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Log Title: TooFar and Batiste Fight

Log setting: Outside 269 Bourbon

Log Cast:
Jean-Batiste
TooFar
Trace
Nadine
Goose
Alisynde
Valentine
Glass
Grace
Starlight
Ryan
Batte

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Whoa there. Batboy seems all worked up. The dimly bemused thought slowly works his way through TooFar's mind while the reactions are already ahead of the game. It's expected, after all. The smaller of the two anticipates, twisting quickly aside of the telegraphed blow. His tanktop his caught in Bat's hand, however, but the waif doesn't seem much concerned, "Y'missed," is the quick retort as his cigarette drops to the ground.

Wooooooooah Nellie...well Nelson isn't around but still. Nadine stops slightly in her advance as well Batty goes Batty and hurls a little boifist at TooFar. People go mano a mano around here all the time, but it's usually man on man and not fist on man. At least not in public. This here display, though, definitely merits the female smurf's continued presence on the block. Big time. TooFar might get his little booty kicked.

Trace pads quietly up St. Phillip, heading towards that birthplace of tours which is downtown Bourbon. Not here to get his French Quarter carriage ride, of course. He's seen it in all its glory, many many times. Hands are clasped gently behind his back as he strolls, though with a purpose, his eye already straining for that first glimpse of the strange, new territory that is 269 Bourbon. But... that first glimpse brings something unexpected to the eye, makes his stomach do a small rollercoaster lurch without the happy thrill. Er. This isn't supposed to be happening. You guys were supposed to stay in entirely different orbits, alright? Different *universes*. Sigh. Nobody follows his mind's natural laws.

Jean-Batiste is...batty, yes. If he's not seeing red, it's because he's seeing something even further along the spectrum. His hand clenches around TooFar's shirt in a deathgrip, knuckles showing white against the skin, fingers trembling. If he's ever been this mad before, he can't remember it. Not that he's reminiscing right now. He tries again to draw TooFar closer, and introduce his fist to the still-maddeningly-perkigothy's face. "You -fucker-!" It's half-hissed, half-screamed. Not a friendly sound. "You. LITTLE. -FUCKER-!" He'll stop getting madder eventually, won't he?

Valentine comes down Bourbon from uptown.
Alisynde comes down Bourbon from uptown.
Goose comes down Bourbon from uptown.

Alisynde meanders down the street behind the insane jogger, pulling on the first cigarette of the morning. Her hair's still damp from the shower, and her eyes are at barely above half-mast. No songs from the 'Singin' in the Rain' soundtrack today.

Jean-Batiste and TooFar are locked in struggle, the former pissed beyond recognition and apparantly trying to kill the latter, or at least show him how pretty his fist is up close. Trace is a ways off, frozen still, while Nadine also watches from the sidelines, though closer to the boys' fray.

Valentine comes jogging through, face shiny with sweat. She's exercisin', baby. Working the ol' cardiovascular system--gotta keep healthy so she can live to a hundred and be mindless from Alheizmers Disease at 70, yep. No time to watch the goings on about her--gotta keep runnin', stay in that precarious 'aerobic exercise' zone.

Valentine heads riverside.

Ali has a shadow, and his name is Goose. The shadow follows her, a few feet behind, with his sax case in hand. And he's mumble-singing-rapping something about floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee and being the great Oz of the Ring named Mohammed Ali. Oh Lord. Fight! Fight! Now this will never do. Into his pocket, Goose sticks the flower he's carrying, the one with the red petals and short stem so recently plucked from the trellis down the street. He pulls up beside Nadine and sets down his sax case. "Dat serious?"

The perkigoth's grinning head snaps back from the impact of Batty's driven fist, leashed as TooFar is to close proximity by the bigger boy's grip on his tanktop. Featherboi's a bit suprised. That hurt. Right in the eye, too. That'll leave a mark and a headache as well. "Fuck," TooFar mutters. He'll have to fight back or something. Like, bummer. On the recoil, the waif attempts to drive a fist into Batty's gut. No finess or anything, it's just easier to reach.

And the fun keeps on ticking. Will Nadine interrupt this little show of affection? Hell no. She'll just saunter up a little bit closer so that she can see any blood if it should elect to fly out of TooFar's mouth and do a swan dive for the concrete. Maybe she'll even get hit with some bodily fluids like she was at a Gwar show of something. Dare to dream. Tabacco popcorn is applied to her lips, mouth sucking down on her little cancer candy. So like Valentine, Nadine's giving her cardiovascular system a nice work out, just a differently variety type exercising. Semantics and all. To Goose, she states in response, "Just foreplay."

Iieee! Okay, Trace. This would be the prompt to MOVE. Move your ass! Get over there. And yet he's still held in place a moment. Confrontations, they're frightening. Don't like 'em. But finally he scurries closer, though definitely halts a few paces off. Coz Bat could be in one of those moods where he's just gonna swing at *anything*, and Trace doesn't wanna know Mr. BatFist. The mental 'To-Do' list is effectively tossed. Trace's agenda of reminding Batiste how the boy owes him some weed just seems SO inconsequential... "No!" The boy finally squeaks. So fucking brave. He just squeaked! Gotta do better. He steels himself and tries to holler, "TooFar, let him go!" Okay, so it's Bat who's holding on, but TooFar's the one he's watching try to retaliate. A wild glance is cast to the other onlookers, Nadine, Ali, and... Goose. Recognition. And relief. Big tough-lookin Goose. He says nothing, but everything in his expression as he looks to that one says, 'help!'

Alisynde's eyes go pop-wide, and she veers for the confrontation. "What the...jesus, guys, cut it out!!" No fighting around this hippie chick - she seems bound and determined to break the two of you up. Directly, if need be. But she's far away, and you'll likely get a few more punches in before she gets there. She's not running with the case, and obviously - since she still has it - not about to drop it. But she does toss the cigarette into the street, where it rolls to a sewer grate and falls in. She'll have another later, but for now..."Jean-Batiste! TooFar! Quit it!"

Glass comes down Bourbon from uptown.
Starlight comes down Bourbon from uptown.

Well, it didn't break TooFar's pretty nose, but it's a start. Batiste pushes TooFar back, stumbling along with him in their violent little waltz, trying to punch again when he's caught in the stomach. Ouch. He crumples a bit, but he's been doing his situps like a good little jock, and doesn't fall completely. His hand remains tight on TooFar's shirt, and he tries to punch again -- this time for the nuts. Maybe he'll render TooFar useless in other ways.

"Foreplay?" Goose's eyes go wide and he Stares (with a capital S) at the two young men. "I'd hate ta see tha main course, if this is tha foreplay." His brow creases. He leans to one side, peering. Oh dear, there's a call for help. But that fella don't look to be in any danger. Whassup widdat? "Dis ain't good." He suddenly SHOUTS at the two boys, "Kick dat bootie an' kick it good! Yah mon! I gotta big fat kiss for da man dat wins this fight!" He then, promptly, proceeds to wave his arms in a manner most distracting. Frightening? Probably to some. Disturbing? Undoubtedly to many. Laughable? In some circumstances, sure. Freaky black man alert! Ever heard of the expression, 'Goose step?'

Jean-Batiste is, it would seem, not hearing any calls to break off or curb his homicidal urges.

Grace comes down St. Philip from riverside.

Walker emerges from the vine-screened stoop of the shotgun house marked 269.

Believe it or not, besides the faint ringing in his head from that first shot, TooFar was still in a pretty good mood. Grinning away, admittedly with a wince of paint. He'll have a shiner or something later on. But Batboi goes for his jewels. I mean, jeez. It's all fun and games until someone gets hit in the nuts. Oh, the fucker actually makes good on his attempt. Nothing to it, but on general principles. Now the perkigoth is cheerfully irrate. Well, fuck. I was jus' playin'. Gonna have t'mess you up now. Bat had to duck a little to reach TooFar's groin, so TooFar's gonna introduce his elbow to Bat's face.

And Batty continues to go balls to the wall or well trying to nail Too's balls to the wall with the aid of a fist. Maybe Batty will do an Ozzy Osbourne imitation and try to bite TooBoi's head off! But sorry Trace. One person that is definitely ont going to interfere is Nadine. Fuck no. The woman is going to watch this stuff and let the two bois beat the crap out of one another. She might break a nail if she interferred after all and then where would she be? She's too delicate of a flower. She drops her cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with her boots that were made for walking...and walking is quite often what they do.

Well FUCK. Big giant fuck, okay? Goose, you're no help. Nadine, you're SURELY no help. But Ali earns a look of gratitude from the blue-haired boy. Yes, thank you. Because this needs to STOP! Trace is fucking sick of watching his friends beat on each other, and THIS time his heart isn't nearly in such conflict. Bat's not gonna get put in the hospital right before his eyes again. Lessons learned? Maybe. So he makes a grab for TooFar. "GIT OFF HIM!!" The boy shrieks, nails clawing into the non-feathered waif's neck. He's trying for gentle seperation, honest. But you need to leggo. Right now.

