Daisy leans back, then crosses his legs listening to Jacques' bitching. He draws in a breath and Jacques continues rambling on...who's acting holier than thou now?

'I think I know this is not a hotel, you can stop repeating yourself, yanno.' He says simply. Life was too short to worry about what everyone thought, if Jacques thought he was a shit, so be it, tomorrow Daisy'd just be a bad memory.

'I don't walk around acting like a bitch, no. Actually it's a rare occurrence.' Daisy looks at the rest if the food that has been uneaten, suddenly he doesn't want anymore. He's starting to feel a bit...queezy...and he's suddenly starting to look a bit paler.

“I feel privileged to have witnessed it. Thank you, Daisy.” Pushing out of his chair he begins to clean up the dinner, evidently unaware that the other was having a very sudden onset of illness.

The uneaten portions, still in the containers, is packed up and stowed away in the fridge. “If you’ve finished?” He asks, returning to collect the plates to be emptied of contents and rinsed off to washing later.

'Hey, anytime, only for you, you can have the VIP treatment.' He rises as well. He's not going to have some snot-nosed kid cleaning up after him. Daisy picks up the plates before Jacques can and heads to the kitchen. He places them in the sink and brushes past the other. 'Thanks for dinner, I'll be outta her by the morning...I'll leave you money for the food and accomidation before I leave.'

Daisy's starting to look paler and he bends slightly, as if he's got some stomach cramp, so he quickly moves to the guest bedroom and pauses before entering. 'Good night, Jacki.' And then Daisy slips into the room.

Daisy mouths off and flee’s. Jacques doesn’t chase, instead he goes through the routine of cleaning up the apartment and takes a cigarette break out on the balcony before starting up the laptop to do some work.

The guest room is comfortable and warm, a refreshing change, perhaps, from cheap motels and the likes. Its an apartment not a rented room, after all. He is not disturbed by loud music or television programs. It’s quiet here and one could almost say its relaxing, which may or may not help the others illness.

Several hours later, Jacques pauses in the hallway and listens to the guest bedroom. Providing he hears nothing, he quietly opens the door just enough to look through the darkness and check in on his guest. He is not, as originally one might think, oblivious to his surroundings. In fact he picks up on a lot more then anyone could even anticipate. Jacques studies Daisy from the slightly parted door, listening to the others breathing from the distance, looking for signs of sickness in the room - scents, sweat, etc.

Daisy has sprawled out on the bed like a starfish on his belly, his longish inky hair falls softly over his pale shoulders. The covers have been kicked to one side of the bed and there is a strange humming coming from under the warm material. Daisy is dressed in nothing but a pair of very boyish looking black boxer shorts.

His body rises and falls delicately with each intake of breath. He is asleep or so it seems. Then, a whisper, almost inaudible, 'Either get in or get out.'  

--Last edited by Daisy on 2009-02-21 21:51:27 --

Strange hummings had his attention for a few split seconds as he debated what it was, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was, especially when he discovered that Daisy is awake and kicking him out of the room. No, he most certainly didn’t want to know what that hum in the bed was. Actually… well, no never mind.

“If you are not well, we can seek medical advice.” Suggests Jacques quietly from the doorway, perhaps even a little concerned.  

Daisy looks over his shoulder at him, he reaches for the covers and clings onto them, holding them close to his chest. 'I'm OK.' He sounds groggy, all husky-voiced.

For the longest time he looks at the hovering-by-the-door shadow that is Jacques then utters, 'do you...can you...' he quickly looks away and looks at the wall in front of him, muttering into his pillow, 'nevermind...'

"Ask, Daisy." Jacques lets his hand slide from the doors handle and slips into his pocket. He stops leaning in the doorway and actually moves a step into the room itself to better see the other. His voice keeps at a lower tone in the room, in attempts to not further wake the sickly and sleepy girl/boy.

Daisy draws in a deep breath, his lungs feel like they may overload. Slowly he looks over his shoulder back at Jacques. 'Sit with me for a while, I think I ate a bad cracker...' Cracker it was not, Daisy looks like someone crumpled him up like a piece of paper then tried to straighten him out again. 'Just for a moment,' then he adds, 'then you can go.'

There is a moments pause before he moves further into the room and slides his hand from his pocket to sit on the end of the bed. "I don't think it's a cracker. Food poisoning takes at least a few hours after ingestion to enter the system." Says the southern accent quietly. Sometime between dinner and now, probably when he was working, the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to just below his elbow, and the bare forearms rest down onto his knees with his hands hanging between them.

'Stop being all clever on me and just pretend it was a friggen cracker...' Daisy murmers, then wriggles the sheet up to his throat. Daisy eyes Jacques, his black hair is a right mess, falling over his eyes and twining with his long, inky lashes. 'Ok,Dr.Dread?'

Even though he looks down at his wide palms and long fingers, turning them over to look at the lines etched into his flesh, he gives a slow smile. "Okay Miss Daisy." Glancing to the side, he lets his gaze rest on the others. "I'll pretend its a dirty cracker."

'Just Daisy...' he utters low, 'no Miss...'k?' Daisy's dark eyes follow the motion of the other boy's hands. His gave moves over flesh and fingers, over the arches and curve of knucklebone. 'You must think I'm weird...getting ill and shit, and I haven't even had any booze...'a dry chuckle.

"Then it is Jacques and not Jacki, or Dr Dread, or asshole, or whatever other names you're conjuring up, okay?" He says in a similar tone the other just used against him. Leaning on his knees has his back arched slightly and his shoulder-blades are defined through the shirt. Sweeping a hand up through his hair, he sits upright again. Resting a hand into his thigh casually, he twists at the waist to better see the other and to stop from having to look over his shoulder. "No. I think you're ill and you play your cards close to your chest. But don't think I'm ignorant. I've spent my fair share on the street, Daisy."

Daisy frowns and then blows a few stray strands of hair out of his face, he does not like that 'you cannot call me Jacki or asshole' bit at all! 'But Jacki suits you...' a pout. 'All right so maybe I'm ill, so what. I got pills to heal my ills.' He begins to wriggle, so that he is now on his side facing Jacques. The covers have been skilfully helf close hiding his upper body and most of his lower bits that may expose the fact that he is not a she. 'And what have you done on the streets, Jacques? Crossed a corner or two?'

He watches the other move about, but more so keeps his gaze on Daisy's face and maintains eye contact most of the time. Skilled at reading people, in a lot of different ways, he continues to study this boy/girl that has fallen in his lap at an opportunistic moment. "What does it matter? I know the streets. I know them as well as I know charity events that are supposedly for projects at street level. Would it make a difference knowing about me? You should be resting."

'For me it would make a difference, Jacques. Why are you so scared about telling me what you know about the streets, you cannot possibly be ashamed about anything...shit, I've probably done worse.' Daisy is sure this boy runs deep, and in the depths of himself, Daisy is sure lots of it is lined with razorblades. 'I can rest when you're gone, now you're here. I invited you in, 'member?'

"Technically..." No, he stops himself from going on and just gives a little smile instead. "I'm not scared. I just don't see the point in me speaking about it all. My life doesn't shame or bother me in the way you might think. But if it helps you.. " He shifts on the bed so he's leaning back on his elbow, trapping Daisy's legs between his side and where he leans against the bed. "I came out of rehab about a year and a half ago. It was my first stay in either. When I say I know the streets, I mean it. You've seen crack heads, right? Heroin addicts. You're looking at one. I just got my life on track. Sort of.. as much as you can when you're an addict. There's no such thing as a reformed addict."

Daisy watches him move, and listens quietly, his eyes even widen some. Sure, he's heard of models falling into drugs, but Jacques just...didn't seem like he would be one shooting up overpriced junk. 'No shit?' a whisper. 'No, no one ever totaly gets over an addiction, forever. They're always marked in some way, aint then?' His tone sounds a bit sad, lips pursing and his eyes cast downwards. He begins to absentmindedly toy with a fold of material from the soft covers.

"Yes. No shit." He nods a little, still watching the other. "I've turned tricks, robbed, begged, sold shit that I don't even have or had. You name it, I've probably done it. Luckily I sobered up." He doesn't say how and doesn't even offer a hint of it. "I got back in touch with some contacts, made new ones. Cut ties to that life and stick to a rigorious routine. I eat well, I go to the gym, and try and keep my head on straight." Pausing, he adds, "Life is shit Daisy. But it doesn't have to be that bad. There are ways to make it better. Once you know how, it becomes easier."

Boy, Daisy knows about that! Looks like they aren't very much different after all, little Lord Fauntlero and Miss Tranny here may be two peas in a pod, but they just appear to be opposites...so far even to themselves. 'You? Turning tricks? That I do not believe.' The fold of material is forgotten. He eyes the handsom boy with suspicion...there's ¬no¬ friggen way!

Laughing softly at the sheer disbelief on Daisy's features he nods. "I have. I do still. Technically it's working as an escort, but if the money is right and I'm in the mood, I'll take some greedy bastards cash for my own pocket. Mostly I don't. Sometimes I do it just to know I still can. Its a different game then the streets. You accompany a woman to an opera and entertain her friends, coming off as the most charming of dates and at the end of the night you've got a pocket full of cash and had a night out. But it's the same. I've not worked a corner for a very long time and I won't go back to that. It's too close to picking up a needle, hmm? But enough about me. . " Clearly he's leaving the floor for Daisy to open up. "We're two strangers. What are you afraid of? Tell me the truth. You've got nothing to loose here. Maybe it will do you some good."

Daisy's jraw has dropped, he tries to picture pretty-boy Jaqcues being paid for his wares. He cannot visialize him on a corner being picked up by some john, or in the arms of some rich old bored woman who wants a tasty eye-candy with her. 'You mean you've ¬fucked¬ people for money?' Yes, Daisy can be quite blunt. He nods, 'yah...close I guess.'
Good question...what is Daisy afraid of...'not much, really...' he pauses, 'Lola I guess...' and being picked up by the cops for hacking...

It really does amuse him that Daisy finds this all shocking. "Yes. I've fucked people for money, for less. At least doing it for money is something. Better then just for a score, or because you can. Don't tell me you haven't had sex with some stranger because you drank too much at some college party. Don't look at it like it's so immoral or impossible. People have sex every day for less. Men screw their wives who they don't like. The wives fuck the men just to shut him up.. . Then you have people that pay for it." Waving a hand he dismisses the subject. "No, I meant, whats your real story. You've not said anything about you. You deflect it quite skillfully. Since we're having this little ... bedroom chat, be real." The blues of his eyes appear more gray in the darkness of the bedroom, but they haven't budged from where he watches the other against the pillows. "Tell me who you are, what you do, why you're here. Is it really to get into my bed?"

Jacques words are like a slap and a kiss at the same time. Daisy's brows knit, then he looks up at him.' Gee...I didn't judge you, if you thought I was...well I wasn't. Uh...' He moves up, grabing the covers close to his slender frame. He wriggles and squirms until he is sitting properly on his butt, face to face with Jacques. 'Look, I used to hook as well...I must have been 12 or so,' he shrugs single-shoulderedly, 'Lola'd make me. But all I do know is shake my ass for perverts down at the White Rabbit. So I guess we have found a common ground here. We're both ex-whores, or...are we still? Shit, I'm here because you told me I could stay.' He arches a brow at the last question. 'I'm already in your bed.'

