~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Log Title: Jason and Zack
Log setting: The Lost Raven, and later the playground.
Log Cast:
Grace
Jean-Batiste
Starlight
Zachary
Joey
Jason
Trace
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Starlight is standing on the sidewalk, but right by the curb, in front of the Raven. He's looking toward Zachary as Bat and Gracie exit, and considering Zach is right by the door, spots the two almost immediately. And boy oh boy does his face light up. "Hey, Gracie. Hi, Bat." More friends. And then to Zachary, in response to his last, "Yeah, she's a doctor." In case Joey wasn't going to speak for herself, or something. Duh. His attention moves back to the two that just exited and he then notices Jason. Woah. A smile for the red-head too. And Ruby. Christ. Sensory overload!
Leaning against Bat seems to be the only way Grace is gonna make it down the stairs. Muddy-faced-Grace. Dammit, where's Trace when you need him for a really cheesy rhyme? "I --" Her blood-shot, teary gaze makes its blind perusal of the gathered clump of people outside, hovering for a moment before landing squarely on Star. Dammit. "--Bat, thanks a lot. Ya know. Whenever I chop onions I get like this." She's /real/ good under pressure. The wetnap slides from her fingers to add to the trash scurrying around on the ground. It'll be picked up by the wind later, or something. "But I think I'm just gonna get on home."
Ruby moves through the door quietly, not with the small group that exited, clearly. A nod towards Star and Zachary. "H'llo!" she greets, cheerfully.
Don't light up -too- much, Star - Batiste is guiding Grace down the steps, hand on her elbow in case she could fall. He doesn't hang on to her when she draws away - he's currently HelperBat, not MommyBat - but does lean in and murmur something quietly to her, watching her expression when he finishes.
Joey shuffles her feet self-consciously. Seems like she gets this reaction a lot. Maybe she doesn't look like a health professional. "Yea...well...kinda..Nawt yet, but...afteh school is oveh..." A shrug to Zachary, opening her mouth to say more....but her eyes flit over to the little parade of people exiting The Raven. Embarrassment comes over her face for a second, but is stamped out when she sees Grace's condition. Girl looks positively horrid. "Uhm...'ey guys..." Going in the direction of the steps, saying cautiously..."'Ya okay? Need any help er somethin'?"
Grace drags her already-nibbled lower lip through her teeth, shredding whatever loose flesh had decided to cling with unholy fervor to her mouth; her gaze planted squarely on Batiste as he speaks to her. A quick glance over shoulder to Star and a low sigh. Damn, he shouldn't see her like this. She shakes her head a little and leans forward to whisper to the HelperBat.
Zachary steps to the side as a parade of ex-Ravenites comes down the steps. He was pretty much blocking traffic, anyhow. A gaze flickers amongst the girl being supported by Bat, a few other trailers heading out and away. He lifts his chin in a nod, his smile widening, "Hey there, darlin'." He says in the way of Ruby. Pale blue eyes scan past a figure or two others, then seem to stop. Shift gears. What was .. that? Hmmmm.. And he looks back towards the gaggle now forming near Starlight (popular kid), rest squarely on the visage of Jason. "Well well."
Starlight frowns now, course, Gracie just kind of looks like Scout at the moment. But she needs help to walk? He steps a little closer, brows lifting way up. "Um, Bat?" Onions? Okay, Super T-cells he'll fall for, but onions? What, was she Farmer Gracie, pickin'n cuttin' in the dirt'r sumthin'? His concerned gaze slips to Jason and he shakes his head, just fractionally. Doesn't understand.
Jason comes trotting down the steps, a little ways after Batiste and the dirty girl, looking at a loss for ideas as to what to do about the situation. But he pauses on the last step and looks around, suddenly aware that there are a lot more familiar faces (both bruised and not). I see Star and Joey and... Zack? Not that that last one would remember him. So, anyhow, Jason gives Star a slight smirk as the smaller boy gives him a smile, then glances curiously to Zack and Joey. So... what's the proper etiquette here? Probably to just blend into the background. That is if Zack /did/ forget him. Which, apparently, he didn't. Um. Hey Zack.
Deanna Zel steps up bourbon lightly without a care to the heat or humidity, her hands burried in the pockets of her jacket and shoulders shrugged up lightly, head somewhat bowed. Don't notice me, I'm no one, just walking, honest. She glances over at the crowd that's formed infront of the Raven and her brow furrows slightly under stringy blond bangs, but she skirts it's edges, espically after spotting Batiste. He doesn't like you none, does he De. And we all know /why/, damn girl. However, when she spots Zack, she manages to muster a little courage and quietly steps over towards the man, brown eyes peeking at him though she remains quiet and timidly waits to be noticed.
Jean-Batiste nods a little to Grace's whisper, and draws back. "Okay. I understand," he murmurs. "Let me give you cab fare to home though, okay?" He's already reaching into his pocket, to pull the money out, thumb rubbing off ones and five as he counts them out. HelperBat is stubborn, see? As he's peeling twelve dollars off his little mini-stash, he looks up at Star and smiles tightly. "Star. Hey. Everything okay?"
Ruby waves a bit to Zack and moves up the street, perhaps to get out of the sturm und drang of the doorway.
Zachary remembers -everything-, and those who figure running out of town, and showing back up in cutesy braids should do well to keep that in mind. Jason. He steps away from the burgeoning melodrama about to unfold here, involving everyone falling over themselves to peer at Grace, whom he doesn't even know. Seems rather unwilling to let himself get drawn into this, at any rate. He slips to the side, near the steps where Jason has planted himself. "Been a long time, Riley." He says, with a bit of a smile. Tsk tsk, it's got to be bad when the -adult- recognizes you among your friends. Never gonna live this one down. He gives a return wave to Ruby, and spots De in the process. Popular corner.
Oh, ho. No, Grace can't take money from Batiste. That would be very wrong in a very bad way. She shakes her head, mustering up enough talent to form a smile; teeth flashing oddly white in her dirty face. She raises a hand to rake through her dirty hair, her gaze sliding from Bat back to Star. "Heya sweetie." All right. It was a croak, but it still sounded somewhat lucid. She'll be fine. Just fine as soon as she gets home. A few steps backwards and then a staggered forward one, jolting her body into movement in Star's direction. "I'm just gonna go home and get cleaned up. I--" She what? She fought a losing battle with concrete? "--I fell." Take that.
Elizabeth blinks at the huge crowd. Damn good thing she didn't bring her guitar. No one would have heard it anyway. She spies Grace and makes her way over to her, slowly, cautiously.
Starlight shakes his head at Batiste and steps closer to The One Who Didn't Smirk At Him. "Bat, I was kind of looking for, um, you," he says, quietly, but his attention is once again placed on Gracie. He can't help but look at the dirty chick. Gawd. She looks like hell. "Gracie, um, why are ya all dirty?" Well, he's concerned. Or something. "Why are ya here when yer all dirty?" A better question perhaps? "Where's Flaggy?" And finally, the /best/ question. Isn't he posta, like, watch her or something? She fell? "You fell?" C'mon, even /Star/ doesn't believe that one. And he blinks. She just used his line. How annoying.
Scout comes walking down the street, smoking a cigarette, heading in the direction of The Raven. The kid has this weird makeshift bandage thingy tied around his left hand, looks like a piece of sheet or something, and lookie there - it matches Star's. Same hand and all. Funny how that happens. Okay, so he's walking.. and not paying much attention to his surroundings.. and so he's practically ontop of everyone before he notices what is going on. Eyes lock on Star, and then Gracie, wide and disturbed. "Star...?" He murmurs, moving alongside the two, flicking his cigarette into the street and then giving the older a slight tug on the sleeve. What the hell is going on? Kid looks to the battered girl then, upset. She fell? The hell she did.
Joey purses her lips slightly when her question is totally ignored. Maybe it's just better to stay out of it or something, anyways...but with Grace lurching around like that...."Careful, sug," she warns, oh so helpfully. A look at Batiste, then Starlight, then back to Grace. Hmm....
Hate to say it, but Bat, Star, and muddy girls are all kinda lost to Jason now. He clears his throat and scuffs his foot against the side of the step, keeping his eyes carefully on the ground. "Um..." comes the intelligent 15 year-old reply. And then the quiet, "Hey, Zack." Bright eyes peer up tentatively through loose hair. Wow. Jason... looking like he's in /trouble/. Get your Polaroids, kids. He tries on a smile. "How've you been?" Yes, make small talk! Avoid certain subjects.