Alisynde grabs for Batiste at the same time. "Are you /trying/ to get yourself in the hospital again, you idiot? Cut it the fuck out!" She's starting to look seriously pissed. Apparently, being not in a great mood to begin with and seeing a friend and an aquaintence trying to knock the snot out of each other is not adding to Ali's mood. She doesn't even try any of the funky magician's tricks she usualy goes for - she just wants this over, and now.

Oy. Clusterfuck. And a violent one to boot. Walker makes it as far as the steps and blinks owlishly out at the skirmish. No surprise here. Bat said he wanted to beat on TooFar. He just didn't expect it to be so close to the rosebushes. Gawd.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor - will you be mi.. oh. Grace had previously been meandering just a little, general good humor though it's early as hell. But the sight of the crowd gathered draws her attention, as does Trace's piercing scream. Head canting to the side in abject confusion, she spots yet another blue-haired one from within the bunch to gravitate towards, neck craning to allow view of the brewing battle royale. "Holy mother of God," is murmured once she reaches Nadine. "The hell is going on here?"

Boot to the head! Well, not quite -- it's an elbow to the eye. Nothing gory, no eyeballs going a-rolling, but that side of Batiste's face squinches up in belated protectiveness. "Ah, you fucker!" he keens -- you know, like that hiss-y, pissy sound hawks make -- as his face draws back from the impact. But now people are getting involved, and trying to pull him away. This'll never do. "Let me go! Let. ME. -GO!-" he screams, refusing to let go of TooFar's shirt and trying -again- to clock the perkigoth in the balls. Like someone said, once upon a triangle ago, it's all about the cock.

Advancing. Boddaboom, boddabing. Never say Goose will stand by and not get involved. We all know better than that. If not, now you'll learn. 'Sides, Goose didn't know there was potentially achin' balls involved. That jus' ain't right. Sax case carefully set aside, Goose goes for Batiste too. There's a distance between, but look at those long, long legs. Swooping in, Goose joins the dance. How dare they party without him? And here this pretty young woman's going to get hurt too. That ain't right. Long arms, snake arms, surprisingly strong arms snake around Batiste. "Back, ye brute. Back!"

Star follows Glass up the street and immediately breaks from the man and moves toward Grace and Nadine. He keeps an eye on the two, uh, three males fighting, tho. Doesn't look too bad, and Ali is here. She'll fix things up. She has a way of doing that sort of thing. Goose gets a glance, yep, and a smirk too, but the child doesn't say shit. Nope. Just slides on up next to Beauty and Nadine and settles in for the show.

Glass comes charging up the street with Staright, having been alerted by the shouting. He's a little slow. The little battles of New Orleans' streets don't interest him, so he merely ambles along. Until he sees who the combatants are. He tenses like a hunting dog and races towards the skirmish, his blue raincoat flapping behind him. There's no hesitation in his dash -- aside from Goose, Glass is the heaviest of the brawlers, and he barely notices the dark man moving in. The charge is directed, and led by fists; he means to knock TooFar clear across the street.

Alisynde lurches forward a little as Bat reaches to try and unman TooFar, her hands grabbing shirt - and that only for a second. Goose steps in, and once Ali sees that, she backs up and away. Goose is likely much stronger than Ali - who, while no shrinking violet is out of practice in brawling and likely not to make much of a dent in the furious Bat's attacks.

Well, to knock on TooFar you've gotta prolly pry the upset bluecap off him first. Trace is hanging onto TooFar's back at this point, tugging hair and scraping nails and probably just being a general hinderence to the perkigoth. And Bat has the other side covered. But ya know, maybe Glass doesn't have a problem with pounding on Trace to get to TooFar. Yank, yank, yank, "STOPPIT RIGHT NOW!!" he hollers, and it's one'a them voice-cracking, young adolescent voices, nothing at all booming or commanding. "LEGGO!" Prolly means Bat should leggo, and TooFar should just stop it right now, but he's not gonna clarify. It's all going too fast.

"Fuck, man," TooFar yelps in suprise and pain as the bluecap rakes fingernails across his neck. And now Bat's going for his crotch /again/. Fer fuck's sake, people, someone's going for his 'nads and you all are trying to distract him. Work with me here. Show some understanding. Jean-Batiste just nailed TooFar in the nuts something awful, the waif gritting his teeth and bending inward slightly. Well, fuck. That's no good at all. He's already alto range. What's next, suprano? Bat still has a firm grip on TooFar's tanktop, holding the waif near and an easy target. But that means teh perkigoth is pretty close to Bat as well. So, in spite of Trace trying to carve runes in his neck, TooFar comes back up again, driving his fist in a mean uppercut. Saw it on Street Fighter II once. TooFar probably would stop, but that would mean Bat has open access on his little bod, and we can't have that. That and he just squared him one. Fair's fair.

A thumb hooks to motion to the ruckous, "Too gave Batiste some gift and Batiste is just showing his appreciation. Guess Hallmark didn't have an appropriate card." One corner of Nadine's mouth tugs upwards, wry humour serving as the inspiration for the tilting movement. Eyes drag away from Grace, looking back to the little fight. Too's got a smurf on his back. Don't they make an ointment for that? Smurf-be-gone? Or can you only get that in Mexico due to it's extra toxicity? Nadine calls out, "Get off his back, Trace. Quit with the leggo, Too's not holding no eggo." Or...or...Nadine will..smoke another cigarette! And well fuck, now here comes Glass to kick Too's little hiney too. "Everyone seems to want a piece of ass this morning," she states somewhat blandly, comment directed towards Grace. It's about this time she notes Star's entry onto the scene. Glass didn't come here all alone after all. She glosses over the boy then once again looks back to the tift in progress. Wouldn't do to miss any of the action, would it?

Glass doesn't have a problem with pounding Trace to get to TooFar. Not that he's going to pummel the blue-haired kid, but the force of his initial running blow won't be comfortable.

Oh fer gawd's sake. Now it's Bat and TooFar and some black guy and Glass and Trace and... Gawd. This just after Walker's own heated exchange inside. Tonight sucks shit through a straw. He should probably call the cops or something but undoubtedly someone else will. Weight shifts. Angel get involved in the fisticuffs? I think not. He's only good at catfights. And this ain't no catfight. A hesitant step's taken down to the front walk, arms tucking into a tight wrap over exposed navel. Maybe he'll just keep walking. Pretend he never saw it (fat chance). Teeth fret into lower lip, brooding eyes absorbing the display. Hey. If someone whips out a video camera we can all be on the Fox Network's Domestic Violence special.

Well, see, this ain't cool. Cause, if Bat and TF are fighting, that's one thing. And if Trace and Goose are trying to pull them apart, that's cool. But then there's another on the scene and it's Glass. And that completely won't do. At all. So Star lets out a low growl, not loud enough to even pass by the two lovely ladies he's next to and lurches forward. Looks like this little wimpy looking girlyboi is gonna try to help out. "Doug, back the fuck OFF." Same kind of pussy voice as Trace. Heh. Doesn't look like Star could do much to help out, he's real small. But those eyes. Firey. Feral'n shit.

Goose is considered one of the 'brawlers'? How cool. He'd like that. Trying to wrap the Bat in caring (yes, caring) arms, Goose becomes one with Batiste, body pressed to the young man's back. Use the force, Goose. And there goes Ali, fleeing like a butterfly and shrinking like a bee (rather than a violet). Goose's a skinny kinda guy, it's true, but he's got at least ten (okay, twelve) years on Bat and that should oughta count for somethin', yah? Damn, but this boy can wriggle. Where they teach 'em that? Those arms try to hold biceps, a backwards embrace without much grace, but this ain't American Bandstand and it ain't even Soooooooooooul Train. Goose's cheeks flush. Wouldn't yours if you were pressed up against a bucking, snorting... Nevermind.

It's like that video game, all right. Body blow! Body blow! Jab! Jab! Uppercut! There's no nifty effects, though -- and neither TooFar nor Batiste have massively, perfectly-cut physiques. The uppercat lands. Well. Ouch. Teeth clack together, and his head snaps back -- and the brief stun is enough to make him lose hold of TooFar's shirt and send him reeling back into whoever-it-is trying to pull him back. Even as he's stumbling back, though, his arms are flailing, fingers curled into claws to try and regain grasp of the perkigoth. Gravity and momentum have taken him out of reach, though.

