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Log Title: Weakness

Log setting: Mostly Chez Walker. It is Sunday, May 27th, 2001. It is day and the moon is full. There are 3 hours until sunset.

Log Cast:
Jean-Batiste
Walker
Benjamin
Glass
Trace
Jason

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Jean-Batiste looks up at Trace and musters a bright, if weary, smile. "Hey, you..." he murmurs, beckoning to his blue-haired friend with weary waves. He's looking rather the worse for wear, his expression flat, eyes reddened. "If you're hungry, we'll make something." He drinks thirstily from his glass then sets it down again as he looks to Ben. "You want to make the eggs, I'll make some toast?" Maybe he can get Walker to eat a piece of toast.

Walker is wandering again, this time to the table. He slides into a chair, setting the ashtray and bottle before him. He folds his arms loosely over the table's edge and glances Trace's way. Once again it's not a lingering look and he's soon looking at the label of his juice. It's beyond his notice that he's not realy speaking; when your thoughts are overfull you hardly notice silence.

Trace takes one look at Batiste and blinks a little, then scans the others, all of them much less than cheery... "I... is something... What's wrong?" He slips out of his chair again and nears Batiste with a small amount of hesitence, looking back at the stove once, then at Batiste's reddened eyes. "If, I mean, if no one else wants to eat it's okay... I just... Y'know, I was only wondering, in case you were making the others something, if it was okay if... I mean." He trails off miserably. What did he miss?

Benjamin still hasn't taken that seat at the table, and so all he has to do now is turn around and head back into the kitchen, which he does, passing a gentle touch over Trace's shoulder as he goes. "Walker isn't speaking to us," he explains, unable to keep a trace of sharpness out of his voice. In a few moments Ben is in the kitchen, discovering pans and digging the eggs out of the refrigerator.

Jean-Batiste reaches out once Trace is within arm's reach, and gathers him in for a tight, gangly hug, his cheek resting against Trace's chest, eyes closed. "Hey..." he murmurs, hugging his friend tighter for a second before releasing him and leaning back in his chair. "Just...just was a rough night, things were a little weird." He rubs his eyes a couple of times, then offers his Fruitopia glass to Trace. "I ought to eat something too, and maybe Walker and Ben will feel up to something a little later...you up to going for a walk with me after we're done eating?"

Walker looks up from his juice, eyes flashing as he looks over at Ben's profile. He rises abruptly, sweeping the juice up and stalks out of the kitchen. He crosses to the sitting room to seek the comfort of his favorite chair; apparently the only source of comfort for him right now. Maybe if he shuts his eyes he'll be able to close out the world around.

Trace clings to the hug as long as Batiste will let him, and once released, returns to his chair, curling one arm close to his stomach again and reaching out to take up the fruitopia bottle and lift it briefly to his lips before offering it back with questioning eyes. He isn't certain whether or not Batiste wanted him to finish it. "I... okay, yeah. Yeah, a walk'll be cool." He blinks over at Walker's exit but doesn't comment... just shakes his head faintly, confusedly.

Jean-Batiste senses "Trace trembles just a little, and though it's not so noticible to the eye, Batiste would have felt it when he embraced him."

Benjamin is pretty damn tired of keeping quiet by now. Trying not to slam them too hard, he sets frying pan and eggs on the counter, and stalks after Walker to the sitting room, striding up to the recliner-throne. Where he stands, folds his arms, and looks calmly down at Walker. "Would you rather not have people in your home while you sulk, Rien?" he asks quietly.

Jean-Batiste gestures a little to the Fruitopia bottle and murmurs, "Go ahead, have it. You want another?" He smiles weakly at Trace as he stands up, rubs the back of his neck, and looks towards the sitting room. Belatedly, he notes to Trace, "Walker didn't have a good night, either. He..." He trails off as Ben stalks after Walker, watching the two of them with a pursed, fretful expression.

Walker's eyes open, crossing a little as he focuses on Ben; he hadn't thought him to be standing so close. "I'm -not- sulkin'," he returns, the words clipped. Stormy eyes of jade meet Ben's brown; despite his protest, he does look awfully like he's sulking.

Trace shifts uncomfortably in his seat when Ben clatters pots and marches out into the living room. His eyes meet Batiste's and his fingers idly play around the rim of the bottle as he asks softly, "Coz he hurt his shoulder...? I, I peeked up this morning, saw it bandaged n'stuff." Softer, he asks, "Tell me more'a what's goin' on when we go walkin'..?"

Jean-Batiste considers Walker and Ben for a few seconds longer, then moves over to Trace and offers a hand to him. "C'mon, we'll get something on the way, I'll explain it to you outside," he murmurs. "I need to get out for a little while." He seems a little antsy all of a sudden, like an animal sensing an upcoming storm. "Then whatever you call ignoring your friends, walking out of the room whenever anyone looks at you, and in general being distant," Ben replies evenly. "Would you prefer to be alone to do it? I can make the boys breakfast at my place. Unless, that is, you would prefer an audience to your secret pain."

Walker physically draws back into the chair, pulling his legs up to his chest and securing them there with his arms. He's quite unused to being talked to like that and now is most certainly not the best of times to experiment with it. His lower lip trembles ever so slightly as he makes ready a scathing retort only to find none stored in the banks, burnt away by the harsh words delivered so evenly. His head ducks down into the niche between knee and chest to hide the tears; Walker -never- cries, you know.

