dill dip, as well as a big bag of baby peeled carrots. Super-sized bright blue plastic cups sit next to many bottles of Sprite, Coke, orange soda and rootbeer. And there's ice this time! A whole bag's been dumped into the sink. Near the soft drinks are bags of fruit - peaches, plums, red grapes, blackberries, strawberries, and mangoes.
And the cake. Can't forget the cake. A big double-decker chocolate cake moist enough to make brownies jealous has been liberally - and we -do- mean liberally - iced with thick chocolate pudding. The decorations are inexpert and a little shaky, piped in with marshmallow creme. '16' is written in each corner, with 'Happy Birthday Trace' in the middle. A big gallon jug of rainbow ice cream sits next to it, as does a box of vanilla wafers and plastic saucers and cutlery.
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Trace gasps, and takes in the room with wide, awe-struck hazel eyes for a moment or two, lips parted. Just dazed. Then the kiss to his braids snaps him out of it and he turns to you, radiant, flinging skinny arms around your neck. "Batiste, it's beautiful, you're the best!" he yips happily. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I've never had a birthday like this, never..." He squeezes so tight.
Laughing, Batiste stumbles back, hugging you back as fiercely as he can. "You're welcome, you're welcome!" he mumbles happily into blue braids, his own face serene and shining with one of those soul-deep smiles. Party favours for the soul. "We'll just have to make up for it, huh?" He sighs, and squeezes you even closer, resting his cheek against yours. "Happy birthday," he repeats softly. "Happy birthday. Everyone will be here right away, it'll be great. I promise." Another fierce squeeze before he sets you down, murmuring, "C'mon, I have a birthday present for you that I have to give you before everyone else is here."
"Before...?" Trace wonders, curious and anticipating once more. "Well, okay." He ducks to pick up the grocery bag again and carts it over to the table and sets it down. Then he heads back for the bed to sit and await the mystery present, but on the way kicks at a balloon gleefully, sending it up, up, nearly to the ceiling before floating back down languidly. He bounces onto the bed and announces, "*I* get a mint this time," and snatches it up, tucking it away into a pocket with a grin before looking over at you with anticipation.
Jean-Batiste sets down the remaining party supplies, and lays out a couple of things quickly before leaping towards your bed and landing with a noisy, grinning, "Oouff!" He just sprawls there, belly-down, grinning even more, then twists around and digs into the front pocket of his windbreaker, finding something small to curl his fingers around. "It's not wholesome or nothing, you know? That's why I wanted to give it to you now." So nobody else could judge. Jason would -definately- not understand. He presses his curled fingers into yours, transferring over a tiny vial. Just enough for the two of you to share sometime, but it's white. Maybe not as powdery-perfect as what Glass had, but far above what the two of you normally share nonetheless. Jean-Batiste is, needless to say, going to be Marco's boot-kisser for a while. But it's worth it, every last smooch, for this.
Trace curls tiny fingers around the vial you press into his hand, and even before he looks, he knows. The fact that it's white surprises him, and his start of a grin gets even wider and more pleased as he looks down at it. With the vile still held tight in his hand, he gets up onto his knees and then flops down on top of you to manage a sprawl and hug at once, quite a feat. He nuzzles and murmurs, "Thank you. I don't care about wholesome. We'll have a real good time with this, you'n me together. Wow... It'll be amazing."
Jean-Batiste sprawls out as well, more than content to lay as a half-curled prop for you, one arm draped over your shoulder in a crooked hug. "I just...couldn't give that to you in front of everyone, you know?" he murmurs. "They wouldn't understand. Just...save it for sometime we can share, okay? Walker said he'd try and bring X, so...we could do it some other time? Maybe one day out in the playground or something. Just lay in the sun and be happy." He bends over you a little, and noisily kisses the crown of your head. "So, O Birthday Boy, what would you like to start? The -real- present has to wait until more people are here. Something to eat, perhaps?" He sounds all regal...and ruins it with a soft laugh at the end.
"I know," Trace nods. "I know, they wouldn't understand. Another time... And Walker's bringing X? That rocks!" He giggles and sits up after the noisy kiss, then glances at the grocery bags and the spread of food already laid out. "Well... lets get the fruit 'n stuff outta the grocery bags," he suggests. Then a wicked grin as he teases, "N'then you kin' be my slave and feed me grapes." He laughs again and tucks the vial into a pocket. As he's clambering off the bed, he asks, "So did you bake that cake..?"
Jean-Batiste climbs off the bed and does this outrageously flamboyant bow/sweep-of-the-hand and intones, "As you wish, O Birthday Boy." So solemn, if it wasn't for the bright light in his eyes. He offers you both hands to help you off the bed, then heads over to the counter, to start unwrapping the boxes and bags of fruit. "Yeah, I did," he murmurs. "I hope you like it. It's really gooey and moist and everything." Softly, he admits, "I baked it at Marco's place. He barely let me take it out when it was done." He grins at you.
You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First Floor)
"I knew it," Trace grins broadly as he pulls the hole-covered wrap off the basket of blackberries, and glances over at the chocolate cake with apprecation. "It looks so great... I can't wait." Then a knock at the door, and he glances at it and bounds over to fling it wide.
Walker and Benjamin come in from the hall.
Benjamin giggles when Trace throws open the door, his hands full of two plastic sacks that clink when moved. Nonetheless, he bends down to give the Sweet Sixteen a warm hug. "Happy Birthday, Trace. You look older already," he murmurs, eyes bright. High spirits, with the aura of a weight recently shed.
Jean-Batiste stands in front of the dresser aka buffet table, pulling different varieties of fruit out of their plastic bags and cardboard boxes. He's looking positively buoyant. All is well. Happy happy, joy joy. He looks towards the door when Trace flings it over, and beams a sunny smile towards the newcomers. "Hey, c'mon in...!"
Walker slides in after Ben, laden with a familiar-looking CD player and CD carry case. He flashes a smile to Trace, adding: "Happy birthday!" Before casting about for a place to drop off his burden. Mm.. yah. He sets the player down on the floor out of kicking's way, adding the case to it in short order. "Sorry we're runnin' slow..."
"Thank you... Thank you both!" Trace stands just a little straighter and beams. Really, just beams, with happy-crinkles at his eyes and a big stretching grin. All is surely good. "What ya got, Ben? Need me t'take it over for ya..?" He holds out his hands to take the plastic bags if Ben wants him to.
"It's okay," Batiste promises Walker, turning his smile on him. "I'm just glad you guys could make it. Thanks for bringing the music, too." He's looking chipper enough to start bouncing. "So...so c'mon, come in, grab something to eat and start spoiling the birthday boy rotten." He waves Walker and Ben in impatiently and finishes unwrapping the fruit in a flash, stuffing the plastic bags away into the trashcan.
Benjamin offers one of the bags to Trace, but not the other. Trace's sack is laden with two large cylindrical tupperware containers, both sweating a little from the warmth outside and the cool within. "There, let the spoiling begin," Ben says seriously. "If you can drink more daquiris than that in one night, then... I'll... do something drastic, darn it." The other sack he totes over toward Bat: many winecoolers along with Schnapps and orange juice for fuzzy navels.
Walker drops to the floor to crawl under the table, CD cord in hand. One day he -will- remember to pick up batteries for this thing. That done he crawls back out, dusting his hands on his jeans before rifling through the CD collection he brought. "What d'y'all want ta hear?" Flip, flip, oo... scratched CD. Baaaad. Flip. "I brought a large variety this time..." one might wonder what that means exactly in Walker's book... be afraid.
Jean-Batiste takes the bag of alcoholic drinks from Ben with a grateful smile as he peeks in at the contents. Cakeage, snackage, and now...boozage! Oh, and tuneage. Mustn't forget that. "Thanks...oh! I want a Fuzzy Navel," he decides, and immediately begins arranging the coolers and bottles all semi-neat before starting to fix himself a drink. "Will you drink straight from the pitcher, or do you desire a glass, O Birthday Boy?" he intones mock-seriously, looking back at Trace over his shoulder.
"Oooooh," Trace approves as he sets his bag down and peeks into one of the containers to discover the strawberry daquiris within. Joy. He takes the two containers and sets them next to the sink, then digs little holes down into the ice and slips them inside. Let the ice cream melt, let the pop go lukewarm, but as God as his witness, the daquiris shall be chill and wonderful. At Batiste's question, he grins. "Out of the pitcher, in a bit. Well, jest' the one, so everybody else kin' have some if they like..."
Jean-Batiste scoops up a handful of ice and drops it into his triple-batch Fuzzy Navel, and immediately gulps down several mouthfuls. Whew. A little strong. The melting ice will take care of that soon enough, he decides. He wanders over near Walker and peeks around his side at the CDs he's flipping through. "Something...hey, Trace, what d'you want to listen to?" Must spoil the birthday boy -utterly- rotten, after all.
Benjamin waits anxiously for Batiste to finish so that he can mix himself a nice strong Navel as well. Heavy on the Fuzzy, light on the Navel. As he stirs he sneaks a sidelong glance at Walker, relieved that he's examining CDs and not the amount of alcohol Ben's putting in his drink. Blasted faster and longer this way, mmhmm.
Walker looks up from his crosslegged position on the carpet to flash a grin to Bat. Then it's back to flipping. Cake, Marcy Playground, 'Zombie, Tool, Soul Asylum, Graeme Revel... all sorts of CDs in no particular order flash by. Absorbed with looking, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the cell-phone hooked in his back pocket begins to ring. Not used to that sound at all, uh- uh! Still looking half-panicked he tugs the phone free and fumbles with it a bit before managing to get it to answer. "Hey..?"
Trace lifts his shoulders in the slightest shrug. "I don't... I mean, I don't know too much music. We never... I mean, I had a radio back home, but..." He shrugs faintly. "Do y'got, um. Live... or Offspring, 'r somethin?" He grins sheepishly. Maybe it's nothing Walker would listen to. "If not, s'okay... Jest put something on y'guys like."
Walker pushes the CD case in Bat's direction, nodding to him. "Offspring's near th' back... Ignition's scratched but th' rest should be awright." Then, to the phone: "Hey..! S'up? Umm..." He glances around briefly at the room, then shrugs a shoulder. "Attendin' a birthday bash f'a friend. S'up with ya?"
"Who is it...?" Batiste whispers to Walker before drawing back the CD case and flipping through it determinedly, looking for Americana. That's what Batiste caught Trace boogying to, the other day, and so it shall be the first tuneage of the night. He crows softly in delight when he locates it, then totes the case over to a safer spot before loading the CD in the player and starting it. Volume (mostly) down, in respect to Walker's phone call.
Benjamin uncaps a B&J margarita and wanders it over toward Walker. Those first few gulps of Fuzzy Navel are starting to feel nice and warm, oh yes. Beware the approach of SillyBen. Fear him in his hatred of wearing pants. Revel in his experience of bad B-horror flicks. He hands the wine cooler to Walker and leans over to try and bite his nose.
Trace slinks towards the 'bar', or tries to anyway, but being a party's center of attention makes it difficult to be sneaky about things, so he looks up boldly, with a dumb grin that admits exactly how foolish he feels about doing this, and then down at the winecoolers... He starts taking the wrappers off all of them, and explains himself with chagrin: "I jest, I wouldn't be so picky on a regular day, but it's my birthday 'n I kin be irrational fer the sake of my own comfort, kay?" He makes fast work of defacing the wine coolers, excepting Walker's, which he didn't get to in time, but oh well... There. Strangely enough, nothing about the Schnapps label seems to offend the boy and he doesn't touch it. He moves over and stuffs them into the trash, then asks, cheery and unflustered Trace once more, "Kin we open the ice cream?"
Walker holds up a finger at Bat's question, still addressing the phone as he eyes a weird-shaped stain on the carpet. "Well, how was I s'posed ta know ya might be interested?" He starts to lower the phone, giving a soft squeak as Ben makes a bite for his nose. "Hey!" He protests softly as he scuttles back, dropping the phone. He picks it up quickly, cupping a hand over the receiver. "Hey, Trace... s'it okay if I invite a friend ovva? It's not Cherry..." A reassurance for the assembled crowd.
Trace is already starting towards the ice cream, but stops and cocks his head to one side with a little grin. "Well, who is it?"
Pleased with his role in making Walker drop his cellphone -- strange and mystifying devices of modern communication that they are, not to mention the fac that he still can't figure out how to dial out on his own -- Ben plunks himself down on one of the beds and stretches out comfortably.
"Is it..." Batiste immediately starts to say, trailing off to a soft giggle as Walker gives him exactly the reassurance he's looking for. He looks back to Trace then, and murmurs, "Yeah, c'mon! I'll dish you up, you want cake, too?" He seems to be forgetting the candles and obligatory offtune Happy Birthday Song. Maybe because that's the part of birthdays he always loathed. There's a box of candles beside the cake anyways, though - all possibilities are available for the Birthday Boy.
"His name's Coil..." Walker enlightens. "Lead f'th' band Ordah-a Reason? Heard-a them? He's like dyin'-a boredom." He would never presume to just invite someone without asking to Trace's birthday but maybe the youth will like the surprise of having someone famous at his party. Well, someone famous who's not a drag queen.
Benjamin glances about at the rainbow swirled balloons... and ponders Order of Reason. Chocolate cake iced in pudding... industrial musician obsessed with a 'ghost'. Oh yeah. These are gonna go well together.
Trace bites his lip and then shrugs. "Well, s'fine by me, so long as he don' care I ain't never heard his group b'fore 'r nothin'... But yeah, sure, if ya think this is his kinda thing." He bounces over to Batiste. "Mm, cake, yes. But no singing." A grin. Apparantly Bat and him feel the same way about that part of the ritual. He glances back at Ben and Walker. "Y'want cake too?"
You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First
Floor)
Benjamin replies immediately, "Yes, cake, please? I'd like kind of a
lot. And Walker will have a teaspoonful." The tease draws a little
giggle, and then he realizes he could actually get it himself. Wincing
at the off-key singing from the hall he hauls himself up from the bed
and ambles over to the "buffet" to serve himself up a good-sized piece,
and a couple of crumbs and a dollop of pudding for Walker.
Walker shakes his head. "Nah... he won't mind. An' I'd love some cake."
Then, back to the phone as he pulls himself up off the floor to saunter
past Ben, reaching to tickle his neck in passing. He coughs abruptly as
he puts the phone back to his ear, eyes widening a little. "Yeah, I
wish! Nah... it ain't like that... ya like cake an' ice cream?"
Jean-Batiste turns towards the door and laughs out loud. "Jason!" he
calls happily. "Get your butt -in- here!" He looks back to Trace, then,
and hands a saucer to him before pulling out a plastic knife and
preparing to cut into a marshmallow-creme-laden corner of the cake.
"Hey, birthday boy's supposed to get first piece," he pouts gently at
Ben, still grinning.
Benjamin waits patiently to cut said pieces, instead, tsking after
Walker for the tickle.
Jason comes in from the hall.
The door pushes in... and Jason's rump pushes in right after it. There's
a plaintative, "Can the rest of me come in too, Baaaat?" from the
hallway, then a bright giggle.
Trace is still giggling over the singing and leaps up to yank the
red-head in the rest of the way and spin him about in a hug. "Hi!" He's
lit up, radiant in his cheer.
Jean-Batiste leaves the plastic knife stuck into the pudding-covered
mass of birthday cake as he looks back at the door, so he can
wolf-whistle appreciatively. "Yow! Shake it!" He giggles softly, and
goes back to cutting pieces of cake for everyone. Trace gets firstest
and biggest, naturally. They're pretty messy and crumbly, but in a
gloriously gooey, chocolately sort of way.
Walker clucks his tongue softly into the phone he's cradling even as he
aims a hip bump at Ben. "Ya should. It's true," he chides the phone.
"Well, we have booze too. But still. Beight's Motel, lowah east, numbah
three." He brightens as Jason comes inside, launching a finger-wave
toward the redhead.
Jason eeps as he's assaulted from behind (not that... no, we won't go
there), then gets spun about with a gleeful squeal. He wrinkles his nose
in an impish grin to his blue-haired friend, red hair still swirling
about his shoulders, then gives Trace a smacking kiss on the lips.
"Happy birthday!," he crows, winking, then looks about to everyone else.
Seems he's lit up too, just not only with cheer. Y'know, dialated pupils
and all. But he's here. Just goofy. Not that that's any change.
Benjamin bumps gently with Walker, giving him a fond grin. All's well in
that department, at least. Indeed maybe even a little better. He idles
near the snackage, dipping Ruffles into onion dip and relishing in the
sourish taste before indulging in gooey sweetness. He offers a grin of
welcome toward Jason as well, around a crunchy bite.
Trace blinkblinks at the kiss, but grins broadly and says, "Thanks! He
tugtugs, "C'mon, Batiste made a great cake an' he's cutting it, but the
first piece is all mine... An' we got rainbow ice cream 'n all kindsa
stuff..." He's got a candy necklace around his neck, by the way, and his
new Demon Boy t-shirt on. He heads on back to the table, with Jason in
two unless the boy squirmed away, and dives straight for his cake.