2009-02-23 18:18:57Jacques rolls 7 dice to Intel+Emp (Mind read) (Diff 5) 1,2,4,1,2, 3,3 (BOTCH x 2)
Maybe it was something that Daisy said that causes the lovely Jacques to crumple down onto the bed. He isn't so mindful of the others leg under his arm when he lets it collapse down and rolls onto his back. The veins in his temple and neck thicken and pump blood hard and quick. "Yeah... " His words strangle out. "I guess you are.." To himself his words sound distant. Colour rapidly drains from his features and sweat begins to push through the pores of his skin. The groan that escapes him is most definitely pain filled, and he arches his back so his head presses into the covers, where he's hands claw. Twin, dark, thick lines begin to trail from his nose and down over his lip.

'Am what...a whore or in your bed?' He begins to ease trying to make light of what was starting to become a heavy topic when he winces at the weight of Jacques on his leg. But he does not move away, he knows Jacques will get comfortable and eventually he'll wriggle some and adjust himself better under the boy. A gentle tilt of his head as he watches him in confusion. 'Jacki...' he whispers almost inaudibly, forgetting the 'don't call me Jacki' bit when he spots the mess being poured out of his nose. 'Dude, you're bleedin'.'

This time he's not answering. Daisy's voice gets swept up in the other voices screaming in his ears, a thousand conversations going at once, one talking over the other, people from the past, present, picking up images and flashes from all parts of his brain and that of others, perhaps even some of Daisy's. But no one understands that. They can merely understand that blood continues to leak out of his nose and the young man is rolling onto his side with his hands coming to clutch at his hair, holding his head like one does in a protective ball in an outmatched fight. They can understand that he's groan is agonised. Its ten times worse then a migraine. The pain is crippling. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he's wondering if he's finally popped some brain cells and is hemmoraging. Its not the first time its happened but it is, by far, the worst he's ever experienced and in that moment he's wishing for death.

Daisy's seen some weird shit before, but it was from faces that he expected it from. Now, seeing Jacques like that is like seeing an eagle taking a nose-dive into the pavement inches from his feet. He does not sit there stunned, Daisy is quick, he grabs the covers and pinches Jacques nose in it. 'Look at me!' he yells loud, trying to get the other to focus on him. 'Damn it, Jacki, don't go all freaky on me know!' He tries to move him slightly, so that he can try to stop the blood and at the same time hold him so that if he can, by some small fate, steal some of the other's pain away just by holding onto him. 'Dude, you're freaking me out!'

Jacques is completely flexible as he's pushed and prodded, giving no resistance. His head lolls in Daisy's grip as the other helps him elevate his head on lap or pillow. The slender line of his nose is grabbed between pinching fingers and the quilt cover begins to soak up the thick blood greedily. A frown is etched into Jacques's features, cutting in painful lines and his eyes, squeezed shut, open at the others instant yell. An unfocused gaze slides to Daisy's face and holds for a split second before rolling behind closing eyelids again. His groans are muffled into the hand that holds his nose. He's sweaty and pale and isn't moving much at all.

'Fuck me!' Daisy yells as he gently places Jacques head on a pillow. What if he starts spasming or something? What if he needs his meds? 'Jacki, do you need your pills or something? Speak to me!' Whatever is going on, it isn't good, and it is obvious that Jacques is hurting something fierce. By now the cover that was hiding most of Daisy is doing a lousy job, not that everything shows, but it probably will if Daisy is to move much more. 'I need to call a doctor...' he whsipers to himself.

The rapid thumping of his heart is slowing down again, and while it doesn't make the pain any less, it helps his body cope by slowing the blood flow. His eyes had opened again when the other is asking him questions and tries to focus on the others features. After a few seconds he's able to lift his hand and lay a sweaty, but cold, palm to the others shoulder. Its a sloppy gesture compared to the grace and confidence he had only moments before. "Bathroom." A single word is a murmur under the roar of voices that are thinning out in his mind, helping him focus back. The pain remains.

Shit! He can't get Jacques there ¬and¬ hold onto the covers as well! He hopes a moment won't be that precious. He leans down quickly and grabs his scarf that was tossed on the floor by the bed. In a rapid gesture it's around his neck. At least his partially hidden, maybe Jacques is too sick to notice that he doesnt look a lot like a girl in the boxers. Daisy isn't as weak as one would think. He helps the other up and hooks Jacques' arms around his shoulders. 'Steady now...' With slow, careful steps he leads him to the bathroom. The door is kicked open and Jacques is moved to sit on the closed toilet seat. 'Ya need to puke? It's ok..I won't get grossed out.' He touches his forehead, it feels clamey. A small facetowel catches his eye, after he's steadied Jacques he moves to the sink and taps the faucet open until a stream of cool water washes over the towel.

"No.." Moving him makes his head spin and he really does feel like the world has just turned upside down. Daisy manages to get the other into the bathroom but it's no easy feat. Jacques has no balance and his limbs are weak. He can't see let alone see straight. Completely disorientated, he's, at best, able to be laid out on the floor or propped heavily against the wall. "... pills." The bathroom tiles are cool and helps bring him into focus. The cold cloth, when its laid on his skin, makes goosepimples break out under his shirt, which is long since been blood stained and sweated through. The bathroom light makes his head turn away and his eyes stay closed, and yet it still sears his brain. "Pills in the mirror."

Daisy notes that Jacques is wobbling and makes fast tracks to scoop him up as best he can and set him down on the ground, with a gentle manner. He dabs at his face with the cloth, tracing over brow then jaw-line. A nod as he bolts for the mirror and tugs at it to reveal a medicine cabinate. 'Ok, I got 'em.' Daisy grabs a pill bottle then reaches around to find the light switch. Now it's off, the bathroom is dark, illuminated solely by whatever other light may be shining from the rest of the house. Daisy falls on his knees and pries the cap open, grunting, 'stipid...child...proof...ug there.' He pops two pills into his hand, 'one or two, how many ya take?' his words come out of his mouth rapidly, his tone is seriously frightened.

There is a line of bottles hidden behind the mirror, but they're all the same thing: prescribed painkillers, not just over the counter. Jacques-Marcel Delacriox is the name on the labels. He had sighed softly, appreciatively when his face was wiped down with the cloth. Nothing like cold water to wake the skin and the sharpen the mind. When the light is off he's able to blink his eyes open, but they only half way beneath his heavy frown. Everyone knows what its like to have a migraine, it made one squint at the world. "Gimme the whole bottle." Says Jacques at a mumble. He takes whatever is given into his palm, sliding two, four, ten, whatever he's given, into his mouth. They taste awful. His nose has stopped bleeding and that he's talking again is a good sign.

'If I give ya the whole bottle then they'll have ta pump your stomach.' Daisy tips a handful into Jacques' hand then caps it and sets it on the toilet seat. Jacques' head is lifted to help him dry swallow the pills. Daisy's free hand takes the small face towel and begins to wipe away the blood stains from Jacques' face. 'You scared the crap out of me...' he utters as he sees the other boy slowly returning back to Earth.

He's an old hand at this and the pills go down with a little fuss and wince but soon they'll do their magic and he'll be able to think again. The voices have gone and he's left with only his own thoughts and flickers of memories. This migraine will lessen once the medication takes hold but he'll have a headache for the next two days and won't be doing much of anything and certainly won't be stepping outside the apartment. "You and me both." Drawing his knees up he leans his forearms on them and puts his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. His face is cleaned thanks to the others generosity. "Thanks. I get these a lot. Once these work I'll sleep some off." Opening his eyes again, he peered at Daisy through heavy lidded eyes. "Take my bed. Its clean."

Daisy hurls the now bloddy towel into the sink, it falls with a wet plonk. 'What happened there?' He looks down at Jacques' skirt, rivers of blood have created zig zags on the obviously over-priced garment. 'I uh...' he points to the shirt, 'can help you take this off and help you to bed...and nothing doing, you sleep in your bed, I'm sleeping on the floor of your room next to your bed.' He gives a dry chuckle, 'do you think there's any way I'm letting you sleep alone tonight?'

There was room to argue but he didn't. It wasted a lot of energy and, well, nevermind. Nodding wouldn't be a wise idea at all. In fact keeping his head relatively still was a high priority on his list right now. "You can sleep in my bed with me." Dropping down a knee to straighten his leg on the floor, he left his shirt accessible to the other and fumbled at some buttons himself, feeling his way rather then watching - his eyes had closed again. Between the two of them they got off his shirt, struggling his arms out of the rolled up sleeves. Jacques is lean, which was obvious before, but the definition of his chest is akin to a swimmer and not some body builder. He's solid enough and tanned all over, and also is hairless (waxed?). In his slacks, and with Daisy's help, he leans against the wall and gets to his unsteady feet, pausing when his world threatens to tip him over again. "I think my brain has exploded in my skull." Mumbled he, under his breath.

That got a reaction out of Daisy, a vivid raise of brows, 'Only if you promise to be a gentleman.' He helps him with the dirty shirt, and yes he cannot help but look at Jacques' lean built as he discarts the shirt off to the side. He draws a breath and rises, helping Jacques up. 'Well, then maybe tomorrow I can get some glue and glue your brain back together again.' A small smile, hoping it'll make Jacques feel, even if, a little better. As slow as molassas the move to Jacques' bedroom. The sick boy is placed on the bed as gently as though he were made of the most delicate glass. Daisy hesitates then moves his fingers to undo Jacques trousers, his fingers are soft as feathers as they pry open the material. Daisy hooks his fingers in the waist band, closes his eyes, then helps strip Jacques of his trousers as well. 'You got 'jama pants I can bring you?' His eyes are still closed.

"I'm in no state to be anything. Don't worry." There's something about ones own bed that always makes a person feel better, comforted and rested, and Jacques stretches out on it the moment his trousers are drawn off his long legs. Jacques is 6.2", not a short man by any means, and in just CK boxer briefs, those hugging type (not loose), there's certainly some flesh for Daisy to oogle. Models make money off this sort of thing. But Jacques, for one, is simply curling his legs under the sheets and blankets and pressing his aching scalp into the mound of pillows with an arm tucked under it. "No. I'm good. Thanks." There's not been a single sharp word from him since his little episode and he sounds much like one with a hang over would, mumbled and half wasted.

Daisy slowly opens his eyes and catches sight of the cKs and every arch and curve that those underpants show off. Before he can make a total ass of himself for staring he looks away, 'uh...ok then..uh...so yah, sleep.' The sound of blankets, good, Jacques is covering himself up, not Daisy can look. 'So yah, I guess it's sleep time...' There's still a dull pain in his stomach, but whatever ills Daisy was feeling before have just been swallowed down. With timid, delicate movement Daisy crawls into the bed, careful to keep a distance from Jacques. The blanket's pulled up to his neck, the scarf is still there. He turns on his side to face the boy. He likes him more now that his voice isn't shooting daggers. 'I'm glad you're better now...'he whispers, then having given it pleanty thought, Daisy reaches out and brushes his fingertips along Jacques' cheek.

With plenty of room in the large bed, Daisy doesn't have to worry about curling up on the edge in order to sleep and keep the distance from the other man. The sheets are cold but will warm soon enough, and with the good quality they are, the high thread cotton feels good against the skin. Jacques is clean shaven, his skin is smooth mostly and is warming from its previous cool sweat. He cracks an eye half open to squint at the other but closes it just as soon after. "If anyone calls or knocks, tell them I'm not working." His accent sounds thicker in the intimacy of the bed and in the low way he's speaking. "You can stay here for awhile if you want, Daisy." Doesn't say why the change of heart. But that the other has taken pains to nurse him while he's also in bad health certainly gives an indication of why Jacques might be offering a safe place for a time.