Trace slips his hand into Batiste's with a tiny nod. Rising, he casts a small glance over his shoulder towards the kitchen's entrance. "Sure thing... Don't look like them two's gonna be hungry any time soon, y'know?" Oh no, Walker, don't cry. Ben only has so much resolve, and an utter breakdown from the beauty that's always strong is way past his breaking point. Cracking, Ben sinks to his knees next to Walker's chair, reaching out to stroke a hand over the long, silky hair, biting his lip. "Shhh... I'm sorry, love. Please... don't be upset. Talk to me?" Suddenly, surprising him, he wants to be here for Walker, wants a sight into that quiet pain, wants to be able to help soothe it.

Walker never cries, and Walker is always fine, too, isn't that it? Batiste pauses in the doorway between entry and kitchen, swallowing hard as he looks at Walker and Ben. He licks his bottom lip, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to keep his heart from twisting up inside his ribcage. "We should...let them be alone," he agrees softly. He head into the entry and steps into his unlaced boots, not pausing to tie them up before he slops out the front door as quietly as possible.

You open the door and step outside.

Trace sneaks quietly after you, stealing one baffled and compassionate glance over his shoulder before closing the door gently behind him. "I am *so* confused..." he announces softly. Hazel eyes squint to slits once he turns and faces the sun with pupils much unused to being so large. A shy hand lifts as a shield when he starts after you, but drops down again to his side after a moment.

[Travel spam snipped as the boys walk to 7-11 to get breakfast there instead. ]

Jean-Batiste squeezes your hand once before releasing you to dig around for his cigarettes and light one up with a deep intake of smoke. He looks around, also squinting against the afternoon light, then starts down the street, heading for the French Quarter. "What d'you feel like eating?" he asks you as he walks, careful to stay alongside you and not walk too fast. "I have enough for us to get McDonald's, or something like that? They have hoagie sandwiches at 7-11, we could split one..." He walks a little ways, sighing, and murmurs, "I think...I think I remember Walker and Glass fighting last night. I think that's what's wrong. I wanted to go look for Glass, that's why I wanted us to come out here. I'm worried about him."

Trace bites his lip a little, calculating... How long to take a sandwich at the 7-11? How long to talk to Glass? And even when all that's through, who's to say Walker and Ben will be finished with their heart to heart? He keeps his sigh inward, just concentrates on watching the concrete before him as he trots beside you. "Yeah, okay, I just... might have to leave early, is all. I.. I'd only meant to come down and grab something to eat, but... I did wanna walk with you and hear 'bout what's going on, and why everybody's upset, so... I'll stick around some, but I just... gotta go somewhere after that." His hands clasp behind his back, fingers hooking together. The boy's cheeks flush warmly, and he mumbles, "M'sorry."

Jean-Batiste looks over at you, and reaches out a hand to tousle blue braids. "Okay. As long as you eat first. I understand." He smiles a little at you, and tousles your hair again before dropping his hands loosely into his pockets. A block or two is walked in silence, before he speaks again. "I think...I think I got a laced drink at Crossroads last night, but I'm not sure. It's all really foggy. It was..." He shakes his head, frowning at the sidewalk in front of him. "It was really bad, I guess I was tripping pretty hard. I don't remember a lot, but I got scraped up a little. Glass was there, when I got to Walker's, and then he left, and then Walker came in, all angry...I think they fought. I think there's something going on between them, though..." He shrugs a little - he's not too sure of anything this afternoon. He holds the 7'11 door open for you, smiling a little as you move past him.

Trace slips into the convenient mart and peeks back at you. "Someone druggin' yer drink at the Crossroads..? That's too weird. I mean, you'd 'spect that sorta thing at the Church, maybe, or like... I dunno, but not the *Crossroads*. And Walker and Glass fightin'... Geez." He heads on back towards the refrigerated shelves where they store the wrapped subs, cheese and cracker packs, microwavable burritos, and other various snacks. "Last night just sounds real fucked up. Who was it that slipped you somethin'?" He's reached the glass cases by now, and glances back at you, the smallest, fierce and protective glint in his eyes.

Jean-Batiste follows after you, shaking his head a little. "I'm not sure...I went there with Jason's sister, and..." He trails off, looking confused and troubled. "Maybe it was her, she bought me a milkshake and all, and I think her and Jason don't get along, but...I don't know. I just...don't know why she'd do it." He sighs, shrugging helplessly. "I don't remember much at all." He looks over the subs, and points out a pizza sub with salami, mozzarella cheese, and green pepper amongst the other fixings. "That one looks good...what kind d'you want?"

Jean-Batiste adds, looking towards the slurpee machine, "I want a -huge- slurpee. It'll make you feel better, too, something cool against your face."

Trace walks over and leans against you a little, resting his head to your arm as he peers down into the glass case. "Yeah... yeah, okay." A tiny grin, though he doesn't lift his eyes. "Slurpee sounds good. One with cherry flavor, not that cola kind, okay? And we share it." He gives a soft chuckle as he steps forward again and tugs the glass door open. "And like, with that sandwich... you gotta pick the peppers off an' eat 'em, coz I think they're gross. But the rest of it looks good." Taking out the pizza sub as he speaks, Trace fingers the evil peppers through the plastic, squishing the green lumps this way and that before realizing what he's doing and looking back sheepishly, handing the sub to you.