You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First
Floor) A woman shouts from somewhere nearby, "Hell-o-o. Anybody home? I'm gonna
drop stuff. I swear."
Jean-Batiste sets out (un)healthy sized pieces of cake on paper saucers,
stabbing a fork directly down in the top of each, giggling with each
one. Take that! And -that-! And- "Hey, someone get the door!" he shouts,
giggling to himself as he sets out another piece of cake. Easy on the
fuzzy navels, there, Batiste.
Trace is engorging himself with cake currently, really shoveling it in
like nobody's business, so he just calls out to everyone else, "Summin
gah'd'dooh..?" with a very packed mouthful of chocolate cake and icing.
Walker murmurs a see-ya-latah into the phone and fumbles around for the
button to shut the darned thing off, rehooking it into his backpocket.
"I heard somethin' about ice cream..? Where's mine?" He suddenly lights
up, grinning at Ben. "Ya have ta show evrabody ya new jewelry..." And
now he's ready for snacks. With healthy abandon he sets to the
foodstuffs - though all know he'll most likely only nibble.
Jason happily allows himself to be towed to the cake. Oooh, munchies!
From what his, um, 'friend' told him, he'll be getting a nasty case of
those, oh, any time now. And so will everyone else, if he has his way
(muhuhahaha!). Anyhoo, he bounces along behind Trace, hand caught by the
smaller boy, then makes a drooly face when his eyes find the gooey cake.
Mmm, yum! *bouncebounce* And, look! Bat with a knife! So Jason
immediately flings himself at the taller boy, wrapping his arms about
him to pin the other's arms and giving a huge, wet kiss that lands
somewhere in the border-regions of lips and cheek and nose.
Benjamin trots to get the door, being the door-boy that he traditionally
is, and pulls it open, peering out. Will it be Industrigoth, or... "Ali!
Come in."
Alisynde comes in from the hall.
Cake, or Jasonkisses. Cake, or Jasonkisses. Like there's any debate that
really happens here - Batiste's giggle ends on an, "Ommrmph," as he hugs
Jason and kisses him back, nice and soundly on the mouth. "Mmn," he
comments, as he draws back. "Want cake?" He rubs noses with the redhead.
A pile of bags comes in, with pale pink stockings and red heels
underneath. The pile says, "Hi. Man. I thought maybe you guys would want
strawberry daquiris again, so I brought the stuff.. Mm. Interesting. The
bags have Ali's voice.
Walker glops a scoop of rainbow ice cream up for himself, thinking as
some slips over his thumb that the ice cream would be much more fun if
it was used in another manner. "Hey, Ali!" he calls as that notable
enters. Oo. Chips! Put a few of those ruffly potatoes right into the
bowl on top of the frozen treat. "Daquiris?" For some reason that
announcement gives Walker the giggles. "The more th' merrier!"
"Awwee!" Trace squeaks with a mouthful of cake. He sets his fork down
and manaages to swallow before he bounces on over to her; boy can't keep
still tonight, nope. Total manic. And with no tact whatsoever, like
maybe an attempt to hide the other two containers, he croons out,
"Ooooh, MORE strawberry daquiris!" Apparantly having extra to spare
doesn't trouble the kid in the least.
Jason mmrows (yes, actually makes that noise, like a kitty) and kisses
back quickly, then dances back to let the Batster go and does a bouncing
nodnod. "Thank you, sah! May I have another?" And then there's bags and
mention of daquiris! Jason of the ever-lasting attention span spins and
/oohs!/ and bounds towards the bag-lady, threatening to bowl her over.
"BOOZE!" comes the war-cry.
Benjamin moves quickly to help take some of the bags from in front of
Ali's voice, relieving her of them and toting over to the bathroom
counter, near the ice and such. "Nice to see you, Ali... part of you
anyway," he greets good-naturedly.
You hear a knock on the door. (from Beight's Motel -- East Wing: First
Floor)
Alisynde chuckles, as her face - freshly powdered and painted - appears.
"Well. I brought raspberry as well. And miscellanous booze things. But
y'know.
Alisynde's Desc:
Silk clings to her figure, a brilliant red covered with golden
Imperial dragons, lovingly brocaded on the fabric. It is sleeveless,
with a high collar. Gold braid has been laid across the neck and knotted
at each end. Looped ends have been slipped around buttons covered with
tiny, intricate braiding, glued in a circular pattern. Sheer stockings
that are an almost perfect match for the eyeshadow adorn her legs,
ending in a pair of black Chinese flats that have been embroidered with
more Imperial dragons.
"I'll get it this time!" Trace decides, leaping for the door. He wants
the first look at this instriogoth guy. He doesn't quiet *fling* it open
this time, just eases and peeks.
Alisynde glances around the room. "Hm. I think I'm overdressed. I don't
really care, though."
Oops, there's the door again. No sooner has Ben set the bags down then
he's padded over to the door, discarding shoes on the way. Now, this has
-got- to be the Indistrigoth, right? Oh, oops again! He darts back from
the door as Trace doesn't quite fling it open, stumbling a little and
giggling as he does. Shouldn't've downed that first Navel quite so
quick, maybe.
Coil comes in from the hall.
Jean-Batiste looks towards Ali at the 'overdressed' comment, and
just...gapes. Gawps. You know the expression. Blinkblinkblink. "Oh,
Ali," he breathes. "Wow. You look -fantastic-! Ohmygod, that's
just...you're...wow." He beams a goofy, alcohol-bright smile at her.
Coil lets himself in as Trace and Ben open the door, glancing around
with mild curiosity. He looks kind of soggy around the edges...it must
still be raining out.
Alisynde blushes, her cheeks coloring slightly under all the powder.
"Thanks, Bat."
Walker adds some cake to his heap of junkfood and carries the
conglomeration over to a chair where he sets it down. Watch yourself.
"Mm... Raspberry sounds good. Let me at that." Raspberry daquiri and a
stew of potato chips sandwiched between rainbow ice cream and a small
chunk of cake. Now there's a diet of champions for you. He collects up a
cup and sidles up to Ali, lashes fluttering hopefully. "Ya look simply
gorgeous in that..." He knew the dress would be -so- her when she picked
it out; now he feels bad for not changing like he planned to. Oh, well.
Jason immediately sets about rummaging through Ali 's b ags. Quite the
manic little ball of energy that he hasn't been lately, isn't he? Hmm,
blender, bottle of - oh, nevermind, look! Vodka on the table. He sets
whatever he was starting to pull out back down with a clank of glass and
scurries over to the table and snags himself a cup. Wait! He shouldn't
be doing this, should he? He hefts the vodka and his cup and trots over
to Batiste with blinking wide, bright puppy eyes. He holds them out and
asks, "Fuzzy navel?" Dare you /resist?/
Coil flags a hand at Walker, trying to get his attention, then looks
around trying to figure out who he knows and who he doesn't. "Looks like
things are in full swing, aren't they."
Benjamin had forgotten entirely about his cake! Blasphemy. He flashes a
brief, muzzy smile at Coil, offering a bit of a wave. Cake takes
precedence: he can go be social in a minute or two. Though he does look
a little doubtful at the prospect of pudding used as icing; still, what
can it hurt to take a quick romp through Trace's world?
Alisynde retrieves thone of the bags, and starts pulling out wrapped
boxes. "Ey, ey." She playfully slaps at Jason's fingers - although she
doesn't actually hit them. "Oh fine. Rummage." She rearranges some
things on the table, and sets the boxes on them. There's seven boxes,
all in different colors. Blue, purple, black, green...She blinks,
mid-pull, at the voice. She looks up, and grimaces. "Ack. Didn't realize
more than just th' gang were coming..." Oh great. Now Ali's going to go
all shy. Or fret about the fact there's not enough boxes for everyonem
or something.
Trace agrees, now that Ali no longer is a walking bunch of bags, but
actually a very pretty girl. Whoa. He tips his head to one side. Well,
that was plenty birthday gift from Ali.. He flushes and says softly,
"They're all right. It's a really great dress." He looks back to Coil,
hesitant, somewhat shy. He's the only person here who is not only NOT
one of his nearest and dearest, but he's never even seen him, so he just
smiles and then skirts off. Cake to be had, oh yesss.. But on the way he
tugs Walker's arm and mumbles something, a brief exchange, before
blinking at Ali's boxes. Hmm.
Jean-Batiste calls a soft but cheery, "Hey..." towards Coil, waving a
cake-covered knife at him...in a friendly manner...then sets the knife
down in the cake so he can turn his full attention on Jason. "Huh?" he
says, trying to keep up with those bright, blinking eyes. "What? Oh,
yeah, sure..." he replies, and obediently sets about mixing up a nice,
strong Fuzzy Navel for Jason. As he's splashing in the orange juice, he
murmurs something to the redhead, some sort of question.
Coil shoves his hands in his pockets...obviously feeling quite the
buzzard at a finch convention. Nevertheless, he puts on a fairly
cheerful face and deposits himself somewhere near the booze. Probably in
hopes of snagging himself something without actually having to be too
cheery about it... of course, the whole thought of him trying to give
puppy eyes to -anyone- is probably enough to induce hysterics.
Jason senses "Jean-Batiste gently nudges your shoulder and leans in to
murmur, "Hey, you okay?" A casual question - worry barely touches his
eyes. "You smoke up before you came by, or something? You're really
hopping." He grins, then. Envious, maybe."
Walker just assumes that the boxes are for Trace and so doesn't think
much of them. Of course, he's more interested in daquiri right now.
"Hey, Coil!" He waves, moving to fill his cup. "Grab a drink 'r some
cake 'r somethin'," he invites, drifting back to his seat that's being
held by a bowl of ice cream-mess. Scooping up the bowl he slides into
the chair, daintily digging at the contents with his fingers. Yum.
Jason gives Batiste a real brief scowl, apparently a rebuke for the
question, but the giggles and leans in at a perilous angle (at least,
for him at the moment) close to Batiste and murmurs something with a
bright grin, patting his pocket. He flashes a bright wink, then
straightens back up and wriggles his fingers wantingly at the cup o'
navel, like a child would.
Benjamin devours the cake in short order, managing to eat it delicately
and not actually get any on himself, the carpet, or anyone else. Mmmm,
and then some more Ruffles and onion dip, perfection. "Hey.. Coil," he
murmurs as he moves to get himself one of the label-less wine coolers.
Hmm, red. Maybe it's like Kool-Aid. "I'm Ben, I don't think I introduced
myself the other night."
Coil moves to pick through the wine coolers. Huh... pale brows
furrowing, he contemplates the choices. Light pink stuff. Pale yellow
stuff. Blue stuff? No...food's not blue. Purple stuff. A sigh, and he
finally settles for something of the light pink persuasion, glancing up
at the man. "Oh...yeah, I was going to ask, but you seemed..." He
pauses, "Busy. A smile, crooked. "Incidentally, note of warning. Don't
go off down that alley by the Raven. It's bad for you."
Alisynde smiles at Coil. "Hey, I'm Ali. Forgive the boxes - I had no
idea you were coming." She pulls out the rest - White, pearl-greyand
rainbow-colored.
Coil shrugs lightly, "Hey, -I- didn't know I was coming. No worries..."
With some effort, he muscles the lid off his bottle.
You sense Jason is, indeed, quite high. But, well, whether or not it's a
bad way is dependant on your point of view. Anyhow, he doesn't look
particularly pleased at the initial question. That whole 'I can take
care of myself' sort of thing, most likely. But that whole annoyance is
gone in a flash (you weren't pushing anyway) and he asks innocently,
"You think Glass scored the X or 'm I gonna hafta share with /everyone/
outside the triangle too?"
Coil absently reaches into his pocket as he takes a swig from his
cooler...the one with the pocket watch in it. The silver, circular case
is palmed, but perhaps oddly, not opened...he seems content to just
quietly rub across the deeply embossed case, watching the festivities.
Walker licks the ice cream from his fingertips and sets the bowl down,
balancing it between his thighs. Reaching behind his neck he unties one
of the many cords about his neck. "Trace!" he grins, holding the cord
up. At the end dangles a tube of what looks to be polished obsidian.
Perhaps smoked glass? "Catch. Open th' bottom, but be careful." He winks
then looks to the door. Um. "Somebody grab that?" Then back to Coil.
"What's wrong with.. th' alley?"
Trace finishes off his cake and goes to retrieve himself one of the two
big containers of strawberry daquiri chilling in the ice in the sink,
popping open the container and sipping straight from it. "Hey, maybe
that's Glass? Somebody let 'im in...?" Ben, time for door-duty again,
lucky you! He takes a big slurpy sip of his drink and trots on over to
Batiste and Jason. "Gettin' crowded..." he murmurs, looking over the
room with wonder.
Benjamin chuckles lightly, fighting to uncap the bottle. "You can say
'spaced-out', 'distant', or 'stoned', if you want," he tells Coil
genially. It's a common occurence; he's always like that and he knows
it. Another brief grin flashed at the man, and then it's time to mingle.
Mingling seems to mean being drawn in a magnet-ish fashion over toward
Walker and perch on the arm of his chair lightly. He glances down at the
strange phenomenon of Walker eating, approvingly.
Alisynde slips around to the table, getting some purple stuff, and a
small slice of cake.
Jean-Batiste hands the glass of Fuzzy Navel over to Jason, and leans
into the redhead's side, grinning rather widely as he murmurs something
to his friend. As Trace arrives, he reaches out and pulls him in to
share in the murmuring, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Coil gives Benjamin an odd look, then shakes his head and looks at
Walker. "Dead bum. Cops held me up there so long I had to stay out past
dawn." He grimaces, "It sucked. I hate that..." Oh, good one,
Mr.Blackbird of Happiness. Bring up corpses at a birthday party.
You page Trace and Jason: Batiste's eyes widen at Jason with mischievous
delight. "Oh, you -didn't-..." he murmurs. "You did? Oh..." He looks at
Trace, to share the good news. "Jason brought X. He started before us,
though, the twerp..." A gentle poke to Jason's belly for that. "Walker
was supposed to score some, but he hasn't said anything. Let's share the
stuff you brought, just the three of us?"
Pooh. Looks like it's up to Walker to open the door this time. Setting
his bowl back down he rises again, skirting around Ben to drift to the
door. "Cops down on Bourbon're bad news in general. What happened?"
Tugging it open he grins out at Glass. "Hey! C'mon in!"
Coil says, "Don't know. Went to go talk with Ruby, tripped over the
corpse." He shrugs, noncommittally. "It's almost the most normal thing
that's happened to me all week.""
Benjamin hmphs at Walker's departure, and wreaks his revenge for being
abandoned by sliding down into the vacated seat and sprawling out
comfortably. The discussion of corpses and cops causes his nose to
wrinkle, glancing between Coil and Walker with no attempt to disguise
his distaste. "Could we talk about something more appetizing, maybe?" he
calls. What a helpful suggestion.
Jason pages you and Trace: Jason batbats his eyelashes coyly at Batiste,
piping up innocently, "I hadda see if he was tellin' the truth, honest!
'N guess what..." He looks between the both of you, waggling his brows.
"Yer gonna be 'ficially nuts if ya don' like yer presents," he
pronounces to Trace. "Wanted ta make sure was the best, y'know?" He dugs
a hand into his jeans' pocket and pulls out the edge of a baggie, inside
are several joints. "Double-trouble," he murmurs with a bright-eyed
grin.
Coil smirks. "I didn't bring up the specifics. So...what? I could talk
about my..." A pause, "Something-like-a-girlfriend, but it's not any
cheerier." He grins, "Mortician, you know."
Trace pages you and Jason: Trace snickers and opens his hand to reveal a
white pill with a heart. "Walker *did* score. But yeah... yeah, I'll
take what Jason's got. Seems to be workin' nice..." He reaches out and
ruffles the red-head's hair before looking down at the X in his hand.
"I'll give this back to Walker, kay?"
Jason suddenly pipes up with something, then gets a grinning,
mischevious look as he explains something to the other two boys in the
huddle. He shifts around to show something in his pocket to the other
two, obviously proud.
Glass comes in from the hall.
Alisynde snaps her fingers, and sets her things down, delving back into
her bag. She pulls out a bottle of chardonnay and says, "Hey, I brought
some win..oh, hi, Glass!"
Glass smiles a bit at Walker, "Took you a while. You guys having any
fun? He leans against the doorway, looking into the room, "Hello, my
Droog. What kinda wine? I brought a few things, too." He extends an arm,
his hand bearing a plastic grocery bag, to Walker. "For the party."
Jean-Batiste laughs softly in delight at whatever he and Trace and Jason
are whispering about, and nods repeatedly. "Yeah. Yeah, c'mon. Gimme."
He drapes his arms around his cohorts, the arm around Jason twisted
around a little so the palm's up to recieve something.
Alisynde says, "Chardonnay. S'what I grabbed."
Trace pages you and Jason: Trace blinks as Jason reveals the joints and
then just grins. "Ohh... that's great! Wait, so you mean like
double-trouble like it's laced, or coz of that an' the X? Coz--" But he
cuts off. W word, uh-oh. He turns and pales..