Deanna Zel watches as Zack sits down next to.. Jason... Jason Riley. Yeah, De remembers /him/, too. Sorry Jason, but De doesn't look too keen on coming too close to /you/. It's been a baaaaad week for our resident crazy girl, and what she's watching right now is just making it worse.. Her eyes flicker over to Grace at the scene around the girl, and she can't help but.. remember.. things that she doesn't at all want to remember. Things that, now, only depress her.. And she's already far too depressed as it is. Brown eyes flicker almost helplessly over to Zack again, then Jason, and finally to the door of the raven.. Best choice. So how come her feet aren't moving? Feet aren't being nice today either.. De stares down at them as if they caused all this. Bad feet. Bad.
"Grace..." Batiste protests. "C'mon, it's..." Hopeless. She's not going to take it, kiddo. He makes a wry face at her, and slips the money away, back into his pocket. He steps back, letting Star and Scout cluster around Grace. His job here is done, or something like that. Time for a smoke. He rummages up a licorice clove and lights up, scanning around to find Jason. Red hair, there! And he's...scuffing his feet and looking demure at Zachary. The wind goes out of his sails faster than a Suck-O-Lux could manage, and he just leans back against the wall, concentrating on his clove. Cancer in, cancer out.
If she takes a deep breath and blurts out all the answers to all the questions posed to her, Grace might have a chance of getting this over in one quick sweep. "I told you. I really did fall. Remember? I'm a big klutz. I'm here because I didn't realize how dirty I was and then I ordered an apple but they sent me an onion, and I started cutting into it before I even realized what I was doing." She's getting even more pathetic now. "Flagg, um. I think he's home." Finally, a bright idea from the girl. "And he asked me to get him the apple." Yeah. Cause Flagg would really like /apples/. Hell. Oh, no. A flip of her stomach as she sees Scout. This couldn't get any better, really. "Hey hon." A shifting of her weight and she squirms backwards a little. Much like a beached guppy. "Soo, I'm just gonna head back home, get in the shower, and everything will be fine." Fine . Just fine.
Seeing as how he's twice as old as anyone on this corner, it's not terribly hard for Zachary to look paternal. Or fatherly. Or just damn old. So that's the easy explanation for the cowering of Jason with but a word or a gesture. Or ... certain subjects that he, too, seems unwilling to broach, at least amongst present company. He eyes the boy, his clothes, his bearing, his manner - all familiar, if radically different. His hands still in his pockets, he purses his lips, as if seeing this boy has flooded back all sorts of memories - not all of them wonderful and endearing. He gives a smile at familiar Jason-dodging answers, "You haven't changed a bit, though the braids.... tsk." He shakes his head in that worldly generational gapness. Trends pass him by, big surprise there. He lowers his tone, and glances to Jason's new 'posse'. "never expected to see you again."
Starlight looks to the side. A Scout. Child blinks a few million times, then shakes his head. "I dunno, bro, jus' uh, we should git'er home'r sumthin', eh?" He's not talking to Grace anymore, and it might appear, to the casual observer, that the young lady doesn't really have a say in things anymore. Star takes one of her arms, then lifts his chin toward Scout. Take the other, dude. "C'mon, Gracie, we're goin'." He peers back over his shoulder to Bat and offers the boy a very sincere smile. "Thanks, Bat. Um, I need to talk to you, though, when you get a chance?" He starts walking Gracie down the steps. C'mon, girlie. You can do it. He spares Jason a bit of attention, then to Zachary, before Bat can respond. "See ya," comes out, quietly. Doesn't look like Star is really one of Jason's posse. Nope. Not yet, anyway.
Joey sighs, shaking her head. OK...so Grace is all dirty and talking about onions? No matter how much she'd like to help, there just isn't much to be done...so she chews on her lip and remains quiet for a time. And then Batiste is smoking, she smells that. God...is she a damn hawk? If that kid lit a smoke ten blocks away, her radar nose would find it. And it might have gone overlooked before because she was upset.. but she's all better now. "Bye...Grace...Star..," she calls half-heartedly, making her way over to Batiste.
Scout frowns, eyes narrowing in on Gracie, frown tugging his lips. Suspicious. So she's gonna lie to him, eh? He's just a little kid and all.. but c'mon, that was definitely not the truth. He can smell a lie like a fart in a car. Cause, ya know, the kid's a pro at deception himself. But as Starlight speaks, the younger tilts his head in that direction and gives a little nod. Get her home. Right. "C'mon Gracie..." he murmurs softly, moving to the other side of her, using his good hand to grip lightly at her arm. They can give her the third-degree once they get there.
Jason isn't the type to cower before anyone, really. He's told cops off (and paid for it) before. But he's all of a sudden quiet and all of that. S'kinda weird. He glances back towards Star and Batiste and the rest of the streetkids as well, then up to Zack again, this time swallowing. He puts on a small, crooked smile. One of those things about Jason that'll never change, his smile. "'M a slave ta fashion, what can I say?" he murmurs. But then he swallows even harder and lowers his head, kicking at a loose piece of concrete. "Well, y'know... was plannin' on comin' back 'n all. Jus'..." He lets that hang loose, shrugging non-committally.
Starlight kind of leans toward Joey as the woman makes to pass him to get to Batiste. It mutters to Joey, "... really... to talk... you... okay?... Sorry,... just gotta get..."
Jean-Batiste smokes his clove like he's trying to develop lung cancer in the next thirty seconds, shooting Zachary furtive little sullen looks through the spiced smoke. He glances away, watching Star, Grace and Scout for a few seconds. "I'll call you in a bit," he tells Star. "Okay?" And Joey's coming over. He looks down at his clove, sighs, and continues smoking it. Maybe she'll understand, just this once. "Hey," he calls softly to her, trying - and failing - a smile.
"Wait, guys. Seriously." Grace shakes her head and leans down, dropping a kiss first to Scout's head, and then Star's. So what. If they wanna act all tough, they can do it when she isn't around. "I'm really just going to go home and get cleaned up." She lets out a sigh, her expression reeking with guilt. It's palpable. Coming off of her in waves of embarassed heat. "You guys can stay and chill, and do whatever. All I'm gonna do is get in the shower, and crawl onto the couch. We'll have a nice breakfast together, all right?" Pleaseohpleaseohplease, just let her go home alone. She can handle things if she has the time to be by herself. She can't, conversely, handle them while having to explain to 'her' two boys what happened.
Step one.. Step two.. One foot infront of the other, Deanna slowly makes her way towards the door of the raven. She darts a brief look over to the motley crew of street kids, then back over to Jason and Zack.. and quickly away. A few tears are blinked back before she lifts her left hand to reach for the Raven's door, the diamond on her ring finger glinting in the street lights. The door is pushed open slowly, and feet shuffle slowly to guide De into the resturant..
McShea brushes past Zel as he leaves the Raven, then waves happily at Joey as he spots her.
"Talk ta me?" Joey blurts when Starlight mutters something to her softly, stopping in her Batiste-ward tracks. "Uhm..." A careful nod. Sure. Sure, no problem, Star. "Yea..." A shake of the head. Okay...moving on..."Hey..Batiste," she says quietly, leaning against the wall next to him. Opening her mouth to comment about the clove...but...he seems so..not happy. Not smiling. And Jo's sensitive to that. So she doesn't say anything about it. What clove? "How are ya, hon?"
Zachary watches the quieting, weirdly subdued Jason with a noted, concentrated eye. The kind he reserves for the studious examinations of people, the kind that pick details out of a web of white noise, the kind that serve him very very well in his chosen profession. He has eyes for no one else at this point, even Deanna, who otherwise would get full attention in her state, must be let to go to her haunt in the Raven. One teen at a time. He takes in a slow breath at this last hanging statement of Jason's, a dark cloud hanging over the man, threatening to burst out in a storm at any moment. At least, that's how he must look to the kid. "Just didn't. Just didn't fit into your plans, I guess." He says, very quietly, and shakes his head, His tone shifting to one of instant regret for that comment, "Where did you end up going?" Still quite obviously avoiding something large in this. A gap the size of the Grand Canyon.