The pepper-squishing gets a laugh, and another tousling of your braids. "Hey, don't kill them..." Batiste warns, grinning a little. as he grabs the sub from you and pets it soothingly. He chuckles at himself, and heads for the slurpee machine. One unnaturally-red slurpee is poured into the most humungous cup they have. No lid, one straw. Slurpee syrup kills all known germs, after all, what with that Red No. 4 or whatever it is. He adds a pack of Wint-O-Green Lifesavers when he gets to the counter, grinning again at you as he waits for the cashier to ring it all up. He holds the door open for you again, already wrestling with the sub to start picking all the green peppers off, Lifesavers in his pocket, leaving you with the honourable position of Royal Slurpee Carrier.

Trace trots along after you with both small hands gripping the slurpee and still just barely touching fingertips on the side of the cup not facing him. He ducks his head down to steal a tiny slurp from the mushy red drink, his action betrayed by the obnoxious noise all slurpees inevitably and delightfully produce. Then he comments, "Y'know... if it *was* that Rosie girl, we'll know coz Jason'll be super pissed off at her, hammock or not. So that'll be one way to know." Another slurp before he holds it out, offering a trade of sub and slushee carrying duties should you want a drink.

"Hammock?" Batiste asks you, crunching the last slice of green pepper noisily before handing the sub back in exchange for the impossibly red slushee. "What about a hammock? I think I missed a conversation somewhere..." He stirs the icy drink around, then slurps from it. His steps slow a little, and he looks around with a thoughtful, slightly muddled frown.

"Rosie made him a hammock last time I saw her, an' gave it to him. Dunno what for... it's real small. T'keep stuff in, I guess. Like a hanging shelf?" Despite mouthwatering hunger, Trace has to really force that first bite of sub down, his stomach churns so. But after a few more, it quiets a little, and he munches contentedly on the sandwich. When he looks down to find it nearly a third gone already, he blushes and sheepishly holds it out for you again. "Sorry, I... I didn't realize. Eatin' too fast, I guess." His kept pace is brisk beside you.

Jean-Batiste laughs gently, and grabs the sub, cramming his mouth full with three successive bites before handing it back. "Ea' 's mu' 's 'ou 'ant..." he orders you around noisy chewing. "C'n a'ways ge' 'nother." He trails down the sidewalk a ways, looking around with a thoughtful frown. After swallowing, he notes, "Well, maybe she gave it to him, so he wouldn't get pissed when she did that last night?" He shrugs, not really buying that. He pauses in front of the alley and glances down it, checking for its usual assortment of thugs and ne'er-do-wells. He frowns suddenly, and steps forward, squinting.

Trace takes another, much more careful bite, despite your assurance.

Jean-Batiste looks back at you and grabs your hand tightly, murmuring, "C'mon..." as he steps forward into the alleyway with determined steps.

Alleyway off of Bourbon

A narrow alleyway, between a small eating establishment which rarely sees any business, and a costuming store in a state of disrepair. The half of the alley nearest to the street is relitively clean, but the shadows of the buildings lies between keep the area in a state of more or less constant darkness. The combination of cleanliness and privacy makes this particular alley a popular place for late night meetings between those prostitutes fortunate enough to work such choice turf and their, often drunken, clients. The latter half of the alley, however, is far more cluttered. A rusted fire-escape leads to the second floor of the restaurant, the owner's residence, apparently, though anyone weighing much more than a child would be hard pressed to trust the structure enough to escape from a blaze. A large, blue dumpster, which is emptied far less frequently than one would expect of such things, and a number of cardboard boxes litter the back half of the alley, providing a great deal of cover and hiding space.

Glass is sitting under the fire escape, his head leaning against the wall. He's perfectly still, his eyes open and blank.

Trace blinks a little as his wary and watchful eyes adjust, clinging close to Batiste's side as he steps in. "So is he supposed to be... Glass!" He blinks and peers at Batiste anxiously before hurrying towards Glass' still form, tugging at the older boy's wrist as he goes.

Jean-Batiste explains softly as he steps into the alley, eyes flickering everywhere, "I crashed here sometimes, before I met you guys, lots of kids do. I thought I saw..." And there he is. He follows quickly after Trace, sighing soft and heavy as he's tugged along.

Glass shifts a little. His head falls forward.

Trace crouches down carefully beside Glass, looking up worriedly once and handing up the sandwich before reaching out to tilt Glass's head back up... "Glass!" he says sharply. "Hey, wake up!" He glances around, scanning the ground nearby, as well as turning over the inside of Glass' arm with a free hand.

Glass blinks once, very slowly. A smile creeps onto his features, slow as a flower opening for the sun. He's got two marks on his arm, when you push up the sleeve.

Jean-Batiste quickly works to wrap the sandwich up in its plastic wrapper before stuffing it away into his flannel pockets. The slurpee is slid over onto a patch of filthy concrete before he crouches down as well. "Hey, Glass...hey! There you are...you scared us." Okay,so he's -still- scaring the two of them, but at least his eyes are open.

Glass whispers, after a long pause, "You shouldn't be afraid." His smile expands a little more and his hazy dream-filled eyes seem to focus a little, "I want a cigarette," he says distantly.