'Should I also tell them I'm the maid?' He smiles and steals his hand away. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of you...' his lashes flutter, but they do not close, he won't fall asleep for a while. He'll be watching over Jacques, making sure he's ok. Funny how things can turn out sometimes, no more than a few hours ago they were in the hallway of the building bitching, ready to tear each other apart. Daisy'd thought that Jacques was a right ol' asshole, but sometimes first impressions can be slightly off. This boy was complex, there was something soft deep...deep down in the core of what was Jacques, and Daisy wanted to see it for himself. 'Ok, I'll stay...' Daisy's voice is soft, a brush of a whisper floating into the darkness. His tone is very pretty, something between girl and boy, both and none. He tugs the covers higher up to his mouth, the ine material brushes against his pierced lips. 'Good night, Jacki...'

"Mmm." Its neither yes or no or anything really at all. Just a sound to know that he had heard the other speaking and made an effort to acknowledge it. It wasn't long at all that Jacques was sucked into the darkness of sleep. He'd sleep for hours, at least until after midday. If he dreamed it didn't show. It was a dead, deep sleep. Daisy need not worry, there wasn't any blood noises or little episodes throughout the night. He was left to be plagued only by his own ills and torments.

Daisy watched Jacques sleep for a while until sleep comes for him, as well. His lids get heavy and droopy and finally shut. His body's curved in a semi-fetal state, maybe he's comfortable that way, maybe it's to stop those cramps. Night trickles over them then shifts into day, soon enough the sun's golden rays will peek in though whatever window has been forgotten shutterless.

Its after midday when Jacques crawls out of bed. The bathroom door closes shortly after. He downs a few more pills and has a glass of water, while inspecting his face and eyes in the mirror. Water floods the pipes soon after and he has a thorough shower, not too hot because he knows it will set off another nose bleed if he's not careful. Washed, dried and cleanly shaven, he came out of the bathroom in a towel feeling more human then before, and smelling of the cologne wash he uses on his skin. He still looks a bit worse for wear, but thats expected when one has a migraine. He enters the kitchen to put on the routine pot of coffee in the machine, with fresh beans and all.

Daisy's outside on the balcony, enjoying the poshness of the taller boy's domain. He leans over the railing cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches the city below him unfold. Soon enough the ash burns towards the butt and the cig is ground into a nearby ashtray. Daisy draws in one more deep breath of mid-day air before he walks inside. He absentmindely smiles when he sees Jacques, nd heads to the kitchen. 'Well, looks who's up and kickin' today...didn't think you'd ever crawl out of bed.' Daisy lingers by the entrance of the kitchen looking at Jacques, oddly slightly shyly. His hair falls over his face like ink-stains, it's been brushed but hastily so, and he is wearing nothing but a red Geisha-style robe that ends just above the knee. It's ties with a delicate red belt, and there is a large gold stitched dragon covering the most of the back.

"I still feel half dead." He mumbles as he fetches himself a cup from the pantry. "Coffee?" Its almost dejavu, as he wraps his hand around a second cup and glances over his shoulder (albiet a little slower then the night before) to look at Daisy. His gaze flickers from head to toe and back again. There's something appreciative in his eye before he turns back to the counter and starts setting up two cups. "Black, no sugar. Bitter, right?" A faint trace of humour lingers in the way he says it.

Daisy leans against the entrance frame of the kitchen and smiles, 'you know just how I like it Jac...' he stops himself right before he calls him Jackie, 'Jacques.' A raise of his hand, his hair is raked back showing off his pretty eyes, which happen to be following Jacques' movements, unintentionally, of course.

A teaspoon of sugar is placed in one cup and he fetches the milk from the fridge, out of habit checking the date, before setting it on the counter. Being that he's only in his towel, there's certainly some things for Daisy to follow around. If he's looking close, or actively searching for them, he'd find a few track scars on Jacques arms, faded but certainly visible if close up. Water drips from his towel dried hair, sliding down the length of his neck and spine. "Have you had anything to eat yet?" Turning from the counter, he puts his lower back to it, cushioned by his backside, and folds his arms loosely over his chest.

Daisy's eyes are sure as heck following Jacques' motions, he cannot help it, for the lonest time all he's seen was either junkie-skinny boys, pot-bellied men and too skinny women, Jacques's built and shape was certainly something special...like a delicacy after you have eatten one too many pizzas.For a while he does not speak, then he suddenly realizes that he is gawking and quickly looks down,'ohihadda,' a shuffle of feet,'fewcigarettes...' his words trail together like one long word, 'I'mcool...'

"What about an omlette? Is there anything you don't eat or are allergic to?" Pushing off the bench, he unfolds his arms and picks up the cups to fill them with the freshly brewed coffee. The smell is strong and welcoming. Daisy's is placed on the breakfast bench by one of the stools and Jacques has some milk added to his on the bench, and he stirs the liquid slowly. He wasn't moving all that much, not as graceful or fluid as the day before, but slow and cautious, and with a squint against the light streaming in from the glass balcony doors.

Daisy quickly moves to scoop up the cup and then makes a bee-line for the counter, where he perches himself a top it. 'Naw,' he blows into his cup, steam flutters from it, and the aroma fills his nostrals,'I can eat anything.' Absentmindely,or nervously, he begins to swing his legs against the counter, 'Jacques...you didn't tell me...uh...what was that episode all about last night?'

"Good. Let me finish this coffee and I'll make something for us to eat." Its almost like domestic bliss, really. Well, okay, he's being quite the host. Its the way he's raised, in an old world family with money, status, with certain expectations -- some of which, he's no doubt, broke. But he's not mentioned any of it. Daisy can put it down to the Southern gentlemanly charm, or arrogance, depending on either of their moods. "I get them all the time. Nose bleeds, sudden, severe migraines. Don't worry about it Daisy. I'm only sorry you had to witness it." He's back to leaning against the far counter, back to it, coffee cup in hand and one arm across his chest with his hand tucked under his opposite arm.

Daisy is one that will eat...but not often, he usualy picks at his food, so yesterdays pig-out fest was something like....a comet you may witness. 'Fuck breakfast, let's just drink coffee till it runs out of our veins.' He smiles, then tilts his head. 'Don't worry, I'll take care o' ya and your friggen nose bleeds. Sometimes we do stuff that makes out head 'splode...stuff we don't wanna be doin'...' a single shouldered shrug, 'maybe there's somethin' you don't wanna be doin' that's making you like that?' He asks gently, he doesn't want to pry too deeply, he knows some topics are delicate.

"I'm pretty sure last night I explained the need to look after the body." He smirks a little, watching Daisy from across the room. Deciding that he really can't take the light, he pushes off the counter and sets his cup there. Walking from the open kitchen into the living room, he grips the curtains and draws them across the balcony doors. It immediately blocks out most of the light and casts them into a comfortable dim. Letting out a breath he wasn't aware of holding, Jacques slipped a hand through his hair on his way back to the kitchen and return to his coffee. Its then that he answers with a simple, "I think it was all the shit about past. I don't usually talk about it. And that you're involved in similar things, it reminded me of things I didn't want to." He sipped his hot coffee quickly and licked his scalded lip.

Daisy looks down, like he's just been kicked in the...well...nuts. He looks hurt, not because of what Jacques said...excatly...but for the meer reason that he, Daisy, was the reason all that shit bubbled to the top and nipped and gnawed at the beautiful boy. 'Guess, I'm a walking reminder of what you were...' he whispers. In his soul he ponders if he is the one causing Jacques to feel so fucked-up well, maybe he should leave.

There's hesitation in him, but he's watching Daisy with a lot more ease then he was seconds ago with light hurting his eyes. "Not what I was, Daisy, what I am. It's not a bad thing. So we have similarities. I think I recognized that in the first place. Which is why I offered you a space in my home. Is that wrong of me? Or you, for that matter?" His words are quiet but clear.

'No...'z just,' he shrugs the same shoulder, 'look, I know what my life is, but if I remind you of what yours is and it makes you feel bad and not good then I shouldn't be here. Maybe yesterday morning I would have given my left nu...' dark, brown eyes widen and he mummbles, 'uh...boob to make you feel bad, but now...I dunno, now I guess...aw heck, I don't wanna make you feel back, ok?' There's frusteration in his tone and it etches itself on his pretty girlie face.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine. It's sweet of you to be worried. But don't take it on as some guilt. I don't how you can twist this into being any fault of yours. So don't take it that way. And..." Pausing to sip his coffee quickly, he proceeds to set it on the bench, "... I'm glad you had a change of heart. You were a real bitch yesterday." He smirks, obviously teasing the other about it and trying to make the mood lift in the room. "How about that omlette? Cheese, bacon, some tomato, onion. It will do you, and me, the world of good."

Daisy's coffee is set down next to his red-satened butt on the counter, untouched. His lips curve into a beautiful smile. 'Then if you insist...I won't.' A squeel of surprise when Jacques comments about him being a bitch, then a laugh, 'hey you were no Prince Charming, either!' Then he sticks out his tongue and nods, 'yah, whatever you put in it will be good,'he hops off the counter,'just don't burn it...I cannot stand burnt omlette!' He teases him playfully. 'I'll be back in a sec...' he begins to walk to the guest room but pauses and looks over his shoulder, 'don't miss me.' An impish wink, and then he's vanished into the room.

Watching the other wander off, bemused by Daisy's antics, Jacques gets the items out of the fridge and sets them on the counter. A large marble chopping board and a cutting knife from the block was set by the food. The pan was put on the stove, but not yet turned on. These things aren't rushed and Daisy is probably back by the time Jacques has finished half his coffee and left the kitchen for his own room. Behind and closed door he gets on some sweats and a t.shirt before venturing back out again.

Daisy's in there behind closed doors doing who-knows-what, but he comes out maybe ten minutes later dressed in an insanly short orange skirt with frills, a simple grey tank top, his trademark scarf and a pair of knee-high grey, black and white striped socks...an outfit he knows Jacques will hate! He chuckles to himself and pats his belly, maybe now food won't taste like cooked cardboard. He re-enters the kitchen and takes his place back on the counter. 'You know how to crack eggs?' he teases. He looks at the other's clothes and huffs lightly,impishly, 'the other thing you were wearing was nicer,' meaning the towel.

The gray sweat pants aren't old, they're good quality and relatively new and still quite comfortable and his t.shirt is a simple navy blue - both are label clothing, of course. "I know how to cook." Well enough anyway. Daisy recieved a glance for his comment, and an eyebrow raised at the awful clothes the other is wearing. "I think you stole that skirt from my grandma." He says, dryly, and proceeds to dice onion, bacon and tomato on the board. "And there's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing today."

'Well there's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing either, and I did not seal if from your gramma!' He huffs. The skirt looks like something a street-walker might wear, garish and cheep, but it shows of beautiful, shapely legs. 'Do you want any help cooki'? He asks before he allows himself to get mad at Jacques' comment about his clothes.

"I'm sure my grandmother was a hooker. No, she was probably a Madam in the French provence." Declares Jacques, ignoring the others dislike for talking about such things. It amuses him really, that the other gets so fired up. "No, you're right. I shouldn't stir you today. I've still got a headache lingering around." At least the painkillers take off the sharp edge. "You can sit there and look pretty. You're a guest and cooking brunch is the least I can do." Which is as close as he's getting to sounding grateful for last night.

'Shit, are we all hookers?' He reaches for his now- cooled coffee and holds it between both palms. 'Stir me today and feel my wrath!' He makes fun in a friendly manner. 'Pretty? Yah you think I'm a right ugly ol' thin'.'

"Oh please, give me some credit Daisy. If I'm going to invite anyone home it's not going to be a hag." He scrapes the diced food into separate piles and sets down the knife. In the large bowl he begins to crack eggs one handed. Apparently Jacques was an old hand in the kitchen and seems familiar enough with this routine that it comes second nature. "I'm very superficial." He admits this with a sudden smile over at the other, flashing his perfectly white teeth and, with such a smile, a rare glimpse of what would have been dimples in younger years.