"Hey," Batiste repeats to Joey, politely exhaling away from her and at the ground before he speaks. "I'm okay." Not only is it a lie, it's a distracted lie - he's really not liking the conversation between Zachary and Jason, not at all. He'll start hackling soon, at this rate. He turns his face, forcing his attention back to Joey. "How about you?" Without giving her time to answer, he asks, "What happened?" Softer: "Who hurt you? Everyone's getting hurt, I swear..."
McShea's face betrays his feeling that perhaps he's wandered into an Unpleasant Something, but his innate curiousity (old-codger-nosiness?) compels him to stay and snoop.
Starlight sighs and pulls his hand away from Gracie. Fine. She wants to go by herself, he'll let her. He shrugs up his shoulders, helplessly and turns back to Joey. She responded. Okay. He nods a little and then slides his attention back to Scout. "She looked like she jumped in a puddle or something. Maybe her'n Flaggy been mud-wrestling or whatever?" Kid laughs, then lifts his friend's hand and looks down at it. The one with the sheet. He wrinkles his nose and shrugs. "Hurt much?" Then casts a glance toward Jason, before Scout can even respond. /Jason/ is intimidated. Wow. Brows tug up and Star actually looks affected. Zachary, you've impressed the boy. Yep. "He's scared of him," kid mentions, quietly, to Scout. Chocolate-brown orbs volly between Jason and the older man. Hmm.
Ohhh yeah, that gap's huge. And Jason sure as hell isn't going to try and fill it in. He just huddles in himself awaiting the cloudburst nervously. There's a wince as the older man finishes the sentence, a sudden realization that, well, the momentary, impulsive decision to go off and explore the world almost two years ago might have affected someone outside of himself. But then he quickly quashes that realization and takes a deep breath, small frame shivering a moment. "Jus'... 'round," he murmurs, eyes once again daring to peek up through the parted curtain of red hair, one hand going unconviously up to a braid. "LA fer a bit, 'n back to San Fran. Saw m'm-..." But no, that one dies too. "Was thinkin' ta go ta New York a bit, but..." He shrugs and gestures. But here I am now.
Scout heaves a sigh and watches after Gracie's departing form, then he blinks up at Star but doesn't laugh along. Nope. He's all /worried/ about her now, see? But, so easily distracted, he seems to forget all of this as his friend holds up his bandaged hand. "Nah.." he answers, managing a little smile. It doesn't hurt. Or, if it does, he ain't about to admit it. The child sits down on the steps and peers over at Jason, then Zachary, then once more fall on Star as he absorbs this new information. "Why?" he questions, voice low. The guy doesn't /look/ so scary.
McShea, sensing a bit of what is politely termed "history" between Jason & Zachary, watches the proceedings with bird-bright eyes.
McShea leans against a wall, near Scout & Star, the better to hear you with, my dear.
Joey licks her lips lightly, noticing the distraction - of course. Eyes flick over to Zack and Jason when Batiste's attention is that way, curiously. Something she doesn't understand going on over there. She might ask a question about it, but suddenly she's being berated with them herself. "Uhm...I dunno. I guess I'm okay. I guess I really...wanted ta apologize about earlier. That was really ugly of me ta do...okay?" Apology accepted? She smiles warmly, gently at her friend...but then she's being forced to answer The Question. "I know...I guess...everyone was gettin' beat up. I felt left out." Wry humor, along with a sardonic smile. Then she shrugs seriously, a look around at the group...seeming to say 'Not something I really want to tell out here'.
Yes, here he is now. Zachary listens, well, half-listens to the itenerary of the wandering minstrel boy, with heavy-lidded eyes. If Jason is intimidated, Zack is consumed, this boy's presence dredging things up best left undredged. History, yes, and the outward images of what kind of history a forty year old man might have with a fifteen year old boy could be seemingly obvious to the untrained, or inexperienced eye. Misconstruable to the N-th degree, and he could care less at this point, that he and Jason have become the de facto floor show of Bourbon street. "Wandering." He lets out a dry laugh, "Yeah, I figured as much." You nevah call, you nevah write. If he were a Jewish housefrau, boy oh boy would Jason be getting it right now. And it looks, for the moment, as if he still will. Eyes flash at the boy, all sorts of unanswered questions ringing behind that stare, but it seems similar to Joey's demeanor. Not here. Not now. But soon, young Jedi.
You think Scout is easily distracted? Well, kid doesn't hold a candle to Star. Star is already looking over toward McShea as Scout asks his question, but then returns his attenion to the younger-but-bigger boy on the steps. "I dunno, weird, eh? Didn't think he was scared uh nuthin'," is his quiet reply. "C'mon, let's go look fer Gid. Coil said he might be at The Church, you gotta talk to him, Dirt, ya gotta tell'im, okay? Cause, it ain't cool whatcha did, not matter why ya diddit." The older starts walking, not even letting his buddy respond. Clear who wears the pants in /this/ relationship, eh? Tiny reaches down, with his good hand, into his flannel pocket-- the one tied around his waist --and pulls out his pack. Time for my ol' buddy, Nico. He doesn't even look back. Just kinda knows the dirty little angel'll follow. Just knows it.
Scout hunches his shoulders in a shrug to Star. He's not overly concerned with the whole Jason/Zachary situation at the moment, really. The kid has bigger things on his mind. Take his bandaged hand, for instance. Pale eyes lower to peer at the thing, and he kind of turns it this way and that.. and then Star says those words. Yanno, the ones about telling Gid something? "Huh?" the child murmurs, eyes lifting in surprise, and lo and behold - his buddy is already wandering away. Scout pales and pushes to his feet. Of course he'll follow. Duh. How could he not? But the kid.. well.. now it's /his/ turn to look intimidated. "I don'..." he begins. But what's the use? Star can't hear him. So he pauses and kinda jogs to catch up with the older.
Jean-Batiste glances back to Zachary again, giving the man a rather flinty, frosty look. Nothing a press-type isn't immune too, but he's definately got the passive-aggressive hostility down. Star would recognize the look, but he's heading off Church-wards, apparently. (Mental note: Find out -who- Star got his fake ID from.) "Yeah," he murmurs, glancing sidelong at Joey, then staring down at his clove. "I need to go get my ass kicked just to fit in, or something." He glances up at the sky, dragging hard on his clove, blowing the smoke towards the clouds. "It's okay, Joey. Nothing to apologize for. That Wendy chick...you just have to ignore her. Seriously. She does the same thing every time. You just have to stop letting it get to you."
Things that /seriously/ should be left undredged. But it's too late now. Apparently for the both of them. Jason, himself, seems completely unaware of the audience. He's no journalist or detective. But it's probably a good thing, cause, his eye being trained well enough, he'd probably die if he knew that people were thinking things. He tries on a small smirk of a smile for the older man and shrugs one shoulder. "S'what I do best, what can I say?" He slowly looks around. Street. People. Sky. Just not the probing stare. /Why/ does he feel like he's got to answer to this man? Got him.
Joey shrugs, "Yeah..." she replies rather blandly to the commenting on Miss Wendy. Tell her something she -doesn't- know, Batiste. But it's a quick change of subject, trying to bury the nasty little scene she made earlier deep into a hole where no one will remember it. Especially not Joey herself. "I havena seen ya in so long. I've missed ya...and..uhm.." Hmm...seems like a delicate subject is coming up. "There was somethin' I kind of wanted ta tawk to ya about when ya gawt the time." There. That was tactful and sweet. She even throws another smile into the mix to sweeten the pot before her eyes are dancing distractedly back to Jason to Zack. Just what the hell are they doing over there, anyways?
A breath is let out, slowly, and carefully. Zack keeping his eye trained on the boy before him, lest he skip away and run off to say, Aruba next. Or Nepal. God knows where. But also knowing that this is not the appropriate time to finish blowing off the sand on that ancient history that's been excavated. Best to haul up tents, and try again later. He clears his throat, and lets Jason off the hook. Lucky kid. "Here." He digs into his pocket, and produces a business card. He scribbles down a number on the back of it, and hands it over, holding it before the boy's face, before he can refuse it, or let it blow away, joining all the other refuse on the street. "Here's my number." Another deep breath, anda searching gaze. He seems desperate for some sort of concrete answers, and knows, deep down, he isn't about to get them from Jason Riley. "We need to talk, Jason. Bout all of this. Soon." The unspoken 'you're gonna do this, kid' isn't said, but is in his tone. He seems to know he can not only get away with that tone, but it'll work. Jason will call. damn well has to.