Jean-Batiste pages you and Jason: Jean-Batiste wonders if we're going to have a whole lot of people hunting for our heads if word gets out that Glass is shooting up again... ;P They'll think we coerced him to. Heh.

"I want what you got," Trace breathes very softly around pursed lips as he looks at Glass, and then shakes his head slightly. The boy is obviously creeping for a fix -- has been, since before he even entered this alley -- with his moist skin and large pupils. "You... sure yer okay?" he asks, a little louder. "Maybe we oughta walk you 'round a bit, yer zonin' pretty bad." He looks to Batiste as though the decision is actually theirs to make, and Glass doesn't have much say here.

Glass's head starts to drop again, and he murmurs, "I'm just perfect."'

Jean-Batiste reaches out and brushes through Glass's hair, helping to ease his head back in the process. "Yeah, you look like you're feeling pretty good..." he murmurs weakly. "But we ought to get you out of the alley, at least, it's not safe to crash in here. You can have a smoke while we walk, okay? Deal?" He looks to Trace and says, "Can you carry the sub and the slurpee? I'll help him get up."

Glass murmurs, smiling, "Safe enough. This is my home."

Jean-Batiste pages you and Jason: Jean-Batiste -stares- at Jason. "Uh. They're big and all manly with muscles, Jason. *grin* Of course, Stan -did- back down when little old Batiste flashed his knife." You page Jean-Batiste and Jason: Trace loved that scene. Psycho Non-Medicated De meets Psycho Loyal Bat.

Trace flinches a little. "But... Shay?" he asks softly. "And her pretty house? What happened to that...?" He juggles the slushee into the crook of his elbow and just holds the wrapped sub in one hand.

Glass's head falls back and he slumps a little more against the wall he's leaning on. He murmurs, "Shay. Shay. Can't make me this warm." His eyes fall closed.

Jean-Batiste bites the edge of his tongue, fighting back countless words he knows would just melt away into the dreamy warmth, unheard. "Glass, c'mon..." he repeats, and leans forward to start looping his arm around under Glass's arms to try and struggle his loose-limbed friend up to his feet.

Glass is limp, warm and heavy.

"She didn't... know him anyway," Trace sighs. "Remember?" He shifts the slushee to the other arm because the spot he'd had it at was getting cold. "Do you want me to set this down, and help carry him?"

From the street, Starlight steps into a dark alleyway, across the street and a few buildings down from the Lost Raven.

Star�s Desc:
Glitter and lace surround this thin, smallish creature. Black seems to be the colour of the week. Lines surround eyes of midnight, and silvery lashes, subtle, create an artistic expression when matched with purple/black lipstick and shadowy rouge. Hair is dark, brushing past the shoulders and looking rather fresh considering the unabashed attempt at gothic misery. Glittered strands fall around a face androgynous. Wearing black PVC pants, heavy and buckled boots, and the shirt. Its sheer, the material, very sheer lace. Dark, and the sleeves drape down almost like a cloak, far past the fingertips, giving it an almost spidery look. Under, a small black tank where one might conceal, yet this one boyish? Pierced. Right lip, barbell in the tongue, small ring in the eyebrow. Usually appears the watcher. Quiet, yet can speak volumes in expression.

Glass looks passed out. He's got one arm around Jean-Batiste's shoulder and the boy with blonde braids is lifting him to his feet.

Jean-Batiste finally struggles Glass up to his feet, and tries to get his friend's feet under him and supporting some weight. Quite futile, all told. He sighs, murmuring pleadingly to Glass, "C'mon, let's go for a walk, you wanted a smoke, remember?" and tries to move a bit. He looks to Trace, then to the nearly full slurpee, and sighs. "Yeah, I think you're gonna have to, he's out of it."

Glass stirs and actually manages to support himself a little. "Smoke first."

Trace stuffs the sandwich back into Batiste's flannel pocket, murmuring, "Ya just gotta keep that in there, and if it falls out, oh well." Moving the slurpee to one hand, he offers the opposite shoulder up for assistance, trying to grapple with Glass' limp arm and get it up over it.

Starlight is unseen until entering the alley. Looks around, noticing the three and frowns. Mumbles something and glances back to the street. Puts one hand up, touching the stomach, then looks over as Glass speaks. The child's brows lift and near silently, "Know what'ee needs." Backs against the wall. Frowns.

Glass giggles, the sound slow and strangely slurred.

Jean-Batiste looks up sharply at the sound of another voice, frowning warily despite Starlight's small size. He watches the youth for a few seconds, then struggles awkwardly to make sure the sub sandwich is tucked away securely before trying to guide Glass towards the alley's mouth. "You can have a smoke out there. Promise. Okay?"

Glass mumbles, "Okay. It won't hurt."

Trace grfs, giving a little shove to get Glass moving, trying to support the bigger boy with his bone-thin limbs, and glances over at Starlight with surprise and frustration. "'E jest needs t'wake up a bit, s'all." The boy doesn't look well himself, his skin slick with perspiration, eyes fevered and pupils dilated.

Glass turns his head slowly to kiss Trace's cheek with his dry lips. He whispers slowly, "I'll take care of you."

Trace flinches a little at the kiss, and shifts away slightly, which is hard when someone's already got their arm over you. "S'okay... s'okay, I'm hooked up. I just..." A pained glance to Batiste. "Where we takin' him? Just.. let's get him there, y'know?"