Glass looks around, "Looks like you already got plenty. I brought fruit
from Hooper's market." His gaze falls on Trace and he smiles, "And a
present. Want it?"
Alisynde oohs, spotting Glass's vest. "Now, that's a nice-looking vest,
there. I was beginning to think I was the only one dressing up for this.
But I had to wear that dress I found..." She moves closer to Glass - not
having bothered to put the wine bottle down - and goes to look at the
stitching of the silver. "Very nice detail," she murmurs.
Trace had been talking in excited murmurs with Jason and Jean-Batiste,
but at the mention of the 'W' word he gasps and pales, spinning around.
He lifts a hand to his lips slowly, and shifts his eyes to Glass. "I,
uh." Muffled by his hand. He forces himself to lower it. "Uh... the
fruit... cool. Presants are... later..."
Glass' desc:
Trace shakes his head a little, and whirls to his friends and whimpers,
"Please, please make her get that out of here..." He's dead serious,
very distressed suddenly with creased brows.
Tripped over a.. now, that sounds intriguing but apparently Ben's not
liking the sound of it. He takes the bag from Glass and totes it to join
the others before angling back toward the chair that... now has Ben in
it. Well, fine. He'll just have to sit on Ben. But wait; there's a
certain piercing to think of. So instead he plops down on the edge of
the bed after reclaiming his snacks. "Oh," he nods to Coil. "Bobby said
he gave ya guy a call." A pause for an ice cream laden chip, then:
"That's all he tol' me."
Coil pads over to settle onto a chair not too far from Walker...really
the only person he knows. A moment is taken to brush a few errant braids
out of his eyes, then he sits back with his cooler and just watches. A
brief glance is cast to Trace, quietly watching him and his distress.
Coil muses distantly to Walker, "Oh..well, I supppose I'll hear
something about it eventually."
Glass blinks at Alisynde, a bit suprised at her sudden closeness as she
inspects the design on his vest. He says to Trace, "Well, I didn't wrap
it, so you get it now." He looks down at Alisynde, "Trace doesn't go for
wine. Can I have that?"
Trace tries to speak but chok es so ftly, and lifts a hand to his mouth,
clenching his teeth. A painful swallow... Yes, he was almost sick right
here. He turns away and shudders.
Alisynde grins up at Glass, then realizes she's got a bottle in her
hand. She turns, planning on setting it down on the table, when she
pauses to peer at Trace. "Trace? You okay? You look a bit pale.." She
ohs, as Glass asks her for the wine. "Really? I didn't know. Here. No
big deal if it's there or not, just didn't remember if anyone liked
it.." She hands it over tohim, rather quickly. "Trace? Hey, I'm
sorry...didn't know. You sure you're okay?"
Coil simply...watches the uncomfortable boy with that placid, almost
lizardlike expression.
Benjamin sniffs woundedly. The piercing could have been worked around,
and it doesn't hurt -that- much after a couple of days. Less and less,
in fact, as the admittedly small amount of alcohol works through his
system. Harrumph again! Denied Walker-nearness. He ponders, leaning over
to see how close he is to the bed. Actually getting up and moving would
be too much work, so he scoots the chair laboriously over toward the
bed, near enough that he can prop his feet up on Walker's lap and miss
the snackage at the same time. All the while peering over toward Trace,
with intermittent glasses to Bat and Jason. Concerned, aye, but also
knowing that the Triangle will take good care of him.
"Ssh," Batiste murmurs, reaching out and trying to draw Trace close, running
a hand down the blue braids against the back of his head, hugging him
gently, heaving stomach or no. "It's okay," he murmurs, flashing a quick
smile at Ali. "You didn't know. Just...you know. Keep it out of sight?
Have daquiris with us, instead?" he counter-offers.
Jason grins a big, 'just at the chicken' fox-like grin. "Twice the fun,
rolled into one..." And then Trace goes all trippy. His brows furrow,
head tilting. What the heck? He lifts his head and peers at Ali, then
back to Trace, then to... Ali's /wine/ bottles? Erk. Jason's arm goes
about his friend's shoulders comfortingly, pulling him close. "Gonna be
okay there?" He carefully makes sure he's out of the splash path if,
well, Trace loses it. Wine? Sheesh. He's not fond of white wines either,
but, hey, this is kinda weird.
Glass nods to Alisynde, "Thanks. I'll get you another bottle if it's a
big thing." He ducks back into the hall again. When he returns an
instant later he's left the bottle behind and is carrying something over
big and round over his head. This he heaves through the air at Trace. A
beanbag chair in tasteful metallic blue lame'.
At least Bobby tells Walker some things; not as much as he'd like (like
a certain bachelor party last year) but at least some things. Then the
beanbag arrives. "Glass? Where'd ya get that thin'?" He drapes an arm
over the legs that materialize in his lap, grinning as he licks ice
cream from the tip of one finger, tonguebar winking.
Alisynde chews on her lip. "I'm really sorry. Please, Trace, I didn't
mean anything by it and..." A movement out of the corner of her eye and
she turns to see what it is. She sees Glass throwing something metallic
and blue, and her eyes turn into saucers. She ducks (which is a good
thing, or there was a slight chance she'd have beanbag in the head), and
then starts babbling. "Honestly, I /really/ didn't know. Don't whack me
with that thing.."
Coil drapes a leg over the arm of his chair, sprawling sideways in his
chair. Quietly, he sits in his comparative reclusion... though at least
he doesn't look half as uncomfortable as he did at his last party.
Trace shivers in his two friends' embrace for a moment, but pulls it
together and lifts his head and draws in deep breaths. "M'sorry..." He
says softly, embarrassed now. "M'sorry... M'fine." He shakes his head,
tossing braids. A glance to be certain it's gone. "I... where's my
daquiri?" He wants that taste out of his mouth. He nuzzles them both
briefly, then looks up at Ali. "Oh... Oh, it's okay. It's jest', it's
dumb, don't mind it. I jest... I don't like wine." Can we say
understatement? "S'okay." And his eyes drop to the beanbag. "Oh... wow!"
Trace lifts his eyes. He'd been distracted, but now he looks up from the
path it had flown and realizes, "Doug, you bring that? It's great. An'
it's blue!" A giggle. Giddy Trace returns quickly at a party like this,
wine episodes or not.
The beanbag hits the floor with an airy whump. Glass grins at Walker,
"What, you want one? I got it second-hand." His grin gets even wider
when Trace wows the thing, "You like? Happy birthday."
Jean-Batiste reaches out as Trace draws away, tousling a few blue braids
before they're too far away, reaching for his own drink. He gulps down a
mouthful, then promises Ali again, "It's okay." His attention turns to
the previously-airborne lame', then, and he giggles softly. "Wow! Trace
has his throne for the night, I figure." He grins over at Jason, nudging
him gently in the side to see if he agrees. "Hey, gimme," he adds,
softer, grin going sly.
Walker plucks another ice cream soaked potato chip out to nibble, brow
furrowing a little as he scans the room. "Where'd that black tube go?"
He calls above the din and music, hoping whoever saw it last will know
its present location. He'd like to partake of the contents now. "Nah,
Glass. Awready got plenty upstairs that aren't... blue." Blue. A nice,
tasteful comment.
Benjamin smiles faintly: crisis averted through hugs and nuzzlings of
Trace's two best friends. And helped along quite a bit by the arrival of
the giant lame' beanbag. All well once again, plus there's an arm draped
on his legs. Le bliss. Ben's more than content to lean back in his
chair, take unconscious pulls off his cooler, and watch the general
good-feeling-ness.
Glass laughs, striding into the room and pushing the door shut behind
him, "What," he says to Walker, "You don't -like- blue?" He looks over at
Trace, then back to Walker,"It's his colour. I saw that thing and first
I thought 'blue!' and then I thought 'Trace!'" He shrugs a little,
suddenly unsure, "No offence. I mean, if you don't like being accociated
with blue lame'. I don't mean nothing by it."
Trace locates his daquiri and whomps down onto his brand new, tacky,
blue, precisely Trace-like beanbag and grins. "Naw. Naw, I love it. I
loooove it. Hear?" He wiggles. Mmm, his very own beanbag. He slides his
hand up to his mouth and takes a drink of daquiri.
Glass does a little dance, for about four seconds.
Trace giggles merrily at the Glass happy-dance. Heh. Then he remembers,
oh wait, Jason had something to give him, and leaps up off the bean-bag
to bounce back over to the two boys. That's where he was before the wine
thing. He nudge-nudges Jason and grins. Me too!
Jason lifts his eyes to Batiste, batting them wide and innocently as his
fingers also curl through blue braids. "Gimme?" he asks. "Now, yer
manners... What do *I* get, /hmmmmm?/" He cocks his head, eyes sly. A
look to Trace. "Whatta you think?"
Jean-Batiste neatly steals the black tube off the counter where Trace
set it down, turns just a little, and lobs it back gently at Walker.
"Weirdo!" he calls with a laugh. "Drugs rot yer brain! Shame on you!"
Really. He's shocked and appalled at such debauchery.
"I think ya need to hand it over mine 'for I tickle ya t'death," Trace
giggles. "An' Bat can work his off however, s'not MY affair." Oooh...
Maybe the headiness of the party is getting to him, because he just
almost maybe challenged the tickle mastah.
Alisynde looks around for her cake and drink, and can't quite seem to
find it. So she gets herself another slice and something stronger than
she had planned on. She pours an amber liquid into a cup and retreats,
sliding down into an unoccupied corner.
"Nothin' against blue, Glass..." Walker assures. Now -where- did that
necklace go? Yeep! It's in the air, heading his way! Thinking fast he
fumbles to catch it, promptly dropping the bowl of melty ice cream onto
the floor. Murphy dictates it must land topside down since it's carpeted
in here. Oh, well again. Better than the daquiri he's holding. Tucking
the cup between his legs he twists the bottom off the thing and
carefully drops a tiny, white pill into his palm.
Coil props his chin on his slender features... he really doesn't seem to
have anything to contribute. He simply...watches. It's pretty easy to
misplace that he's even sitting there.
Pills. Oh, mm. Ben had no idea this was gonna be -that- kind of party.
Quickly he swings his legs down, feet settling away from the upside-down
ice cream mess. "Nice one, Grace," he murmurs teasingly, resting his
elbows on his knees and leaning toward Walker. Chin drops, big Bambi
brown eyes lift from under pretty lashes to gaze wistfully up at the
delicate features. "Anything in that little black tube for me?" he
murmurs hopefully.
Jason's eyebrows shoot up at Trace's tickle-threat. Oh yes, he /is/
challenging the tickle-mastah... but, well, hey, it's his birthday. He
can do that and back up his threats. Cause he's /sixteen/ now! He hmphs
finally, grinning a bright, crooked grin, then digs into his pocket...
after a moment of searching, he /ohs!/ and yanks something out. "Almost
fergot yer other present!" He grins crookedly. "Want it now?" He waggles
the closed hand in front of Trace, temptingly.
Alisynde nurses her drink and munches on cake quietly. She's doing her
wallpaper bit again, just watching the others silently.
Trace considers this. Does he want presents. YES HE WANTS PRESENTS!! So
he nodnodnods and holds his hand out with a big, anticipating grin.
"Yes, present time!"
Jean-Batiste finds himself polishing off the last of his fuzzy navel,
and blinks curiously at the bottom of the glass as he swallows. Durned
thing had liquid there a minute ago. He grins to himself and pushes the
empty glass aside, loitering shoulder-to-shoulder with Trace and Jason.
"We can work out what I owe you in private, right?" he murmurs to the
redhead. So innocent. Truly. "So, c'mon. Gimme." Tsk. Patience. He draws
back a little, so Trace has room to unwrap, unfold, dismantle, etc. his
new present. Speaking of... "Hey, Ali, what'd you bring?"
Walker pops the small white dot, flashing a toothy smile at Ben. "Not my
fault," he swears innocently. He taps the tube again, shaking another
pill out. Pressing an ice-cream sticky finger to the tab he holds it up.
"There might be somethin' f'ya if ya want ta come an get it..." He
glances to Coil, holding the bottle up. "Ya want some X?" He has plenty;
everyone's invited to partake of that golden banquet. Even the
wallflowers. Coil. Ali. You know who you are.
Alisynde looks up from her floor spot, having drifted into her own
thoughts these past few minutes. "Hm? Oh. Are we doing presents
already?"
Jason doesn't look up to Batiste, just gets this devilish little grin at
the question and bumps his hip up against the taller boy's. But then he
straightens and puts on this solemn face for Trace, holding out his
fist. "Me and your father have talked a long time about this, but...
This is your sixteenth birthday, a day when a young boy becomes a young
man and takes on a lot more responsibility. So, this is time... for your
first car." He flips his hand and dangles out a set of keys, complete
with alarm-disarmer. Ooh, a Honda!
Coil fans a slim hand at Walker. "Not my poison, thanks..." He smiles
cryptically at the man through pale lashes for a moment, then his eyes
eventually drift away.
Glass goes over to the counter to pick up a peach. He takes a bite of
the juicy thing, watching Jason. Suprise registers on his face, then he
grins.
Trace blinks at the keys. And when he's done with that, he blinks some
more. "Wha..?" He looks up in confusion, and the start of a blooming
grin. "You're not, I mean..." He cocks his head to the side. "I mean.
You're joking, right?" He looks back down at the keys, still confused.
The concept of receiving and actual car for his birthday is too big to
be swallowed.
Such a simple performance for the promise of such bliss. Eagerly, Ben
slips off his chair and abandons his remaining half-full bottle of
cooler on the bedside table. Though he'll probably never achieve
Walker's fluidity, when he tries he can actual be almost graceful. He
sidles up right next to Walker, practically sitting -on- the poor guy,
and rests one hand on the bed behind him. Making sure he's got the gaze
of the jade eyes he leans forward and licks the little dot right off the
ice-cream-sticky finger.
Coil stands, making a pass by Walker, who's shoulder he rests his hand.
The gaunt industrigoth leans down to murmur something to him, then
straightens and waves a bit. "I have some things I need to attend to.
Give my regards to the birthday boy, then..." He chuckles. "I'll drop by
a present with Walker."
Alisynde boggles at the keys. "Wow." The concept of /anyone/ reciveing a
car for their birthday is beyond her. She gets herself to her feet and
heads over for a closer look. That and to snag herself a little X...
Blink. Blinkblink. Jason is giving Trace a car. A -car-. Ohmygod. It
-has- to be stolen. What if it's parked right outside? What if the cops
show up and see grown men getting drunk and high with minors?. What if,
whatifwhatif...it blurs into warm, fuzzy nonsense and Batiste starts
giggling. To hell with it, if it's stolen. Joyriding is still great fun.
"Wow," is all he can think to say, just grinning foolishly at the keys,
Jason, and Trace.
A car? Walker blinks over at Jason, completely perplexed. Where..? Hm.
Some things are better left unasked into. He nods to Coil's words,
adding: "Yeah, ya right... gimme a call sometime." The corners of his
lips tug up as Ben takes the tab, eyes glittering. "Ya do that good..."
he murmurs, the grin completing itself.
Coil smooths his coat out and silently departs the gathering...leaving
moods perhaps a touch lighter once his presence is gone. Coil leaves the room.
Jason looks around at everyone staring at the keys, eyebrows raising as
he gets a little smirk. Gee, everyone's shocked. Everyone's... taking
this seriously. He almost loses it... and then /does/ lose it, giggling
wildly as Batiste starts. He clears his throat and grins crookedly at
Trace. "Well... y'jus' gotta find it s'all. I think I saw him drivin' an
Accord, so..." He shrugs apologetically, then ahems some more. "S'on
Dumaine somewheres..." And then a bright smile. "/But/..." The other
hand comes up and unrolls the baggie from his pocket. Probably half a
dozen joints in there. "All yers, jus' give one ta me."
Glass licks his peach, to keep it from dripping onto his funky vest and
he watches the room, smiling a bit. His gaze meets Walker's for a
minute. His smile widens some and and he nods before returning his
attention to the dripping fruit. He grins at Jason's teasing.
Alisynde struggles to hide the smile that's appeared on her face.
Benjamin fairly glows under even such mild praise, leaning forward to
touch his forehead and nose to Walker's. "Like I said, many talents," he
giggles, then leans back again to prop himself up against the headboard
of the bed. One leg curled beneath him, the other stretched out behind
Walker's back. "How many minutes of sanity do I have left, then?"
Exciting as this new prospect is, any new drug brings with it just a tad
of wariness.
Trace laughs, and looks almost relieved. After all, *he* doesn't know
how to drive, has no plans or means of getting a license any time soon,
and what if it *had* been stolen, and... yeah. All that. So he laughs,
and he takes the baggie and murmurs, "Hey, thanks fireheart..." He takes
one out and ceremoniously passes it to the red-head. He hangs on to the
keys too, slipping them into his pocket. "Maybe for fun sometime I'll go
cruisin' round Dumaine beepin' this thing t'see which car it is." He
giggles and glances at Batiste before poking Jason's stomach. "So
where's our X already?"