"Get the hell off of him, Trace!" Is veritably bellowed as Grace moves to approach the little cluter of fighting boys. No, she isn't going to throw her own body into the fray, but she will use her lung power -- or what's left of it -- to aid TooFar as best as she can. "I'm fucking serious, get off of him." She tosses her cigarette away, pausing in her hollaring as she notices Star. A hand moves to flick a few errant strands of hair back from her forehead, lips curling into a quick smile. Wouldn't be great to show much humor, that one might take as amusement for this situation. Nope nope. "Star," is yelped as he comes dashing forward, "Stop." She moves to place her body between the gaggle of punching and grappling limbs, and Star. "Seriously. You aren't gonna help 'em. Just like, chill out." She slides a hand up to rest on his shoulder, fingers curling warmly. "Chill and watch for now." Gaze skirts back to the fight, a wince twisting her features as Too comes crashing backwards. This isn't very nice. "Christ all mighty."

You know, if Glass' initial problem with Trace was that he didn't stick up for Bat in the rooftop fight, he's got a funny way of showing it now. So the little blue-haired demon on TooFar's back gets knocked to the ground with an 'umf' and there's Trace landed hard on his ass on the concrete. There's a heartbeat where big hazel eyes are staring up at Doug in the utmost pain and confusion. Why'd you do that? I mean, it's clear if one stops and thinks about it; you're trying to kick some perkigoth ass. But Trace can't stop and think about it, coz his ASS HURTS. You fucker. Sniff.

Feral girlybois are the least of Glass' concerns right now. He too is interested in separating Batiste and TooFar, it's just that Glass doesn't care if TooFar gets hurt in the process. In fact, he's kind of in the mood to hurt somebody.

Alisynde :is making only a temporary retreat - long enough to get her case up on the porch, it seems. Then she runs back and takes advantage of that momentary gap to intersperse herself between the brawlers. You want at TooFar, Bat? You'll have to get around a pissed off Ali to do so. "That is /entirely/ enough." Stop it NOW."

Ryan comes down Bourbon from uptown.

'Whoever-it-is?' Goose gets a demotion. He'd be hurt. He's as surprised as Batiste by the suddenly release of tension and stumbles back too. His weight creates momentum which in turn creates inertia which in turn creates... oh shit. Goose lands on his butt and rolls backward, hitting his head on the sidewalk with a solid thunk. Everyone knows that sound. It's not a happy sound. Goose lets out an unhappy groan. And so, Batiste, it's you and me, dancin' on the ground. Isn't that a song?

Anyway, Jean-Batiste has now let go of TooFar's shirt, so the waif can happily let the BatBoi get dragged off by Goose and whoever's running that side of things. It's sort of like a little follow through, the gothling is admiring his shot. He didn't really expect it to work. His nuts hurt, his head hurt, but he sorta kinda dropped Bat (Sorta. Kinda.) Everything else is faint background. People yelling, Bat being dragged away flailing... Trace has stopped clawing his neck, but that's a dimly recognized fact. In fact Glass is probably right there behind him now, about ready to tackle the little waif like a linebacker, completely blindsiding the featherwaif.

Nah, Goose. See, it ain't about no bucking snorting, Batiste, it's all about this curling warm Gracie right here. Check her out. And yeah, Star's cheeks flush bright red as the woman like, heh, is right in front of him. Yum. Fucking complete distraction and that's so not cool. Sigh. These are his /friends/ Gracie, and ya gotta go and use yer womanly ways to stop the kid. Dammit. And it completely worked. The boy pauses, he does, and his hand slides to the lady's waist and he holds on, other hand down at his side, fingers making a fist. Pumped up. He tilts to the side a little and peers over to the scene, then nods, tongue sliding out to wet eager lips before he speaks, quietly, "Yeah, okay. Just gotta make sure it's fair, Gracie. That's all. Always gotta be fair."

A rather dramatic roll of the eyes. "Fucking christ," Nadine exclaims. Glass is going to seriously go to pummel Too. But at least the little blue haired monkey is off Too's back. "This is out of hand," she further declares. "Someone's going to call the cops. You might wnat to stop." Shoulders arc upwards, punctuating the comment. Not that she minds or anything, but well, just call it her good deed of the day reminding these boys of the imminent arrival of New Orleans' finest. Still, Nadine doesn't move to interfere physically, letting only her comments serve as her offering to the scene at play. A mutter statement, "All should have just let the two work it out..." She shakes her head, falling silent anew.

Glass knocks Trace onto his ass, which he really didn't mean to do. Not that he cares. More importantly, he seems to have knocked TooFar away from Batiste. Or at least that happened at aproximately the same time as his arrival. He pauses there with his teeth bared, looking around in a tense way. It's true, he -could- tackle poor TooFar like a linebacker, but he doesn't. Instead he snarls, "Get the fuck out of here," widening his stance a little as he looks over the perkygoth.

Trace is only dazed and out of it for so long. The little cartoon birds circling over his dizzy curb-kicked head get batted away in annoyance, and he's back up, but he's going for Bat now. Strain and tension all over his face as he rushes to Batiste's side, a hand put on the boy's arm that tries for restraining, but also just to get the boy's attention. Don't deck me, don't deck me, please? "Bat!" he yelps softly, and leans closer to speak softer, words that probably wouldn't be heard at long range, above the continued fray of Glass and TF.

Jean-Batiste does the Inertia Tango with Goose, and lands in a sprawl beside, along and atop He With The Dreads. Thanks, Newton, for inventing that law of physics. Or was it Galileo? Or Einstein? Or...whoever. He's not down for long, though -- only two or three seconds before he's starting to push himself back up to his feet. Trace is there now, though, and he looks at the blue-haired boy with those disturbingly violent eyes. "Let me go, Trace," he breathes, even though he's not being held that tightly at all. "Fucker. I'm gonna...kill him." Wheeze. Wheeze. Really gotta cut back on the cloves. "I...swear. Gonna kill him."

Trace's soft words are frightened, frantic, and plaintive. "Bat! Let it go, let's just get out of here, okay? Ya got him good, and now lets just go...Please!" Before he kicks your ass and I have to watch it or get my ass kicked too. God. "Please, Bat!"

TooFar just peers at the taller Glass blankly, rubbing his scraped neck gently. Where the fuck did he come from? He looks kinda upset. The waif winces slightly, not because of Un Canadien Errant here, more because the recurring twinges of pain his scrotum is sending his brain. Oh, discomfort. "Who th' fuck are you?" TooFar asks of Glass, trying to figure how the hell this guy fits into all this. I mean, you're distracting him, man. Someone just over there wants to kill the waif, and you're distracting him with... "Say what?"

Ryan makes his way down the street with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, headed in the direction of 269 by the look of it... Wow and look at the crowd gathered outside it looks like they're all playing football and nobody invited him? Typical, something he'd be good at and everybody is playing without him. He heads on over in the crowds direction and it's only as he approaches closer that he realises that this isn't a game but a big fight. Typical, nobody invites him to the big brawls either, he's going to have to switch his brands of underarm deodourant or something. He keeps on walking, nodding a polite greeting to Grace, Nadine and whoever else is watching and then follows along behind in Star's wake until he's standing nearby Batiste and Trace and the others, "Well, well, well, what have we here? Tsk, tsk brawlin' in the streets. And people say I'm the violent one." He arches an eyebrow at Batiste's words and then peers over at Glass and TooFar, ahhhhh, now he thinks he gets the picture. Cool, he's not so slow on thr uptake this time around.

Goose has a relatively comfy spot on the sidewalk, splayed out like he's dead. Batiste gets up. Goose doesn't. He groans again. Okay, so maybe that looooooong grooooooan sounded exaggerated. Maybe it was. Okay, it was. With his eyes closed, Goose sprawls and groans again. He waits a moment. Nothing. Lifting his head a bit, he opens one eye. Anyone looking? Anyone?

"If it's not fair, whoever makes it -not- fair, will get their ass kicked." It's a firm statement, bold; yes. But Grace seems solemn in that promise. For as much as she's not as close to the BirdBoi as perhaps others in the house, but he's still her friend. "And nobody is fucking killing him." Eyes narrow faintly as she glances back towards Batiste, Trace, and Glass, head shaking. "This is all bizarre. How the hell did this start any-- oh." A furrow of her brows as she shifts weight to rest on one foot, fingers absently drumming against Star's shoulder. "If Too and that Batiste guy want to go at it, then people should back off and let them. Not get all up in it." At least, in Grace's estimation, that should be the case. She casts a quick glance towards Nadine, and back to Star, leaning lightly against the latters side.