Starlight backs away, under JB's intensity and turns to leave.

From the street, Starlight walks out to the street and looks up and down, seeming rather lost, actually. Glances back to the alley, eyes narrowing, then crosses the street and heads uptown.

Jean-Batiste watches Starlight leave, frowning at the youth for a few seconds longer before moving quicker towards the alley mouth. "C'mon, we'll find you somewhere safe to crash out," he murmurs as he guides Glass along.

Glass walks along, not helping much, but a little.

"Kin we just... take 'im to Walkers' to crash?" Trace tries not to ask it too hopefully. "Y'think they're done talkin'?"

Carry, carry...okay, more like drag, drag. Batiste shrugs Glass's arm a little higher up around his shoulders, and nods to Trace. "Yeah, we'll take him there. I don't care if they're done talking, we can just take him upstairs." A three-man pile down the staircase. Whee.

Trace can't get the door really, because he's got Glass taking up one arm, and a slushee in the other hand. "Batiste.... kin ya get it?" he grunts softly, exhausted by the walk and cramped terribly. "Or Glass...?"

Glass seems to be asleep on his feet.

Jean-Batiste's looking pretty beat, too. It's a damned long walk from Tipperary, or something like that. At least he's not jonesing, though. "Got it, got it..." he murmurs, panting softly. He leans Glass and himself against the door slightly as he turns the doorknob, praying it's not locked.

Jean-Batiste opens the door to the grey house marked 613 and steps inside. Something soft hits the door, like someone leaning against it. A few seconds later, the doorknob turns, and Batiste stumbles in, supporting a rather limp Glass by an arm around his back and under his arms.

Walker doesn't flee; he can't run from words spoken anymore than he could hide from his own emotions. He presses his lips together, not really sure what to say after that rather heavy shoe drops. He looks up, brows raising a little. He pulls in a breath, ready to blunder ahead as something should be said - he only hopes it's something not quite as flooring as before. "Me neitha..." If he was going to add more to that the world may never know as his attention's distracted by the noise at the door.

Trace is doing his best to keep his end of Glass up, but to be honest, he looks terrible. Shirt soaked with perspiration, cheeks slick and eyes fevered, he lifts guilty eyes to Ben and Walker, murmuring softly, "Sorry... we just, we gotta, uh... Glass. He needed someplace safe to crash."

Glass is supported between Batiste and Trace. He looks wasted.

Benjamin shares the briefest of locked looks with Walker before his attention turns to the door as well. The storm is over now, no more hard words or angry glares. Ben is, in fact, cradling Walker in Walker's favorite chair, both arms draped around him, while Walker holds to Ben's neck. Both are a bit pale, recently shaken, though at least Ben is able to take it in stride. His arms tighten protectively around his Walker when the boys come in, and he nods a little. "Don't apologize. You need me to do anything?" Besides cling tight to his raven-haired lapful who may very well flip out again.

Glass mumbles.

Walker's brow knits as he takes in the lot that just came through the door. His mouth opens a little to say something but once again words fail him. Seems to be the thread for the night. So much for altering perceptions; Glass' condition is a rather harsh dispell to the illusion he was working so hard to craft. He sags where he is, drooping against Ben as the weight of guilt crashes heavier than any tidal wave Louisiana has seen.

"We'll just...take him upstairs..." Batiste murmurs as he continues the disheveled parade towards the staircase. It doesn't look like either of them are going to get up, but he says it anyways: "We'll be okay...you guys stay there..." He probably wouldn't have said it if he'd glanced over for more than a half second, but so it goes. As he nears the staircase, he says to Trace, "You go first, get a beanbag ready, okay?"

"Batiste..." Trace rasps, trying to keep his eyes tame, "So I kin drop him..? Coz I'm 'bout to anyway.. Please, I just, I gotta go..." He whines soft in the back of his throat as he hefts up Glass' arm again. "I mean, I mean how the fuck you get a bean bag ready anyhow, s'just a bean bag, just sits there..." A soft sigh as he realizes he's being selfish. "But you... ya can't get him up alone, can ya."

Benjamin presses his lips together tightly, watching the ragged procession with deep concern. It's just been nonstop lately, the breakdowns, one has to wander who's going to be next. He cradles the limp tide of stricken Walker against him, bending his head to murmur in the man's ear quietly and firmly.

Glass murmurs, "I just wanna ssmoke."

Jean-Batiste's eyes flare for a second, a small lick of temper lighting his eyes as he stares hard at the first step and doesn't look away. Just the junk talking, it's just the junk talking, he reminds himself a dozen times, breathing deep, then looks at Trace and says, "Go on upstairs, I've got him, I'll take care of the rest." He waits for the blue-haired boy to start up the stairs, then starts to struggle after him.

You all are having fun without Jason, how dare you? So Jason decides to show up and make things /alll/ better. Or something. The door opens and Jason pops in, whistling one of his tunes with a cheerful smile... That promptly fades into a confused, blinking expression as he sees Walker and Ben curled up in the kitchen and, well, his other two friends lugging a wasted Glass to the stairs. Oh, and Trace is jonesing bad. Ehhh... Brows furrow and a cute little frown takes over his lips. Jason shuts the door slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "So, ah... Guess y'all don' want any chocolate, huh?"