Alisynde does manage to stifle her giggles, and get out, "Where /did/
that tube get to?"
Mmm... peach licking. Something Walker highly recommends watching. Or
doing if you're so inclined. But he's all for watching the one Glass is
licking. Hmm..? Question? Ah. Grinning at Ben, he shrugs a shoulder and
pulls out a cigarette. "'Bout ten ta twenty minutes dependin' on ya
metabolism. Although I think ya already lost any sanity ya might-a had
when ya hooked up with us." He arches a brow, a giggle bubbling up. He
twists the cap back onto the black tube and lifts the cord to knot it
around his neck once more. How many drugs -does- Walker carry in that
pile of necklaces? One may never know but one may now realiz -why- he
wears so many...
"This tube?" Walker points to the one on top of his necklace heap.
Alisynde nods. "I haven't gotten mine yet," she says softly.
Jason grins quite broadly, looking quite pleased with himself. He puffs
his chest out and hooks his thumbs into his belt-loops, rocking back
onto his heels. "Welpwelpwelp... jus' /maybe/ I already tol'ja where it
is... And /maybe/ ya gotta learn ta listen more, hmm?" He raises his
brows... then looks down to the baggie. "Twice the fun, rolled inta
one," he says again.
Alisynde turns her head suddenly. Looks at Jason. Looks down at the
baggie. Smirk.
Benjamin giggles softly, glancing about the room in general, and all the
close friends nearby. As far as he's concerned, he's by far the most
sane one in the room. Or at least the one that most anyone outside the
room would see as the most sane. That's all subject to change in the
next couple of months, of course, but for the moment Ben is smugly
satisfied. Six big reasons here for him to loosen up in general. Maybe
be silly without the affects of outside chemicals, every now and then.
Uh oh, we've lost Ben, he's off in his personal daydreamland again,
internally pondering the room in general and playing out a dozen
miniature fantasies in his mind's eye. And the X hasn't even set in yet.
Glass lifts a brow and looks from Walker to Jason. He bites into his
peach again, then goes through the whole process of licking off the
running juice from the peach and his hand once he's done chewing and
swallowing the bite.
"Well, shit!" Batiste exclaims softly. "Give me one of those, then!" He
grabs at the baggie Trace is holding (?) with an overdone, greedy
expression overlaying his grin. "Gimme, I want one!" He shoots Jason a
merry little pout. Fuzzy Navel on the brain, and he's supposed to be
paying attention? Sniff. As he's trying to steal the baggie away, he
calls, "Hey, Ali, take your X and give Trace his present, already!"
Alisynde grins slightly. "No presents til someone gives me some X."
Glass nods to Alisynde, "And I refuse to undress until someone gives me
some X."
Trace oohhhhs and looks from Jason to Batiste. "Okay, I get it." A
somewhat foolish grin, and he bats at Batiste's hand. "HEY!" A bright
giggle. Not without puppy eyes, you don't! "Say please." He takes out
two more of the laced joints and tucks the rest away. See the joys of
having big jeans with many pockets? He looks to Ali and laughs, "My god,
give her some X already?" Then, "And keep some AWAY from him!" He's
still hanging onto Bat's joint, holding out for the pleading.
Jean-Batiste puffs his chest out in mock indignantion. The Batster does
-not- do puppy eyes on demand. Bullshit. Of course he does. "Aww,
c'mon..." he pouts at Trace, alcohol-bright eyes softening and puddling
all puppy-brown. "Pleeeeeze?" He even sticks his bottom lip out a
little.
Walker blinks at Glass, then happily digs the black tube up from his
necklaces. "Here, Glass..." Got some here f'ya." Clothes coming off?
Walker's all for it at any time. He retrieves his cigarette from the
ashtray, noticing as he looks back up that Ben seems to have spaced off,
probably on some tangent. "Beeeen..." he singsongs, giggling. "Come back
ta th' pawty..."
Jason starts to flash those puppy-dog eyes as well, but the baggies
stuffed away with only two withdrawn. Well, damn. He screws up his face
a second, then snickers softly and whirls away with his as-yet-untouched
fuzzy navel. But by the time he gets to the cake, well, the navel's no
more. Just opened up that chute and poured it right in. Let's see how
many substances he can abuse in one night.
Alisynde slinks - yes, slinks - her way over to Walker, turning
puppy-dog eyes on him. "Waaaaaalker...can I have some. Pretty please."
Glass grins to Walker and heads over to him, walking lazily. He bites
into the peach and licks it off again as he walks, absently. There's not
much left of it now, and it's dripping on his hand a good deal despite
his distracting precautions.
The party? Oh riiiiiiiight. Ben blinks several times, chasing away the
wispy curtains of daydream, asking cheerily, "What'd I miss?" Something,
apparently, because now Ali is slinking over in that delicious red
Oriental dress, and Glass is ambling nearer with peach juice all over
one hand. Crap, how long -was- he out? Ben sits up again, drawing the
stretched-out leg up to a tent position. If it were anybody but Ben,
that might be a very protective/predatory gesture. "I think they ought
to work for it to," he comments seriously to Him Who Holds the X.
Well. Slinking is nice, too. Walker grins at the slinky Ali (my that
dress works well for that!), setting his cigarette down in the ashtray
once more to twist the tube open again. He taps out two white pills,
noting the arrival of one peach-eating Glass. Mmm... peaches... His
fingers curl closed over the twin tabs, eyes slipping to Ben. "Work..?
What were ya thinkin'..?" Mischief ignites the emerald eyes as they hop
back to the pilgrims of X.
Trace grins. "Alright, Bat, that was lovely." He hands the joint over
with a grin and ruffles blonde braids happily before lugging himself up.
If I was Trace's strawberry daquiri, where would I hide... He finds it
where he left it by the beanbag and drops into it, plop, and takes a
slurp. Then it's back up. Cake! Munchies! And someone to light this
joint for him! His quest ends up with him hovering near Glass and he
asks cheerily, "Have ya gotta lighter?" Then a grin. "I jest, wow, I
really love yer vest... been meanin' t'tell ya the whole party."
Alisynde shakes her head. "Nu-uh, Ben. I'm not playin' that. It's really
very simple. If I get X, I may bewilling to dance." In that dress. "And,
maybe, just maybe, I'll remove my clothes, too. But I'm not going to
play one-up-manship for a chance. I'll just return to my corner. And
no-body'll get their presents." She smiles sweetly, then ambles back to
where she's stashed the presents. "See...I got presents for everyone.
But, if you don't want them.." She picks up the white-wrapped one, and
starts to put it back in the bag.
Benjamin had actually come up with an idea in those brief moments of
sitting up, and so the dark eyes glint somewhere back in their recesses
now. "I think," he murmurs, looking carefully over the supplicants. But
that thought wanders off as Ali threatens so sweetly and perfectly, and
his eyes widen a little. Then he looks up expectantly at Glass. "She did
well. What do you have by way of convincing, Doug?"
Jean-Batiste pops the unlit joint into his mouth with a triumphant grin,
and trails Jason-wards, trying to sneak up behind him and put his chin
upon the redhead's shoulder. "Hey there, sailor," he murmurs. "Gotta
light?" He blinks in a mostly innocent way. Mostly. Then looks suddenly
towards the sound of Ali withholding not only Trace's present, but...
"You brought presents for everyone?!" Now he's looking at Walker. And
pouting a little. Cruel Walker!
Alisynde nods. "/Everyone/."
Jason's head snaps up at the mention of presents for /everyone/, lips
smeared with chocolate. Apparently Jason hasn't heard of that new
invention that's all the rage: the fork. "Whoah! Hold on there, Walker's
gonna give you yers." A /look/ to Walker. "/Aintcha/, sweets?" He gets a
crooked, toothy grin, fingering the joint Trace gave back to him.
Presents for -everyone-? Oohh... "C'mere, Ali." Walker crooks a finger
to beckon her back. "Come get ya treat..." He licks his finger, lightly
touching the tip to one of the tabs, holding it up for her. He's not
evil; he's a just monarch that simply wants to see some effort... at the
suggestion of the Royal Advisor and Holder of Doors.
Jason looks back over his shoulder. Whoah. Hey. Where'd he get this
Batiste-growth? Hmm... only way to get rid of him would be to get a
lighter, huh? A sly grin crosses his lips as he leans back against the
taller boy and starts digging around in his coat pocket.
Glass licks some peach-juice off his hand and looks over to Trace. He
grins big, "Good. I got it just for your party, man. Happy birthday." He
lofts the peach to make the last words a toast. When Benjamin speaks
Doug looks at him a touch befuddled, "Did I say I was not willing to
work for my dose? No one knows better than me what a freeloader I am."
He grins, dispite the contradictory nature of the two statements.
Jean-Batiste grins into Jason's shoulder as he hears Glass's words, and
slips his arms around Jason's stomach, holding him close. "Gimme,
gimme..." he grin-murmurs to the redhead, wriggling the joint around
precariously in his lips. Give him...a burnt nose, apparently.
Well, Glass didn't produce a light, so Trace bounces on over to this new
reliable source of fire that has appeared and pipes, "Hey, me too!" He
puts his to his lips and cranes his neck.
Jason pages: You sense Jason isn't really digging in his coat for his
lighter. Hell, he probably knows exactly where it is... but, well, this
is just too easy. You pressed up against him with your nice, tight,
smooth bike shorts... His quick caresses are a little clumsy through the
coat, but he sure knows what he's looking for there. He teases you just
enough to make sure you're starting to get uncomfortable (or, rather,
TOO comfortable), then pulls his hand out, lighter between his fingers.
Benjamin waves one hand idly, with a sigh. "Just -once- I wanted to see
someone else on 'bowing and scraping' detail."
Alisynde grins in satisfaction, and slowly makes her way over to Walker.
"Since you're being a good boy, and cooperating, I'll even make it fun
for you..well. A little fun. Can't have Ben getting jealous.." And with
that, she drops to her knees, looking up at Walker under half-lidded
eyelids. She smiles, then tilts her head back. Her eyes close the rest
of the way, and she opens her mouth, rolling out her tounge as sensously
as she knows how.She lifts her arms, and extends them, turning her hands
palm-upwards.
Jason coughs, his sly grin only getting broader as Trace bounces up,
joint in lips. After quite a bit of rummaging (excessive, even), he
yanks his lighter out of his pocket and pulls away from Batiste so that
he now faces both the other boys. Joint between his lips, he murmurs,
"All at once?" and raises the lighter in the middle of the triangle
formed.
Walker hopes whatever Glass may be thinking to do is as interesting as
what Ali's up to. "Give it time, Ben," he murmurs, eyes glued to...
well, let's face it. His eyes are on those nicely displayed breasts
hugged in red. That's what you get for wearing that kind of a dress.
"Heck, Ali's done Hail Walka's in the street."
Trace makes a tiny, gleeful sound at the idea. "All at once."
Jean-Batiste is saved an excruciating blush at Ali's kneeling pose,
because he's quite distracted by the promise of joint-lighting by Jason.
"Mmn," he comments, blinking distractedly as Jason pulls away. "Huh?"
Earth calling Batiste... "Oh, yeah. Sure." He sort of half-floats,
half-ambles closer to his cohorts, and leans in to get his joint lit,
still dazed.
"Brave girl," Ben comments, equally distracted. Not by the breasts (some
of us aren't -that- blatant), but at the total vision of Kneeling Ali.
He tips his head to rest on Walker's shoulder lightly, watching. "Not
that I mind the bowing and scraping detail. There's just so much of it
to be done, times I need help." Yup, rambling. Damn you, Ali. Right to
heck.
Alisynde wiggles the very tip of her tounge enticingly. One eye flickers
open to see if Walker's going to get undistracted enough to give
communion, or if he's going to admire the way the silk falls over
her...assets...all night.
Glass glances over at the little brotherhood of simultaneously lighting
joints and his eyes wince. The look is gone before the heartbeat is
over, though, and he turns his attention back to Walker. "What is your
command?" he ask of his leige, nearly biting what little remains of the
peach off the pit.
Jason flicks the bic (so to speak) and holds up the tall, dancing flame
(likely burn your eyebrows off if you used it close-up unawares). Then,
with a fond grin, eyes sparkling, he leans in to light up with the
others.
Trace pulls in until the end of the joint catches and crackles. He takes
a big sixteen-year-old hit and grins, closed mouth and pulling away a
little. Then he turns and *completely* loses his smoke -- drops the
joint even, as he murmurs at the Ali-vision, "Oh my god.." And then
laughs, finally realizing he dropped it and rushing to pick up the joint
and stamp the little black spot in the carpet. Oh well. And wow,
amazingly still lit. He blushes and pulls on it again.
Walker blinks and grins up at Ali, lifting the tab on his finger to that
delightful tongue. "Ya definitely earned it," he comments. Was it the
presents? Or the dress that earned it? You be the judge. Then he's
looking to Glass, falling thoughtful. Well, Glass isn't wearing a red
dress - he'd look rather silly in one, he opines - how about...
"I want ta see ya dance," Walker smiles, rather smugly it might be
noted. He leans back to grab his forgotten cigarette, blinking as he
notices it's been out for a while. Oh. He tugs out another, lighting it
up. Mmm... tastes good...
Glass lifts a brow, "Again? You people always want me to dance. What's
the music?"
Alisynde draws her tounge back into her mouth, her whole expression
blissful. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna... She tilts her head back a little
more, and swallows, then gives Walker another of those half-lidded
smouldering looks. "Hail Walker." Then with one swift movement, she gets
to her feet and runs the very tips of her red-painted fingernails
lightly across the skin of his cheek (unless he moves away), as she
passes him on her way back to the presents.
Jean-Batiste draws back a little from Jason and Trace to avoid choking
on the communal smoke, fingers carefully plucking the joint as he holds
the first lungful in and looks towards Ali as she rises to her feet.
Whew. Blush averted. But no, Walker's asking Glass to dance. He grins
down at the carpet, exhales, and takes another drag. "Mmmn," he comments
for no real reason, then looks back at Jason.
Walker waves a hand toward the case of CDs. "Pick out somethin' ya
like." Mmm... fingernails are better than cigarette smoke. Tingly and
prone to give warm shivers. He knows he was going to mention something
about Glass' dance ovbservation but Ali's lacquered nails dispelled
that.
Benjamin nestles a little closer to Walker, nice, warm, pretty Walker,
all nice and slim and just begging for him to curl up around. Though the
man is sporting fire at the moment and just might get distracted by a
sudden bear-hug. So he contents himself with sighing after the back view
of Ali in Red and just breathing in the scent of nearby licorice cloves.
And oh, mm, there's a marijuana smoke in there too, a pungent base for
the top layer of clove. Who would have thought scents could be so nice?
Jason takes a deep, savoring pull as well... and then chokes on it as he
almost collapses laughing at Trace's little episode. He stumbles over
against Batiste and grabs on to hold himself up, coughing on smoke and
laughing at the same time. But he grabs a hold of himself and gets those
nasty hacks out. An accusing look is thrown Trace's way. "Don't /do/
that!" he giggles out.
Glass shakes his head, "Naw, that'll take ages. You pick the music. And
I want my dose first, so I'll dance a little better. And a cigarette
after." Wheelin' and dealin', Lord Douglas.
Alisynde hums to herself as she retrieves presents. The purple one is
presented to Trace, first. After all, it is his birthday. Then Jean gets
the blue one, and Jason the green. Back to the table, where she gets a
black one, placing it next to Walker. White is for Ben and pearl-grey is
set near Glass, for when he wants to open it. The rainbow one, she keeps
for herself.
Walker slips his cigarette between his lips to free a hand to give Ben's
knee a squeeze. "Pick out a song... somethin' with bump ta it." Another
squeeze then his hand's gone to pinch the pill up from his palm. "Come
get it, Beast numbah three." He waves the pill, donning a come-hither
smile.
Trace smiles innocently. "What? Jest' dropped it, s'all. No big deal."
Uh-huh. But anyway, hmmm. Glass is bargaining dancing terms. He's
decides to endure Doug's dancing for the sake of all the folks here who
are into that sort of thing. Which, of course, is every last one of 'em.
So. With a wry grin, he decides he'll conveniently get cake then. He
blinks as a purple box is placed into his hands, and puts the joint back
between his lips to inspect the package with both hands. "Kin we open it
now?" Impatient boy.
Alisynde chuckles. "Any time you like, Trace."
Glass tosses his peach-pit absently towards the front door and sidles on
up to Walker for his little pill. He stands before Walker, eyes
half-closed, mouth open, tongue out. Feed me.
Trace tears at it fiercely then, a whirlwind flurry of purple paper that
finally flutters down to settle on the floor.
Doug dancing is a nice aesthetic thought, but gosh this debate about it
is dragging on a long time. And Ben is easily distracted by the promise
of presents nearby. Right next to him, in fact. It means lifting his
head from Riene's shoulder but that can be remedied in moments. Wait,
blink. The white is his? mentally trying to dole them out earlier he
figured that one will go elsewhere. Part of his mind mulls over
traditional significances of white, while the rest of him tries to pay
attention to what Trace gets.