Alisynde gets in between the sprawled Bat and the confused TooFar - sort of. It'd be easy enough to get around eithe side of her - especially since she's whirled on TooFar. "You heard him. Get the fuck out of here, before someone calls the fucking cops. I don't know why you two are trying to kill each other, but there are better ways to settle this. But not right now. Right now, you need to go. Leave. Depart." Cause otherwise, Glass just may pummel the hell out of you. And Ali may let him. She whirls back on Batiste. "Stay put, Jean. Unless you want to wind up in jail, too." Cause, y'know. Nadine's right. N'awlins's finest is gonna show, and it ain't gonna be pretty. And Ali doesn't want one of her dearest friends in jail.

Glass scowls at TooFar, "Just get the fuck away, what are you stupid? Do you -like- getting your balls hit?" He stares at TooFar with an expression that is half rage and half disbelief. A beat while he stares, then he looks away to Batiste. Something about the look of that young man bothers him, and he glances quickly back to TooFar, scowling harder.

Jean-Batiste is mostly not sprawled on you anymore, Goose, except for one leg still dangling over your ankles. He's still sitting there, mostly out of breath, mostly dazed, fixating on Trace's pleading expression. Or at least, the spot occupied by Trace's face. He doesn't answer the desperate whisper, but he doesn't leap up in another fit of homidical violence, either. Just...looks towards Glass and TooFar, and fixates there. Batiste's marbles awww gone, ayep.

Slim fingers search without thought for back pockets to shove into but the sweats cutoffs have none so Walker simply fidgets, weight shifting to the other hip. No words from the homeowner; not dipping a toe in that lake. Grace's notion honestly seems the most sane. Let the folks who have the problem fight the fight. Goose draws the brooding deep jade eyes, brows furrowing a little. Why's he groaning so? Did he even get hit?

Star slides his arm around Grace's shoulder and allows the woman to lean against him. He nods to her words. "If they don't," wait, screw this. "Doug, if you make him leave, then the next time they see eachother they're gonna fucking kill eachother." What then? If noone is around to stop them? Would suck. "Dude, cause you know it's just gonna happen again." Said that already. But shit.

Nadine and Grace have been doing that a lot lately..agreeing. Nadine nods at Grace's statement, having just said something in a similiar vien herself but moments ago. "Everyone has to be a fucking white knight." And get in the way of the street violence. She calls out towards Too, "Get out of here, Too." Shoo birdboi, shoo. Now if he listens to Nadine, well that's another story all together. She turns away from Too and Glass (since he's standing there with the unfeathered boy) and turns back to what could be called her unbestfriend, Grace. "This just got boring." No more fists. Wah!

Goose lays his head back down and closes his one eye. He groans again. Loudly. Then begins to mumble, "Mama? That you, Mama? Is it time? But I don't wanna go inta da light, Mama." He twitches, once, his whole body. What a performance. Anyone handing out Oscars?

Ryan listens to what's going on and he just grins really big, alrighty then this is just like down at the stadium after school. Folding his arms he just steps back and watches, he ain't going to be no white knight in this. If Batiste and TooFar have a gripe then they should go the knuckle plain and simple, get it over a nd done with, "Let him go Trace. Let Bat's and Too go for it. They deserve to get each other outta their system." And then he makes his way over to Walker and waves, "Heya Hol how's it goin'?"

TooFar knows why Batiste is pissed off at him. He can do that math. He's part of the equation, see. But where the fuck do all these other people fit in? Where's their sense of humour? And just who the fuck is this guy with the white hair? Can't you see we were busy? All things being equal, the featherwaif seems relatively calm, at best faintly annoyed, a stark contradiction to his opponent. Starlight is noticed. Where the /fuck/ has he been? And why does he show up now, when I'm all distracted? Well, shit. A voice is recognized. Nadine. Pause. The waif idly pats himself, a pocket, a waistline. Checking for his cigarettes, likely. Oh. Yes, Departure. Authorities a' comin'. Jean-Batiste and his French friend will still be in town, if they want to chat. But yeah, leaving seems wise. TooFar'll grin at Bat and Glass, inclining his head in a mild bow, and start walking towards the river. Don't like crowds. Crowds draw cops.

Yeah, white knight Trace. He's not being chivelrous, he just, I dunno, has this funny desire not to want to watch Bat get creamed in front of him again. It's like these blows, they reach Trace too. "Bat," he says softly, "it doan' solve nothin... Did ya see Jason come flyin after Doug, huh? What's this gonna do?" Soft words are interrupted. Y'all want them to go at it again? God, you guys are like kids at a playground going 'fight fight fight!!' "Fuck off, okay?" It's said plaintively, this to all the playground kiddies who wanna see them pummel each other some more. Trace has seen this show, it's just not all it's cracked up to be. Hand stays firm on Batiste's arm, in spite of the growled warning. "Bat, please.."

Glass, Trace, Goose-a-twitchin', anyone near Batiste -- better make a grab quick, because as soon as he sees that grin on TooFar's face aimed at him, he's clawing his way back to his feet to try and get at the perkigoth. "-FUCKER-!" he's scream-snarling, as he tries to stand far enough he can launce after the perkigoth. The boy's just completely in synch with What Makes Batiste Go Psycho, apparently.

A yawn is smothered by long, skinny fingers as Grace watches Too saunter off as though he hadn't just gotten cracked in the sack. Amusement curls faintly bruised lips, Star's shoulder haven for her cheek for a fleeting moment, before she turns back to Nadine, nodding her agreement. "Yeah, let's go. I just.." A pause as her gaze shifts back towards Trace and Glass, the formers statement soliciting a shake of her head. "Anyway. C'mon. Star, you comin'?" She pushes from his side to begin the journey homeward, light green finding purchase on Nadine and the aforementioned Kid. "I bought some beer last night. In the fridge. If we don't get to it, fore Lloyd gets home from his ballet class, we ain't --" Blink. Well, Bat certainly has a nice set on him.

One hand, fast and sharp, reaching for Batiste waistband. Goose isn't dead after all. He makes a grab. Either this boy's pants are coming down or he's staying seated... or the other option, which is that Goose makes a snatch at empty air. Poor Goose. What a day it's been. And it's not getting any better. Woe is him.

Ryan snaps his fingers as TooFar starts to leave, damn the day's entertainment is gone, just when things were looking up to. Oh well life's like that, "I dunno ya start somethin' and then ya don't finish it. Things like that only ever end in tears." Yeah if you let things fester too long then sometimes things just get even uglier, and then not even God's are safe from retribution... And then Batiste gets all fired up again and Ryan's attention switches back to him. Yep sometimes you should just let two guys that have a beef thump it out. It's good for the soul after all.

Glass looks to Star, scowl softening a little, "Yeah, maybe," he admits, "But they sure as hell can't talk now." Nadine earns herself an angry look when she speaks, but he says nothing to her. Ryan's words make him turn back to TooFar, a question rising to his lips, but the waif is grinning and turning to walk away. And that is good enough. Glass turns away as well, to look at Batiste. A beat, a silent stare. For a moment there's that ugly drawn look on his face, like a child about to burst into tears. And then Batiste is in motion and the expression gives rise to a pained sort of roar. He steps in Batiste's path, swinging an arm out to clothsline or hug the boy.

Alisynde turns and casts a withering look on all the bystanders. "Oh, yeah. It may be better to let them settle their difference now. Right here." She waves a hand at all the other houses. "In front of dozens of witnesses." Cause, y'know, they should settle their differences. And Ali would prefer it without fists. But damnit, if it has to be fists, at least take it somewhere other than the middle of the street. Cause the cops will show, sooner or later, and interfere. "At least if they beat the shit out of each other elsewhere, they'll be able to get it done without a fuckin' peanut gallery." Ali is a white knight, yes, but not a dumb one. "Besides - they may not kill each other next time. They may be able to discuss it like rational adults." Well. Maybe not.

"Yeah, let's go..." Agreement in the chicky peanut gallery. Glass' little angry look merits another one of those eye rolls and a flat, "Go shove your self righteousness up your ass." She doesn't have time for this. There's beer to drink before Barishna-Lloyd gets home from doing his plies and tandus. But wooooah. Did this just turn into the REal World, Seattle or something? Batty is going to walk up to Too's exitting vehicle and bitchsmack him on the side of the head when he's just trying to leave the show? Apparently, or at least he's going to give it a good try.

Right. We all would like nothing more than to see our friends kill eachother. That wasn't really the point. But Star is distracted now, completely by the woman at his side. He can't stop looking at her for some reason and even as TooFar makes his way toward the River, he doesn't even notice until Bat like, screams and then wow. Shit. Kid takes in his breath and reaches down, snagging Gracie's hand. "Wait," and then to Glass. "Yeah, I know, but dude, it's not right they're gonna fucking kill eachother if it isn't settled NOW." Duh. Anyone with half a brain knows that. "C'mon, shit. Fuck." But Gracie wanna go. And Star obviously ain't gonna let the woman go without him, cause he's right there with her. "Heads up, Too." Just in case the man didn't hear Bat scream-snarl his name.