McShea looks quietly relieved that the crowd has thinned down somewhat.. easier to overhear the important conversations.
Jean-Batiste's eyes narrow sullenly on the business card - maybe if he glares at it hard enough, it'll burst into ash and crumble away? When it doesn't work, he shrugs a little Joey-wards and takes the final drag off his clove, grinding it out underfoot. "Yeah. Things have been pretty crazy. All hell's breaking loose." He sighs, and starts rubbing at the back of his neck, slowly kneading out a very tentative smile. "Missed you too, Joey." Genuine, if lacklustre. "Just...whenever you want to talk. You want me to call sometime, or just stop by?"
Deanna Zel pushes the door of the raven open with her shoulder, hands remaining in her pockets as she steps out. Her step takes her carefully passed any who may be still gathered around the steps of the establishment, and she purposefully avoids looking at anyone for too long.
Jason swallows hard, this time keeping his gaze very firmly on his feet. Scuffscuff. Awaiting whatever is coming to him. Why doesn't he just walk off? Laugh it off? Take the card and toss it? Even he doesn't know, probably. He nods slightly to the older man's words, then, without raising his eyes again, he reaches up and takes the card, then slides it into his pocket. The threat of 'talking' soon makes him cringe, but he just nods again. Yes, sir. Will do, sir. He dares a little look up and rasps out, throat tight with long-buried emotions, "I'll... see you 'round, I guess?" Cause it feels like there's nowhere in Nawlins that I can hide.
Zachary doesn't release the card until it's taken, and doesn't retract his hand until the card becomes part of Jason's pocket. That's good enough for him, he seems to know that it won't get thrown away, or discarded, or forgotten. For whatever reason, he can get to Jason. That aforementioned 'history' rearing its ugly head. He puts his hands back to his pockets, and nods quietly. Not looking forward to this promise of a talk, either, on the surface, but down deep - needing it, just from the shadowy gloom lingering not too far from his gaze. "Yeah. I'll see you around, Riley. Don't get into too much trouble, okay?" He says, with a lighter tone, and a half-smile. Seems he does know the boy well enough to realize the utter futility of that request.
Business card? This seems like heavy duty reporter stuff....'We have to talk' and what not. Just like on the movies. "Yeah...crazy..." Joey murmurs, taking her curious eyes away from Jason and Zack once more to look at Batiste. And even if the youth isn't especially chipper right now, he still makes her smile. She seems real fond of him. "Yea...well...if you'd drop by some time, that would be cool. I mean, s'not like terribly pressin'....jus' somethin' I kinda wanted ta bring up with ya and was meanin' ta ask ya about." Simple enough. Sounds good. "Okay?" Hands get tucked into pockets, teeth start gnawing at bottom lip slightly.
Antonio walks into the street slowly. Nice duds this time, Tony's a bit spiff. But he has more an anxious look than one that's relaxed, as his eyes wander the crowd, as if looking for someone he might know.
One of those people Deanna is avoiding directly looking at as soon as her eyes glance over them has a familiar, but long unseen face.. The familiarity begs another look from De, who's ever-watery brown eyes widen slightly upon seeing "Tony!" she yells out above the din of the Bourbon crowd, starting to rush towards the boy.
Antonio smiles a little and shoulder length locks flow outward as his head snaps round. Cocoa eyes widen as he sees Deanna. His voice is nonchalant (he doesn't look the image.. it's all sound in this boy now) as he says, "De, how are you doing?
McShea seems satisfied that nothing else of interest will be happening here. He nods, once, to himself, then wanders off uptown,
That last part actually elicits a smile from Jason as well. A small, weak one, but it's there nonetheless. "Haven't you heard?" he murmurs. "I'm almost an Eagle Scout now..." He dares look up to the older man, smile strengthening a little, even as the dread shows through his usually bright eyes. He's scared shitless. But he probably needs it too. Just won't realize it until the storm's past, most likely. "Um..." But that's about the best he can do for a farewell and he just shrugs a shoulder lamely and pulls away, trotting for the chimney-smoking Batiste and battered Joey. Ooh, what a cheery party /this/ is going to be.
"Yeah," Batiste murmurs, turning a little from Zachary and Jason, facing Joey more direction. "Yeah. Okay. I'll try and do that tomorrow, okay? I've got some things I need to do, anyways. It'd be good to take a break halfway through, and stop by. Probably...probably late afternoon, a bit before supper, okay? I'll try and call if I can't make it."
Zachary steps away, releasing Jason from his indentured servitude of having to stand there and take that, especially in public. Just wasn't any getting around this, nosir. The inevitable brick wall that has to be careened towards, with the hope, vain though it may be, that it can be turned from, backed away from, somehow averted. Or forgotten entirely. But nothing is ever forgotten forever, not when one small face in the crowd brings it all screaming back in living technicolor. He gives the boy what must be a fond smile. And a nod, letting the 'um' pass asa farewell. He gets the message. Something somewhere has been awakened, and not entirely welcomed. But something else, has been put to rest, or will be soon. And the horizon doesn't look so bleak. The wall just may crumble yet.
By the time Deanna reaches Tony, tears are just streaming down her cheeks from those soulfull eyes. She grabs onto the sleeve of his jacket to pull him so his back is to everyone else and she can stand infront of him, as if wanting him to be her shield. What a living contrast the two are.. While De may have cleaned herself up from the scruffy street-rat she once was, well.. 'You can take the street rat from the street, but you can't take the street from the street rat', or some such. And there's Tony - wealth, beauty, exotic (well, not for New Orleans, but /still/..).. People like him usually pay to keep people like De /away/. She holds up her left hand to show him the diamond on her ring finger and murmurs something through impending sobs.
Deanna Zel mutters to Antonio, "... marry... said... Ah... /do/?!"
"Great.." Joey says, pleased, smiling still. Kind of a grotesque image. The fact that she has a huge bruise, a split lip, and a black eye...and can still smile like that. "I'll see ya then, okay? I hafta get ta work right now, though...soo..." Gotta split. A hand motion down the street, towards her home.."I mean, I've still gotta change and stuff. So.." A shrug, and she takes a step backwards...glancing at Jason as he trots over.
Zachary turns, walking away from the raven, his appetite vanishing in the moments of conversation with this face from his past. Mere minutes that seemed like hours, years. Nothing ever truly fades, it just ... resurfaces. He glances over towards De and Antonio, pausing before hailing a cab, or walking on. His own mental turmoil buried for now, as he gives a compassionate glance to the teary girl. "De?" He murmurs, lifting his chin to gain her attention, if he can. "You all right there?" Well, no, she isn't. But you start these things slowly, easily.
Jean-Batiste glances back. Incoming Jason? Mmn. He looks back to Joey, summoning up a shaky but determined smile. "Yeah? Okay. You...you take it easy, Joey. I'll see you tomorrow." He reaches forward, touching Joey's upper arm for a second, then letting his hand fall back to his side. A second later he digs his hands down into the bottom of his pockets, studying the ground. Fascinating stuff, New Orleans pavement.
Antonio grins a little, actually he grins a lot, as he listens to De. He whispers as well to her and nods a little in the uptown direction.
Antonio mutters to Deanna Zel, "... If you want... much... have a new car and maybe I... it to... we..."
Jason gives Joey a bit of a smile. Hello bruised woman. Goodbye bruised woman? But his attention's clearly on Batiste now. A sort of tentative look. He senses the tension and... well, when Bat looks from him to the ground, he knows that, somehow, he's in even more trouble. Cripes. So he just comes up quietly and stands next to the older boy, his own hands in his pockets, quiet. Waiting for Joey to make her exit before he dares open the next can of worms, prolly.