Walker looks up at Ben, face dancing through a variety of expressions before he finally nods. He slides off the man's lap, fingers trailing over Ben's arm as he pulls away to move out into the hall. "Lemme help..." he says softly. He doesn't wait for an answer; heading down the hall toward the ragtag crew at the base of the stairs. He glances over his shoulder at Jason then back to Glass. Poor, drugged-out Glass.

Glass opens his eyes and looks around slowly, dully.

Of all expressions to be crossing Ben's face, a smile is probably the last one that would be appropriate at this moment. But that's the one that rises, a small, hopeful sort of smile. Walker is in control again, at least of himself, and will make this right. Slightly stiff, Ben unfolds himself from the recliner, stretching as he slowly stands. The entryway doesn't need another body right about now, so he lingers nearby in the living room for further instructions.

Trace lets go of Glass and slips out from under him in a scramble, but turns a few stairs up, looking back at Jason, sheepishly. Then the fallen Glass. Then Batiste, the expression shifting to deep shame. "I..." He can only meet Batiste's eyes a moment. But this isn't fair, see? It had seemed like doing the right, healthy thing, but... well, nobody would have seen him like this, the junk creature Glass spoke of that one night at Shay's house, if he hadn't come down for food. Yes, that's where he made his mistake. "I - not now, Jason... I'm so sorry," And with that, he turns to flee up the stairs and out of sight, a drawer upstairs creaking loudly, twice, his works gathered and Trace locked in the bathroom. And there he stays. Sorry folks, but if ya gotta go, it's a visit with Mr Zippy and wassername, the snake.

Jean-Batiste looks back at Jason, relief filtering into his eyes. "Hey..." he murmurs, sounding a little winded as he stands there, supporting Glass's weight. There's a plastic-wrapped sub sandwich stuffed halfways into one of his flannel pockets, by the way. "Love some...upstairs?" He looks to the approaching Walker, and insists softly, "Your shoulder..." His eyes close for a second as he hears Trace scurry up the stairs, and he just sighs.

Jason gets this hard little look in his eyes when he sees Trace race off like that, especially after looking down at Glass. Two whole minutes, he couldn't wait. "Used ta draw a lot," he murmurs, softly, under his breath. And then a sigh and that hard look drifts away. He glances down at the brick of chocolate sticking out of his coat's pocket, then shakes his head and wanders after Walker to the stairs. "Yeah, upstairs," he replies quietly to Batiste.

Glass murmurs, "I don't want to stand up," his voice barely audible.

If Walker can perform onstage with a broken rib, he can certainly help haul a friend up the stairs with a cut arm. He moves to the other side of the barely-coherent Glass and lifts. He's not the strongest guy around but with Bat's assistance it's not so much a problem. "Ready?" He looks to Bat as he shifts his grip on Glass, moving a hand to hook it in the guy's waistband for added support as he pulls a limp arm over his shoulders. To Glass he murmurs: "Take a few slow breaths. It'll be a rough climb but it all be just a mem'ry tamorrah." And hopefully it won't even be that.

Glass licks his dry lips and looks up the stairs.

Jean-Batiste nods a little to Walker, shifting Glass's arm over his shoulders. "Ready," he murmurs, taking a deep breath before he starts to climb the stairs, free hand clasped firmly around the handrail. No need to turn this into a many-personed clusterfuck.

Glass climbs after Batiste, smiling warm and absently.

Benjamin slouches in the entryway from the hall to the living room, watching the goings-on sharply. Wishing he had any idea what is necessary for a nice junk detox. Coffee? Water? Cold bath... well, that one's out, unless Mr. Zippy can be relocated, and even then... turtle water. Ew. Amazing how one's thoughts will wander. Ben snaps back to the now, and glances down to Jason, to see if there's any way he can make himself useful for at least that part of the family.

Walker starts up after Bat acting as both support and balance for Glass' limp form. It's a very incomfortable experience; in some ways the discomfort and pain from his re-opened wound greets him as a relief. Physical pain is always easier to deal with than emotional turmoil.

Jason looks... exceptionally disappointed. Like he came home all expecting to be greeted with warm hugs and laughs and everyone'd share the chocolate and Life would be Good. But, instead, he comes home to /this/. Bitterly disappointed. He leans against the wall and watches the Glass movement effort with detatched interest from the base of the stairwell.

You head up the steep stairs.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, Batiste clears the last step and guides Glass onto a nice, solid floor. He looks to the closed bathroom door, sighing gently, then locates the beanbags and starts guiding Glass thataways. "Over here, not too far..." he murmurs.

Glass staggers, not expecting that last step to not be there.

Walker keeps up the pace set to Bat's, stumbling only a little as Glass' stagger triggers off a chain reaction. But crisis is averted as Walker stabilizes and follows after Bat. Getting Glass up here wasn't near as hard as moving the waterbed.

Glass is led over to the beanbags. He looks down at the distant floor. Oh.

Jean-Batiste stumbles as well, clutching to Glass and relying a little on Walker's strength to right him. "Careful, careful..." he murmurs. Just a little further, and he can rest his aching shoulder. Walker can too, for that matter. Finally, the beanbag is reached, and Batiste starts easing Glass down into it, sighing in relief. "You want your smoke, still?" he asks, rolling his shoulder gingerly.