Walker considers giving Ryan a smile but there's not a fiber in his body that feels like smiling. Not even a false smile. Arms still tightly tucked around his middle Walker turns on a heel and does precisely what he originally planned to do: keep walking and forget he saw it. Well. He can't forget it but a dose and a trip to the liquour store on the way out to the lake sure as shit will help. So sloppily dressed he cuts around the Ben-planted rosebushes and heads toward the instersection.

TooFar the mildly injured and faintly limping (oh, discomfort), carries on with his exiting path. He's watching his back, naturally, since if Batty is going to steamroll him, he'd like advance warning. Hopefully Glass has that in hand. Oh, yeah. Starboi. Cool. He'll wander past him and company, grinning at him, wincing just so (oh, discomfort). He'll not stop, but will gesture that he should be followed, "Hey man, long time," Oh yeah, TooFar's really curious about that little detail, "C'mon, I gotta get outta here, b'fore an' cops show up." Funny, how mild mannered and calm he seems. He was fighting a moment ago, right?

No, no Bitchsmack A La Batiste tonight -- he didn't have his balance to begin with, and between Goose's tug at his belt and Glass's step forward and outstretched arms, he's sprawled back on his ass. This time -- barring a blown kiss from the perkigoth or something equally cheeky -- it looks like it's to stay. Each heavy breath seems to melt some of the animalistic rage from his form, and dull his eyes from fiery to flat stone. He'll just...sit there, and start rubbing at his bruise-blossoming eye, swaying a little as he does, looking at noone.

A sharp look is sent Batiste-wards, though Grace doesn't comment. Peanut gallery as she may be, Too is still her friend. Lives in the same house. Eats the same fuzzy meat. Craps in the -- well, you get the point. Fingers lace in Star's slightly larger hand, head tipping backwards to solicit a satisfactory snap of joints and bones in her neck. Nothing better than a good ol' neck crack to cure annoyance. "You okay, Too?" There's concern in her tone, reflected in the empathetic wince spasming over her features. Chick doesn't have franks n' beans, but she can imagine how much it would hurt, were someone to try and make stew out of them. "We should uh. Go home and put some, uh. Ice on that." She tugs a bit at Star's hand, tossing a quick glance to Nadine, to ensure her joining the group.

Boo and hiss to sitting down and talking about things, that's a women's way of doing things, real men duke it out and take their lumps on the chin, especially when they go out of their way to earn them. And OK so maybe both combatants aren't the most masculine they still have that hoopy fun stuff known as testosterone and that's all that matters. Sighing and just shaking his head Ryan sticks his hands back into his jacket pockets and watches as the others restrain Batiste from going after his enemy of the moment, not letting him blow off the steam he obviously needs to. He doesn't say anything though his eyes do flicker over to the retreating TooFar and the rest of the 319 family unit, watching them as they head homeward bound.

Immediately gangly arms get thrown around Batiste's neck as well as he can, as Trace senses the fight leave the boy. which could be hard with the rest of this tangle. And he might get knocked on his ass again because Glass is still incoming since Goose got to him first, but so be it. While fierce the embrace is brief, as his hands touch the not-all-there Bat's cheek, maybe to try and bring him back. Also checking damages, however. "Y'alright..?" Coz that uppercut, wow. Looked like it hurt.

Whatever is going on with Star and Grace, well that's not something Nadine is going to deal with right now. "Come on." They are leaving, all of them, including Sugar Too and his bruised little nads. Nadine dips a hand into her pocket, gnarled body of a cigarette withdrawn. Need walking energy doesn't she? Hell yeah. "I'm sure there's something we can find for you to help ease the pain." Though, by th elook on Too's face, this is a good pain. Boy must like getting his balls busted. She turns away from the gathered crowd, committing to the impending exit. Time for them to all return to Dysfunction Junction and talk about their functions.

Walker heads riverside.

Star nods at TF and smiles a little. "Dude, what the fuck was that about? I mean, why you guys starting shit like that?" The kid glances back over at Bat and Trace and Glass and sighs. This never happened. I mean, this war between the houses. In all this time. And now it is. It's happening. "Blue," he calls out, but then G tugs at his hand and he looks back at her. Again completely distracted. Heh. Sucks to be obsessed, yes indeed. He shakes his head and starts walking, hand in hand.Attention slides to Nadine, but then away real quick. We're going home. Home.

Up on one elbow, the Goose props himself. Is it over? At the last minute, he pulls his knees up, removing those long, tree-limb legs from the path of passersby. He waits, hand on Bat-belt. Nobody ain't goin' nowhere now that he can get a better hold. Including him. Rooted by his own self-proclaimed responsibility, the responsibility to keep these two young men from hurting one another. And why? He still hasn't quite figured that out yet, but the small, scared one wanted him to, so he did. So there.

Jean-Batiste senses "Trace's eyes are large and shiny-bright, full of concern and grief. Wholly oblivious to Doug and Goose at this moment."

TooFar just smiles faintly, following the group as they head home. Explainations can come once sitting down and has some ice for his... heads.

Starlight, TooFar, Nadine, and Grace head riverside.

Alisynde stalks over to the porch, retrieving her case and slinging it over her shoulder.

This noise, kind of a groan-whine miserable animal noise. Glass doesn't realize he's making it and when he does he stops. He stares down at the sprawled Batiste and doesn't knock Trace anywhere. Just stands silent for a long pause biting his lip. "You better tell me what happened before I kick your ass myself." He doesn't really sound angry now, though. Tired, hurt. Crushed might be the right word.

Ryan watches TooFar leave and he grins just as big and just smarmy as the retreating feathergoth does, "What a wanker he can be sometimes." But still then so can Batiste when he wants to be. Shaking his head and smirking he turns back to look at Trace and Glass and Ali and Goose and hell whoever else is left and he just shakes his head, "Man you guys really ought'a just let that run it's course. Now things are just gonna get messy."

"Remove...myself," Batiste whispers harshly as he rubs at his eye. The achy itch isn't going away, but he keeps rubbing anyways. "From your life. As...I remove you from mine. S'what he...told me. When he left me." Sway. Rub. Slouchslump. "Fuck 'im. He...says that. And then him...and TooFar, they...follow us to du Monde. Hang on eachother. Front 'f me. And -grin-." That vile, vicious smug grin. How Batiste loathes it. "And...I just...try. To leave him 'lone. Stay away. And then...they send me..." He drops his hand from his bruised face, and starts digging in the depths of his pocket, and fumbles out a roll of cellulite. It's held up for the taking, for all of two seconds, then pitched away a short distance in a tiny fit of temper. It doesn't go too far. Damned aerodynamics. "Send me those. Fuckers. And...then TooFar. Asks me. How I liked their present." Which is, presumably, where Batiste lost it. He stares down at his hands, reddened and scraped from shirt, skin, and concrete, and doesn't look up.

Alisynde moves back to the group at Ryan's words, and listens to Bat's harsh whisper. She frowns...then her eyes turn to look at Ryan. "I really don't think letting him finish would have fixed /that/." She does, however, reach down to retrieve the roll of cellulite before it blows away to where anyone can get it.

Crisp black fingers finally drop away from Bat's waistband and Goose sits up beside the young man. Solemn. He wraps his arms around his knees and listens. Solemn. Now the fireworks are over, it's time for seriousness. Goose, despite what most folks think, understands these things. He looks at his knees, plucks at one of the hairs on his leg.

Glass watches Batiste as the boy speaks. Night black eyes watch the younger boy's face, and he is silent for a moment after the last word. Studying the blossoming bruises on Bat's face, perhaps. And then he nods. He steps forward to pick up the little roll of cellulite, and finds himself face to face with Alisynde. He holds out a hand for the thing, palm up.

Alisynde hands the roll over without even giving it a glance. It's not hers, she's not going to pry.

Ryan makes his way over to the group and just sighs even more as Batiste throws the photos on the ground, he doesn't need to look at them to know what they show and he stops when he's standing next to the others. He doesn't say anything else at all for now because he knows exactly how Batiste is feeling, it's not nice when somebody rubs your nose in something. Still revenge is a dish that's best s erved cold so if you are going to do it then do it right and Jason and TooFar have done pretty good so far. Reaching into his jacket pocket he turns to look at Ali and as he pulls out his hip flask to uncap it he arches an eyebrow, "Oh really? W hy? So they would have got hurt some? So what at least it would all be out of their system." Oh and that's right I forgot... Covering Ryan's left eye is one huge shiner, looks like Batiste isn't the only one that's been brawling in the last twenty four hours.

