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Every voice slurred into each other, a whirlwind of colors behind Gene's closed eye lids. Angry reds, sad blues, numb greys. It was painful to hear, or was that just his head? Hearing colors was probably not the best of signs. Peter's words were a deep purple, the red and blue interwoven until...

...mud caked shoes and hands, and hair. 'Eugene Shelton, you best get cleaned up before dinner or so help me. Toujours avec la boue! Vous petit lutin.**' She would say with mirth in her eyes as she smacked at his arms and feet, as she would try to suppress giggles. 'Peter please don't say...

Gene wheezed out a chuckle, his lungs burning. Coughs racked his small frame as he tried to curl into himself, curl away from the pain. His face turned into the lap below him, nosing at a bony knee. How he hated bruised ribs. The heat when you breathed, the pain the followed each lung full of...

...his jaw, still too boyish and young to have the chiseled appearance of today. All in all, like his mother always said, he looked like a little lutin* scurrying about, causing mischief. His head pillowed softly in his mother's lap. Hear her soft lilting voice as she carded long pianist playing...

Merriell fell backwards to avoid Damien's rush to the kitchen, his nose scrunching at the unmistakable sounds of retching. "You ok there Damien?" He called as he struggled to right himself back into a sitting position on the couch, rolling about like a turtle who had been flipped on its shell...

'Am I flying?' He sighed to himself, wind rushing through his ears. Maybe he was finally dead, but that was a funny thought. Why was he flying? He should be falling through the earth while flames licked the tips of his feet. Yet here he was instead, light headed, nuzzled into soft leather with...

"Feel like givin' that sass up boy?" The thug leered, his face rubbing up against the scruff that lined Gene's own jawline. Gene laughed once more, bits of spittle and blood flying from his mouth to land on the leader's face from his split lip. "Not even close." The Cajun wheezed, blood...

...chin, his face moving up into her personal space, his nose brushing that of Peter's, while his eyes turned into steely slits, nostrils flaring. "F*ck you." Gene growled, voice breathy and low. The hand clenching Peter's sharp chin shoved her aside with a sneer. Trust in Gene's world was...

...breathes as he yanked on Damien's arms, slowly pulling the muscular body towards the passenger side door, "Allez Damien, travailler avec moi ici*." With another tug the frenchman's body fell to the driveway with a thud. Gene winced in sympathy as he rushed to the floor to Damien's side...

"Ya' got dem' white picket fences, huh? Never would have pegged ya' as one of dem'." Gene murmured over both Merriell and Damien, his voice low and his eyes downcast as he struggled under the weight of the two teenagers. It was an odd thought, that Peter had a home and a family outside the times...

"Don' ya' worry now Peter, I'm all da' muscle ya' need. I'll jus' need two trips, as long as ya' got da' driving, mon ami." Gene smirked, with a quick wink. Before Peter turned away, his rough hand yanked on the of Perer's, pulling the teen towards him with a critical eye. His fingers went and...

...self some sleep. Ya' ok there?" His thin arms heaved Peter's light frame from the floor, placing the teen's body against his right side, "How da' f*ck we suppose ta' get dem' otta here?" The Cajun asked, brows furrowed. He didn't know how to drive, and even if Peter could drive Damien's car...

"Je ne pense pas que ce soit une bonne idée, mon frère-*" Gene began as he tired to place Merriell in the most comfortable an least compromising position on his chest, but his words were drowned out by the deep slurring words of Damien. Suffice to say, Gene burned bridges, in fact he was the...

"Une bonne nuit à oublier.*" Gene mumbled as a large pint of black stout was placed in front of him by Craig's large hands, bits of foam slide down the class's side from the force against the bar surface. With a lazy gesture, the Cajun gripped the mug tightly, eyes widening slightly at the shock...

"It's ok. It's going to be ok." the red head whispered, his brown eyes filling with tears. 'If you can't cry, I'll cry for you.' Was Merriell's last thought before he threw his shaking arms around the hunched shoulders of Damien. How cruel Damien's life has been! How can a parent treat their...

...was barely enough time to grief for those who were lost. "Si je le pouvais, je voudrais prendre ta douleur mon ami. Vous ne méritez pas, je le fais.*" he murmured as his spindly fingers crushed his smoking bud against the rough brick exterior of the bar before sauntering back towards the...

Though the cajun was still weighed down by the water that fell in turrets about their merry group, he felt as if he could breathe for the first time in such a long time. Maybe that is what people meant when they said water was a cleanse, a rebirth if you will. Washed away now was all the anger...

Gene had only ever seen Mrs. Leydon from a distance. She always looked like the proper southern lady Mer always described. Hair tied back to keep soft curls away from her perfectly maid up face. Dresses always long and billowing in bright colors, be speckled with flowers or polka dots. His eyes...