'Duh!' he says rather loudly at the 'superficial' bit, that he understood from jump. 'Don't hate me because I'm beautiful,' He tosses a lock of hair over his shoulder, immitating a hair-colour comercial. Suddenly Daisy's charm shifts into provocative, his eyes flutter seductivly at the other's direction. 'So, you think I'm pretty?' He coos in a voice that is...not so much Daisy, more...some other lady's.

Tossing the egg shells into the open bin after cracking each one, he rinses off his hand and dries it on a hand towel before facing the other again. Unable to help a quiet laugh that escapes, at the absurd way Daisy is tossing his hair around and giving him pretty eyes, he really does struggle with a straight face. It takes him several times to be able to look at Daisy without cracking a smile. "Daisy, honey. Please. You're killing me." Sliding past him, Jacques adds a dash of water to the eggs in the bowl and picks up a wisk. Then, soberly adds, "You looked better in your robe." Its said with such seriousness that he must be geniune.

But Daisy's not kidding, well, not exactly, he suddenly looks..well, stoned, though it is not possible. 'Then it could be a beautiful death...'his voice turns more husky, yet at the same time more womanly. He saunters up to Jacques the chef and leans against the counter to where he is cooking. 'Does that mean you want these clothes gone?' He moves a hand to his skirt, tugging at the waistband, looking as though he's about to slide it off in a provocitave way only a stripper could manage.

This is a change. A sudden change. His gaze sweeps over the other in the dim light, taking in Daisy's facial features. Its quite possible that Daisy went and shot up in the bedroom when he went and got dressed and its one of the first thoughts that cross this addicts mind, its certainly something he would have done if the roles were reversed a few years back. He picks up the bowl and puts his back to the counter to be able to see the other fully as he continues to whisk the eggs. "Go on then." Jacques calls Daisy's bluff, while his intense gaze remains firmly on the others face.

Even if Daisy was in an 100% sane state of mind it would be damn hard for him to be shy, ever since he could remember he's been taking off his clothes, be it for money or drugs, or for the simple reason so that he wouldn't be kicked out of the house. Daisy wan not born a whore, that was shoved down his thoat so hard that it still makes him gag, but it is in him now, once a whore.... he takes a step back and sways his hips from side to side, the orangy material begins to creep down as slender thumbs tug it down. It trickles down to his hips, showing off the top of a pair of ruby underthings...

The steadiness in the way Jacques continues to whisk the eggs doesn't falter. He continues to watch the other undress, flicking his gaze down only briefly, and always returning to looking at the others expression. Momentarily setting the bowl aside, he reaches over and turns on the flames under the pan on the stove top, glancing away to do so, but immediately turning his attention back to the private strip show in his kitchen. He doesn't come across particularly moved. But then, that was Jacques, who seemed rather aloof all considering.

Daisy keep the little show up, the skirt how rests halfway down his skinny hips, but he does not drop it to the floor. His eyes move to catch Jacques', he seems not to notice that the other is still going about his cooking as he takes hold of the strap of his top and begins, with fluid ease, to move it down a pale, white shoulder. A giggle escapes his lips, his eyes have narrowed ever so slightly, lids hooded, taking on an almost arrogant tone.

Jacques is patient. Whatever he is thinking isn't written on his features. He is watching, there's no doubt about that. Daisy has his attention, about as much as the growing-hot pan has, both of which is equally important. He waits for the pan to get hot enough. He waits for clothes to be removed.

But if the top is to be removed Daisy is to turn, and he does. Piviting with the ease as a bellet dancer he turns, back to Jacques, as he moves the strap down, followed by the other. A stem of fine pale flesh, his back exposed, tarnished perhaps buy the fringes from his scarf. Then as suddenly as he began there is a gasp and Daisy visibly flinches. 'Oh my gawd...' his voice sounds like a slaughtered whisper, hardly there, barely audible. He stops and begins to tremble.

Well that was a little anticlimatic. Jacques is murmuring something dry humoured, "Sprain an ankle, d-" But the trembling doesn't quite fit the act and he finds himself switching off the flame on the stove, ever thoughtful, before he's touching a hand to the others back, stepping around look into Daisy's face with a small frown. "What is it?" Sweeping a critical gaze over the other, he seeks out an obvious problem.

Daisy flinches at the touch, he knows he zoned out like he sometimes does. there's a child inside him screaming, it's clawing at his ribs trying to get out, but he cannot let him escape anymore, for it is no longer safe out there in the big bad world. With words that would make you strain to hear them he asks, 'what was I just doing?' His eyes burn, he knows they are treas, but he won't let them fall. They don't belong here anymore.

Assessing the situation with a keen eye, he has mind to scoop the other clean off the floor and dump him in bed. But his own headache is still lingering around and that wouldn't fair too well in the taking-it-easy mindframe he needs in order to recover from last nights back lash. "You need to tell me what's going on." Says the other in a tone that doesn't leave room for arguement. Yet at the same time, his arm snakes around the others shoulders and draws Daisy in against the warmth and solidness of his chest.

Daisy lets him be pulled close, like a doll brought to a warm embrace. 'I don't know...' he murrmers into the other's shoulder sounding confused, he knows he ends up in certain situations, but sometimes he is not sure why...like that time he wound up on the streetcorner in some slutty outfit ready to pick up some john after he told himself that that part of his life was over. 'Sometimes I...' he shivers and a gentle choke erupts from his throat. How can you spill your whole life out in just one breath?

"I'm not here to judge you, Daisy." The width of his hand slides down the others back, moving in a soothing and slow rub and now some lewd caress. His other arm supports Daisy around the waist. "You can talk to me." Which he offered last night and offers again, but without being pushy, and giving a simple reminder and clear support.

'I know...' in some stupid way he knows he can tell Jacques stuff simply because an accused cannot judge. 'Sometimes I end up on corners, and I don't know how I got there....' then he confesses, 'sometimes she takes over....'

So much for getting something to eat. Jacques shifts Daisy across the floor and lifts him/her up onto a stool with a simple grip of the others hips and a hoist. "Tell me more." He stays close, leaning his hand into the edge of the counter, and with his height he's left looking down at Daisy.

'No one knows...' he whispers, 'sometimes I think I'm loosing my mind.' His bottom lip trembles. The warmth of the nearness moves around him like a gentle embrace.

"Explain it to me. I'm not going to know what's happening to you, or understand, unless you tell me more then just a few hints, Daisy. How can I help or even offer help if you don't elaborate?" His voice is quiet and calm, despite how his words may be taken. Lifting his free hand from his side, be brushes his index finger under the others chin, lifting it up to meet his waiting gaze.

Daisy's lids touch and blinks rapidly before he can meet Jacques' eyes.'Sometimes I find myself on a corner, not sure of how I got there but I ¬know¬ it's to pick up some john. But...I promised myself I wouldn't do that again, and I haven't...honest Jacki...' he shivers, 'I haven't let anyone screw me for money in ages. I don't do that anymore. It's like I'm...blacking out....'

"Are you taking anything?" He asks, bluntly. "Have you taken anything, regularly? Drugs can cause delayed reactions, problems, mental issues later in life. Have you gone to a doctor about these things? I can recommend a few." Naturally. Jacques is in a different league to Daisy, apparently, and has some connections. How else did he get out from his own troubles into such a better life. Or is it? Its so very hard to tell with people one just meets. "First thing is first. We're going to have something to eat. You're going to sit there and stop stressing out. You're somewhere safe and looked after. We'll tackle these problems one at a time. First, just chill, Daisy." Sliding his thumb across the others chin, his index finger still remains under the others jaw, preventing Daisy from dropping his head back down. "Alright? I'm not kicking you out. You don't need to show me your booty to stay here. Its no strings. No expectation."

Daisy gorans, 'I showed you my...gawd....' he brings his hand to his face realizing pretty much what he did. 'I wasn't...I mean, I didn't do that to make you let me stay...' his voice drifts into some foggyness, 'fade to black....' He looks so frail right about now, but he makes himself look at Jacques. 'I'm not in street-type drugs, ok? I didn't shoot up in the room before.' He draws in a shakey breath, at least this time he is somewhere safe, he is not alone, waking up to 'what did I just dos' alone.

"Its only fair. I showed you mine last night and this morning. Let's call it even." He doesn't seem bothered at all by the way the other had stripped, or started to, or is now having a mental break down. Jacques is pretty well put together. Last nights episode was just that, and that he still has a dulled migraine keeps him rather docile, or at least that would be his excuse if anyone called him soft or a sap. "And its cool if you did, or didn't, I'm not saying either way. I'm trying to get to the bottom of the issue so you don't have to be in this situation which you obviously find embarrassing and distressing." Dropping his hand from the others chin and jaw he steps back from the bench. "I'm going to make that food. I'm getting hungry and you could use some meat on your bones."

Daisy is more than happy to let the subject drop for it is a touchy one, and one he does not easily share. Sometimes truths are more venomous that lies. 'Ok, so I'm calling i even...' He tilts his head, 'Jacki...know what?' The corners of his trembling lips curve up a bit, 'yanno, I'm glad I ran into you.'

Having moved back from the counter, he's turned the pan back on again and glances over his shoulder at the other again. "I would be too if you stopped calling me Jacki. It's Jacques. Technically it's Jacques-Marcel  but I'm willing to drop it to the first part of the name, if you'd be so kind. It's like me calling you Tulip." Daisy has come to know that dry tone in the others accent, and it tinges his voice once again. The whisk is stirred through the egg again to make it light and fluffy.

'Jacques-Marcel...Jacques-MARCEL!' He echoes until it booms though the beautiful kitchen. 'Shit, I don't care what you call me, as long as it aint friggen Miss.' Daisy's legs sway like some kitten's restless feet against the counter.

Wincing at the others yell, he frowned. "Can you keep it down? I've already taken a few pills this morning and the headache is still lingering. Use the quiet voice Daisy." Soon enough the onion and bacon is fried off and set aside and eggs are poured into the pan. The end result is two fluffy omlettes with cheese, tomato, bacon and onion through the middle. A knife and fork, another coffee or an orange juice accompanies it and Jacques is sitting next to Daisy by the breakfast bench eating it down with a slow appreciation.

Daisy skitters to the breakfast bench and sits down. He looks down at the omeltte and makes a face at it, it smells good...he just doesn't wanna eat it. 'Ok, I will keep it down,' he murrmers and picks up his fork. He pokes and prods and pushes bacon and onion bits aside, finally he picks at a tiny piece of fried egg and pops it into his mouth. 'You know how to cook, I'm 'pressed,' he utters though chews.

"Mm, my sister is a chef. I picked up a few things when staying with her after rehab, both times." He says, eating his food, which is fresh and well cooked. Its something that Jacques is really very anal about; food must be good quality. He hasn't touched a greasy pizza since he was boffing some college girls way back when.

'Well you picked up some good stuff,' though it doesn't look as though he may be enjoying it since he's begun to disect it, onions to the left, bacon to the right. He moves for his coffee cup and takes a small sip before poking another omelette piece with his fork. 'I can make spaghetti.'

Glancing to the others plate he raised an eyebrow, "I'd be more inclined to take that as a compliment if you were actually eating the food." He looked back to his own plate and cut off a portion of the omlette. "Can you make the pasta as well? Everyone claims they can cook spaghetti but making it is an entirely different matter. But enough about that, I've got a question for you, and it might potentially hurt your feelings. I'd ask a different way, but there's no way around it." He sets his fork down to pick up his coffee and take a sip. "Or I can not ask it and let it bug me. Which would you prefer?"