"Smurfy..." Batiste giggles as he accepts the box, finding a patch of
bed and hopefully lugging Jason along with him as he settles down to
tear into his own gift. He stops abruptly and looks up and around at
everyone, just grinning serenely. Space Cadet Batiste reporting for
duty, sir! He starts giggling - also for no apparent reason - and
returns to opening his gift.
Jason sticks his tongue out at the Birthday Boy ('Birthday Suit' wanders
idly through his mind) and retakes his initial drag, /this/ time making
sure to keep it in for awhile. He sinks a little more against Batiste,
slipping one arm about the other's waist and resting his head against
Bat's chest. And then lets go of the smoke. Afterwards, he looks up to
Bat and grins with half-lidded eyes. "Ya like?" And then, blink, he gets
his package put before him. Blue? Shouldn't this be Trace's? He starts
to ask the other boy this, but Trace already has torn into his, so..
hey, he tears into his as well!.
Walker rises to push the pill into Glass' mouth, noting as he does so
that Ben has been lost to the world of Present. Not that he blames the
goatee'd fellow. His present's calling him too. Mm.. dance or present?
Hm. "How 'bout ya jus' give me a nice kiss instead an' save th' dance
f'latah," he bargains with Glass, grin pulling impish. Yes, he's just as
weak for gifts as any in the room.
Alisynde carefully unwraps her box, smoothing out the rainbow paper to
save for later.
Alisynde holds off on opening her box, as she's looking around the room
to see everyone's reaction.
"Ohh..." Trace breathes as gazes down at the little glass prism nestled
among the purple, sending violet glints and shimmers in the inside walls
of the box from the nearby lamp shining down into it. He picks it up
carefully and admires it, the sets it down to examine the shirt. "Ali,
these're great!" he grins. "Definitely a party shirt, though. I try'n
wear this any 'ole day I'll rip it up too quick..." Apparantly he has no
problem with purple. It's a magic color, after all. He sets the shirt
down and goes back to the prism.
Glass swallows the pill, holding the gift in his hand without looking at
it. He grins at Walker, "Okay, a kiss." He glances down at the box, "And
then to open this," he adds, and glances around the room before winking
to Ali, "I bet I know what it is."
Jean-Batiste fusses with the wrapping paper at first, trying to be
careful about it. That lasts about five seconds, and then he's tearing
at it with all the fervour Trace was using. RipripshredteartugAHA! He
opens up the box and gapes softly at the shirt inside. "Oh..." he
murmurs, ashing his joint off to the side and quickly popping it between
his lip so he can use both hands to draw out the shirt and admire it.
"You made these? They're beautiful." He holds the shirt up to his chest,
smiling down at it, then looking around to see the others as they're
drawn out.
Jason ooohs at the shirt, pulling it out a little, eyes sparkling. He
ha... well, none of you'd know what his worn old t-shirt /really/ looks
like, but this is perfect. And new. And soft... His fingers stray across
the fabric. Something about silk with those heightened tactile senses
that X gives you. Which reminds him. He takes another hit, looking to
Batiste and Trace, smiling a small, lopsided smile, then goes back to
stroking light fingertips across the shirt. Ohh, yeah. He leans back
into Batiste and tilts his head back so it's resting on the other's
shoulder, murmuring something.
Alisynde beams proudly. "Yup. I made 'em. They might be a little big on
a couple of you, cause I used my dressmaker's dummy, but I can take them
in easily enough, if needs be."
You sense Jason's got a rather odd, almost devious-predatory gleam in
his eyes as he murmurs lowly, "We're getting you silk boxers. Now."
Well, of course not /now/ but you get the picture.
Walker nods; sounds a great plan to him judging from the contents he's
seeing pulled from others' boxes. A quicksilver slide presses him close
to claim the offering, dark lips meeting Glass' in a fluid motion. A
friendly, playful contact too long to be considered a genteel kiss.
Downright lingering in fact. And then it's present time! He melts back
onto the bed, grabbing the box delivered by Ali Claus, picking and
prying at it till he gets it open.
Purple silk, how positively -gorgeous-! Ben looks on in appreciative
envy, whistling softly. Mmm, silk, wouldn't that feel divine right about
now? Thin cotton has its upsides, but... Ben ponders for a second and
realizes that opening his own might produce silk that he wouldn't have
to cross the room to get to touch. Much more careful than the teenagers,
he pries the tape apart and folds the paper back up for Ali's re-use.
And plus it's all virginal and white and prety when it's unripped like
that. Luckily enough for his marginal possessiveness, he's quite lost in
running his fingers over the shirt's ruffles by the time Glass gets
around to "paying" for his X. "Oh, Ali, this is beautiful," he mumbles,
quite thoroughly distracted.
Glass blinks at Alisynde, "You made them? That's pretty incredible." He
starts to tear his open but is throughly distracted by Walker's kiss.
The box, grey paper torn off only in one corner, drops to the floor.
Doug blinks once when the kiss parts, and grins at Walker, "Paid in
full?" he asks, bending down to pick up the box. He looks at its soft
pearl-grey contents, apprieciatively, holding it at the sholders. A
glance at Ali, "It is beautiful. Merci. Thank you."
Well, Trace being the tiniest of the gang, Ali's warning will assuredly
apply to him. He takes another hit off his joint and carefully settles
it against the end table with the burning end hanging off, then quickly
tugs the shirt on over his head. Once it's over, he lets out his smoke
and then picks the joint back up again. A giggle, as he looks down. Yep,
it's swimming on him. Wow. He lifts his arms up so the silk drapes down,
then carefully settles his prism back into the box and sets it aside so
it won't be tromped on. Then he dances on over to Bat and Jason's bed. X
is setting in, folks. Not just the laced joint, either... Remember that
pill he'd brought over that never quite made it back to Walker's tube?
He clambers onto the bed and eyes up a likely place to get in on this
cuddling action. Though whether or not he's calm enough to not bounce
away a few moments later is up for grabs.
Alisynde says a bit shyly to Ben, "Well. I thought you could wear it
under than jacket you have." Velvet and silk. Mrow. Her eyes turn a bit
impish as she adds, "And since most of us enjoy a little X now and then,
I figured you'd all like the feel." She lifts the top off her box,
pulling out her own shirt. Cream colored, it has cuffs trimmed in blue,
hem in purple, with black celtic knotwork, pearl-gray laces and green
and white braided together for the wrist tie. She lifts it up to show
you all and adds, "You guys are my family. Which is why I made my shirt
like this. Everytime I wear it, it'll be because of you guys. I just
wanted to thank you all for being there for me. And...I figured this
would be a good way to do it."
Jason murmurs from his curled up position against Bat (well, now between
Bat and Trace), "So... who's up for a little incest?" And that's an
innocent look, we swear!
Jean-Batiste's playing space cadet again. He watches Jason with a rather
rapt, barely-blinking devotion, then glances down suddenly. "Okay," he
murmurs, snuggling closer to the redhead and letting out a sigh of pure
contentment. Mm. Pretty silk. Soft silk. And there's Trace, about to
pile in as well. He untwines from Jason a little, reaching out his
joint-free hand to tug Trace into the puppy-pile. "Get over here!" he
orders mock-sternly, fighting off giggles to work steadily at finishing
his joint. "We-" Stop. Confused, smoke-choked giggling and wide eyes
aimed at Jason. "Huh?" And, oh brother, he starts to blush.
Alisynde says dryly, "Of course, since no-one's really related to me,
it's technically not incest. So if you want to get smoochies in, it's
not going to be a problem."
Walker ooos as he draws the shirt out, eyes widening. He simply -has- to
nuzzle the fabric, a long sigh pulling from his blissful smile. "Oh,
Ali, ya a jewel. This is great!" Eyes opening again, he beams a radiant
smile on her, gratitude crumbling a little to giggles as he spies Trace
floating in his, the smile on Trace's lean face just too adorable. He
turns to peep over at Ben's, looking at the sleek fabric. "Yin an'
yang." He giggles again - can't seem to help that right now, not that
he'd want to. The mirth subsides as he pulls on his cigarette, exhaling
slowly as his fingers trace the fabric of his shirt.
Now that the suggestion's been made, Ben has practically no choice but
to follow through on it. Velvet and silk, mrow indeed. And he'll even
let Ali snuggle up again and worship his fashion tactile-like. With this
thought he gives Walker a brief, sly little glance, with the hope that
the onset of such ideas are torturing his lovely friend. Then he seeks
out Ali again with a softer smile, echoing those exact sentiments
himself. He reaches out one arm and beckons Ali over silently for warm
closeness... and maybe some smoochies. The other hand is still playing
the silk between his heightened-sense fingers.
"But nobody's related..." Trace mumbles with a confused grin, and
nuzzles at Batiste's shoulder. It sets him off giggling, and he has to
reach to try a nuzzle on Jason as well. Experiment was a success! He
concludes gleefully, "You guys're.. fuzzy."
Glass rubs the pearl grey shirt against his face, making a funny little
purring sound.
Jason giggles back at Trace, having just finished another drag and
flicking the cherry off to save for later. "'M not!" he protests with
mock indignation, but he leans forward and nuzzles his cheek against
Trace's. "Mm'... jus' as I thought..." He flops back against Batiste and
looks back over his shoulder at the boy, murmuring, "/He's/ the fuzzy
one..."
Alisynde goes to put her shirt away, but the touch of the fabric makes
her pause. She smiles a little, happy, lopsided smile, and starts
petting the shirt. "This feels so nice..."
Trace's eyes blink wide and he giggles, "No way, no way, m'not the fuzzy
one..." He finds his joint from where it was burning a hole in the sheet
and tsks at it and takes a hit. Mm. And holds it and looks smug. Hmf.
Who's fuzzy.
Incest? Walker blinks and glances over at Jason, devilish grin touching
down on his lips. Keep it in the family... This shirt just feels too
nice. Walker's more than half-tempted to put it on right now but he
doesn't want to risk getting it dirty at the party. "Hey..." He murmurs,
waxing thoughtful as he strokes. "Y'all want ta play Truth 'r Dare
again?" Now that the drugs have kicked in, dares will be a thing of
wonder.
Alisynde rubs her face against the shirt, but stops in mid-motion. " Ooh.
Truth or dare...I'm in!"
Glass starts to dance a little waltz with his new shirt, holding it by
the cuffs. "Okay, if everybody wants. Or we could jump on the beds."
Jean-Batiste sprawls in a very happy and half-melted heap on one of the
beds, draping an arm over Jason's shoulder, fingers against the
redhead's breastbone. The other props him up between tokes. Must. Smoke.
Faster. Finally, he finishes the thing off, and sprawls out completely,
giggling up at the ceiling as he tosses the spent bit away. "Truth or
Dare, but I'm not calling again..." Make sense out of -that-. He reaches
towards Trace, and starts playing happily with blue braids. "He's a
little fuzzy..." he agrees dreamily with Jason.
Alisynde smiles dreamily. "We can jump on the bed while playing Truth or
Dare? Or we can all rub up against each other like cats. That'd feel
nice..." She's back to petting her shirt again.
What or Which? Ben graduates from toying with the still-folded silk to
toying with Walker's hair, and right on into wrapping around the man
just like he'd been contemplating a few moments ago, in the Pre-Silk
Era. Both arms loosely around his torso, one leg crooking around over
his legs, so that Ben himself is behind Walke and can nuzzle the long
satiny hair whenever he likes. Which is like, all the time. All of this
despite any objections on Walker's part. "Sure," after several moments.
Trace relents, "Okay, okay... so my *braids* 'r a lil' fuzzy." Batiste
gets a grin, and then he looks up at Glass, then Ali. Heh. He scrambles
up to his knees and does a test bounce. Hmm. "These beds could be
bouncier though..." He slips off the bed and bounds for an ash trey.
Tap, tap, out little roach. Done with you. Then back to the bed, a
flying blue and purple blur that *leaps!* He lands with a 'whomp' and
grins broadly. "Hi again!"
Jason sticks his tongue out at Trace. See! Trace /is/ fuzzy. He tilts
his head back and nuzzles lightly at Bat's neck, a reward for agreeing
with him. But, wait! Bat's fuzzy too! Hmm, must investigate further...
So he nuzzles some more. Yup, definitely fuzzy. He stops himself as he
starts to make a little 'mrr' sound. Okay, deep breath. He lifts his
head to look Walker-wards and grins lopsidedly. Truth or Dar-EEK! Jason
yelps and rolls back with giggles as Trace dive-bombs. And then rolls
back and tackles the other boy into Batiste. Take that!
Alisynde puts the shirt away, and kicks off her heels. "Okay. Time for
you to go." And then, she jumps up onto the bed. "We'll make it
springier!" Boing. Boing. Bo..Suddenly, she stops. "Whups. Chopsticks."
She reaches up and pulls the chopsticks out, letting her hair tumble
down. The chopsticks are carefully set aside, then... Boing. Boing.
Boing.
Walker likes that last suggestion fine. "How 'bout we all rub up like
cats an' play Truth 'r Dare, an' jump on th' beds while otha people 'r
thinkin' about their answas?" Okay, so maybe that would be a little
difficult. But it sounds fun. He proceeds to begin the first of the
list, however, squirming slow-motion against Ben. Oh, purrrrrr... He
can't resist shutting his eyes and flowing away in the delicious
sensation of human contact. There is -nothing- that feels *that* nice.
Somewhere beyond the black canvas and tide of warm sensation he can hear
the yelps and giggles about but he'll sit that out, thanks. Occupied.
Trace omfs! as he lands into Batiste and just laughs, an uncontrolled
incapacitating laugh that keeps him where he's at a moment. But soon he
pulls it together and revenge must be had, so he tackle-tickles Jason,
trying to pin him so he can do a good job of it Take that! Ha!
Alisynde bounces gleefully on the bed. "This would be /so/ much better
if it was a trampoline. Then I wouldn't have to worry about goin' ass
over teakettle an' losin' my bounce."
Uh-oh. Jason-nuzzles. Batiste truly believes his body is mostly turning
to putty. Mostly. Right about the time Jason starts mrr'ing, Batiste is
as melted as a human being can happily managed, and makes a soft sound
of protest when the nuzzles go away. And then - what's this? A lapful of
Trace. He sprawls around, wonderfully disoriented, and wraps his arms
around Trace to try and hold him still. "Hey, stop movin' around so
much..." he mumbles happily.
Jason pins Trace, placing his hands on the smaller boy's chest and
grinning down at him with an impish smile, hair dangling down. "Hi," he
replies, giggly. And then is tackle-tickled by sudden surprise. Yipe! He
rolls over Batiste (speed-bump!) and, well, ends up on his back, yelping
and giggling as Trace's X-enhanced tickles... actually incapacitate
/him!/ Whoah, the mastah is in trouble!
Benjamin's opinion is definitely needed at this point, muffled though it
may be by the curtain of Walker's hair. "Think we could play it in a
nice big snuggle-pile," he offers politely to the other's neck. Forget
the exuberance in the rest of the room, nice mellow contact and warm
closeness is all the overwhelming that his senses need just at this
moment.
Glass stops doing his shirt dance and looks at the activity on the bed.
So tempting. But. He stays where he's at and starts rubbing the shirt
against his face again, so soft, so nice, so comforting and smooth and
silky and warm. Mmm.
Mua-ha-ha! Trace seeks out all the evilest spots with clever little
fingers, grinning down, and finally just swings a leg over and clasps
down wrists hard. And he's about to say something triumphant, like *now*
who's the tickle mastah, punk! But time slows down, and something closer
to puzzlement, closer to newborn wonder shifts onto his expression and
he breathes huskily instead, "Yer still fuzzy..." And then he blinks, a
twitch of a smile, and he's trying to untangle himself and escape.
Alisynde does, actually, wind up going ass over teakettle a few bounces
later, and lies on the bed, laughing inbetween sucking in great gasps of
air.
Jason yelps and screeches and giggles and squeals and is pretty much
reduces to a quivering pile of panting jelly when Trace straddles and
pins him. He tries to squirm out of it a bit, but, well, he's pretty
weak, especially when breathless. Wide-eyed, he bites his lip (trying
not to grin) and looks up to Trace... and that time thing slows down.
Blink. Whoah. Okay, you escape now Trace. Jason'll just sit here and
remember to breath. /That/ was weird.
Jean-Batiste seems quite completely content to just sprawl there and be
still as his friends giggle and laugh and wriggle all around him. -Such-
a humanitarian, he is...or just a dirty young man. He grumbles something
incoherent, eyes closed, face serene, then suddenly pops his eyes open
and sits up just a little. Whoa, that was -Trace-? He blinks curiously
at his blue-haired friend, eyes owlish and muddled. "What's..." No,
don't ask that. "You...uh." Blink. Blink.
Trace doesn't explain. He draws back and curls up a little, a huddled
ball of Trace with his arms around his knees and his back to the bed's
headboard. He trains his gaze down at the bedsheets, with an expression
that's thoughtful, X-laced wheels turning. "Sorry," he finally thinks to
mumble.