Deanna Zel seems just dumbfounded by Tony's responce, her jaw nearly hitting that fascinating New Orleans pavement. "/Conga'd'lations/?" she exclaims, though on the quiet side. Even in time of termoil, De works not to attract attention to herself.. Well.. as much as De /can/. The mentall unstable have a way of just attracting attention without trying, though. "Dis ain' no good thin'!" She blinks upon hearing her name and lifts her hands to quickly wipe her cheeks, then looks around.. around.. around... Zack. Yep, there is a 99.9 percent chance that was his voice. Yeah, everything's dandy. I'm just fine. Do I /look/ fine to you?! "It.. It's Stan."
Joey bites the inside of her lip, pausing for a brief moment. But she's going to be late if she doesn't hurry, eyes going down to her watch as she turns to start down the street. "Bye Jason..." she calls. That was his name, right? Heard Zack say it a few times. Jason Riley. Anyways...she dodges around a few musicians, pace picking up with every step she takes.
Zachary takes a breath. Hell, he doesn't have time for this, but there's no choice. Many things this man does, he does because he simply has no choice. He steps up a pace or two towards De. Stan. Stan? Man ,he is out of the loop. His eye drifts inexorably towards that ring on her finger, and somehow, he figures he knows where this is going. "What about Stan, De?" He says, quietly.
Antonio looks back, eyes drifting to Zachary and then back to Deanna. He pauses his speech, and frowns a little. Tugs at his clothes, because even when you're over six feet, your body is still changing.
Rusty is walking uptown, slowly. His hat is hooked to a belt loop and bobbing off his leg. His wild braids, geez he needs a hair cut, sway lightly about his face.
*Sniff sniff* Deanna glances from the now quiet Antonio to the conserned Zachary, and something vaguely clicks in her head that she once witnessed between the two.. Suddenly her own problems are gone and she focuses on diffusing a situation before one arises. She forces a smile for Zack and trots over to him to hug him. "S'okay, Zack. But, Ah talk ta ya latah, huh? Ah really wanna talk ta ya.." She smiles and tries to assure him she'll be fine. Tony'll help. He'll know what to do. He's smart like Zack.
Rusty looks up, to a familiar voice. He then spots the face, "'ay Ton'.." he says with smile. His gaze moves along. Zach, then flicks to De. De? "De!" he calls out, still smiling.
Joey bites the inside of her lip, pausing for a brief moment. But she's going to be late if she doesn't hurry, eyes going down to her watch as she turns to start down the street. "Bye Jason..." she calls. That was his name, right? Heard Zack say it a few times. Jason Riley. Anyways...she dodges around a few musicians, pace picking up with every step she takes.'.
Zachary gives De a tender hug, and nods, "You better come talk to me, okay? You know where to find me." He sighs, and glances over towards Antonio. Yes, seems like the 'history' is flying all over this corner tonight. Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to leave the house. He nods, and steps away from Deanna, not really convinced this is the best thing for her, but hey. What to do. He takes a breath, and decides walking might be good for his circulation. "Good night." He issues, as a general farewell, and is off, melting into the night, baggage aplenty.
Jean-Batiste is a statue, apparently, for he stands there, hands in his pockets, staring at the concrete for a very long time. At long last, though, he glances sidelong at Jason through blond braids and murmurs, "So." Pause. "S'up?" Nothing quite like casual conversation to really claw at the nerves at times like this. His fingers procure his lighter and clove - through the first, thick plume of smoke, he looks up at Deanna and murmurs, "No, but thank you." His mouth twitches. Maybe it's supposed to be a smile.
Antonio says to Rusty, "My birthday was a couple months back. I got a car.." and he smiles, a little nervously, to the older boy. He's aware of the distance his situation can create, and it leaves him a little nervous.
Jason looks after Joey somewhat confuzzled-like. How'd she know his name? He doesn't even know her? But, oh well. He shrugs with a soft sigh and just... waits until Batiste acknowledges his existance. And then, when the other boy does, he kinda wishes that he didn't. Casual, cliche'd conversation does, indeed, claw at the nerves. He winces and looks to the sidewalk, stubbing his toe into the ground. Deanna's invitation takes a moment to register, but, when it does, Jason looks back, surprised. He's never known why, but the girl doesn't like him. And now she's inviting him to free soda? Eh... He looks to Batiste, but when the older boy turns down the invite, he looks back to Deanna and shrugs slightly, shaking his head. "Some other time, I guess," he murmurs softly, then lowers his eyes again. So.
Rusty smiles, "Tha' rocks.." he says to Tony, nodding. A hand goes up and flips back the mess of braids. He looks at De, suddenly able to see clearly without the braids in his face, "Um..sure De.." He replies and smiles.
Deanna Zel nods her head once.. She'd kind of expected both answers. Jean.. well.. she knows without a doubt why /he/ refused.. After all, she kind of went balistic on him and his friend once.. (Bad girl didn't take her meds) And Jason? Well.. she knows why she's afraid of him.. It's not his fault, really. He didn't do a thing to her. Unfortuanly, De has some 'guilt by assosiation' issues to get through. Her shrink is working on it. "Okay." she says to Jason, then smiles to Rusty and Tony, motioning them over to the raven. As she herself moves to the door, one hand drifts down to touch Jason's shoulder when she passes him and squeeze it lightly, supportivly, unless he pulls away. She doesn't have to know what's wrong to know something is.. She's seen the look in the mirror enough times, and poor Zack looked horrible. And far be it for De to pass judgement on someone so obviously in trouble.. "Offah's open." she murmurs in passing to him.
Antonio nods along with Rusty as he agrees, head bobbing in unison with the older boy.
Rusty follows along with De, as he flips back hsi braids again. Stupid hair.
/That/, Jason wasn't expecting. He flinches automatically as the girl touches him, then blinks after her as she passes by. Usually he's the one screwing with other peoples' heads, but tonight, these girls are really confusing the hell out of him. Like, bigtime. So he just nods and offers up a small smile, then sort of steps back, a little behind Batiste. "Mebbe in a bit," he murmurs softly. Very un-Jason tonight.
Deanna Zel smiles just a little as she watches Jason, looking for a moment.. sad.. and then her head turns away and she steps into the Raven.
Antonio steps into the Raven, the sounds of classic blues drifting out onto the street for the time that the door is opened.
Rusty steps into the Raven, the sounds of classic blues drifting out onto the street for the time that the door is opened.
"So." Oh, God. More small talk. Batiste drags on his clove, exhaling the smoke towards his feet. "You want to go somewhere?" Another brief, sidelong glance to you - his braids tickle his cheek, and he has to brush a few of them back. Rather than look at you directly, though, he glances away as he does it. The car over yonder honked particularly noisily. That's it. His expression is calm, almost placid, eyes murky and unreadable.
Jean-Batiste stands near Jason, off a small distance from the Raven's steps. He's smoking a clove, and looking unhappily solemn.
Stan makes his way down the street, looking pretty much unenthused about anything in general as he makes his way over towards the Raven. He glances around a bit, tending to do a decent job of ignoring passerbys.
Jason looks unhappily solemn too. Or something. He pulls his eyes up from the steps before the Raven and turns a little towards Batiste, murmuring, "Oh, god, /please/, Bat.." in response to a question. Please let's go somewhere. He lets out a soft sigh, apparently not /quite/ catching that Bat's unhappy about /him/. Just that he is. "Wanna go to the park 'r sumthin?" Y'know. The park.
Stan rubs the back of his neck as he opens the door to the Raven, taking one more quick look around before disappearing inside. Any more excitement out here and people are likely to have heart attacks, neh?
Stan steps into the Raven, the sounds of classic blues drifting out onto the street for the time that the door is opened.
Jean-Batiste takes two drags in quick succession, then grinds the clove out before he nods. "Yeah," he murmurs to Jason. "Sure, c'mon." His hands return to the depths of his pockets as he turns, heading towards Mid-City with hunched shoulders and downturned face. Tonight the part of Batiste will be played by...a damned moody actor, apparently.
The temperature is 75 degrees. It is drizzling.
Oh, and it starts to rain. How completely appropriate. Batiste snorts in bitter amusement, glancing up at the pattering drops for a second or two, then continues to walk.
Jason pads alongside Batiste, absently curling one braid about two fingers. Silent. He can stand the silence for about a block, but... Ah, shit. He's got enough hurt from one place tonight, he doesn't need this cold quiet. Huddling more into his oversized jacket, he glances up to Batiste through quickly dampening hair, and murmurs, "So... waswrong? Trace's girl?" That's really all he knows her by. Rhymed with Trace, at least. Err. Grace. Yeah. He teased the other boy about it. "Grace," he repeats, this time aloud. "'R whassername?" The one he doesn't know but knows him.