Daisy looks at him and shrugs, 'my stomache can't handle onion and meat today.' Simply said as he does finally take another bite, chews and swallows...some days most food tastes like cardboard....'No I can't, but I do make a nice Italian meal...I can even make you awesome cocktails, and I don't need no book to mix 'em up.' He nods proudly. 'Aw, shit...what are you gonna ask me...' he moans into his food and sets his fork down, he's sure he's about to loose his appitire totaly. 'Just friggen ask....'

"You should have mentioned. I'd have made yours without them." He replies on the topic of food. Without time to create tension for the other, as he has no want or need of such drama, he asks, just as casually as he's asked anything else so far, "Are you a man or a woman?" Just like that, while his blue eyes stay on Daisy's features.

Good thing Daisy lowered his fork or it may have gone flying in some random direction. 'Fuck me...' he looks away quickly and brings his right hand to his mouth, he isn't sure where that came from, and he is not sure he wants to answer. From behind his hand a muffled responce, 'does it matter to you?'

.. yes, its a bit hard to read what Jacques is thinking and that much becomes obvious by such a left-wing question. He takes another sip of his coffee and sets it back down again. "It could. Not in the immediate sense. You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I understand its quite a personal thing, but some of the things you've said, the shape of your body, I'm picking up different signals and wanted to set them straight."

Daisy finaly faces Jacques and he does not look very happy. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares. 'What do you want me to be?' He spits out, taking on the bitchy tone he had before, but it's laced with some sorrow. 'Do you want to pretend I'm a girl? Is that why you invited me up?' Daisy sudenly pushes away and rises so quickly his stool is nearly knocked back, 'I can pretend to be whatever the fuck you like!'

There is a long silence that follows that, in which time Jacques gets off his own stool and picks up his plate. When he does answer, with that infuriating calmness, its to say simply, "When you're done with your tantrum, and we can speak like adults, we'll talk again." He's done with his own food and pushes the scraps into the trash. "There's no need for you to behave like that."

Why, oh why does Jacques bring that out in him...why? Daisy has rarely seen himself act like that, even in the worst of situation, so why now? He stomps to the living room and thrusts himself on the sofa, arms yet again, crossed over his chest. 'I don't know why you find it so important, anyway.' he calls out.

Jacques doesn't answer and continues to clean the kitchen. Daisy's food goes into the trash. The coffees are rinsed out and the bench is wiped down. He loads the dishwasher with the plates from yesterday and the dishes from the morning. He takes his time. His head was starting to pound with the drama.

Daisy feels confused, and not in that nice sort of way. What if Jacques only wants him up because he thinks that Daisy is a she? Will he kick him out on his butt if he realizes that Daisy is quite male? Daisy listens to the noise coming from the kitchen, from the dishes being cleaned and the cups being set away. He whines softly to himself and wills himself to rise...if he's going to go out, he's going to do it like a man! He moves back to the kitchen where he walks right up to Jacques and stands behind him, 'I'm not...'

Setting the dishwasher onto the economy cycle, he turns around to face Daisy. Being that he's taller, he could tower over the other and make himself look imposing, but that's not really who he is. Jacques has a very laid back air about him, most would call it a lazy arrogance if he was out on the town, but when one spends time with him, they can see it for what it is. He's simply a withdrawn and private sort of person. He gives Daisy a level look, waiting for the other to continue or explain, without interrupting or prompting.

He shakes his head slowly, 'not what you expected I guess...' his eyes raise up to the taller boy, long, inky lashes flutter, he is unsure of what is to happen...pray for the best but expect the worst.

"I'm sorry, you didn't say which gender you are." Maybe he missed it in the yelling. Either way he wasn't taking chances and sticking words in the others mouth or just leaving it to guessing games. Daisy finds Jacques blue eyes just the same as they were this morning, last night, there's no hate or disgust or any sort of judgement in them. He's merely waiting for an answer that had him curious.

'If you want to know that bad, then I suggest you take matters into your own hands.' He cannot say it, no matter how hard he may want to, but if Jacques were to find out for himself, then that would be a whole different ball game, that might be ok.

The answer leaves him disappointed and it lets it show on his face in the way his mouth turns down at the corners before pressing into a brief line. "I'm not in the habit of feeling people up, Daisy. I'm quite fine if you don't want to answer. But to suggest that I feel for myself makes it cheap and I don't appreciate it. I wasn't asking for thrills, I was asking because I wanted to know who you are, and whether you're pretending to be something else or whether that is, in fact, who you are." He doesn't step around the other, who has cornered him into the kitchen by the dishwasher but remains standing where he is, holding Daisy's gaze. "I apologise if I've upset you, I understand that. But there's no need for you to give me the shit you'd give others. I'm not them Daisy. I don't know what the fuck I've done to make you be like this. Your raw, hurt. I get it."

Daisy knew that he wouldn't do it, he would have bet his last buck that Jacques would not touch him. He lets out a slow breath, a sigh of reliefe it seams. 'You haven't offended me, you just make me think that it may not be the person you may want with you, if that person is the wrong gender. So what if I had asked you which way you swing and you told me you were gay, and then I told you I was a girl, would it change anything about how you see me right this very moment?'

"Potentially, if I was gay, yes. Obviously if I was gay and you were, are, a girl, then I wouldn't be inclined to sleep with you." He follows the others theoretical thought with his own, obvious, statement. It, in no way, confirms anything about Jacques himself. "You really are making this more complicated then it needs to be unless you're expecting something from me, Daisy. Or have some sort of expectation or hope, of me. Are we going to cut to the chase here, or shall we continue to go around in circles with these little games?"

'Jacques I expect nothing of you, all I wanted was a place to stay, remember?' Well, it looks like Daisy has nothing to loose, since Jacques wants to know so badly then, fine...careful what you wish for. 'I'm a boy, Jacki, Ok? I'm a boy.' His eyes seep into Jacques, then before the other can utter a word Daisy pivots on his heal and walks off towards his room. Jacques may not want to Daisy to be near him now, so he knows he should keep a distance between them...after all how ofteen is it that a girl tells you that she is really a he?

Daisy can feel the others gaze follow his hasty retreat. Jacques doesn't chase. He's not that sort of person. People come to him not the other way around. Besides, Daisy seemed to want to nurse his wounds or hide for shame, or whatever it is that makes him run off to seek solace behind closed doors. Whatever Jacques' reaction is, Daisy isn't privy to it since he left so quickly. A tall glass of water with ice, and a brief trip to get more painkillers from the bathroom has him returned to the living room. He stands on the balcony with a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes, bare foot, and smoking a cigarette.

Daisy seams to have the same idea...cigarettes and anguish, what a fine pair they make! He hates Jacques' smoking-only-on-the-balcony rule, but since he is a guest he will follow it. Unlit cig dangles from his lips, he fusses with an orange bic lighter as he pushes hilself onto the balcony. Silently he catches sight of the other as he tries to spark a flame, and without a word makes his way to the opposite side. The outfit's gone, well most of it, Daisy stands there in the scarf and skirt and nothing else. His back is bare and it shows off one of his tattoos, from shoulderblades to mid-back is a huge pair of orangy wings that take up a large patch of skin. On his right hip peks forth a stem of some other tattoo which leads down to ink downwards uponhis thigh, showing slightly as he leans over the railing.

Jacques had vaguely seen the tattoo the night before, when he peeked in on the sleeping other, before Daisy had scrambled to pull covers from boxers to chin. The young Southern man is far from daft, and from the shape of the others shoulders to waist, even the shape of leg, had him clued in before Daisy started dropping hints of this and that throughout his stay. It helps that Jacques works in the trade of knowing details of flesh and is why he picked up on it so easily. Now it was all in the open. Standing upright, he flicks his cigarette butt over the side of the rail and onto the street below. "I think you'd look better in a pair of label jeans. You've got a great ass, Daisy." This was said just the same as he had everything else, blunt, quiet and (apparently) truthful. Jacques has no need to be accepted or desire to be particularly liked. People took him as he was or didn't and he long since gave up caring about others opinions.

Daisy's finally sparked the lighter. The tip of the flame' touched the tip of the cigarette and brough it to a gasping life. He inhails as he looks over his shoulder at the other who is speaking. 'Well maybe I'll buy me a pair with my next paycheck,' he says dryly as he ehails a stream of pale grey smoke out. He looks at Jacques long and hard before he asks one of the questions he's been dreading. 'Now, do I gross you out?'

"We can go shopping tomorrow, or the day after. My head is killing me outside right now." He's turned his back tot he rail and is facing the building. The only reason why he's still outside is because the other must have come out to chat. "No." Looking to the other, his sunglasses reflect the light and make his face look more slender and defines his strong jawline. "Why would you? I just said you've got a great ass and that it would look better in jeans. I like men in jeans, not skirts."

Daisy shrugs, same shoulder...never the other. 'Just thought I may have.' He notes the other's possible difficulty in standing in the bright light as he drags on his cig. Smoke plums forth and encircles his head like a crooked halo...he could almost be angelic.... 'I have a pair of jeans...' he admits, 'in my suitcase...well two actually...but they're just Levi's.'

"I'd go the Levi's. Leave the scarf, it suits you.. At least with the bare chest. Something very European about it." With that advice, Jacques moves towards the door, sliding in past the still-drawn curtain. The darkness is welcoming and so is the corner of the sofa, which he immediately sprawls onto, in the same position he had sat while chatting over a movie the night before. Head back, eyes closed, and legs stretched out along one of the L-shape sides with his back to one side and his shoulder against the other. The sunglasses are pulled off his eyes in a lazy motion and are left on the arm by his head.

A tilt of his head, one person before Jacques ever asked him to wear pants...one...he smiles, it makes him happy. Daisy nods and blows a ribbon of smoke from between full lips. 'Ok...' when Jacques leaves he flicks the rest of the smoke off the edge and watches as it hurls to its death. Daisy makes his way to the guest room and pulls out his best pair of dark blue, slightly hip-hugging, low rise jeans and looks at them trying to remember the last time he wore them.

When the throbbing of his head subsides again, he remains lounging where he is and turns the tv on by remote. The volume is turned way down immediately, and he starts flicking through the channels. Not having to work every day was great. His line of work, and the dealings he has with the Sin Bin, allow him this freedom. It was part of why he did what he did. But daytime television really was boring, even with cable. When Daisy returned, Jacques' glanced the other over and gave a slight nod as if approving, and met the others gaze. "Wasn't really worth the tantrum, was it?" His lips curl into a light smirk or smile, depending how one wants to receive it.

Daisy appears there like some mist developing into form. In the well fitting Levi's he looks well....quite beautiful, quite boyish. His hips are slender, the material clings to them perfectly. He stands before Jacques with his arms crossed over his chest, his hips jutting to the side, quite the drama queen pose. The scarf has been left around his neck but it has been scrunched and turned, covering his neck rather than his neck ¬and¬ upper body. Daisy actually makes a better boy than girl. 'Maybe' he smiles faintly then...well, it's eye for an eye time...'so...girl or boy, what's better?' He is being vauge...and that is just how he wants to be...he doesnt ask if Jacques prefered him as a girl or a boy, or if Jacques prefers girls to boys...either way, he'll get some answer.

He knew it was coming, and that its asked immediately has Jacques laughing, which is a nice sound when it's not actually being snide. Unable to help himself, because he's wired like that, he mutters (grinning all the while). "I'll be whatever you want me to be." Snickering more quietly. "You totally deserve that Daisy." Before he's answering, still with a great deal of amusement in his gaze. "Boy. Definitely boy. Girls are vulgar. I'll screw them to get something out of it, not because I enjoy it." Which really could answer both of Daisy's questions.