What's this..? Trace watches the flying roll of cellulite, but looks torn as to whether or not he should go after them and see what the fuck this is about, or hang on to Bat. The latter finally wins out. Either Doug or Ali'll bring those over for a looksee, or they'll get left in the grass, whereupon Trace'll snatch them up eventually. Arms encircle Batiste again, cheek nestled against blonde hair, eyes closing. Gentle swaying, holding close. "Shh.. Fuck 'im. Yer right, he bein' cruel. I tole ya he has no loyalty ta nobody. N'he's bein a fucker, fa some reason. Doan let it rip ya up." Eyes peek open, to check the status of that film. Who's got it? Do I get to see..?

Alisynde shakes her head. "No, Ryan. It won't. Because they're going to /keep/ hurting and it /won't/ go away, no matter how many times they beat the crap out of each other. Finishing one fight acheives nothing."

Glass uncurls the little roll of photo-booth pictures and looks it over in the morning light. A long moment he stares at them, and there is no distaste on his features. His face just falls, like the realization of grief. The pictures fall from his fingers and flutter to the street again. Glass turns around to look at Batiste, his face bleak. "I. I can't believe this," he says slowly, staring at Batiste in that dull shocked sort of way.

Ryan looks over at Ali and grins even bigger, "Ali your a girl and you don't know what your talkin' about. Finishing one fight achieves a great deal more than starting one that gets broken up." He hooks a thumb over to where the others used to be, "They'll go home now and Too'll tell 'em his side of events an' then they'll get mad and bitch and whine about Batty here, whilst in the meantime we'll sit here and do the same thing. See now it's not between just them two, now a heap of other people are involved as well." Taking a drink from his flask he smacks his lips and then shrugs his shoulders, "Too started it and Bat's wanted to finish it, you all should'a let 'em. Sometimes lettin' off steam is good."

Goose doesn't wanna see the pictures, doesn't need to, doesn't ask. He's still picking at a hair or two on his leg. Quiet Goose. He sucks in his bottom lip and looks sad. So sad. Not a good color on Goose.

Don't let it rip him up? Batiste's already torn -- and every time he starts patching himself back together, someone comes along and neatly snips the sutures. He sits there limply, silently, and lets Trace rock him like an overgrown and disheveled ragdoll. After a long while, he starts to speak again, in that broken near-whisper. "Tryin'...to just...forget. I am. Swear I am..." He starts rubbing at his bruised eye again. "'An' he...won' let me..."

Glass looks at Ryan with annoyance, but doesn't feel up to making an issue of it. He then offers his hand down to Batiste, sighing off some of his misery. Self-pity can always wait. "Come on, ami," he murmurs, "you want to go home and talk about it? Trace can come too, if you want him to." He glance briefly at the blue-haired boy, but his eyes are unreadable.

Pale hands, for once unstained or colored by paint or chalk, pet at Batiste's hair. Trace winces and nuzzles, pushing his cheeks against stiff blonde hair, eyes closing again... in denial? He just can't believe this. Or... yeah, okay. He can. He just doesn't *want* to... "M'sorry," he whispers, in spite of not being at fault himself. Feels bad anyway. You shouldn't be hurt more by this. Nothing's fair these days, nothing! Again hazel eyes peek up through blue dreds, taking in Glass. Surprise floods his face just for a moment, then a sorrow as he points out meekly, "M'not... 'llowed. Ben and Walker..." He glances at the chez. Definitely not someplace he can trespass. His eyes are torn away from it, face buried against Bat again. If you want Bat to stand, somebody better nudge Trace or something, coz it looks like his muscles are all temporarily locked in cling-mode.

Finally, the Goose moves. Not much. Just a turn of head to put Batiste and Trace into the viewfinder. And what a view. And my, but doesn't Goose look sane. He licks his lips and drops his chin. No, child, life isn't fair. That's what Granny used to say. But damn, how we all hate to hear that. Goose doesn't speak it aloud. He saves you the pain of his own experience. Looks like you've got your own to worry about. Slowly, his toes curl up, like witch-black feet shriveling. This ain't right.

Alisynde turns on Ryan, her eyes icy. "Oh. I'm /just/ a girl, am I. I don't know what I'm talking about. The fact that I've got nearly a decade on you and spent my whole /life/ learning to avoid things like this means nothing, does it? You're not even listening to me. You're not listening to Bat. They're not going to let him forget. They're going to hound him until something gets done. Get it through your thick skull. If Bat had succedeed in beating TooFar up, the same. fucking. thing. would have happened. Or if TooFar had beat up Bat. Everyone would be involved because /everyone/ was WATCHING. So either way, the situation would have gotten more fucked up than it was. If this had taken place somewhere more private, then no one would know exactly what happened. And while there would've been suspicions, there would have been no proof. Doing this in public only served to draw the line. There is no way to change that. And so this fight was pointless. It would've been just as pointless if the people that interfered just stood back and watched it happen. Because, you see, it's still going to go on. The hounding. The smarmy looks. The sneers. Doing nothing or doing something on our end is irrelevant." Each step takes her closer to Ryan, until she is almost in his face - all 5'9" of an angry Ali. "Now we all know there's something messed up. So no one won. So everyone's going to bitch. It would happen anyway, just because we were here. No matter the outcome. All we did is prevent both of them from being arrested. That's it. There's going to be bad blood. With it being public, there is absolutely no ignoring it. Do you understand? If we hadn't interfered, someone else would have. The fight would have never finished." She gestures angrily at a house, where the occupant who was peering out the window has vanished. "Someone would've called the cops. They did on me. I see no reason why they wouldn't on Batiste and TooFar. For every person who just watches, there will be someone who will interfere. That is the way of it. If it wasn't us, it would've been someone else." She looks up at Ryan for one more moment, then turns, and retrieves the pictures once more - unless someone else already has. She turns back. "Fighting will relieve the tension for the moment, but there is more wrong here than just tension. And it's not going to stop with a few punches or a few harsh words."

Ryan grins and grins as Ali loses her cool at him and he laughs of all things, "That's the spirit now we're gettin' all fired up. So what if the cops came? Then they could'a both gotten arrested together and had somethin' to talk about on the way to the station. It's not like the would have pressed charges against each other so all that would'a happened is they spent 24 hours in the slammer to cool down. They would'a been locked up for so long they could'a insulted each other until they were heartily sick of it. But your right I'm pretty stupid so I'm probably wrong, I normally am. It don't matter anyway though does it? What's done is done."

"No, -home-," Batiste whispers, looking at Trace. Well, Trace's neck and cheek, at least. The Chez isn't home, apparently. "Wanna just...go." Not that he's trying to sit up. He seems stripped almost completely of free will, right about now. Dull eyes glance around, to the unhappy Goose, then the unhappier Glass, then to Ali delivering her diatribe to Ryan. Amen, sister! He'd say it if he had a lively bone in his body right now, honest. "All of us," he mumbles. Whether it's to those nearby, or just his own thoughts said aloud is hard to tell. "Go...somewhere. And talk. About anything else. Just...don't want to think about this anymore." Besides, he hurts. And his eye is swelling up, and so's his jaw. The abs-of-not-steel are aching, too.

Goose nods once to Alisynde. That's the extent of his affirmation of her monologue. Apparently, he agrees. ... Walnut-root fingers crawl and dig in Goose's pocket. He sighs quietly and pulls out the flower he put there so much earlier. It's crumpled, the petals cracked and bent. Colors dimmed by abuse, and yet it still smells nice. Goose checks, lifting it to his nose. Yah, sweet. Slowly, he holds it out to Batiste, tapping the young man on the shoulder with his other hand. Interrupting the conversation without apology (no matter what he does will seem like an intrusion), he murmurs, "Dat for you, Artist. Jus' so you remember dat..." Goose takes a dip in the cliche pool, "...this too's gonne pass. You 'ppreciate what ya got, in tha now. Ain't nottin' else dat mattahs. T'morrow might all be gone. Don't waste yer t'days worryin' 'bout yesterdays." Yes, all that comes out of him in a slow, liquid flow. "Ya wanna hurt da boy? Turn 'im a cold shouldah. Quit carin' an' he got no fun left." With that, Goose begins to rise. Maybe not the moment for such wisdom, but Goose isn't sure he'll get another chance. Anyone taking notes for when Bat is feeling more... no, feeling /less/.

Glass shakes his head gently to Trace. "I know. I meant my home," he says softly. Ali's angry speech may be heartening to him, and he glances her way just in response to the tension in her tone, but he has nothing to add. The question of the rightness or wrongness of stopping the fight seems to him quite clear, and it isn't a topic that concerns him right now anyway. He draws Batiste up, giving Trace the necessary nudge to ease the process along. Once Bat is up he reaches up to that swelling eye, not quite touching. "We'll put some ice on that and smoke a bowl, okay?" he murmurs to Batiste, watching Goose over the boy's shoulder. He nods in somber agreement with the lanky man's word, but again offers no comment. Back to Batiste. "All right, everybody. But we have to talk about this sometime." An unhappy truth, that.