Jean-Batiste walks a quarter-block or so before he answers you. "I don't know what's up with Grace. She looked like she got raped, to me. She wasn't freaking out enough, though. I don't know for sure. Haven't seen it that much, I"m not sure. But..." He shrugs a little, lets it drop. "Whasser...Joey? I don't know what happened to her. I'll ask her tomorrow, I guess." Maybe she has Super T-Cells, too, and she'll go from black-and-blue to perfectly healed in two days, like Star did. He doesn't know anymore. Back to silence. He looks at you every dozen steps or so, seems about to take a breath and say something, but says nothing.
Jason glances sideways at you when you say the 'R' word, but... Yeah, she did get a grip pretty fast there. So hopefully it wasn't that. Either that or that girl has some willpower. But he doesn't want to think about that. He's watched the whole process too much. And, besides, she's not his concern. And you don't seem much concerned about the Joey thing either, so... What the fuck is bothering you? Jason starts getting a sneaking suspicion that, well, it's him. He has this way of hurting people from afar. And up close. And from /really/ afar, apparently. Anyhow... Trudgetrudge. He's silent for a couple of blocks, half catching your attempts at.. whatever you're attempting. Finally he just stops in his tracks and stares after you. "I did sumthin' wrong, didn' I?" That has to be it. The look in his eyes... it's so not Jason. Weak, wounded, unable to contemplate the concept of him making yet another mistake without watering. He's supposed to be the strong one, though! Teflon-coated against care or something.
Jean-Batiste takes two steps after your question, then stops as well. He stares down at his feet for fifteen seconds, twenty seconds... Finally, he turns and looks back at you with too-bright, hurting eyes. Lonely. He doesn't want to be here, all of six wretched feet away from you, but he's not going to swallow his pride and step back. Not yet. "Who was that guy?" he demands. He doesn't raise his voice - it might even sound like a plea, if you weren't looking at his eyes when he said it. "Is he... He..." Can't say it. Can't. "What is he to you?" He opens his mouth to say more, then silences himself, glancing away down the street.
Jason doesn't seem to notice the fact that, oh, there's a crowd of people flowing past the two of you. I mean, this thing just reeks of a coming lover's spat. Thank god people don't assume such things of teenagers. Usually. Anyhow, he just blinks at you for long moments as this demand sinks in. First of all, it's a demand. Something you've never done to him before. And second of all... He swallows hard, the tears just about ready to flow now. "Jus'... an'... ol'... Jus' an ol' friend s'all, Bat.." Your nickname comes out more like a plea than anything. He needs someone right now and you're doing this to him. Green eyes swim with the hurt that's welled up from some unknown place deep inside. That place where he always hides it so he can be Jason. "Why...?" he starts to ask, but it gets choked off. He looks around quickly, suddenly hit with this urge to just escape. Go somewhere else. All this pain going on. Trace, Ben, Walker, you, Star... He doesn't want to be a part of it. Jason doesn't hurt.
An old friend. Batiste looks ill for a moment. Then he looks scared. Hell, he looks -panicked-. He tips his chin down and swallows hard, as if his heart was trying to hopscotch right out of his mouth, trying to breathe. Calm. Try and be calm. Just an old friend. But -no-, it just nags at him. The way he talked, the words he used, the entire dynamic between the two of you screams trouble!Trouble!TROUBLE! into his ear, razor-shrill, until he can't hear anything else. But then you get that flighty look, and glance around, and it crumbles to bits, useless as wet kleenex torn apart by a wild dog. "Please don't leave," he whispers. Begs. His voice breaks. "Please. I just, I never, I..." The words come fast, the breathing faster, and all too quickly they tangle up together and plummet him back into wet-eyed silence.
Now the two of you are starting to get looks. Jason needing to run, you looking panicked, the quiet plea for him to stay... But Jason doesn't see those people walking around him, or the cars out on the street. There are just two directions for him right now. Toward you and Away from you. He wants to go both ways. The contrary pulls end up just freezing him in place, and he looks to you with wide eyes, the tears glistening there now. The turmoil is raging in those eyes, pain that's much older than your relationship with him mixing with this pain that he's getting right now. All this pain that he's been trying to avoid for all this time. He just wants to run away from it all right now.
It's something Batiste tries to understand, and never, ever does - that fifteen going on fifty trick you have. There's never any warning - it just shows up and knocks him on his ass faster than a cannonball to the stomach. He gets that awful, helpless, impotent feeling of newness, of -un-seniority. Old history. Old friends. Secrets and half-glimpsed mysteries. He just feels...so lost. So clueless. "I..." he murmurs, voice fraying. "Won't..." Keep going. "Make you. Stay." He looks down, biting hard at his bottom lip, eyelids quivering before they shut. Brokenly, in a tiny voice: "I can't."
Fifteen going on fifty... More apt than you realize. But all this history, all this pain, there's only so much Jason can be 'grown-up' about. And this is way more than that. He wants to go, because this shouldn't involve you. He has no right to shove this on you. It's hurting you. /He's/ hurting you. But, then again... He wants to stay. It already involved you cause you already hurt. You've caught a glimpse of Jason's past, a past that has much more in it that Jason has, /will/, let on. Slowly, he turns fully towards you, wiping harshly at his cheeks with the back of one hand as a couple of tears escape. "Why..." He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve, then tries again. "Why don' you try?" Cause I need someone to tell me what to do right now.
Jean-Batiste shakes his head a little, not looking up, not opening his eyes. Just a little longer. Just a little longer and the tears will seep away, and he can look at you without being a runny-eyed ruin. "What can I say?" he whispers. "If it's what you want, it's what you'll do. It...doesn't matter..." He has to ease the words out slowly, like rusty fishhooks threatening to sink in and not let go. "...how much I love you, how much I want you to stay, to, to be with me...if it's not what you want, too." Finally, a look up at you, tearbright eyes gone velvet-black. "I -can't- -make- you stay." He glances up at a man walking by, getting a disdainful, unnerved look in return. He just scowls wetly, and rubs at the edge of his eyes. His voice is a little choked with tears as he continues. "I'm crazy for you. I...God, Jason. Just...seeing you...and when you're gone... I just..." He looks down, eyes quivering shut again. "Please don't go." What good is pride if you're alone?
Those words. They're good words. Words that should make Jason come to you and cry and hug you (and draw disparaging remarks from passers-by - and maybe a few 'awwws'). But they don't. In fact, they look like they twist some barbed blade in Jason's guts. Ohgodohgodohgod... What do I do? It hurts so much, Bat, can't you see that? Why can't I tell you? His eyes go to this... mass of humanity that is flowing around him. Don't they see? None of them see! The green is unnaturally bright, more than light and shadow and tears can explain. Almost reflective, like an animal's. And just as wild. Fight? Flight? Collapse on the sidewalk? "Stay," he whispers, eyes flashing left and right. "Bat," he whimpers out, "Let's go, Bat..." To the park? To Mars? Anywhere but here. Take me away.
Jason doesn't race. He flees. All these people around him. All these people who can't see. Even you can't see. He can't explain. He's never hated his nature. Sure it's been inconvenient. But right now, when what he needs most is to just blurt it all out and spill the pain upon the ground to purge it from his system, right now he can't do anything but run. And run he does, as if something large and predatory was breathing on his back. Which, in a sense, it is. His fingers threaten to cut off your circulation as he runs, so tight they are. But the alternative would be for you to let go and then there's no telling where he'd go. Full speed, panting for breath, he charges with you through the crowds, down the alleys, up the streets, all towards the park, that expanse of cool green that, even in this drizzle, is refuge. "Door," he pants out, "Gotta find the door!" For a moment, those wild eyes look back over his shoulder, and then forward again, a new burst of speed being put on. "She left it open, I know it!" For a moment, there was something frightening in his eyes. Something broken.