'Aww, shuddup!' Daisy follows suit and gigglers as well, he grabs one of the sofa's pillows and hurls it at Jacques' feet, aiming for them since he is sure that the other is not feeling well yet. 'Heck, be your lovely, snippy self, it keeps me on my toes.' Daisy, feeling as if he's just entered new skin, carefully sits on the sofa and pinches one of Jacques's toes. 'I like boys more, as well...but ya...I'll screw anything that walks...' he meeps, 'I mean girls are OK, but boys...' he shyly looks down, 'there's something pretty about pretty boys...'

The cushion hits his feet and stays there until he lightly kicks it off. His toes curl away from the pinching fingers that makes his leg jerk a little at the unexpectedness of it. "I suppose. I haven't analyzed why I like what and whom and, who gives a shit. You like something you like it. You like pretty boys? All the more to you." Raising an arm from where it had been lying on his stomach he tucks it behind his head on the back of the sofa. "Do I qualify as a pretty boy? Careful, I might get offended. Maybe I want to be a tough, manly jock."

Daisy squirms, he tucks his feet under his back-side after he leans on his side to face Jacques. 'Yah, you just kinda like someone because you do...has something to do with endorphins...or some kinda fins...meh.' His arm is set on the back of the sofa and his head falls to gently rest on it. 'Yah, I like pretty boys, I like them angelic...with rough edges...guess I'm sadistic in that sence.' Dark orbs move into Jacques' face, he nods, 'you qualify...' he mumers.

He listens and watches, always. When the other comes to his conclusion, Jacques gives a faint nod. "Good. There's potential for us both then." This seems to sit with him well enough and he looks, briefly, to the television to resume channel surfing, but he's looking back to Daisy within a few seconds again. "Do you feel better now?"

Daisy raise a a brow at that, there's much more to what Jacques just said but Daisy feels like there is no reason to push it by asking stupid questions, or making stupid comments. Right now this is...good...very good. Being right here, right now with Jacques is ...right. Him sitting there in a pair of jeans and not a skirt is...ok. With a look of calm spreading over his face he turns to the TV but nods at Jacques words, 'I feel friggen perfect.' And he looks pretty fine.

Jacques had stripped the bed and gathered bloody clothes. Daisy was asked to drop them at the dry cleaners, if he wouldn't mind. They were just down the road a little way, but Jacques offered a cab anyway and a good deal of cash to 'pick up anything you want from the store' while he was out, in hopes that Daisy would actually get food that he would eat and not just pick at. They needed milk too. Jacques caught a few more hours sleep on the sofa, popped some painkillers and prepped dinner. That's how the day passed. Now, as the darkness crept across Sanfield, Jacques was out on the balcony with a cigarette in hand. Some colour had returned to his skin. His migraine was just a dull throb behind his temples, and this left him in a better mood.

Daisy did take the sheets to the cleaners but protested at the money, taking it only when Jacques' insisted. He's popped into the shop down the street getting the milk along with a pack of sliced bread a jar of chucky peanut butter and some grape jelly. With the items swaying from his fingers as he hummed some silly tune under his breath, somehow Daisy ends up in front of a liquor store...¬gimmerum¬, a sign above his head starts blinking ¬gotrum?¬ When Daisy returns to the apartment a bottle of Jamaican rum is with him, resting prettily in a brown paper bag. 'Honey, I'm home!' He chants as he enters the room and makes his way to the kitchen. He chuckles at himself for being silly as he dumps the items on the counter. The sheets are left neatly hanging against the back of the sofa before he puts all the items away. 'Now where could he have gone to...Jaaaaacki,' he chants after seeing the other on the balcony. If he doesn't hear him not calling him Jacques then it's ok.

Poking his head through the open balcony door, he holds his cigarette away from the opening, back behind him, and glances through the softly lit apartment. "You back Daisy?" Of course the other was. Who else would be wandering through his apartment? "Hey. I was thinking..." Turning away from the balcony he took a quick puff on his cigarette before he continued along with his thoughts. "You would make more money in the gay scene then with the hetro's."

Daisy, dressed in some tiny black skirt and black fishnet top, white and black striped socks, boots and his scarf slips out into the balcony. His own sweet smelling cloves in his right hand, a lighter in the left. 'Dressed as a girl, dun' think that would work.' He moves to stand close to the other and leans against the railing. His taps the bottom of the pack with his fingertips then slides out a clove.

"Are you serious?" His brows lift. "Trannies are in high demand if you're good at it. Maybe not around here, but times are changing. In New York you'd be another face. But here... you could make a dime." Leaning his hand against the sturdy rail, he casts a glance over the street. It was still early enough in the night that there was traffic moving around below. He's quiet, obviously thinking about some things, his sharp mind ticking over. The cherry glows bright orange as he takes a longer drag on the cigarette that he held pinched between his thumb and index finger.

Daisy does not speak until the clove has been lit and he has taken his first drag...funny, one ay smoke for years but there's always something amazing about that first drag...like a first kiss or a first touch. 'I'm not about to turn hooker again, Jacques-Marcel.' he says sternly. 'Stripping is as far as I'll go...'¬Unless I'm too out of it to tell that I'm actually on a street corner with some guy’s dick down my throat.¬, he thinks.

"I didn't say anything about hooking, Daisy. You could make money as an escort. Granted, you would probably get more jerks with higher expectations. Maybe it's not such a good idea." He waves a hand. "But you should move on from the place you're working at. If they're not paying you well, what's the point? Is there something else you would rather be doing, or do you enjoy working where you're at?"

'It's not the worst job I've had. No one puts their hands on me at the Rabbit, I think if they tried the Boss man would flip his wig...I think he'd flip his wig if anyone tried touching any of his ¬girls¬.' Daisy remembers Gand saying that all he would have to do was dance, nothing more, which pleased Daisy. 'I also worked at the Banshee's gift shop...till it changed hands, I think the owner-lady...uh...vanished.' A shrug. 'An escort...man, I really dun' know Jacques...' a light shake of his head. What does he enjoy, and what he would prefer to be doing...that is the million-dollar question. Give him back the freedom to work on his beloved laptop without having some cops on his back, that's what he'd want...of course he doesn't say that to Jacques, it's too dangerous.

"If you like where you're working, all the more to you." Tilting his head in the others direction he gave a smile. "I just got the impression you weren't happy where you're life is at. Correct me if I'm wrong." Finishing off his cigarette he smothered the burning end on the rail and tossed it over to the gutter below. Obviously Jacques didn't have much of a regard to the worlds welfare and littering sidewalks.

'Can't say I like it much, but it's a safe enough job and people leave me alone after I get off the stage.' He brings the clove to his lips, the sweet scent wafts forth like a gentle touch. 'I don't know if I'm happy or not...sometimes I get so angry...'a stream of pale smoke is exhaled, his gaze moves away from Jacques and lingers heavenwards. 'But I know that now I'm in a better place then where I was when I was a kid,' dark orbs slither down pausing only when they find the other boy's face, 'yet at the same time I've created more chaos. It's like you patch up a hole in your row-boat only to find another, and even though you've got these damn patches you're still sorta sinkin'.'

"Maybe you need better patches and be a little more careful when picking your boat." Suggests the other quietly. He meets the others glittering orbs, his own light and clear. "And while you're doing that, it doesn't hurt to stick up a white flag and hope that some navy ship comes along with some honourable sailor." Yeah, okay, he had to smirk at that one. "I don't think they'd mind if you were a boy under that skirt."

For that Daisy sticks his tongue out at Jacques. 'And would that honourable sailor look anything like you 'cuz if he did..' Daisy claps his hands, 'woooboy he could save me good!' He chuckles then brings his hand up to rake though his longish hair as he thinks...he didn't pick the friggen boat, Lola gave it to him and told him to choose...sink or row.

Rolling his eyes at the others antics, he pushed off the rail and went to stick his hand in his pockets. Since he was wearing sweats, he didn't have pockets, and instead he swept his hand under the hem of his t.shirt and rubbed at the skin of his lower stomach and hip. Its an absentminded gesture, as much a fidget as anything else. "I'm far from honourable, dear Daisy boy." He was looking the other over slowly as they stood there talking. Then, out of nowhere, he states. "You need a new wardrobe." Daisy already knew Jacques didn't like his clothes. He really couldn't seem to get over it, the arrogant ass.

Jacques' words thrust Daisy out of his thoughts, 'well then how 'bout you just be a dirty sailor.' He impishly winks at him in a way that may make Jacques wonder if he's flirting with him or just being silly. 'Aww...geee....I like my clothes....' he whines as he brings the clove to his lips for another long, delicious drag.

"Your clothes are ugly. They make you look like a cheap tramp in Kings Cross." It isn't said angrily, but with an air of mild dislike. He was in the habit of saying what was on his mind, and since the two of them have found a semi-even ground, he wasn't trying to protect the others delicate sensibilities. They had come to a point where such talk could be taken as that, and not a verbal stab at the others life. Well, at least one could hope that is where they are now at, for Jacques didn't mean for it to be anything more then surface insulting. But just in case, "We're going shopping tomorrow."

'That's why I like them Jacques.' He gives him a tight-lipped fake-smile. Then a focus on his smoke, as he opens his lips and begins to blow smoke rings, he watches them floating away, there are times he wishes he could grab one of those rings and see where they ay take him to. 'Shoppin'? I ain't got too much money for a whole new wardrobe, mebe few items at best. Anyway, I aint givin' up my skirts...what if Boss-man were to see me in jeans?'

Before he answers he takes a few things into consideration, including the shape of Daisy's mouth when he's forming those smoke rings. His thoughts don't show on his features, as they rarely ever do, but his gaze moves from Daisy's mouth up to his dark eyes. "Do you like pretending you're a girl?" The question is sober and serious.

Daisy is oblivious to the fact that Jacques’s eyes are on him, doesn't look at him when he shrugs that shoulder, nor does he stop till all the smoke has been drawn into rings and sent away. 'I don't feel like I'm pretending anything, I feel like this is what I am...I guess when you're dressed as a girl from when you're a kid it becomes something normal, yanno?'

There's a pause for a few heartbeats and Jacques nods slightly, dropping his hand out from under his shirt. "That's a shame." Turning from the balcony, he ducked back inside the house and left Daisy on the balcony.

Daisy watches him go wondering what makes Jacques step off the balcony so quickly. He furrows his brows in confusion...there's bits to Jacques Daisy so does not get. He doesn't say anything, because no one but the walls would hear him now. With a light huff, he flicks his clove off the railing and watches it as it falls down, he can almost make out a tiny orangey explosion when the cherry hits pavement.

Back inside, Jacques has made himself comfortable in his favourite, and the only, corner of the L-shaped lounge. Flicking through the channels on the tv, he hunts for something at least semi-mentally stimulating. He hates being idle. He'd even thought about heading out, but anywhere that wasn't his apartment was just too noisey for his head to be recovering. So, tv it is, which ends up on some Crime channel with those crime scene investigation shtick.

With Daisy's smoke done, and his lungs right about full of too much city air he decides to head back inside and avoid Jacques' bi-polar attitude for a while. He looks at the sprawled out form before he makes his way to the bathroom, he may as well have a shower, the warm water will do him a whole lot of good.

There are fresh towels in the closet, thick and fluffy. Since Jacques didn't often have anyone over there's only two soaps to choose from: his cologne body wash or the antibacterial soap found by the basin that's usually used for the washing of hands and not shower routines. Daisy isn't disturbed by anyone and the hot water takes a fair while to run out. Jacques continues to watch the show that he's not particularly interested in, but it passes time in that mind numbing way. Its not that he was paying much attention to it anyway, with his mind frequently drifting off to other thoughts.