"Mmmphm," Batiste decides, and rolls over onto his belly with a squirm,
legs dangling half-off the bed. Dazed and loving it. He watches Ali's
breathless laughter, grinning dreamily at her. Wow. That sounds -so-
cool.
Silk has nothing on skin. Skin's the bomb; Walker is sold on that.
Snuggle-pile. What a wonderful idea. "Glass... Ali... c'mere. Evrabody.
Y'all need ta pile with us. An' could somebody put a new CD in?" No way
is he going to peel himself on the wonder of Ben. He would turn and
snake his arms about the man's shoulders but the leg in his lap prevents
that. So he reaches up and back instead, loosely draping his forearms
over the vibrant shoulders. Mm... body heat. Even in the summer it's a
wonderful blanket.
Alisynde flops over on her side, trying to get up. She scrabbles around
for a moment, but fails miserably, as she's laughing her head off at
living up to her own words. Finally, she flips onto her back and says
inbetween giggles, "I..*giggle* can't get *giggle* up."
Glass blinks when Walker speaks his name, still rubbing his face against
the shirt. He stares for a little while at the Walker-Ben puddle, then
walks over to flop down in the laps of both, smiling. To Walker he says,
"Like this?"
Jason just sort of lays there and stares at the ceiling a moment. Good
air in, bad air out, good air in... Shiver. He clears his throat lightly
and tilts his head back to glance at Trace. Huddled there. Ahem. After a
long moment of gathering his strength and will, he rolls over onto his
stomach and looks up to the blue-haired boy, smiling gently. "Why?" he
asks very quietly. One hand absently goes up to rest against the back of
Bat's thigh.
"Yes," Ben agrees quickly, lifting his head from the experience of
Walker's hair, and peeks over at Ali and Glass, and then at the boys.
He'd wanted to draw the others into this fabulous sharing of warmth and
closeness and gentle weight, but it needed to be Walker who did the
actual inviting. There's more, further invitation and temptations, but
something between Walker's arms around his neck and Glass across his
legs steals Ben away from the world of interaction and drops him
headfirst into the world of pure sense. His eyes glaze over for a few
moments, just feeling, not even trying to process it.
Alisynde manages to get her limbs in working over, and goes over to
melting-warm-flesh puddle of Walker, Glass, and Ben. She tilts her head
for a moment, trying to find the best place to put herself. "Hmm. There,
maybe? No. There..possibly..."
Walker's eyes fly open, a broad grin spreading as he finds a Doug in his
lap. Oo! Walker sandwich! Get yours while they're hot. He lightly drops
an arm from Ben's shoulder to circle Glass' shoulders from behind. Now
this is getting more cuddly. Too bad there's so many shoes and whatnat
involved. "Next ta me, Ali," he invites sweetly. "Ya head has a nice
pilla in Glass' lap an' ya can curl behind Ben an' touch evrabody." See?
Isn't that a nice plan?
Glass squirms against Walker and Ben, quite catlike, actually. He
blinks, though, and says, "Somebody pull my coat off, it'll be better.
I'm all tangled up." He tries to roll over onto his back, but in the
warm mass of limbs its a little hard to tell which are his.
Alisynde nods, once, and settles in next to Walker. Laying her head in
Glass's lap, she curls behind Ben and makes a happy mrring sound.
"I-I dunno," Trace's voice cracks as he says it, and he peeks up
embarrassedly, then down again. "You were jest...everything feels.." He
shakes his head. No fair, no fair at all... A smile, and he just shakes
his head. "Y'just both oughta... stay fuzzy. F'rever." A breath
released. "M'gettin' ice cream." He scoots away from that searching
green gaze and detours to ruffle blonde braids affectionately before
heading for the dresser buffet.
Alisynde wiggles her fingers at Glass. "Gimme arms."
Walker stirs to tug Glass' coat off, helping to make the pile more
comfy. Tossing it to the head of the bed he curls his arm back around
Glass, the other moving to rest on Ali's side. Now that's the way he
likes to be. Surrounded in a billowing cloud of silky friends. Whee...
Glass grins at Alisynde and flops his arms out towards her, "Take them.
Use arm the nation. I don't bear arms any more. Too easy to make a
mistake. Arms are dangerous." He rambles a bit.
Tangled limbs and happy faces, Batiste watches them all with dreamy
serenity. Glass is all tangled up in the pile? Good. Ali's happy and
cozy? Good. Ben's overloading on X for his very first time? Delightful.
And Walker...well, of course -he's- having a marvelous time of it all.
"Mmm," he comments happily, and looks up towards Jason and Trace...just
in time to see Trace getting up. "Bring some back for me...?" he calls
hopefully. He reaches for Jason's hand, sitting up a bit, and watches
Trace fix ice cream while he nuzzles Jason's palm.
Alisynde mms, reaching a hand up to stroke along someone's flesh. It
doesn't matter who, really, for it's all wonderful. Ali's wonderful. The
others..."Are you coming over? We should all be one happy wonderful
nuzzle pile."
Benjamin can barely believe he's still sitting up to make this all
possible. But if he leans a little on Walker and Walker leans a little
on him, then they'll support each other. And oh, oh yes, that's
-exactly- how it's supposed to be. Exactly. His heart here in the center
and his family gathered all around keeping him warm and safe. Exactly.
This is necessary. "Got this whole other side and my back's getting
cold," he reminds the Triangle distantly, hardly hearing his own voice
while it takes on the job of expressing his thoughts.
Glass turns over and wraps his outstreched arms around Walker's waist,
"You do," he says, nuzzling the man's stomach. "Mmmm, prrr. That's
wonderful news. We should celebrate. Even more."
Jason's eyes, drug-bright, gleaming almost, follow Trace as the boy gets
up, but then drop back down to Batiste, to where his fingers gently
stroke along the back of the blond boy's thigh. And then his hand's
taken up and he lifts his gaze to find Bat's eyes, then follows them to
Trace. Sitting up and scooting up to press against Bat's back, arms
around his neck, Jason rests his chin on Bat's shoulder and watches his
blue-haired friend as well. Did he really feel what Jason thought he
felt him feeling? The apology for what? Searching gaze, definitely.
Alisynde turns glitter-bright eyes upwards, focusing on Ben. "So. Does
it live up to expectations? Barring the cold back, that is..."
Jean-Batiste closes his eyes a moment and turns his cheek against
Jason's arm, planting a number of lazy kisses there. "Mmmr," he decides,
drawing in a deep breath. He returns his attention to Trace, watching
with heavy-lidded eyes. After an eternity of seconds, he turns his face
and mumble-murmurs something into Jason's cheek, sounding thoughtful.
Trace scoops ice cream, lots of ice cream. Everyone needs ice cream,
after all. *Especially* a big Xed out, over-affectionate pile of everyone.
He takes paper plates and scoops out four big platefuls of rainbow ice
cream. Lovely. He digs his fingers into the first to bring a lump to his
lips, but, ooohhh... That feels *so* strange. He plunks his whole hand
down into that plate. Oh my god. Then giggles because he just stuck his
palm in ice cream, and it deserves a good amount of giggling as he licks
his hand. Well, guess the hand-print plate is his. The other three he
takes over to the beds, giving one to Batiste, the other to Walker, and
the last to Ali. Have at, y'all. Then he goes back for his own and is
pretty almost kinda okay not at all unaware of Jason's gaze as he takes
his plate back to the bed.
Jason senses "Jean-Batiste kisses your cheek once, then wonders, "He
wanted to kiss you, huh? You're lucky. I don't blame him...wanted to
kiss you the first time I saw you like that, too. Mmmn." He nuzzles you
again, then draws back a little."
Walker is indeed having a wonderful time of life right now. Being
sammiched is good. Ooo! Being nuzzled is even better. Without really
realizing it he's begun humming to the song playing, the soft vibration
feeling so odd yet nice just now. "Celebratin's good," he interrupts his
own musical moment before one of the notes carries him away. His fingers
pet the slippery dress beneath his fingers, familiarizing them with the
fabric. It -feels- even better than it looks! It's almost a taste only
his fingers can't really taste. "Ooo! Ice cream!" he coos as the plate
makes it into his world. He takes the dish, balancing it carefully so as
not to spill on anyone in the pile. "Who wants a bite?"
Alisynde now has a dish of icecream sitting on her stomach, as her arms
are wrapped around whereever they can reach. She lifts her head up, and
opens her mouth. "This...is going to be difficult."
Benjamin's arms tighten around Walker's chest, cradling the man tight
against him in response to some unspoken request or instinctive need.
"Ohhh yes," he sighs to Ali's question, faintly amazed that his mind
works on a different level than his speech communication. Maybe this was
what Saussere meant... cause all good structuralists X from time to
time, or course. Ice cream? What's that? Ben's getting lost in his own
head right now. This is what happens when a man who spends too much time
there -anyway- has an experience where he can view his mind objectively.
Jason murmurs back, rubbing his nose against Batiste's ear, eyes
following Trace the whole while. Searching, like it was said, but not at
all un-affectionate. Rather adoring rather (which is a look that you'll
catch on Jason rarely - he's good at hiding these things). Fingers draw
across Bat's chest slowly, idly, then reach up to receive his plate of
ice cream with a small smile. Another whisper, his breath against Bat's
neck now, though this one's a question.
Walker glances down at Ali, giggling abruptly and giving another body
wriggle that threatens to dump the ice cream right from the plate he's
holding. That would be Bad. "I think ya gonna have ta sit up," he
informs Ali as sadly as he can while grinning impishly. He glances over
his shoulder at Ben, tongue flicking out without warning to brush the
man's lips before asking: "Want a bite-a ice cream?"
Alisynde untangles an arm, and removes the dish from her stomach, then
does a little readjusting so she can actually eat the icecream without
spilling it. She nestles up close to the others as much as she can,
however, unwilling to give up the tactile experience. Then she regards
the icecream. Using two fingers as a scoop, she brings a little glob of
it up to her open mouth, and lets it drip onto her tounge.
You sense Jason either on wonderful accident or on devious purpose,
blows his warm breath against the nape of your neck and your ear as he
murmurs, "He'd wanna kiss you too if you were there 'steada me... Don'
you know how he wanna..." A small shake of the head, and then a breathy
sigh, "Wanna be with us?" Then the silence. And finally, a soft,
concerned question, "Were you jealous? Of me? Or him?" He just wants to
know... not accusing or anything. You know, Jason is a lot more open
right now than you've ever felt him before. Emotionally, at least.
So that makes two plates of ice cream per-bed, if you all were taking
notes, so that means you get to *share!* Lovely, yes? Of course it is.
Trace clambers up onto the bed and tries not to notice looks and
mumblings as he digs into his hand-printed plate for a tentative bite...
Wow. He scoops up another fingerful and holds it out shyly. "Want...?" A
pink-green swirled drop slides down one knuckle and drips onto the
sheets, but the boy doesn't notice.
Glass doesn't seem aware of ice-cream, but he shoulder looks like it
might make a great table.
Jason looks at the offered ice-cream finger, then raises his eyebrows at
Batiste, fingers curling and uncurling in the blond-boy's shirt. "Wan'
it?" Trace is offering ice cream. Jason... is offering something else?
Surreal. Hell, that's how Jason feels right now. Surreal.
Which, by the way, is a beautiful thing.
Alisynde notes this, and re-readjusts, so she's snuggled up against
glass. The ice-cream is settled on his shoulder, and sheeats another
glob. A rather evil-looking grin appears on her face, and Ali picks up
the ice-cream. She dips a finger in it, and runs it down the exposed
flesh of Glass's neck.
Jason senses "Jean-Batiste's breath gets confused somewhere between
lungs and nose, and just hovers there inbetween. Gulp. Goosebumps stand
up all over his skin, and he spaces out for several seconds as his brain
tries to inform him of the exact number of hair follicles that just
stood up and said 'Ooo! More!' He licks his lips several times, then
manages to get out. "Wasn't...jealous. Just...wanted to share." And then
Trace is sitting there, offering ice cream off the end of his finger. He
fixates. This simply cannot be happening."
The brief touch to his brings Ben back to this world with a deep shudder
and a long inhale when he didn't know he hadn't been breathing properly.
But ohhh, the strangest thing is that the amazing dichotomy he's found
in his head hasn't gone away, even when he opens his eyes, and he can
examine ice cream through both lenses. Unfortunately his mouth decides
before he's gotten all the way through it. Mind says think, body says
sense... Ben's pretty sure he can do both. "Yes please, Riene," he
responds softly in just an instant.
Glass just keeps nuzzling Walker's belly, seemingly oblivious to all
else. He squirms a little on the laps he's draped across.
Glass yelps when Alisynde rubs ice-cream down his neck, and his hand
flips back to smack the spot. Muffled by Walker's stomach he demands,
"Hey! What the fuck!"
You sense that Jason is most definitely trying to share. He
wants all of it. Not just pieces here and there. Three as one. At least
for one night? Who knows.
Jean-Batiste looks sidelong at Jason for a second, all goosebumpy and
dazed, then turns his attention on Trace and just...fixates. Trace is
really sitting there, offering him ice cream off the end of his finger?
He blinks repeatedly, then reaches forward and carefully grasps Trace's
hand around the palm. "Hey, c'mere," he says, in what quite possibly is
the gentlest voice Batiste has ever used, and ducks his head a little to
steal the ice cream off the end of Trace's finger.
Alisynde taps Glass's hand off. "No, no. Don't smack. I'll clean it up.
And she nuzzles up against Glass's neck. "Unless," she murmurs, "You'd
rather I didn't."
Walker takes a page from Ali's book, dipping a finger in the cold
dessert, to scoop up a gob of the stuff. The cold numbing in his finger and the
many layers he perceives - more numerous than -any- cross section - in
Ben's soft words are like the satiny feel of the shirts Ali made. The
finger doesn't make it immediately to Ben's lips, however as Walker
gives a small start about the same time Ali's ice cream touches Glass'
neck. Only after the tiny twitch has passed does the ice cream find its
way to Ben's lips to be smeared slowly across the warm, smooth skin.
Glass murmurs, wriggling a bit, "Get it off, it'll be sticky and bad
later and it's cold now. Is that really ice cream?" He still doesn't
lift his head to check out the scene, prefering to nuzzle Walker's
belly.
Alisynde mm-hmms, darting her tounge out to lap at the sticky line.
Glass arches as he gets licked, and mmmmmmrs.
Trace hitches a breath and his lashes flutter at the touch of Batiste's
lips and tongue on his fingertips, cold-icy-electric replaced by
warm-velvet-soft... and then gone. He lets out the breath. Maybe taking
that double-dose of X was a bad idea. Maybe it was a magic, wonderful
idea. Maybe he could live on X forever! He watches Batiste very closely,
then a glance flickered to Jason, and he mumbles something very softly,
as though speaking mostly to himself.
Trace pages you and Jason: Trace murmurs softly, confusedly, hopefully,
"I could do this..."
Benjamin stays perfectly still for the onset of cold creamy sweetness to
his lips, drawing in a long breath as he just lets that sensation be his
tasting for now. Another dimension to the treat; texture and feel. This
is all going in rather a remarkable direction, to say the least. Slowly
he closes his mouth around Walker's fingertip, bringing the entire
symphony of sensation to a finality of close, like smashing aluminum
foil into a ball. Pinpoint: that's ice cream. Hands slide lightly down
Walker's torso as he does, that body eventually becoming Glass' forehead
and shoulder. Somewhere one begins and the other ends, but that place is
passed over as an unnecessary obstacle.
Jason ducks his head, lips pressing against the curve of Batiste's neck,
eyes fixed on the finger... and then Trace's eyes. A deep breath is
taken, shuddering all of a sudden... And then Jason's hand lifts from
Batiste's other shoulder and reaches out for Trace. It takes him by the
shoulder and gently pulls him closer to the other two, pulls him into
the circle of warmth.
Jason pages you and Trace: Jason's eyes... are large, shimmering, as if
there were a single candle flame illuminating the room instead of
several lamps. Wide, hopeful... and scared. But scared in that excited,
'just maybe' way.
Alisynde flickers tiny little licks up Glass's neck, taking her time.
Like butterfly kisses, touching the creamy coldness of the icecream and
melting it into something warm, the soft melting away to the somewhat
harder feel of the neck. As the ice cream is cleaned up, she gets closer
and closer to Glass's ear, then playfully nips at it just before drawing
away.
Glass shivers at the nip, a movement that seems to pass into the other
members of his puddle. He makes a small and happy sound.
Walker suffers a brainstorm and sets the plate of ice cream aside on the
bed (for once flat, hard motel beds are a -good- thing) so he doesn't
have to move his finger from the comfy home its found between Ben's lips
to free a hand. He scoops another fingerful of ice cream, back arching
just a bit as he brings the finger full of rainbow around to brush over
Ali's lips since she's the Silk Bearer and Painter With Ice Cream.
Alisynde lets her lips part ever so slightly, and moves forward just
enough to engulf the finger in her mouth.