Up in the castle, a bluecap sits alone with his thoughts, half drenched, wrapped in one of Batiste's flannels. It's way too big for him; he has no hands at the moment, just sleeves gripping the wooden plank he's seated upon. His feet dangle, hanging free, with silvery laces that glint and catch the eye even with no moon to light upon them. His gaze is lifted up into that murky blanket hanging over New Orleans tonight. Rain trickles down his cheeks, forhead, pooling and dropping off his chin, but eyes are bright and clear, almost sober. The closest he's been to it in days and days, anyway. A rare, natural serenity smooths his pale, youthful features.
Thank gods for Batiste's jogging - he's a good runner, but it's all he can do to keep up with Jason, who's fleeing like he could run the wind into a panting wreck on the ground. He refuses to let go of Jason's hand, though. Utter refusal. He'll have to be dragged if he trips and falls, if Jason won't wait for him to stand. "D...what?" he pant-shouts, struggling to push a little more energy into his limbs. "Door?" His heart flutters once. Panic, worry. Or maybe that's just exhaustion making his ribcage ache. But there's the playground, the sweet, safe playground. Maybe -now- things will make sense, maybe Jason will slow down?
Jason flies across the grass, Batiste's hope of slowing down futile. Between the trees, across the jogging path, up the grassy slope... He stumbles, slips, almost drags the both of them down, but then recovers at the last instant and, breath coming fast and hard, but seeming to still be have his energy, he charges through the moist sand around the swings and castle, heading towards the bushes ahead. "She has to have kept it open! How else could she get home?" Okay. It's kinda clear that Jason snapped somewhere back there. He looks like he's going to dive right into the thick foliage when suddenly one leg twists in the sand and he goes down into a heap, dragging Batiste after him by the deathgrip on the other boy's hand. But he doesn't get up again. Just lays there, face pressed into the wet sand... and then, without a word, he draws his knees up to his chest and ducks his head down, shaking gently. Exhausted finally, physically, emotionally.
Trace blinks, startled out of his contemplation as Jason drags Batiste past at lightening speeds. He sits up, peering out towards the bushes confusedly, and almost shies back, afraid this is a private thing. I mean, they dove into the bushes. But after a moment he decides that it's definitely not anything normal. It had been such a... frantic run. He'd even glanced back unconsciously to see if someone was chasing them. But this is all so strange, and without further delay he hops down off the castle, landing in a crouch in the soft sands. A few hesitant steps bring him closer to the both of you, his hazel eyes lit with concern and curiousity.
Runrunrun-oh my god, he's going to die, his heart is going to burst right out of his chest-runrun-lurch-stumble-THUMP. At least it's wet grass waiting for Batiste on the other end. What if Jason had thought this mystery Door had been in a parking lot? Ouch. He lands twice as gracelessly as Jason, and pushes up promptly to elbows and knees, spitting out sand and rubbing the clinging grit off his face. He looks over at Jason, breath surging in his chest, eyes tangled-up and troubled. "Jason...what's -wrong-?" he pleads, trying to gather the redhead in his arms, cuddle him desperately. Maybe if he hugs him tight enough, he can keep him from falling apart? He looks up at Trace, blank desperation there. Help? He's so confused.
Jason shakes steadily in Batiste's arms, breath coming harsh from exertion and... quiet sobs. Sand sticks to the sweat, rain, and tears on his cheeks, but he can't work up the will to brush it off. He'll just hide here, huddled beneath the sky. So small, adrift in this awful, awful pain. It was hid so well too. But he's exhausted, like I said. As he's pulled up into Batiste's arms, he folds up and hides against the other boy's heaving chest, mumbling something incoherant over and over. He's just got to... get it out of his system or something.
Trace pads over to the both of you and crouches down beside you, elbows on his knees, looking puzzled and saddened to see the fireheart in tears. "What's wrong...?" he asks softly, glancing up and aiming the question at Batiste since Jason seems pretty incoherant right now. But Batiste's expression tells him that he's just as lost, so he looks back down to the huddled Jason once more, reaching out to tangle a tentative hand into the bright red locks and brush gently. A whispered, "Hey..."
"Sssh. Sssh, Jason..." Batiste clings and squeezes, and lets himself be clung to and squeezed. He rocks a little because, dammit, it feels good to be rocked. Something that a body never really outgrows. "We're here, Jason. We're here. It'll be okay, it'll be all right. Just hang on, we won't let you go. Ssssh. We're here..." The words go on and on, soft and worried and loving, face buried in sand-gritty red hair. Now and again he looks up from nuzzling, giving Trace a lost, helpless look.
Jason's tears and sobs dry up reletively quickly. Most of it was spent on the way here, really, along with his energy. Perhaps that's one reason for the headlong flight, it left little to be used to think. Eventually he just rocks with Batiste, absorbing the comforting touches and words from both his friends, letting them soothe him like they would a frantic dog or something. Finally, he lifts a hand to wipe some sand from beneath one eye, his first movement of his own accord since he collapsed. "S'just... old friend..." he whispers softly.
Old friend...? Of course Trace is curious, but also loathe to press a possibly painful subject. So he chews at his lower lip for a moment, with a glance to Batiste, before returning his attention to stroking the boy's tangled red hair. He looks to Batiste and pleads softly, "What... what brought this on?" Because perhaps Bat is looking lost and helpless, but nobody here can be more baffled than Trace. He's certain of that. This is all such a contrast of moods from last night, such a short time ago. He's not able to keep up the crouch, and without withdrawing his hand shifts to sits back on his kneels with already wet jeans getting soiled at the knees in the sand.
Jean-Batiste closes his eyes for a second, though a flash of hurt and residual fear flares in his eyes before he can fully hide it. "We..." What -did- happen, anyways? "We fought, I guess," he murmurs, shrugging helplessly at Trace as he opens his eyes. "I just...I was jealous." There, that's the truth - that's more of the truth than a hundred-word, rambling version would be, too. He looks away again, guilty. Maybe he was a -lot- jealous - there's still ghosts of it uneasily haunting his eyes.
Jason looked (/looks/ even) considerably more screwed up than a mere fight can explain, but... He slowly rocks in Batiste's arms, Trace's hand amongst his tangled hair. No.. no, it wasn't Bat's fault. But if he tells you both that, he'd have to explain what happened, and - an involuntary whimper escapes him as he hides his face against Batiste's chest - there's no way he could do that. He's not even sure exactly what happened. It was something he didn't want to talk about... The card in his pocket. The memory of it comes back to and he digs his fingers into Batiste's shirt, almost squeezing the breath out of the older boy. Oh, god, he has to go through this some more. Just the thought of it almost sends him into another panic-attack, his breath-rate spiking for an instant. But he shakes his head and takes several deep breaths. "Sorry," he whispers softly. "Sorrysorrysorry..."
Trace wets his lips. Okay. Okay, this is starting to make a little more sense. But it's also looking to be less and less his business too, and he gives Jason's pretty red mane a final little ruffle before drawing his hand back shyly. Dark, damp braids hang heavily, and he reaches back to sweep them off his neck, looking to Batiste. "So..." So who got between them? Where and when and all those great w questions. Trace has many, but keeps them firmly behind closed lips, looking down into the sand. Gosh, jealousy is dangerous with these two... First the whole Jordan thing, and now Jason's a wreck.
Jean-Batiste's going to have himself a panic attack -too-, at this rate. Just when he starts fighting down his insecure jealousy, Jason starts looking evasive or starts apologizing about the whole situation, and it sends it right back into overdrive. Something's wrong, something is -so- not right, look at the way it's making Jason react... He squeezes Jason suddenly, fiercely, whimpering despite himself. -No-. No face from the past is going to ruin things. It can't. It -won't-. He won't let it. As long as Jason won't let it, either... "Hey, come here," he murmurs to Trace. "He needs some Triangle snuggling." Hell, -he- needs some, too. And you're way over there, not touching either of them.
Why does this reality thing burn so? Every time Jason comes into contact with it, it hurts him more than he can handle. He takes a deep, shivering breath, fingers curling at Batiste's shirt, and he murmurs, "I'm okay... I'm... it's okay." Unconvincing, but he's trying. He's trying hard. Ruin things? No... This won't ruin them. Not directly anyway. But the pain was just so swift, unexpected, he couldn't handle it. But coherancy is slowly returning, along with the realization that Trace is nearby, was touching him. "Trace?" comes out as an accidental whimper, one of those things that was /meant/ to be normal. Sand brushes off of one cheek as he turns his head a little to look for his other friend. God, he needs the both of you right now. He feels like he just got struck with some disease, too weak to stand.