Daisy's clothes are tossed messily all over the bathroom. Skirt rests on the floor next to his socks and shoes, his top has been dropped next to the sink and his underpants are dangling upon the tap. His scarf has been thrown against the mirror and now dangle from the small knob. Whichever bar of soap was closer was the one he chose, he'll smell clean and that's enough. The water hits the floor with its initial sound, which reminds him of a waterfall. The water hits his skin and the steam claws its way towards the door. Head tilted back, eyes closed, streams of warmth trickle over his frame perfectly. Behind closed doors he begins to sing, the words are slightly muffled but his tone is crisp. He doesn't have the most beautiful voice, but it's unique and quite pretty. 'Jackie left on a cold, dark night telling me he'd be home, he sailed the sea for a hundred years and left me all alone.' Behind made-up eyes his orbs twitch, black mascara being washed away, leaving zigzagging lines down his face until they fade to nothing. 'now I’ve been dead for twenty years I’ve been washing the sand with my ghostly tears searching the shores for my jackie oooh.

Jacques turns the volume of the tv up just enough to make Daisy's singing voice the background and not foreground noise. Of course Daisy would sing in the shower, he thinks to himself and sighs, sinking deeper into the cushions. The remote rested on his chest and he looked quite comfortable where he was, knee, hip and shoulder into one line of the sofas back with his neck nestled against the curve of the sofas edge.

His face is scrubbed clean of make-up, in the back of his mind he thinks of the Rum he's just bought. He wouldn't mind a few drinks right about now, he deserves it, doesn't he? he steps out sopping wet and reaches for a large, fluffy towel. It is draped around his slender hips and his hair is towelled down with another. He neatly folds the other towel and rests it on the counter thinking Jacques would have a fit if he left it on the floor. He scoops up his clothes, opens the door and makes his way from bathroom to guest room, silently, in nothing but the towel.

The bed is yet to be made in the guest room, something that Jacques will do later with the fresh linen back from the dry cleaners. The guest room is still however Daisy left it. Jacques, although a neat freak, hasn't gone in and straightened up that part of the apartment that is temporarily Daisy's.

He folds his clothes and puts them in their proper place, somewhere in the suitcase. He doesn't care if his bed is made or not, it's only going to get messed up again when he lies on it, so he'll leave it like that for now. Daisy pokes though his stuff taking out a few of the more boyish things he's got, a pair of body-hugging black boxers and his Levi's. The towel is wriggled out if and he steps into his boxers. He picks up his jeans, but finally just drops them back down. He moves for his Ipod and places the little earphones in his ears. The music is turned up, some noisy metal stuff, where the song never makes sense and the singer always sounds angry.

It's not the first time that Daisy has been left to his own devices and it probably won't be the last. He's left to dress, sing, dance, listen to ipod music or do whatever it is that he felt like doing. Jacques, eventually, after half an hour or so, would grow bored enough of the tv and rise from the sofa to stretch out his limbs. Its too early to go to bed and he had already slept that afternoon and isn't the type to go an hover around others who are having time to themselves. He ends up back out on the balcony with another cigarette and shortly thereafter sitting at the desk with the laptop on, where he studies and edits photographs he has on file.

Daisy does his own thing as he listens to the raging melodies invading his eardrums. He's planted himself on the floor, a warm bottle of juice he had in his pack from before has been set beside him, a bottle of pills next to it. The tiny IPod is sat on the bed next to what looks like a very high-tech, very expensive laptop. It does not look like the fine piece of machinery a cross-dressing stripper-bum should have...it looks like the kind Jacques ¬may¬ have. The pill bottle is popped open single-handedly and little pills are swallowed down with day old juice. He tosses the pills in the pack then turns looking at the laptop, tempted to switch it on.

Hours will pass. Coffee is consumed. Cigarettes are smoked and burned to ash. Eventually, as it draws late and everything is switched off in the living room, all except for the lamplight that is. Gathering the linen from where Daisy had left it, he wanders through the house with it in hand and knocks on Daisy's door.

By that time Daisy's already made the (wise) decision to put the laptop back into the case. It's hidden away, if he doesn't see it he can pretend it does not exist...yah, right. The IPod's earphones have been tugged off, there's only so much angsty music one can deal with before he shoots up from the mere torture of Metal. Thoughts run though his head as he lies on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 'What?' he calls out to Jacques.

"I've got the sheets and cover for the doona. You want me to make the bed?" Daisy's single word question sums up a lot of unspoken tone and he wonders what the young man's problem is. He expects drama to be hurled through the door any second. Drag Queens are Drama Queens, he's starting to think Daisy qualifies.

'Sure, come in,' but Daisy's tone has been misinterpreted, he's lost in his own little thoughts and maybe that one single word came out sounding like he was pissy again.

Pushing the door open, Jacques enters the bedroom and lays the linen out on the ground. He taps Daisy's leg to encourage him off the bed, nodding his head to indicate the same thing. "I'll be out of your hair in a moment." The pillowcases are first to go on. The tall man slides, shakes and eventually has the four pillows back into their clean cases and returned to stack two by two.

Without a word Daisy is off the bed, he moves away from Jacques, trying to stay out of his way as he changes the sheets. Arms crossed over his chest he watches him thoughtfully. His hair has been combed neatly and is now dry and smells of shampoo. Strands fall over one eye hiding is completely. Finally, he speaks, 'you ever been to Jamaica?' Yes, totally irrelevant.

"No." He spreads out the fitted sheet and works at the far corner first, crawling across the bed to pull the mattress up and tuck the elastic around the corner. "Have you?" From one corner, to the next. Then to pile the pillows back in place, again.

He nods in affirmation, 'yah.' Hand lifts to delicately brush the lock of hair out of his eyes and behind one porcelain ear. 'It's real serene there, makes you forget things.

"Makes you forget things?" Sliding off the bed, he throws on the top sheet and folds the top down. "Sounds like you need to start living in the world and not trying to escape it. But that's me, how I view shit. Everyone has to handle it different, I guess. I went through years of escaping it. But you learn, eventually. You'll never be happy until you learn to face truths. Fuck I'm such a drag." Sighing heavily he runs his hands through his hair and stares at the half made bed. After a brief pause, he falls into silence, and resumes making the guest bed like a good host. He's so not cut out for this shit.

'No, that's not what I mean,' his tone is gentle, there's not an ounce of anger in it, though there should be because Jacques is acting all weird and moody again. 'What I meant is that it's so relaxing you cannot help but let go sometimes and just enjoy the silence of the breeze...the taste of salt-water on your tongue...'

"... yeah." Sounds like a place he could use right now. He wouldn't mind soaking up some sun on some perfect beach far away from the corruption of America. Not that any other countries were actually any better. Shaking the doona back in its right way, while holding the corners so he doesn't loose them and the quilt lays flat inside the cover, he spreads it out across the bed before kneeling at the foot and clipping together those little push buttons that does up the end of the cover.

'You've made the bed pretty,' he utters as he shifts his weight from one leg to another. There's an odd, slight sense of uncomfortable-ness within him as he stands there in his boxers. It's odd how he could not care less being butt naked as he dances around a pole, but feels shy in those boy-clothes with Jacques' presence there.

Pushing a hand into the mattress, he gets to his knees and stretches out his back before casting an eye to Daisy. "Pretty?" A glance back to the bed, and back again. "I guess." His blue eyes flit over Daisy and his boxer clad form. When he looks back up, he watches the others expression. "Better now its clean, at least. Have a good sleep Daisy." Pausing on his step to the door, he hesitates before asking, "Is everything alright?"

His dark gaze follows him as he moves across the room, no one has ever confused him as much as Jacques has. In the short two days that they have known each other Daisy has been left hot and cold a million times over. He could say a million things right now, none which would get anything but a negative response from the other, so he simply shrugs. 'You gonna go sleep?'

"Yeah. Probably." His hand swept up through his hair again and his palm stayed on the back of his neck, while he rolled his head and stretched the muscles and tendons there. All the while his gaze stayed on the other.

'Would you rather sleep or allow me to bestow upon you a taste of Jamaica?' There is the slightest quiver of a smile on his lips.

Chuckling softly, his brows draw together, puzzled and amused (both) at the others question. "Before I agree, you'd best tell me what that entails." Drawing his fingers off his neck and over his shoulder, he drops it down to his side.

'Nothing that will have you leaving this apartment or is illegal,' giggling softly he marches past Jacques, pausing when he's exited the room. 'Follow me.' Before he can reply Daisy's making a bee-line for the kitchen and the rum!

Heading out of the room after the boxer-clad young man, Jacques switches off the light on his way out and follows into the kitchen. When it becomes obvious that the rum is on the agenda, Jacques shakes his head and makes a gesture to stop the other from getting two glasses. "No thank you. I don't drink."

He finds it odd that Jacques' does not drink, but makes no attempt to pressure him into even taking the smallest of sips. 'Then how about I make you something virgin with the juice in your fridge while I take care of Cap'n Morgan here?' With an obvious cheery tone he moves across the kitchen grabbing glasses and juice and stuff.

"No thanks. A coffee will be fine if you insist." He rolls his shoulders to dispel the tension that is creeping over him. Alcohol - in his house. This doesn't sit with him so well, but Daisy was not to know and Jacques isn't very obvious with his dislike of it. "White and one sugar." The way he likes his coffee. He doesn't stick around the kitchen to watch Daisy pour drinks, he returns to the sofa and flicks the tv back on just for background noise. Some part of him is all too aware that he should just go to bed and avoid all of this unnecessary temptation.

Daisy's no idiot, he can tell something was bothering Jacques and it doesn't take long for him to put two and two together. He bites his lip and moves for the coffee pot. 'Hey did I ever tell you about that time in Jamaica...?' there is some noise coming from cupboards and fridge doors being open and shut. But Daisy does not continue talking for a long while. The scent of coffee fills the air, the bottle of rum has been shoved to the side. Finally, Daisy's voice is heard again. 'Naw, I don't think I did...' Shorty after he follows Jacques back to the living room with two cups of coffee in his hand. 'Did I tell you about one morning when I woke up just before dawn and watched the sun come up, just me and my coffee?' He hands the milky coffee to Jacques then sits down and raises his cup gently, 'cheers.'

"Thanks." Taking the coffee in hand, he holds it with his long fingers on the base and the others wrapped the handle properly. "No you didn't. How did you get from being there to being here, or visa versa?" Nodding his chin at the cheers, he proceeded to sit back on the sofa. This time he wasn't lounging, wasn't even sitting in the corner, but sat with his back pressed into the cushions and his leg crossed - not the girly way either, but the side of his shin resting on his opposite knee.

Daisy blows into the cup. 'I decided I needed a vacation,' he half-lies, 'so I ended up there. I didn't do the tourist thing; I wanted to feel Jamaica, yanno?' He sits straight and lightly tosses his head, careful not to spill any of the hot liquid. 'I stayed there for a while, drinking in the Caribbean sun, pretending to be Native for a while.' By the way he speaks of it, it was certainly a bittersweet memory...more pleasant than not, though.

Nodding as he listens, he's quiet for a time as he absorbs the others tone and expression. "Have you ever just been yourself Daisy?" Its a valid question that he asks quietly and with an eye cast for the others face.

'You mean have I ever dressed as a boy, don't you?' He pretty much believes that was what he wanted to really know.

"No. Not exactly. I don't know who you are, and I'm not sure anyone else does either. I'm asking, have you ever lived just as yourself, or are you like everyone else, just trying to fit in, to please others, or whatever. Everyone does it." The coffee is way too hot to drink and he lowers it down to rest it on his thigh with his hands still curled around it. "I'm asking just that, Daisy. Have you ever just lived as who you are. Really are."