Glass whispers, "Yeah. And some water. It's all I ever could want."

Walker tries to ease - he really does - but the end result is much more clumsy. He favors the now-vertical Glass with a deeply apologetic look as he straightens. "Sorry... didn't mean ta..." Drop you so roughly? Be an idiot last night? Fill in the blank. He brushes his hair back, frowning as he sees two thin trickles of blood seeping out from under his sleeve. And Trace is in the bathroom up here. Oh, well. It's just a little blood. It can wait till he gets back downstairs.

Glass doesn't seem to mind having been dropped. He smiles.

"How's your shoulder?" Batiste asks Walker as he straightens up, still rolling his shoulder a little. With the other hand, he fumbles around for his cigarettes, drawing one out of the softpack and lighting it up before he crouches and places it against Glass's lips. "There you go...I'll go get you some water." Up to his feet again, swaying for a moment. "Can you watch him for a sec, so he doesn't burn himself? I'll be right back..."

Glass looks at the cigarette with an expression of total bliss. Oh, purr. Hm. Burn. Where's the fire? He looks around. Glass drags on the cigarette, forgetting that he's forgotten to light it.

"S'okay," Walker answers. What else might've been expected from him? He drops to a crouch next to Glass then to a sit, folding his legs under him. "I'll keep an eye on him." He reaches over to lightly stroke Glass' hair, brow hinting at a furrow again as he studies the fellow's relaxed expression. He sighs softly, expression clearing again as he remembers what Ben said.

Glass murmurs, "Mm. M'sieur Walker." He drags on the cigarette again.

Jean-Batiste watches the two of you for a second, frowning thoughtfully...and curiously, he has to admit. So many things going on that he can't figure out. He ponders for a moment, then turns and hurries down the stairs before he asks something he shouldn't.

You head down the steep stairs.

Jason and Ben were just on their way up the stairs. Jason not looking terribly enthused.

Jean-Batiste hurries down the stairs. Not running breakneck, but walking quickly. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand that's not securely curled around the handrail as he descends.

Benjamin halts on the third or fourth step, turning back to look at Jason oddly. Hell, he almost got angry once tonight, he can almost do it again. "And so you wouldn't even try?" he asks, low. "You'd just let it go on, even if it's killing them?"

Jason snaps back, "Y'think I didn' /try/?" And more was about to come, but... here comes Batiste. He just quiets up again and gives his friend a small, false smile. "Hey..."

Jean-Batiste comes to an abrupt halt, swaying gently as he clutches the handrail to brake himself. He just stares down at the two of you, blinking, looking haggard and frazzled and...well, who -isn't- around here, tonight? "I was just...going to get some water..." he murmurs, glancing back up the stairs uneasily, as if he felt the urge to flee from the two of you.

For a moment, Ben's eyes flare, and one hand tightens, flexes. He looks up at Batiste, hard for a second, but quickly softening as the blond boy isn't the source of his frazzled anger tonight. "What do you need, Batiste?" his voice barely controlled quiet. "Let me get it, you go back upstairs and rest." And he's blocking the stairs, so he's pretty sure Bat has to listen to him.

Jean-Batiste isn't in the mood to try and puff his chest up and pretend to be any kind of dominant male tonight, nope. "Just...a bottle of water from the fridge, and something for myself, that's all..." His bottom lip vanishes into his mouth as he worries on it, looking from one of you to the other, then back again. Jason's smiling fakely, Ben's almost angry...the world's definately gone weird tonight.

Jason's eyes go back to Ben, fingers clenching and unclenching as well. He takes a deep breath and says, very softly, bitterness tinging his words, "They'll stop when they're /ready/." And then the brick of chocolate's drawn from his pocket and tossed onto the stairs, where it breaks into several pieces. "Here, have some chocolate," he declares to no one, eyes already lowered. He turns and pads back down the stairs, heading for the door.

Benjamin turns quickly, moving down the few stairs he managed to get up. He looks as if he might try to collar Jason, yank him back and give him a good tongue-lashing. But you know? That's not his job. His jaw tightens, and he glares after the boy, but says nothing. A quick detour takes him into the kitchen and to the fridge to get the water Batiste requested.

Jean-Batiste's heart lurches and cracks in sympathy when the chocolate breaks against the wrought iron steps. "Jason..." he calls, pleading, imploring. He glances down at the chocolate, hops over it and stumble-skips down the last few stairs, palm squeaking against the railing. "Please don't go, wait!" His booted feet hit the floor noisily thanks to lashing laces and lolling tongues, slopping loudly as he chases after Jason.

Jason yanks open the door as Batiste chases after him, starting to step out. But he pauses... then just slumps against the door, hand still on the handle, head hung low. "Wasn' goin' nowhere," he murmurs. "Jus'... needed some air, s'all."

Walker comes downstairs.

Benjamin takes several bottles from the refrigerator, and balances them carefully as he comes out of the kitchen. Two he leaves on the low table in the entryway, passing by Batiste and Jason at the door, turning away from them with the remaining three bottles. Of course this means he nearly runs into Walker, coming back down the stairs.

There's a brick of chocolate broken across one of the stairs, about halfway up.

Jean-Batiste reaches the door and reaches out for Jason's wrist, as if his friend might still try and flee. His other hand goes to the door, to try and ease Jason's grasp on it. He doesn't close the door just yet, though - instead, he leans close and whispers intensely to Jason, drawing back as he finishes speaking to watch his friend's reaction.