Trace crawls closer again, fully reprimanded for his slight retreat and working quick to make amends. "Hi, fireheart," he whispers softly, with a small fond, sad smile. Bone-slender arms curl around two sets of shoulders, a brief, firm hug, eyes falling closed. Then he draws back just a little, one hand lightly rested on Batiste's shoulder, the other reaching underneath a damp, tangled red mane to caress the back of Jason's neck, stopping to linger at the jawline, before he smiles again faintly and brushes away some of the remaining sand on the boy's cheek and temple with feather-light fingertips.
<< Later on... >>
After a small eternity spent shaking sand out of your clothes upon the front poor, the main floor of Clan Walker HQs is entered. The three of you head straight for the couch, tangling up there with Jason in the middle. Not many words, just weary, fragile smiles, and exhausted slumber - at least for Jason and Batiste. Batiste doesn't sleep all that long, though, Nor restfully - his old habits are back, faint head-tossing and unhappy mumblings, eyes rolling around and tracking dreams behind his eyelids. He squirms often, alternately tangling up closer to the two of you or drawing away like his touch might somehow inflict pain.
Yes, of the three only Trace was not really tired. Weary at the world in general, perhaps, but nothing that would make him restful. So he keeps watch over the Triangle as the both of you slept, heavy-lidded at this point with faraway thoughts and lack of focus, but still conscious, with his cheek pressed to the soft back cushions of the couch. After a time, you have his attention, however. He watches you, now familiar with your dream-troubled sleeping, but still can't help his sympathy. He sighs softly and looks down, at your hand specifically. An idea. He makes a game of trying to weave his small fingers into your own grip-less hand and hold it without waking you. Tiny, slow moves, faint touches, with a glance up every several seconds to check his progress and hope he's not woken you up.
Jean-Batiste's hand is nerveless and limp at first, as your fingers start easing into it. A bit. Just a bit more. Just a little bit more... His eyelids flutter for a second, and he draws in a deep breath. "No," he says, in perfect clarity. He squirms a little, frowning, and curls in around your hand, rubbing his cheek against it. "No," he repeats, softer, sadder. Pleading. His breathing catches, and his fingers suddenly tighten on yours, clutching. "Please don't go," he mumbles, sleep-slurred, breathing picking up. "No, he...he..." Faster, raggedy. "No," he repeats, head suddenly raising, eyes on you. A little creepy, that - he's not awake yet, and they're hazy and focussed halfway through you. Zombie eyes. He blinks slowly, then rubs at his face, shuddering. On your hand in a slight trace of coolness, rapidly drying away to nothingness.
Reddish-blonde brows pull together slightly, a tiny flinch of concern, and Trace purses his lips. He doesn't let go of the hand he holds, however, arm extended to be sure he keeps hold of that contact. Who? He's dying to ask it. He tries to push the question past his lips, but it's hard. Batiste keeps so many walls up, and they're difficult to scale sometimes. "Wh-who... went?" he whispers softly, finally getting it out, hazel eyes clear and alert resting on you. He squirms closer so he can press his cheek down against your ribs, but still peeks up towards your face curiously.
Jean-Batiste shifts a little, taking exquisite care not to jostle Jason around, and tangles both hands around yours, enfolding the tiny digits and bringing them up to his cheek to nuzzle at and cling to. "Jason left," he murmurs, eyes slipping half-shut. So fresh from sleep, the dream's emotional impact still lingers - his eyes flash moisture-bright as he continues. "I asked him to stay..." He swallows, Adam's apple working hard against his throat. "He said we didn't have enough stories." He looks into your eyes, pupils glimmering, then blinks repeatedly until the extra moisture's away. "Just a dream," he whispers brusquely, sitting up a bit, freeing one hand to rub at his face. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry if I did..."
Trace shakes his head and says softly, "I never slept..." He averts his eyes, looking down at the sleeping redhead. Apparantly 'Just a dream' didn't have much affect on him, but the rest sure shook him up. "Dream like that'd scare the piss out of me..." he murmurs and then gives a sad chuckle. "'Member what he said? How he wouldn't... watch us dry up and rot or something? God.." He shudders faintly and then curls tight against your side, marked arms wrapping around the slender barrel of his chest. "That's haunted me... I drew a picture after he said it. But I won't ever show him."
"He'd leave before he watched us rot away from the inside," Batiste murmurs, frowning slightly. "Yeah. It was something like that..." He rubs his face again, then wraps both arms 'round you, sinking back against the couch, more than happy to just hang on tight and remind himself that the both of you are right here, and no where else. "I think..." he murmurs, after a minute or two of comfortable silence. "I think they used to be lovers. They were just...so close when they talked, Trace. Like...so many memories, you could see it in how they looked at eachother...the history." How's he supposed to compete with that? His heart starts racing, panicking, just thinking about it.
You've just got the greatest embrace, you know. Trace nestles in close and comfortable as your arms curl around him and hang on tight. He squeezes back in gentle response when he can feel the panic starting to rise in you, however, picking up your breathing and thereby speeding up the rise and fall of this impromptu pillow he's made of your chest. "Who?" the little artist prompts softly. "Never did tell me who it was yer jealous of..." He looks up from where he's being held, hazel eyes peeking out from beneath an unruly mop of blue braids.
Thump. Thump. Thumpthump. Thumpthumpthumpthump...breathe, Batiste. Slowly, gradually, he forces calm back upon himself, and murmurs simply, "Zachary. The tabloid guy." Smart, lightning wit, educated, worldly-wise...and there goes his heartbeat again, rabbiting out of control. "Ohgod," he breathes. "What if they were, Trace, what if they are, he gave Jason his number, to go talk to him alone sometime..." Thumpthump-thudthudthud- He's clinging to you, despite being the mostly bottommost one of hte embrace.
Trace's eyes widen a little as you start to freak out on him. Another little squeeze, delivered by thin arms around your chest. Hey. Chill. "So what if they were? You really think Jason'd do somethin' with some other guy? I mean, c'mon! He's the one who gets all jealous if anybody comes like the tiniest bit near you lookin' interested. If he's that devoted, he ain't gonna mess around. He loves you." Trace likes simple facts like that in his world. Facts that simplify, bring calm. "Here, s'like this. You had other loves before Jason, right? Y'talk like y'do. If one'a them came back, would some 'history' make you leave him?"
Be -rational- about this? Batiste draws back a little and frowns at your little logic question, and replies, in utter predictability, "No, of course not. But that's different..." An old flame wouldn't make me jealous and Zachary makes me want to carry Jason off to a cave by his hair and set you out as guard-wildman. "But..." he pleads. Insecure? Nah. "But what if..." A hundred worst case scenarios spill through his mind, but he can't bring himself to speak any of them. He clutches you again, holding close for a minute or more before he takes a deep breath and says, "O-okay. Okay. You're...right. It doesn't make sense..."
"Course I'm right," Trace grins a little, still looking up at you, before settling his cheek back down against your chest and watching some vague point across the living room. "What's worse is you don't even know if they *were* lovers r'not. I mean, not like this tabloid guy slipped him no tongue in front'a you, right?" Okay, maybe that's not the most sensitive thing to say to an insecure friend, but Trace blunders on with his quiet logic, not looking up. "They talked and Jason got a phone number. Big whoop, y'know? Be straight with Jason. Be like, "hey, this guy makes me nervous, and I might hafta cut his balls off if he gets too friendly catchin' up on them old times, y'know?" The bluecap giggles softly. "Then Jason'll laugh at how silly yer bein' an' smooch ya and you'll feel better."
...and he might hafta cut his balls off if he getst too friendly. There, you did it - Batiste laughs softly at that, and gives you a fierce embrace. Not panicky and clinging this time, but snuggly and fond. "Yeah," he murmurs, nuzzling your braids. "Yeah. I like that." He grins, a little more toothily than his usual smile. A little sigh escapes, then a deeper once. "Thanks," he murmurs. "You're so good to me, you know? I owe you -so- much spoil-time. Like, hand-feed you marshmallow cream spoil-time." He grins, and settles back, tension starting to melt from his limbs. TraceLogic triumphs over insecurity, for now.
Back to the Roleplay Log Archive