'Dude, Lola's been dressing me as a girl all my life, that's how I grew up. Yah, so I tried to please her...even though I hated her guts. What was I supposed to do, I was her son.' He sighs, then continues in a lowered voice, 'in Jamaica no one knew me as Daisy.

There's another silence. Its not the stoney type, but a reflective quiet. "You're your own man now, if you want to be. I suppose thats what I've been trying to say. You can make a new life for yourself. The way you want it." He smiles a little, but its wry. "I'm being a pushy prick. I don't mean it to come out that way, honestly. So tell me, why did you like Jamaica and why don't you go back there if you enjoy it?"

'We are who we are.' He looks at his cup, the liquid reminds him of mud. 'And you arw who you are,' he adds with a small smile at the 'pushy prick' comment. 'Truth? I liked Jamaica because of the rum, the sand, the sea, all those friendly people...their ganja...'shrugs, ‘well you wanted the truth. And...' chuckling he adds, 'because I'd met some guy that I began crushing on. It was a schoolboy thing...I'm silly I guess.'

"I don't see anything silly about it." He glances down to his cup and where his thumb is brushing across the rim. "Why don't you go back there?" Some of that tension has leaked out of him. Daisy isn't drinking rum, or isn't being obvious about it if he is, and their conversation has taken on a nice, quiet lull. God he's glad he can be wrong.

I'll go back and visit some day when I start missin' that blue, blue water. But now is not the right time.' Lashes touch in a delicate blink. 'Maybe if you're nice to me I'll take you with me, I think some salt water on your skin would do wonders for ya.

A small smile creeps over his mouth and he gives a small shake of his head, lifting the cup up from his lap to test it on his lips. Finding it was actually tolerable, he took a quick sip. "How generous of you." They both knew that if Jacques wanted to head off somewhere he certainly could afford it. But they both knew that's not the point of Daisy's remark.

'Yah well,' a quick absentminded shrug of a single shoulder, 'I'm just a wonderful, generous, amazing kinda guy, wouldn't you say?' Daisy giggles then sets the coffee down afraid that if he takes a sip he'll cramp up.

"I say, we should look at getting your life on track. Getting you a place, a job that can afford it and to suit your lifestyle." Jacques takes another sip of his coffee before contining, "Then maybe I'll look at taking you out on a date that is more then chinese and a shitty black and white movie. But only if you can come as a boy. You know my view on women."

It's a good thing the cup of coffee had been set down on the table just seconds ago, for if he was still holding it in his hand it would have toppled over when Jacques offered to take him out on a date. 'Did you jus' say you'd take me out on a ...date, like...a real one where you buy me a meal then I pretend that I don't really wanna kiss you good-night, an' all?

Raising his brows, he looked over at Daisy. "Yes. I did. I'd do it now but it sort of beats the whole purpose of dating if we're living under the same roof." He smirks a little, being playful about it, to take that serious edge off that may make Daisy more uncomfortable and shocked then he already is.

It's not the fact that someone as hot as Jacques offered to take him out, it's the simple fact that Jacques...the one who hated his guts yesterday wants to take him out. So, the attraction was mutual, after all. Daisy sort of melts into the seat with a playful smile on his lips. 'Damn, this sure beats Rum.'

"I fucking well hope so." Jacques finds himself trying not to laugh at the comment. "I'm more expensive then rum and can't be bought for a few bucks at a liquor store." Lifting the cup towards his mouth, which is still smiling, he snickers another quiet laugh, disbelief written on his features. Was he just compared to rum?

'Aw, shit Jacques...you think I'd like rum more than you? He shakes his head softly as the other is offered a tender smile. 'If that was the case I wouldn't have poured myself a cup of coffee, ol' Cap'n Morgan'd be riding down my throat.

"I appreciate it." Nodding once. He took another sip of his coffee, two in fact, and larger then before. "Don't worry. It didn't escape my notice." Throwing a look at the other. "Drugs and alcohol go hand in hand. You know what they say about giving up one vice? You have to give them all up, otherwise you end up trading one addiction for another. I don't want to fall off the banwagon. Instead, I'll have something else thats not quite good for me." Clearly indicating Daisy with the way he looked the other over and got a slight curl to one side of his mouth and a spark in his eye. "First, you had better tell me how old you are. I don't want to be locked up for going at something underage." He's sure Daisy isn't, but one can never be too careful.

He chuckles low and deep, his hands both raise to run though tendrils of inky hair. 'I'll get rid of the rum, keep temptation away from you, ok?' His hands lower back down and he wriggles bringing his legs up so that he's sitting Indian-style, then he places his hands on his lap and arches forth looking comfortably lethargic in that position. 'I'm 26, so don't worry I'm far from jail-bait.'


Jacques looks at Diasy sharply. "You're twenty-six?" His gaze roams the other slowly, trying to pick out the telling signs of age, or some things that he's somehow missed. "Really?" Obviously Jacques was finding this information hard to believe.

A slow, truthful nod, 'Twenty-six, I'm telling you the truth.' He barely looks twenty-two, but there's no indication showing that he is lying, not one.

"I would never have guessed." He says, with his eyebrows still raised in surprised. The coffee cup is brought to his mouth and he takes a slow sip from it. "Even better then." He concludes. This information relaxes him more, and the tension that had been riding his spine eases.

He chuckles softly, 'yah, I look like jail-bait, perfect for the perves...gets you more money tucked in your g-string.'  Daisy bites thoughtfully on his lower lip, then asks, 'how old are ya?'

Amusement flickers in his gaze and he stays quiet a moment, all the while looking the other in the eye. "I'm twenty-four." It really was ironic.

'I always liked them younger,' his tone is certaily teasing. Daisy reaches over for his cup and chuckles to himself like an imp.

"That may be so, but I can tell you, from what you've shown so far, I'm definitely older then you." Its a light teasing to the others behaviour, tantrums, and general attitude. But there's also a lot of truth behind it. Jacques came across a lot older then he was and there was plenty of reasons for that.

The cup if brought to his lips and Daisy takes his very first sip, of what is now, cold Java. 'You think, huh?' He shurgs lightly, playfully adding, 'well then you should go around telling people you are an old man.

"If I did, they wouldn't believe me." Finishing his coffee, he sits forward and sets it down on the table. He looks at Daisy again. Quiet. Thoughtful. And leans back in his chair again. "Do you want to look for an apartment tomorrow? Have you got enough to secure one or do you really need a place with a housemate?"

, if you do remember, I was tryin' to get me an apartment in this building...till ¬someone¬ started being a you-know-what about it.' He doesn't sound mad, on the contrary, he sounds playful. That turn of events was something quite pleasant.

"I know that. But it's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you can afford a place by yourself." Pause. "Or do you have plans for that?" He wonders how much Daisy makes at the White Rabbit. He'll need to go down there and see for himself. On a night Daisy isn't working, hopefully.

'I've made enough to get myself started on a place...if you mean if I can actually keep a place by myself, I don't know...depends.' He takes a breath. It does all depend in a lot, not much which has to do with the Rabbit, though, he doubts he'd ever make a million out of that place, he did promise he wouldn't hook anymore, but who knew for sure. There was one thing that he could count on and that was resting in his suitcase, quiet, untouched since then.

"There's plenty of students around needing housemates. I could probably have a few words with some people I know. Some of the more trustworthy types are in this building, others are closer to the University." Jacques was trying to be helpful, already having an idea of what a strippers life was like. It was anything but steady.

If there was something Daisy did not want it was living with some strange weirdo, he'd rather live in a box out on the corner. 'Thank you,' he says simply, 'but no. I'm not staying with a stranger, let alone some student,....students are a right pain, I know.' I'll stay alone till I cannot no more, then I'll leave...no biggie....

Lowering his head a moment, Jacques half concealed his smile and supressed his laugh. "I hate to point it out to you, Daisy, but you're currently staying with a stranger." Casting his gaze back in the others direction he arched his brow as if to make a point.

'You don't count, Jacques-Marcel.' He knew that, but Jacques didn't feel like a stranger, per say...be it for the wrong reasons or the right, it felt good being here with him, even though he knew it was only for a night or two.

"Of course I count." He counters but let that little bit slide. "But my point is, if we're going to do this - are we going to do this?- Do you want me to court you like some gentlemen? Won't it feel too close to home if you're sleeping in my bed and staying under my roof? Its not exactly the way people date. And what about that kiss when I drop you home?" Pausing. "But at the same time, I don't want you out on the street or in some dive."

He tosses his head and huffs lightly. 'Life's not about what should be done and follow-the-rules, remember? If we wanna do something we should. I wouldn't like you any more if I lived alone and counted down the hours till I saw  you next. If you want me in my own place, I'll go...no hard feelings and you can still ask me out. But if you want me to stay, I would really like that...and you could always give me that kiss good-night at the entrance of the guest room. Then my room would be off-limits to you, and yours would be off-limits to me...our own private place till we meet again.' Daisy's got all the answers, doesn't he?

Its true what they say. Never bring strays home if you want them to leave again. Does Jacques want the other to leave? Time would tell. For now, he considers what the other has to say with a small, final, nod, and eases off the sofa. "That sound reasonable." His cigarettes, which he leaves on the desk before the door, were soon in his hand and the balcony door was slipped open.

'Of course it is...' Daisy's eyes follow Jacques, then a small smile lights his face...you have to learn when to say, if you are to get what you want.

Standing just outside the balcony door, clearly still visible, Jacques lights up his cigarette and stays out there to smoke it. Its a quiet moment of reflection and thought. One thing Daisy will quickly learn, if he hasn't already, is that Jacques is quiet more often then not. He's perfectly content in silence. Unecessary talking wasn't his thing.

Daisy sprawls out along the length of the couch like some content feline. He leans his cheek against the cushion and blinks at the TV set, a confusion of colours form and portray some dull scene, but Daisy doesn't care about that now. A bitter-sweetness builds inside him, for whatever blossom of joy's come out of this odd meeting, he knows will not last. Tomorrow they will begin trying to change each other, one will go on about his business, one will end up on the sticky stage, wrapped around the pole. Tomorrow they will be the two that had met at the hall of the building, but...maybe for now they can pretend that everything may, just possibly, turn out fine.

When his cigarette was finished and discarded, he returned to the living room, closing and locking the balcony door after himself. The curtain was drawn back over into place. Returning to the sofa he doesn't sit, instead he leans over the back of it and, without hesitation, brushes his fingers across the others hair, drawing it back from his eyes. "If there's nothing else you want to talk about, I'm heading to bed. Hopefully shake this headache off." Its been two full days now and more then a handful of pills.

'Go sleep, tomorrow I will still be here and I'm sure we'll have more to say then.' A delicate shiver trickles though him as Jacques touches his hair. It's a soft, pretty sensation, a feeling that is almost there. Daisy turns his head slightly, his eyes rising up to Jacques', 'good night, pretty boy.

"I can see you have things on your mind." As Daisy turns his head, Jacques draws his hand back and rests it on the edge of the sofa. "If you decide you want to talk about it, you know where to find me." Offering a small smile that still has a touch of smirk to it, always does, he leans off the sofa and soon disappears into his bedroom.

'Dude, go sleep...dream of me.' Daisy's eyes never leave him until he is in his room and the roor is shut. He wriggles back down and inhales. His fingers creep up touching the strands of hair Jacques' fingers trailed upon. Sure, he had a million things to talk to him about, maybe a million and one, but he wasn't about to spill his guts yet. 'Good night, Jackie...' he whispers as he looks back to the TV and watches the characters fade slowly to black.