Alisynde sighs. "You're still not listening. You're picking little bits out and trying to dissect them." A nod, at Goose's words. "If you can't talk to them, you erase them mentally. Things that don't exsist can't hurt you. But..." She holds her hands out, in deference to Bat. "Bat requests that we drop the subject for now, and I'll do so."

Jean-Batiste fumbles the flower a little as he takes it from Goose, nearly dropping it. Fingers are still shaking a little. He smells it, of course -- that's what you do when you get a flower, isn't it? -- and musters up a twitchy expression that's meant to be a smile. "Thanks. I..." He stares down at the flower, slowly twirling it. "I'm trying. I really am." He smells the flower again, then carefully tucks it behind his ear, patting it twice to make sure it's in place before he accepts Glass's hand up. He stumbles a little once he's standing -- and one hand remains attached to Trace, or tangled in his shirt, or in some other point of contact -- and sways into Glass's shoulder, resting his forehead there a few seconds. He mumbles to the older boy, or to himself, then straightens up and carefully recalibrates his balance. "Yeah. Let's just...go somewhere. And talk. About anything but this." The 'please' hangs, unspoken, in the air.

Ryan shrugs and nods his head as he caps up his flask and tucks it away, "Yeah sure whatever, I told you I was wrong, I admit it. I should learn to keep my big mouth shut." Sticking his hands in his jacket pockets he takes a deep breath and then lets it out again, using the oxygen to burn off all the adrenlin floating around in his system so he can appreciate the free rush. Lets see that's two times in two weeks he's nearly walked into a brawl before breakfast so his karma must be balancing out pretty good now. Falling in with the little group he just keeps his mouth shut, he's stays out of trouble much better when he does that.

There's a saxophone to be retrieved and another flower to be picked (somewhere). Goose gets up, seeming none the worse for his tumble. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes, brushing and patting, tugging and wiggling. His dark chocolate gaze melts down over Jean-Batiste, something strange and delicate in them, something uncharacteristic of Goose... unless you know him better than any of you do. That's all. He walks over to his sax case and bends to pick it up. The boomchicka has gone out of his step. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he heads up the street, downtown, without another word.

"Ohh..." Doug's home. Okay. That's a bit easier to deal with. The nudge finally gets Trace to slowly and very reluctantly untangle himself from his blood brother, just enough to let the older boy stand. He glances to the others. "Lemme see them pictures," he says softly, but they're on the ground at this point. Hmm. So he bends when he's near enough, trying his best still not to break contact from Bat, but if he does it's just for a few heartbeats. "God..." More confusion, more pain. The pictures are studied briefly. What are they trying to do...?! No. What's HE trying to do. That 'TF & Jas' scrawled on the back, that's not Jason's 2nd-Grader scrawl, and Trace KNOWS that Jason was serious about washing his hands of Bat. But TF... Seems Trace needs to whip out the many small arms, guns, and melee weapons on somebody. Not that he has these things, but goddamn. Yes. Okay. We're going to drop it for now, but it MUST be dealt with, on several levels. "Keeping one..." He mumbles, the others tossed down on the Chez Walker-Ashley lawn, to be collected or rained upon, whichever happens first. But one is stashed away in a pocket, to be flung angrily at Jason later on. And now.. time to go. He doesn't say anything else, just follows close.

Alisynde waves at the group, specifically. "I'll see you later. I'm goin' t'work." Or, perhaps, she's decided she'd be better for y'all if she wasn't there.

So strike that about Trace not saying anything else, coz he lifts his head and raises a hand to wave half-heartedly. "Knock 'em dead, Ali..."

Glass kisses Batiste very softly on the cheek. "All right, love," he murmurs gently, then adds, "Where do you want to go? We should choose someplace where we can get some ice, okay?" He glances around at the people. Trace. Ali. Ryan. Goose, but the stranger is making to leave. Maybe he's looking for suggestions as to where to go. He doesn't voice the question, though, just adjusts his arm around Batiste a little. Trace's collection of the photographs and subsequent tossing of them draws his attention, and he nods to the blue-haired boy. Unseen, perhaps, but the expression is approving.

Glass nods to Alisynde and lifts his free hand to wave slightly at her. "Good luck," he tells her in a soft tone. Ryan looks over at Ali and nods, "OK see ya later... And I apologise for what I said, that was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

Those looking, will note that Goose doesn't go very far. He heads up the block, about a half a block, and finds some stairs to sit upon. He draws out his saxophone from its case and fiddles with the mouthpiece. It's a good morning for the Blues.

Goose heads riverside.

Alisynde smiles at Glass, but simply shrugs at Ryan. Apparently she's a little miffed at him still. Probably that 'girl' remark. "Later." She turns, and starts to trudge away.

Goose is left, Ali's leaving. Where to go? "Let's go home," he murmurs. "'f it's okay." A glance up at Glass, to chec k on that -- he knows the older boy is picky about who is and isn't allowed through those doors. "An' yeah, I need ice...eye fuckin' hurts." He'll get his sentence structure back eventually, honest. He watches Ali walk away for five or six step s, then calls softly after her. "Ali..?" Pause, to see if she glances back. "Thanks." He's not sure what for, but he feels grateful towards her, and wanted to pass that along.

Alisynde does glance back, and smiles warmly at Bat. "You're welcome Bat. Normally, I'd love to come, but..." She eyes Ryan for a moment, a rather unpleasant eyes-iced sort of look. "I'd rather not run the risk of upsetting anyone. So I'll go to work."

Alisynde mutters in a very low voice, "After all, I'm just a girl and not worthy."

Glass nods to Batiste, "Yeah, home is fine," he says. "Best place. We can sit in the sunroom and drink all the white wine, does that sound good?" He leans back a little to check the damage to his young friend, then says, "We should take a cab." A glance to Ryan, "Unless your truck is around here? And you're coming." Doug doesn't sound too sure about that, and his dark gaze flickers from Ryan to Alisynde. His expression is bitterly sympathetic -- it's pretty easy to see where he stands on that issue.

Ryan frowns a little at Ali, "Yeah, yeah OK I'm sorry all right. Don't go on my account. I didn't mean to offend ya, it's just been a long night and spoke outta turn. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, a thousand times I'm sorry. I'd get down on one knee and beg for ya forgiveness but I reckon you'd kick me if I did that." His face wrinkles up into his usual dopey grin that looks so odd with the black eye that stains his cheek and he shrugs, "I promise I won't be an asshole any more, I don't want you to go and feel all pissed off because I was an idiot..." He then looks over at Doug and shakes his head, "No I don't have my truck with me right now."

Trace pales and looks at Glass. Well... if there's one way to keep a bluecap away -- or this bluecap, anyway -- that's it. "I, um. I shouldn't go..." But-but..! He wants to stay, and put ice on Bat's hurts, and make sure he's feeling better by the time the night's through. And yet there's bright fear in his eyes. "I mean... I.." But he can't say anything else, just halts his steps and looks between those gathered. At a loss.

Alisynde seems to soften a little at the apology, then shakes her head. "You wouldn't have said those things if you didn't mean them - didn't feel them at some level, deep down. I really don't want to be made to felt that I'm inferior, because I have breasts. I believe in equality just as much as I believe in non-violence." She sighs and looks downtown, then murmurs, "Maybe I won't work, after all. I don't think I'd be any good today."

"We'll drink fizzy apple juice, instead," Batiste automatically interjects when Trace pales at mention of wine. He looks up to Glass, trying to smile a little. Starting to feel a little better, see? His jawline's a bit puffed out, and his eye's getting a purple-black shiner but all in all, much worse things have come from a bout of fisticuffs. "Come with us, Ali?" he murmurs. "Ryan can give you a footrub to make it up to you." It's a win-win situation -- Ali will get her toes pampered by those big strong jock hands, and Ryan will get to rub the feet of the pretty Ali-damsel.

Glass blinks at Trace and shakes his head, "Don't worry," he murmurs, "I'm gonna have apple-juice, and there's plenty of that." He cants his head to one side and blinks again, eyes worried despite his desire to stay aloof and cold to the blue-haired boy. Batiste's suggestion draws a glance and he nods. "Yeah," he murmurs, and his dark gaze returns to Trace, "We'll have apple-juice and pot, and you could maybe do a chalk-drawing on the sunroom floor?" A hesitant suggestion. Does he really want to welcome Trace back into his life quite so much? And more importantly, Batiste's? It's said now and he can't withdraw it, even if he could decide he wanted to. Glass shrugs it off and looks to Ali, "Yeah, come with us? You'll make more money if you work in the afternoon, anyway. Lazy fucking tourists, you know?"