Jean-Batiste draws back from Trace's finger, eyes lifting to his
blue-haired friend's and just staying there for what feels like a long,
long while, all soft and shy, all radiant and scared. His grip on
Trace's hand shifts to a tangle of fingers within fingers, and then the
three of them are twined and close and happywarmsafegood. He murmurs
something softly, fingers moving from Trace's hand to curl backward and
brush the bluecap's cheek, his other hand around Jason's shoulders,
twined up in long red locks.
You page Jason and Trace: Batiste's words are soft, a little thready
with tangled-up emotion, and so very, very gentle. "We'd never want to
hurt you. You know that. You know how much we love you. We could make
you so happy for your birthday, Trace. Make you feel so good. You just
need to trust us." He smiles a little, and swallows hard, heart racing
beneath his ribcage.
Lucky Walker, getting two fingers suckled at the same time, as well as
his tummy nuzzled. Riene only deserves to be worshipped, after all; this
is proper and good. One feeling can only be indulged for so long,
though, and Ben's mouth tenderly releases its captive with the softest
of kisses. He scoots back, just the slightest bit, warms rising to
cradle Walker again as his cheek nuzzles into his love's hand. Touch me,
just a little, rest back here in my arms and let us praise you. You know
you want it.
The softest whimper, way back in his throat, as Trace hesitates a moment
and then slips forward and curls a hand into blonde braids. The plaits
have such an amazing texture, a tapestry on his skin, and he feels every
woven color. He nuzzles into the hand at his cheek, and then breaks away
and nuzzles at Jason's cheek. An arm slips around the smaller boy, and
then he gasps and lifts his head, giving both boys a look in the eyes
dead on, and then murmurs softly to the both of them.
It's good t'be the Queen. Any contact with the outside world is happily
lost to Walker, a finger in two different mouths. It means no more ice
cream's being dispensed, but he doesn't hear any complaints and he's
sure not going to lodge one. Disturb the warm velvet sea he's found and
bring the muggy New Orleans back? Nah... As his finger is released by
Ben his hand begins an exploratory mission over Ben's jaw and through
the soft hair. Touching is heaven and Walker plans to explore everywhere
he's allowed, starting at the top. Happiness and bliss; we should have
all done this sooner.
Glass mms and nuzzles Walker's lower belly some more, releasing his
waist to reach out blindly to the others in the puddle as he does so.
Alisynde savors her sensation for awhile longer, then releases Walker's
finger, and stretches her arms out to become one with the puddle,
ice-cream forgotten for the moment. She nuzzles along Walker's neck, and
her fingers start exploring anywhere they're allowed.
Trace pages Jason and you: Trace says breathily, with hazel eyes bright
and torn with emotion, "I-I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow..." He
isn't entirely delusional that he could hold onto this forever. The
doubt is there. And then he purses his lips, looks at the both of you,
and there's a smile that conquors his lips, almost reluctantly at first.
But it triumphs, and it's a look of... relief. Acceptance. "But... I
know how I feel... now, and I," he swallows hard. "I trust you. So...who
knows, but tonight.... I know what I want... tonight."
Jason swallows, hard, almost audible across the motel room, at Batiste's
soft words. But his eyes remain steady on Trace... and then close with a
very long sigh as the boy comes to them. He indulges in the sensation of
Trace's face against his, breath coming from lips parted at the warm,
yes, fuzzy sensation of skin against skin as he nestles under the arm
his blue-haired friend puts around him. But that look fixes him, freezes
him. Scared. Hopeful? He listens to the words, searches Trace's eyes...
and then raises a hand to his friend's face, a gentle, loving, caressing
hand. Memorizing this moment.
Alisynde nuzzles happily for a moment, then breaks off. She tilts her
head and blinks slightly. Her gaze has fastened on Ben, and she looks
rather perplexed, to say the least.
Jason whispers very softly, begging Trace with his eyes. Just one thing
before...
Eyes closed is the only way to experience this, and so to Ben Ali's
nearness is a shift of satin over his arm and another source of warmth
next to him. Though he shies from nothing, neither does he move his arms
from the protective cradling of the man wrapped within them. The scent
of Walker's hair and skin so near, peppered by the scents of others
near. Just breathe... just breathe.
Jason pages Trace and you: Jason swallows and says, very softly,
"Promise.... jus' promise tomorrow you'll still love us the same ya do
now..." A promise that, deep down, he knows won't be a true one. Things
will change tonight. But... who knows. But he wants to make sure that
Trace won't run.
Alisynde shrugs slightly, and shimmies over to a new place...an
unexplored place of sensatio n. She rubs her head against Ben's cheek,
making little cat noises as she nuzzles.
Another free hand is now Walker's, but he's forgotten about ice cream
now. His other hand moves up and over Ali's hair to slide down her back
as she moves closer to Ben. And from there over her hip to where Glass'
face is still so nicely near his abdomen to work through his hair. Hair
is so nice; soft and sleek and great to touch. His hand at Ben's cheek
makes room for Ali's nuzzle, slipping down his neck and over his
shoulder to caress there now.
Glass pushes Walker's shirt up with his nose as unknown hands starts to
preen his hair. More squirming for closeness, although it's near
impossible to get any closer now.
Jean-Batiste shifts a little on the bed, and moves an arm around Trace's
shoulders, as if to cradle him. His balance shifts as well, as his free
hand reaches out to touch Jason's face, fingertips arcing around from
temple to cheekbone to the underside of his chin. Eyes flicker from
vivid green to vibrant hazel, lost between the two. He murmurs again,
still in that infinitely gentle, almost fearful voice, and tries to hide
himself and Trace down to the bed in a cozy-cuddling sprawl that'll
leave Trace's head pillowed on Batiste's arm, and Batiste nestled into
Trace's side, and his whole other side simply begging for attention. He
looks up at Jason, eyes full of shy, hopeful invitation, hand reaching
out for the fireheart to join them.
Benjamin stiffens for a moment on feeling a very definite new presence
whose attention he seems to be receiving entirely. Something isn't right
about that. Not wrong, necessarily, but... off. Words begin, far back
and far away, but are carried off on a sudden tide of reassurance when
Walker not only allows the outside touch, but encourages it. Slowly,
hesitant fingers curl into Walker's shirt, tugging it up just a bit to
help Glass.
You page Trace and Jason: Deep breaths. Batiste tries to, but they keep
going fluttery about two-thirds of the way down. "Just...just promise
you'll still love us," he agrees with Jason, so earnestly. "You don't
have to make any other promises. We don't want you to. We...just want
you to be happy tonight."
Trace bubbles a sweet little laugh at something Jason murmurs and shakes
his head, whispering back softly to both. Then he looks between the two
boys and seems to consider, seems to dare himself, and then leans
forward and gives Jason a soft kiss, lips unparted, much like the soft kisses
they give one another on the crown of the head, the cheeks, all
affection and little sexual drive. But he places it on the lips,
something new, and lingers a moment longer... Not yet brave enough to
try more. Then he gets pulled back down into Batiste's arms, familiar,
strong arms around his tiny frame, and he snuggles close, a tentative
nipping at exposed skin on Batiste's arm, and then he looks up with
eager, frightened, loving eyes and extends a welcoming hand too.
Walker twists a bit against Ben, turning enough so that he can slip that
hand on Ben's shoulder into the man's hair to bring that oh-so-sweet
face close, close for a warm and deep kiss. The other hand moves from
Glass' hair to the back of his neck as well and underneath fabulous vest
and shirt to drink in the feel of his warm skin. Walker can't get enough
of the feel of skin; too heady a thing right now to give up. Yep, this
is heaven. Even if he has no soul, he's made it there.
Trace pages you and Jason: How could I not love you? How could I -- ever
-- not love you? I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but I know I -- I
wanted this sober. I did. I -- tried to feel, but I couldn't, and now...
" And he can't think of anything else that needs to be said. He lets
himself be pulled down against Batiste's arm.
Glass doesn't open his eyes to see who's moved that fabric out of the
way. He just licks Walker's bare belly in long strokes like a cat
cleaning its fur, or that of a favored companion. The motion makes his
back arch in rhythem, trapping Walker's hand between fabric and skin,
then looseing the hold again.
Jason casually slides the ice cream plates off the bed onto the floor,
where they land with a couple of dull splats. Someone will remember them
in the morning when they step in them. His eyes, always, are fixed on
his two friends. They couldn't go anywhere else. Not if he tried. Not
that he wants them to. He sits up above the both of them, one hand
sliding along Batiste's leg, along the bike shorts (whoah, they feel
so... smooth, pettable), the other extended further to caress Trace's
silk-covered chest. Wonder is in his eyes. Like he's experiencing
something completely new. /Completely/ new. And then Trace kisses him.
Gentle and lingering. Yes, THIS is new. Jason, usually the bravo, almost
faints. But then Trace is drawn back and Jason catches Batiste's
inviting look, smiles softly, and looks to Trace. Yes... He gently lays
down, half atop Trace, his chin resting atop blue braids. A caressing
touch to Batiste's face, briefly drawing him into a kiss similar to the
one shared with Trace.. lingering, gentle, and then Jason curls up more,
hand seeking out Batiste's atop Trace's chest.
Benjamin twists enough as well to allow a sweet passion's kiss, long
minutes engaged in that intimate play. He has his own motives for
pulling Walker's shirt back, for now his own fingertips are hungry for a
taste of the silkysmooth skin. Forearms hold the fabric up and out of
Glass' way while his hands wander, hidden, over Holly's ribs and chest.
How strange that this isn't desire, but it's fulfillment. No longing, no
need, but experience, each moment valid and pure of itself. No need to
rush on to more; isn't everything he needs right here? In his arms, on
his lap, just a few feet away enjoying a warm tangle of closeness? All
this exactly perfect and how it -should- be? This touch, this kiss, this
slim form in repose in his arms, each just a facet of the perfect whole.
Whole. Ben's key word for the night.
Wow. Part of Batiste's mind screams at him - no, it -begs- him - to
scamper for the nearest pencil and paper and draw this moment, capture
it before reality and the rest of the world can rush in to ruin it.
But...much like Jason's eyes couldn't move away, neither can Batiste.
Not even for the sake of remembering this forever. It's still not worth
it to cut it short. His mouth opens a little in a soft, awestruck smile.
Wondrous. He's still smiling that way when Jason draws him into a kiss.
He laughs soundlessly into the redhead's mouth for a second, then draws
back to look upon both Jason and Trace with laughing, dancing eyes. He
nestles closer to Trace, shyly nuzzling the bluecap's throat, and twines
his fingers tightly with Jason's, stroking all ten of them along Trace's
chest.
Walker's breath catches at Glass' first savory lick, releasing long and
slow at the next, the faintest of arching body-shivers following his
breath. Even fond dreams have nothing on the drifting reality he's
swimming in right now. Though his position is a smidge on the awkward
side it's a negligable thing that's barely noticed and certainly doesn't
register as uncomfortable. His body's attuned to only a select set of
sensations right now, not the least of which having to do with intense
heat boiling over from within. Feel how his skin burns? He deepens the
kiss he's drinking from Ben's sweeter-than-ice-cream lips as his hand
caresses and then withdraws from the home under Glass' shirt. It has
other places to go now, namely down his back in a lazy loop and swirl.
Trace mmms and cranes his head back, testing this new sensation.
Nuzzle-soft, still fuzzy, all of it. Bright green eyes above him, and
the stroke against his chest. He wishes the t-shirt beneath gone, silk
on skin. No, he wishes it all away, just nails on skin. Yes! And that
sweet hot rush of breath... And he hitches a breath and closes his eyes,
squirming just a little. So new, so new... And he smiles suddenly, and
the wildman in him growls softly, "Mrrr... *bite* there, Batiste."
Glass shivers at Walker's caress down his back and makes a noise like a
giant kitten, mmmer. He nips the bare skin still damp from the touch of
his tongue, then goes back to bathing Walker's belly.
Lost, so lost, so in danger of tumbling backward into it all and never
resurfacing. Ben is of a singular mind, as Glass seems to be, both
intent only on Walker's experience tonight. Such one-track devotion the
beautiful man only deserves, that thought again and again. While one
hand explores beneath Holly's shirt, the other skirts down around Glass'
ministrations to find the clasp of Holly's jeans, unless stopped. Though
Ben doesn't believe he will be stopped, and there is so much more here
to explore.
Jason's fingers slide along the silken ocean (for that's what it feels
like beneath his fingers right now) that hides Trace's chest beneath its
flowing purple depths. Yes, that shirt's annoying... the silk would be
better alone. But skin... soft, velvety skin. But he's too afraid to go
that fast, that soon. But he'll only bear it for so long... Restraint
wears on him, it really does. But, what's /this/? Just the thought sends
Jason shivering hard against Trace. He /asked/ for it. Asked for Bat to
/bite/ him, of all things. Fingers untwine from Batiste's hand with one
last caressing touch across the back, then slide down to the small, flat
stomach and... The inhibition, it's gone. Trace will know what's too far
for him... His hand pushes aside the shirts, silk and rough
(comparatively) cotton, then fingertips brush against the smooth skin of
Trace's stomach. Velvet. Fur. Trace. A caress. In this state, this
hyper-sensitive condition, the realization comes that every stomach he's
ever touched is so... /different/. Unique. And all fun...
Like hell Walker's stopping Ben in his endeavor to unbutton that mean
ol' harness that's becoming quite the nuisance in his world of pleasure.
A sigh of relief mingles into a soft moan stifled by the kiss he refuses
to part from; how can he? Ben's lips are magnets, warm and utterly
indescribable in the ideas and sensations they encompass. Somewhere,
distantly he thinks he hears Trace's voice, but its lost in the feel of
denim beneath his fingers as his roaming hand reaches the wasteband of
Glass' jeans. After a trip along the lay of fabric he's cruising over
the speedbump to caress this new texture and the soft skin underneath.
The hand at Ben's neck - feeling left out - begins a descent that lands
it lightly and safely on his scholarly lover's thigh to caress gently
there as well.
Jean-Batiste...shudders, right from the top of his head to the end of
his toes. So -that's- what it feels like to have about four of your
buttons all pushed at the same time. His fingers slip from Jason's and
clutch at Trace's chest, nails giving little crescent-moon bites as if
he's got to keep himself from falling. A small, desirous sound escapes
him despite his best efforts, the noise somewhere between a laugh and a
moan, and then he bites. It's done quite promptly, despite the subtext -
he doesn't even ask 'How hard?' before he turns his face deeper into
Trace's neck and gives the skin a sharp bite. Not the sort that leaves
marks, but the sort that leaves a sort of rosy glow lingering after the
fact. Ask him to jump and he jumps, yessir.
Oh, whoa, overload! Trace's whole frame arches and he moans, and
squirms, "O God..." What is that on his stomach, that beautiful feather
touch? Fingertips, a nuzzling cheek, a tongue..? (And which does he hope
for?) A hand slips down to twine in Jason's red hair, tentative, for the
slightest second at times making a move to tug, to stop whatever's
happening down there, but most times his fingers weave into the thick of
red locks, massaging, shyly encouraging. And then Batiste at his neck.
He cranes, shows throat, a little whimper-growl at each nip. And after a
moment he gasps and turns, reaches, pulls back, as though he'd been
about to seek release in the blonde boy's lips, kiss hard, but drew away
uncertainly at the last possible moment.
Jason's touch doesn't let up. No, it's only getting progressively more
intense as he explores the levels of touch, the degrees of sensation as
his fingertips contact another's skin. First the light touch of the
fingers of one hand, and then he rolls to one side and brings his other
to bear, both roaming over Trace's stomach as he squirms and makes
noise. And then both press against the boy, sliding up the narrow frame,
pushing the shirts up as he goes. Up and on their way to off, if Trace
and Batiste would only let them. A moment. One moment is needed to let
this cool air rush over shivering skin, cool air and Jason.
Jean-Batiste's fingernails skid a little on Trace's chest, his hand
bumping into Jason's as it pushes the frustrating layers of cloth up and
away. He draws his hand away, replacing it against bare skin, but can't
bear to use his fingernails, at least at first. No, this deserves to
have his fingers spread out wide, so as many nerves as possible can meet
skin-to-skin and savour the contact. He makes a small sound against
Trace's neck, murmuring, head moving as the tip of his nose bumps
multipierced earlobe and he delivers another, more delicate bite to the
tender patch of throat beneath the ear. His eyes open, trying
desperately to catch a glimpse of Jason from their corners, drink in the
sight of him as well.
You page Trace and Jason: Batiste's words are murmured half to Trace,
and half mumbled to himself, stream of consciousness trickling out into
speech. "You liked that? Good. It's good to know what you like. Just..."
Pause, to struggle breath past the hummingbird of his heart. "Tell us
what you want? Whatever you want. We'll...mmn." Distracted - time to
bite again.
Walker drops away from the kiss at last, drawing a long breath that
feels so furry-icy as he inhales. Ice meets fire from within only to
mingle instead of clash. His hand on Ben's thigh explores ever upward,
the roughness of the cloth beneath entrapping for a long moment as his
fingers trip over a fold and latch on, stroking back and forth to crease
it. Hungry lips move to the tender skin of Ben's neck, pressing a kiss
meant to be quick that lingers on as he recalls through an experimental
lick just how good his throat tastes. And the texture is simply superb.