Walker comes back downstairs, step soft. Though his eyes are on the stairs he still almost misses noticing the candy. Fortunately it's spared his foot as he skips a little to avoid it. He half-crouches to scoop it up and continues on his way down. The stairs are an obstacle course tonight; there's Ben to sidestep to avoid colliding with. Noting the bottles, he nods to them. "If one-a those is f'Glass, ya don' need it. He's asleep." This is mumbled around some of the chocolate that's found its way to his mouth.

Jason senses "Jean-Batiste's eyes are weary-wild, desperate - they lock on you, trying to find your eyes as if they were an emerald green lifeline. He leans close, close enough to make your hair rustle as he whispers to you, "Just let me come with you. Please? Wherever you go." He doesn't want to stay here alone. He knows what he'll be tempted to do."

Benjamin blinks down at his armful, and nods a little. He lifts his eyes to Walker's, searching those jade gems for a moment, biting his lip as his gaze wanders down to assess his friend's bodily condition. "Why don't you go into the bathroom, and I'll help you get cleaned up," he instructs quietly, turning to put the bottles down on the nearest available surface.

You sense Jason's eyes look up at you through his hair. He also knows what you're tempted to do. You can see the acidic remark coming up before his lips even move... But it never does come.

Walker glances down the hall toward Jason and Bat with muted curiosity but heads toward the bathroom. He'd forgotten his arm in the interim spent with Glass and it probably would be a good idea to clean it up. Once inside he moves the mixer bowl of turtle from the sink, placing it on the floor for the now so he can use the water without endangering or dirtying Mr. Zippy.

Jean-Batiste falters for a second, watching Jason's face through the curtain of flame-coloured hair. "Please..." he murmurs simply, waiting.

Jason sighs softly, his grip on the door tightening before it releases. He turns his head a little to look up at Batiste, silent. Then shakes his head slowly, brushing hair from his eyes. "I..." he starts, then falters.

Benjamin glances worriedly after Batiste and Jason, but there's only so much he can help with at once. And all this doing good and being helpful is really starting to wear on him; he isn't used to it. Still, if he's going to be a true hedonist, he'd best be ready to experience it all. With a quiet, resolved breath, he moves down the hall to join Walker in the bathroom, squishing himself in there wherever there's room, and hunting washcloths and towels, and new bandages. They've got to be near, he just bought more last night.

You sense Jason has... given up. He can't get angry because he wants to do exactly what he was going to get pissed at you for wanting to do: escape. "Let's get fucked-up somewhere, huh Bat?" he whispers softly.

Jean-Batiste swallows, and releases Jason's wrist, looking away. He steps back, letting go of the door as well, staring down at his feet as he takes a shaky breath. He whispers a secret to his boots, then looks up at Jason again.

Walker's one step ahead on the washcloth, already dampening one under the warming flow of water. He wrings it out and begins scrubbing up. The cloth is ruined but that's all right. Crunch all you want, Sears will sell more. He peels the stuck part of his shirt away from his upper arm, nose wrinkling at the soft sound it makes as it parts company with his skin.

Jason senses "Jean-Batiste swallows hard, and pulls in some air in five or six jumpy attempts. "Whatever...you want to do..." he whispers. It's not what he wants - at least, not if he'll be allowed to stay with you. But he's not sure he's brave enough to risk you storming out if he tries to defy you. "Let's...just get out of here for a while?""

Benjamin's patient hands come to help ease the cloth away from Walker's torn skin, pulling his hair back carefully from the grisly work. He can't help but wince at the sight of Walker's blood and the rent in the soft, fair skin. "Be careful," he instructs softly, his voice a low buzz in the quiet of the house. "You have iodine or anything, before you put the new bandage on it?"

Jason lifts his eyes to Batiste again, sharing a haunted look with his friend. Everything was supposed to be so /good/ when he came home. Walker in a robe and slippers, Ben in an apron, Trace and Batiste... "You got any of it on you?" A quick glance to Walker and Ben, to make sure they're busy, then back to Bat. "Cause..." And then he shakes his head. "C'mon..." He takes the other's hand and tugs him outside.

Jason opens the front door and steps outside.

Jean-Batiste is tugged outside, casting a last look back towards Ben and Walker through blond braids as he goes.

You open the door and step outside.

Jean-Batiste tugs the door shut behind him, even as he's being tugged by you. "No, I don't have any..." he replies, a little confused, a lot scared. His fingers squirm around yours, clinging fiercely as he stumbles over the doorframe and follows after you.

Jason murmurs, "Next time, then..." A little disappointed. He was set on giving up right then and there. But he doesn't want to go back into that place. Not at all. He lets go of your hand and stuffs his hands in his pockets, heading towards the park.

Jean-Batiste is a lean, mean, empathic machine when it comes to disappointment. He feels it more keenly than he feels just about anything else, except -maybe- guilt. And so his eyes darken a little, even if he's secretly glad to have averted this little slice of disaster...for now. His fingers clutch at yours for a last moment before falling away, abandoned, to his sides. He follows after you in silence, unsure what to say.

Epilogue: The two boys went to the fort and, that's where they ends up going to sleep after getting firmly stoned out of their mind on some weed Jason had handy.

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