Batte comes down Bourbon from uptown.

Ryan sighs, "That's not what I meant by it at all. I don't inferior in the slightest... What I meant is that boys do things differently to girls. Girls talk and yell and do whatever it is girls do and guys beat on each other when they get mad. I wasn't tryin' to imply that you were beneath me in any way and if I gave that impression then I am indeed truly sorry." He frowns at himself and creases his forehead up in confusion, he really does have to learn to think about what he's doing more. The last time something like this happened Trace got surrounded by his fortress of girls the lucky bluecap that he is, he really is going to have to brush up on his manners a bit better. Perking up slightly at Batiste's suggestion he nods and bows his head toward Ali with his hands outstretched, "Well now if that would help garner some forgiveness for me bein' stupid then I s'pose I can do my penance. I really am sorry, I didn't mean myself to come across like that."

Alisynde sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I...have something on my mind. And I've just been feeling...wierd the past few days. I just...I think I may have misinterpreted what you were saying. I'm all wacky girl hormones today, I think." She smiles at Ryan. "I'm sorry, too."

Trace breathes out a sigh at Batiste's kind suggestion, and Bat's got a bluecap in his arms again, skinny arms wrapped around the older boy's slender chest. Love you so. He retreats again, cheeks starting to flush a little with embarrassment, though he stays close. Grateful eyes lift to Glass now. For a moment he'd thought the wine was an attempt to convince him to find reasons not to come. But now that's clearly not the case, just a slip of memory, and Trace nods hesitantly. "A-alright..." And recall it or not, Glass, Trace IS back in Batiste's life. HAS been. You have no say over that, only your own relationship with him, and offers of pot and apple juice and drawing on floors surely help. Even if you knocked him on his ass earlier. Ow. "Thanks.." Now a glance to Ryan and Ali. So ya coming? Do come!

Hm, minor crisis. Batte watches to see what's what. He doesn't go to Ali just yet. She may need the space to think or something.

Jean-Batiste's looking rather the worse for wear -- he's got a fresh, still-swelling shiner around one eye, and his jaw's swollen and bruising as well. He's leaning into Glass a bit, and Trace is nearby in hover-cling mode. Not a bad thing, let the record show. He smiles a little warmer when Glass suggests the sunroom drawings, dull-dark eyes warming as well. What a lovely suggestion. Isn't it amazing how simple words can warm the heart like that? He smiles at Ali a little and murmurs, "It's okay," even though she's not apologizing to him. Just wanted to say it again. And then: "Let's go find a cab."

True, Trace may be back in Bat's life, but that doesn't mean Glass has to give the situation his Stamp of Approval. But by inviting the bluecap into his home, he has, in a sense, done just that. And while he's wary of what he's just done, he'll let it ride and not regret it until he has to. A faint smile touches his lips at Trace's grateful look, an expression that is probably meant to be reassuring, but also provides cover for an assessing glance. Batiste's words draw his glance, and Doug's smile warms when he sees his friend's pleasure at the suggestion. Trace and Batiste drawing together again. Perhaps it's been happening without Doug's knowledge, but for him it's a new-old thing, and indeed a lovely idea. He starts toward the corner with Batiste leaning against him, hoping to find a cab at the next cross-street.

Ryan grins at Ali waves a hand, "You don't have to apologise to me, I was the one that shot my mouth off. I s'pose I shouldn't stay out all night, all this lack of sleep and physical exertion has got me not thinkin' straight so I'll promise to start payin' attention to what I'm doin'." Yeah all this studying and school shit is getting beyond a joke, goddamn it why isn't it June already! Falling in with the others he shuffles along quietly with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. Baddy puppy. We'll just slink along silently for now.

Alisynde nods. "Alright, then. I'll come along." And it is only after she says that that she notices Batte - and a smile breaks onto her face, despite 'wacky girl hormones'.

Batte waggles his fingers at Ali in a silly wave. Aawww... Moosh. "May I tag along?"

Batte steps toward the group as he sees the tension disperse.

Glass finds a cab and flags it down with a gesture vaguely akin to a nazi salute. Sort of unfortunate, that. Nevertheless, the cab stops, and Doug piles in with Batiste and the rest of this great lot. Crowded cab.

[ Travel spam. They take the cab to Doug�s place. ]

Glass clambers out before he pays the driver, since the conditions in the taxi would make it rather a chore to reach for his wallet. That taken care of, he returns to Batiste's side and starts toward the Rorick Mansion, entering the grounds through the little people-sized gate in the iron fence. He climbs the steps and unlocks the big front doors, pushing only one of them open. Too bad there aren't two of him, to open them both simultaneously.

Alisynde eels out of the taxi, her hand trailing behind her, seeking Batte's. Glass gets a grin as she heads through the gate. "Y'need to automate th' door, too. Press of a button and it flies open, and the red carpet goes trailin' out..although it'd be cheaper t'hire someone t'do it."

Hand nothin'. Batte stands and steps behinds Ali, slipping his arms about her waist.

Ryan clambers out of the taxi to when it pulls up and then heads along slowly behind Glass as he leads everyone through the grounds to the front door, his eyes looking around the place as they make their way towards the large house. Wow, this is impressive, Ryan didn't know Doug lived in such a big place.

Trace climbs out of the taxi with no grace at all, and looks around. Wow... Been awhile since he's been here. A slight nervousness shows in the line of his posture, and he's still got to keep Batiste in his little bubble of personal space, it seems. Cling-mode has only relented a little. "Do you, um. You got stuff to draw with Batiste..?" he asks softly. "I doan got nothin..." Hesitant steps pace after the group, eyes wandering about the surroundings.

Glass leans to Batiste and murmurs, "You wanna take everybody to the sunroom, and I'll go get ice and stuff?" A moment later he steps away and leaves the clinging Trace to support Batiste if he's feeling unsteady from his fight. Doug shrugs out of his raincoat and hangs it in one of the alcoves, then crouches to untie his boots. He pulls them off with the aid of an old-fashioned iron bootjack that's bolted to the floor in there.

Trace hovers near Batiste, and Batiste hovers near Glass, if not outright leaning on the older boy. He nodded off to sleep on the trip here, and is still just a little muzzle as he ambles into the huge, grand foyer. "Yeah," he murmurs, nodding faintly to Trace. "Some stuff. In my room." He chuckles gently. "Nothing else but some art supplies, yet. I'll go get them." He gives Trace a reassuring look -- just be gone a moment, promise -- then nuzzles Glass's shoulder. "Meet you in the sunroom, ami?" Unless he's held back, he starts to amble for the grand staircase.

"Okay," Batiste promises Glass, as he heads for the staircase. "I'll be right back." Before he can play tour guide, he needs to get chalk, 'cause once he's cozy and comfy in the sunroom, he won't want to leave it. He doesn't answer Batte, heading up the stairs inside. Someone else can summarize for the man, surely.

Glass pads his stocking-footed way out of the alcove and smiles gently at Trace, Ryan and Batte. He murmurs, "Could you just wait here, please? Whichever one of us gets back first will show you, okay? I just wanna get some ice and some cider and stuff." With that, he too heads towards one of the staircases, but he doesn't go up, instead dissapearing through a funny little swinging door that's mostly hidden under the staircase's sweep.

Well, good thing Bat just went away, because -- no, can't honestly say 'good thing' to that in Trace's opinion, but for *Batte's* purposes it's good, because we're not supposed to talk about it around him. Trace calls softly, "Yeah, we'll wait," and watches first Douglas go away to get ice, then Bat ascend the stairs, before turning to Batte and explaining softly, "There's a boy that's been real cruel ta him... They fought tonight." He glances at Ryan, but isn't sure how much more he should go into. Hey if Ryan wants to out everybody, fine, but not Trace. After all, he was the one who outed Jason and Bat to TooFar, and look at the mess THAT caused! Ugh. Certainly not the *expected* mess, but a definite mess nonetheless.

Ryan wanders in and his eyes keep roaming... Man this place is huge... He seems even more surprised but then shrugs his shoulders, you learn something new every day. Stumbling along behind the rest he stops when Batiste disappears up the stairs and Glass begins taking his boots off, hanging back with Trace and Batte he supposes. This is the first time Ryan's ever been here so he wouldn't know where the sunroom was. Glancing over at Batte when he asks his question Ryan just shrugs and buttons his lips, sorry already stuck his foot in it once today, he'll leave the explaining up to Trace.

Batte stays put and waits. He looks to Trace and Ryan and nods, implying that would do. No need to press. "Ah. Always messy, that. And how are you chaps?"

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