Soft and warm and waiting for him.
Ohh... Trace has to make the decision? He blinks and just shakes his
head a little, "I..." A sharp gasp at that next bite, and then he leans
into it. "I, I want... I don't know what to do..." That cool rush, that
breeze against his skin, and the rustle of the course cotten t-shirt.
Unwanted, in comparison to that gently cool air, and feather touches,
the gliding smooth skin on skin. More of that! He lifts up a little and
gasps, "Off, yeah, get it..." He shakes his head once free of silk and
cotton, braids tossed, and even those feel amazing, gentle slaps of the
blue ropes settling back among his slender shoulders. He's not shy of
the scars, the little cigarrette burns and incisions... Not now.
Desired. Such a rare, heady, impossible feeling. But right now
everything is rare, heady, impossible. Every touch. "I want..." A
giggle, bright, escaping. "I want Jason to keep doing... that. More. I
want Batiste to.. to show me... this." He touches the boy's ch eek gently
and draws him close. Very, very gently touches his lips to the blonde
boy's. Tries to part his lips, the tinest dart of his tongue, and he
pulls away and gives him the shyest smile. The feelings there, so new,
so strange and nice to taste and touch.. He doesn't know how.
Glass licks and kisses at the hands that appear to undo Walker's
trousers. Nice hands, pretty hands. Skin. Tastes so good. He sucks on
the tip of a forefinger, lost to the world of sight and sound.
Jason lifts himself a little, tilting his head so that he can brush his
lips against Trace's as he pulls the shirts free. But then he moves on
allowing Batiste his room. His hair brushes across the smaller boy's
neck and face as Jason quietly leans across to raise one hand to
Batiste's cheek, lips finding an ear as the other boy nibbles away. A
kiss, a nuzzle... and then a small nip at the top of the older boy's ear
before he moves away once more. This time, maddeningly slow, he trails
lower to Trace's stomach, his long hair tickling paths across the boy's
exposed chest and stomach... One hand braced below him, the other teases
over Trace's stomach and then is lifted, transported to Trace's thigh,
fingertips dancing along the insides... And then his lips touch the
blue-haired boy's stomach, a brush, a kiss... a nipping bite and then
another and then another and then a warm lick, soothing across the
reddening bite-spots, breath coming hot against the air-cooled skin. To
say that Jason's getting into this would be an understatement.
Now a new dimension added to the layers of Ben's sharpened mind: while
sense experiences and thought analyzes, desire now burns. As he pulls
back, gasping in a long breath once released from Walker's kiss, that
dimension falls firmly into place between the existing two. Shuddering,
he gasps again when his fingers encounter lips and tongue, and he...
stops. Something that he wants, something he longs to lead toward and
encourage with at least one-third of the layers of his mind now. But the
other two-thirds suddenly fall into disagreement with the first and
chaos ensues. Ben himself is quite outside this war, paused, lips at his
fingertip and at his neck, passive and allowing this pleasure.
Glass, eyes closed, makes a sound in his throat that is more hum than
moan, but is still a little of both. He sucks on Ben's forefinger,
eventually swallowing it enough that he can lick the sensitive webbing
between it and the man's middle finger. Skin. Taste, touch. Forget
everything else. Skin and now.
Oblivious to Ben's war is Walker. Who has time for war when so much
fraternizing is to be had? Certainly not he. There's far too many
sensations to experience here. Travelling back down Ben's neck he pauses
near the collar. Then he's melting sideways to nestle between Glass and
Ben, shoving the plate of ice cream off the bed. Yep; another mess for
the maid. The hand on Ben travels back up from the fellow's hip to hook
in his waistband, tugging playfully. C'mere... his lazy smile invites.
The other hand is keeping itself busy touring further south over the
back of the young man's thigh and on in between.
Jean-Batiste looks up to Trace when his cheek is touched, eyes focussing
on his, then moving away smoothly to linger on Jason, and the pools of
red silk against bare skin. It makes his racing heart twinge a little -
so beautiful. So right. Maybe it's too right to last more than a single
evening? No. Mustn't think of that, right now. His eyes return to Trace
as he recieves that tiny, gentle kiss, and his heart does more than
twinge - it does some crazy twisting backflip. Whoa. His return smile is
dazzled, dazed, so shy and happy he's almost scared of it all. He
reaches out, fingers curving around the nape of Trace's neck, and leans
close again. He licks his bottom lip, tries to breathe, whispers, "Here.
Like this," and steals in the final inch to kiss Trace again. It's an
exceedingly gentle kiss, very soft and very deep, full of careful
tastings - the sort of kiss you'd give someone if you weren't sure you'd
ever be able to kiss them again.
Benjamin groans softly, pitched too high for his normal soft and low
tones, the first real sound from that side of the room in some time. Of
course, Ben's mouth has been otherwise engaged for some time now. His
wrist goes limp, the hand being attentioned by Glass giving up to that
strangely intimate gesture. So warm there, so welcoming and inviting.
Just the little direction from Walker is enough to pull Ben back to the
here and now, back to desire and sense and let reason do whatever it
does behind closed doors. He shifts, still supporting Walker with one
arm but sliding where guided to the man's side now. For the first time
in awhile he dares open his eyes and meet Walker's, gazing, each so deep
in the other as to perhaps find themselves again on the return trip.
And it was in the first motel party, I believe, that our Trace did claim
as he giggled and looked upon Glass and Walker locked in a kiss,
"Batiste, much as I love you, we ain't ever goin' there.." Well! Trace
is very shy, very unsure at the start of that kiss, but after a moment
he melts into Batiste closer, lets him take over, and even sometimes
probes, in his most daring moments. His fingers stay at the boy's
jawline, holding him there, keeping him steady. It's a sweet head-rush,
it really is... And to top it off, there's still Jason doing magic
things to his stomach and thighs, teasing him to madness, and after a
moment he breaks away from the kiss, breathless with eyes so bright with
intrigue, disbelief, and adoring wonder. He gasps again, and it breaks
the locked gazes, and he chuckles and bends down a little, slipping a
hand back into Jason's hair and murmuring urgently, breathlessly, with
such a grin.
Trace pages Jason and you: "Ohh.... Jason," Trace hushes, and laughs
with soft, breathless amazement, tugging at his hair very gently to get
the boy's attention, and pleads, "Jason, Jason, *careful*.... y'know?
I'll... God."
Glass shifts a little to accomodate Walker's hand nudging his legs apart
and to get in a better position for the attention he's lavishing on
Benjamin's hand. His mouth moves, taking two fingers now, then just the
middle one, then just lavish licks and delicate bites at the webbing
between digits.
Jason's eyes lift up to his friends... kissing. His heart almost melts.
They're so... beautiful to him right now. Not that there's any lack of
envy in his look, cause, damn, it looks /so/ sweet. He wants them both
right now. But, mm, he's got his own thing going on down here that ain't
so bad. He nuzzles his cheek against the soft skin, hair sliding along
behind, his hand slowly creeping up along the inside of Trace's thigh.
At the tug, he looks up again, breath heavy, a sparkling, impish look in
his eyes. A slow, mischevious, crooked grin forms as Trace murmurs. His
hand slides up further, to that bulge in his younger friend's jeans.
Yes. He /does/ know.
It's a magic kind of night, indeed. Trace has met with his sixteenth
year and is certainly exploring new horizons. And on the other side of
the room even more undiscovered country is being explored as imagination
and need for touch know no limits. Love... sweet ain't it? If anyone has
to go anywhere from that menage a trois the next morning, it's going to
be done on very little sleep but undoubtedly with a rather large smile.
Yes indeed, Batiste remembers that night - and that phrase - rather
well. He remembers grinning at Trace, trying to nod in an 'Of course,
what do you think I am, gay?' manner and make it look believeable, and
remembers telling himself very sternly that he was never, ever, under
-any- circumstance, going to think of Trace in any way but a best friend
and brother all swirled into one. And yet...here he is, tasting Trace's
tongue and playing 'Catch The Tonguebar'. He'll ponder the utter
surrealness of that tomorrow. Now is -definately- not the time. He
listens to Trace's urgent murmurs after the kiss is broken away, and
actually glances down, flushing pink. "Then let us make you..." he
whispers, peeking back up, eyes wondrous and wide. "Doesn't it feel
good? Wouldn't it feel even better? Just...oh, God." He has to laugh,
albeit softly and lovingly, to try and shed some of this burgeoning
excitement. Still blushing, he leans in, nuzzling again at Trace's
throat, hand reaching to tangle in Jason's hair.
"Ohhhh..." Trace gasps and swallows, a wild glance down at Jason's
impish grip, and he cranes his neck back up and nuzzles-clings Batiste,
hanging on for dear life as he whimpers, "Oh, oh, I know it would, I
kno-owww... I just," A gasp, "I'm just..." But he hasn't a coherant
excuse at all, so he just hangs on and rides whatever's going to happen
to him, turning his head and biting down gently into the flesh of
Batiste's neck and stifling a soft, pleasured cry.
Jason is careful. He knows Trace's current experience level and, well,
it's plainly obvious he's damn near there anyway. One more gentle caress
outside of the jeans... and then, his hair brushing still against the
younger boy's skin, Jason undoes Trace's jeans and carefully peels them
down (seeking a bit of cooperation from Trace to get them and any
underwear off). And then Trace's laying there, exposed fully to the air
and to the view of his two friends. Jason takes a deep breath, eyes
going from Trace's face down to... A soft smile, tender. And then back
up to Trace's face as Jason moves lower, over the young boy's sex, his
hair tickling and teasing it and his thighs as it slides across. Fingers
caress the soft skin about and over it, Jason's eyes questioning. "Can
I?" he asks, /very/ softly. Almost inaudibly. The mischeviousness is
still there, but there is something infinitely more shy about the
question. He knows. He knows how long it'll prolly last even. But it's
up to Trace.
Jean-Batiste shudders softly from head to toe again, gentler this time,
when Trace bites him to stifle his cry, cuddling his arm around the
bluecap closer, comforting. Reassuring. Even though Trace says he trusts
his two friends - and Batiste believes this with all his heart - he
knows that this, -all- this, must be so very overwhelming. "Ah," he
gulps, trying to find his breath. He can't help but look down, let his
eyes trail over his friend as his clothes are shed. "You're beautiful,
Trace," he murmurs, giving his blue-haired friend a brilliant smile
before nuzzling cheek to cheek. A long, expressive glance to Jason.
Trusting. He knows the flameheart will do this right. "Love you," he
whispers, said only once, though meant for the both of you.
Trace tenses, nails digging, teething biting a little too hard on
Batiste's shoulder, overwhelmed indeed by the truth of this, and his
hypersensitive skin reducing him to this helpless, trembling creature.
"Mmmf!" With effort he forces his teeth away from the soft skin, but now
unmuffled, a moan escapes his lips. After a moment, when Jason pulls
back, asks for his permission, his eyes blink open. The look he gives
the boy is full of surprise, confusion at being handed control again,
and he swallows and glances quickly to Batiste before looking down at
the boy and finally pleading, "Yes, yes, please don't stop.." He closes
his eyes again and goes back to holding tightly to Batiste, little
kisses and nips as he squirms without protest and futilely chases after
his runaway breath in heavy gasps. "Love you too," he manages between
sharp breaths, "Love you both. O God..." He arches his back and taut as
a bowstring he curls, every muscle tensing. His sharp features twist
into a pleasure-mask, a blend of submissive cry and wildman snarl.
"Arrrrgh..! Batiste! Jason! O, God!"
Jason gives Batiste a dreamy smile, as if that one statement was all he
needed to finish off this night... well... that and one other thing. The
fingers of one hand gently push through the sparse curls of hair about
Trace's base while the other gently cups and caresses... Jason's head
lowers, hair spilling over his shoulders to pool about Trace's stomach
and hips and thighs as... and then Jason takes him into his gentle
mouth, engulfing it in hot, wet softness, perhaps for its first time. He
knows it shouldn't take much coaxing now, but still, he tries to prolong
it as long as possible. Not that he can work miracles. It's only a
matter of moments, but then again, that's all that matters, those long
moments. He waits for his friend to finish, then slowly disengages and
rests his head on the boy's stomach, looking up to his two friends with
that dreamy smile still. Fingers gently rubbing Trace's chest, he starts
softly, "I...." He takes a deep breath. And then, with a shuddering
sigh, he murmurs, "I l-love you too..." No, it's not easy. A little
easier right now. But not easy for him. But he means it. With all of his
heart.
To hold Trace, and nuzzle and kiss him as his body struggles with so
many new sensations...to be able to watch his two friends, joined so
intimately...to be able to hear those word struggle free of Jason's
mouth. What a night. What an overwhelming, wonderful night. Batiste
can't do anything but cuddle into Trace's side and hold the bluecap
close, while reaching to Jason and stroking tender fingertips against
face and hair. Bliss. Sleep, when it comes, is dreamless and deep.
=====================================================================
...of Batiste, looking out into the viewer's eyes with a serenely
radiant glow to his eyes and a little incubus grin touching his mouth,
as he and Jason sweetly ravish Trace upon the tangled cream sheets of a
motel bed.
=====================================================================
Touches like fire, electricty and coolest water... who's is who's? Does
it really matter? Not for the moment; all that matters is the vibrant
feel of closeness... oneness. Forget such things as promises and
restrictions for who could know such? (Oh, the drugs work fast on body
and mind, yes?)
Smouldering, loving... a scene born out of 'one-thing-led-to-another'.
His, yours, mine... ours.
But what will the waking day bring each after such a waltz through
delirious abandon? And of the darkness in between. What of it? Whispered
fragments of shattered memory laced with glitter. Love you... you won't
ever make me watch... all mine... I want everything to be perfect...
ain't never going there... kiss me...
Love you.
Love me.
Reality has no home in the surreality of passion and altered
conscience.
=====================================================================
Back to the Roleplay Log Archive
Pale blond hair has been pulled up into a loose topknot, held in
place by a pair of lacquered antique chopsticks. Powder pales her
features to an almost porcelain whiteness, contrasted sharply by the
bright red lipstick and dark kohl-lined hazel eyes. Pearly-pink
eyeshadow darkens her eyelids somewhat, looking remarkably light when
compared to her penciled-in eyebrows.
Alisynde sets the last down, then peers about the room. "Glass not here
yet?"
He is perhaps five-ten, this young man - or maybe he is merely a boy.
His hair is growing out and starting to curl at the collar. It is
bleached an unnatural white-blonde at the ends. A couple of inches of
roots show now, raven's wing black. His eyes are a stark contrast to the
pale ends of his hair - they are a deep soft velvet black, large and
liquid under the dark wings of his eyebrows. He is thin but sleek, his
light skin evidence of New Orleans' rainy weather. His features lack the
ruggedness required to be called handsome, and the dark eyes are too
dreamy and gentle. Beautiful is a better word. A long-sleeved black silk
shirt of hangs from his bony shoulders. He's got the shirt tucked in,
for once, and over it he wears a somewhat outrageous and brightly
coloured vest. The left side is bright cerulean blue, with a smiling and
firey sun of orange, yellow and red woven into the fabric; the right is
dark blue-black, with a pale ivory coloured moon, likewise smiling. Tiny
stars woven in metallic silver thread detail the right side, while
similar threads of gold make the sun's waving rays shimmer. The buttons
are black with silver edges and he probably ought to have a watch on a
chain, but he hasn't. A pair of newish black jeans skim his hips.
Polished steel caps cover the toes of his standard-issue style boots. He
wears a classic Brooks Brothers raincoat, dark blue-grey in colour,
cuffs customized with reinforcing grey leather. It is finely made and
swirls about him in elegant storm-coloured folds.
Jason adds, "Go 'head 'n see!"
Alisynde makes little biting motions towards the dish.
Subject: Motel Tableaux
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A bed. Wide and welcoming and opulent, it is heaped with satin sheets
the colour of cream, rumpled wrinkles throwing back lustrous ivory
shadows. Tangled upon these sheets are three unclothed bodies, all
lithe, tangled limbs and youthful planes and slim curves. Trace lays at
the center of the human nest, his head pillowed upon the thigh of a
flame-haired girl with elfin features. Trace is older here, with a very
slim but sleek body, his beauty so intense as to be considered regal.
The girl is bent over Trace, long hair spilling around the both of them
like a fiery veil, though it doesn't obscure her impish, teasing smile,
nor Trace's breathless expression and open-mouthed plea. Has she just
kissed him, and drawn back, or was she just about to? Curled against
Trace's side, back to the 'camera', is another maiden, this one with
long cornsilk tresses spilling over her shoulder and down against
Trace's ribs. She is slim as well, though she doesn't achieve the elfin
delicacy of the redhead. A long-fingered hand is splayed out against
Trace's indrawn stomach, stroking down towards uptilted hips with an
utter lack of shame. She looks up, away from the 'camera', towards a
large gilt-framed mirror that faces her across the bed. Cream-coloured
gauze drapes over the corners of the mirror, but does little to obscure
the reflection...
=====================================================================
Subject: Surreality/Reality
---------------------------------------------------------------------