Yes, indeed, Montrez is back at the beach. It seems to be that the only way he's able to relax now is when he's either working or near the water. It's even better when he's doing both, but sometimes you have to settle for what you can get.

He's been smoking more, lately; ever since that night. He is smoking right now. In fact, and there are several cigarette butts in the trash recepticle next to him. There's no telling how many of them are actually his, but he's been here for a while. His boss has been hiring more people which means that Montrez's hours have been cut back. He doesn't get to spend nearly as much time with his horses as he'd like. And the horses, even, are upset about that. One or two of the smarter ones know him just by the pattern of his walk and the way his boots thump on the ground. But all of them are better behaved when he's taking care of them, even the stubborn Jack-ass they've been trying to breed with the grey mare.

He's wearing shorts today. Khakis. Bare feet, too. He left his shoes with his bike, locked up somewhere farther away from the shore. A plain white button up covers his torso, loosely flapping in the coming sea breeze. Only one or two of his thick, heavy brown dreadlocks sway in the wind. Most of them are tied back, the rest were left out because if they weren't, they'd have broken his hair tie. Chocolate eyes lazily drift over the sand and surf, giving his unique skin crow's feet when they happen to catch the glare of the sun. Montrez is of mixed race, growing up with his father after his mother left to become a model in Paris. He got her lips and height, his father's temperence and thirst for knowledge.

However, he wasn't brought to the beach for knowledge. No, he's here for peace. The waves lick at his feet, washing them with silt and salt and sea creatures.

Just when you think your life is nearly beyond help, you find that one silver lining in the darkest of clouds that seems to make everything else seem alright. That’s what’s happened to one thirteen year old boy. He found that silver lining. He’s been living at Ellen’s house now for seven weeks or so. She’s been officially his guardian for about a week. He’s settled in right nicely. He likes it there. She’s nice to him. She seems to understand him more than anyone else has ever been able to. Especially when it comes to his art.

Today, he’s down at the beach. He’s been wanting to go down there for a while now to see what he can find to draw. He’s wearing his baggy blue jean shorts that just barely sit on his hips and a baggy red t-shirt. His hair is pulled back in a pony tail and he’s got his red ‘rag’ on his head. Over his shoulder is his red backpack. Think the kid likes red?

He’s walking along the beach and trying to find a place that pulls at him the most as being a good place to sit and draw. He almost doesn’t see the guy sitting there until he’s very nearly atop of him. The boy stops and blinks. “‘Scuse me,” he says. “You mind if I sit here? I won’t be no bother. You won’t even know I’m here. I’m just lookin’ for a place to sit and draw and this place seems to have gotten my attention the most.”

Montrez glances up at the person who spoke. Does he know what he did? Is he going to report him to the police? It was self defense! But it's only a kid who wants to draw. As much as it feels otherwise, no one is going to know just by looking.

"Sure, go ahead."

Ash is flicked into the trashcan, its origin moves back to rest in the safe haven of Montrez's lips. He stares at the sea, panic attack momentarily avoided. Smoke curls out of his mouth while an unhappy sigh escapes him and he leans his head into one of his hands. The sea seems so simple. Horses are predictable. But why is life so complicated? Why do things happen that you can't avoid? This can't be Neptune's will for him. It can't be.

“Hey thanks!” says the boy as he flops down in the sand. He sets his backpack next to him and pulls out his sketch pad and pencils. He begins to stare out over the ocean for a while before turning his attention to the blank page and begins to draw. The way he’s sitting, the guy will be able to easily see the image on the paper beginning to transpire. This boy is /very/ good at what he does.

His eyes stray from the horizon and to the kid's paper. His eyebrows lift in impress, he'd never seen such talent before, definately not from a youth. While he speaks, the cigarette flaps from where it's clamped at the side of his mouth.

"That's really good. How long you been drawing?"

Montrez isn't normally someone to strike up a conversation. He normally isn't one to talk much at all. For some reason, though, he's been more talkative lately. Despite the tragic incident he's recently gone through, he's feeling rather relaxed. Strange, yes?

Strange? No. Not really. Blade isn’t giving off any sort of threatening air at the moment. Sure, he can be a cocky little bastard but he’s never set out to try to hurt anyone. That’s just not how he is. He is, however, usually pretty careful about who he talks to anymore. Ever since that night at the park. It’s been nearly two months since it happened but it’s still quite fresh in his mind. It’s something that he’s not told Ellen about. Of course, it’s not something he wants to talk to anyone about anyway.

Without looking up from his drawing that’s slowly taking form he answers. “Been drawin’ for as long as I can remember,” he says. “It’s my favorite way of passing the time.”

The white stick is stubbed out and thrown away. He pulls out another one and lights it up.

"You should go professional or something."

Montrez stretches out his legs. With the tide rising, the backs of his legs are getting wet. For apparantly no reason at all, he says a small, short prayer to Neptune under his breath. Perhaps he's just thankful, perhaps he's feeling a little more religious than normal. Whatever the reason, it made him feel better.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” the boy says without looking up from what he’s doing. “It’s bad for your health.”

He continues drawing for a few minutes. “My foster mom owns an art gallery,” he says out of the blue. “It’s awesome. I’m hoping to one day be able to be good enough to display my art there.” Hoping to one day be good enough? Holy crap boy. Have you taken the time to stop and look at your own drawings? Really look at them? So realistic looking. Is it really possible for this little boy to get any better?

"I know," he bows his head and snorts smoke from his nose, "But when you're addicted those words don't really mean much, you know? It's not something you can just put a stop to, no matter what people try to tell you."

His toes wiggle in the sand and he listens to the waves.

"What mediums do you use?"

The boy shrugs slightly. “At least don’t light one up right after the other,” he says, still not looking up from his drawing. “It’s not healthy for those around you either.”

His drawing is coming together quite nicely at this point. “I put ‘em together with pencil. Then I take ‘em home and usually just use colored pencils. My foster mom is teachin’ me how to use oil and acrylic paints though.”

He stops drawing and turns partially in the direction of the guy. A child’s hand reaches out. He’s offering to shake hands. “I’m Blade,” he introduces himself.

Well that's something he's never really considered before. He's never had to. Montrez puts out his newest fag for the person sitting next to him. He does it with a sigh, but he didn't even have to do it in the first place.

He doesn't say anything more of the art, but when the kid introduces himself Montrez does likewise, only using the nomen of M.C.. His hand is larger than the child's and he's definately stronger. Work and age does that.

“Thanks,” the boy says as the guy snuffs out his smoke. Yes. The thirteen year old boy thinks about crap like lung cancer and usually tries to avoid those who smoke. Even the gang he ran with in California didn’t smoke around him.

“M.C.... interesting name,” the boy says. Of course, look who’s talking.... Blade.

“What brought you out here to the beach?” he asks just trying to stir up some sort of conversation.

He rubs his arm, still looking out at the water getting entranced by the reflections and rays of sun.

"Relaxation," he said at a length. "I couldn't go to the farm so I came here."

“Drawing is my relaxation...” he says as he continues working on his picture.

He stops and looks over at M.C. “Farm? What kind of farm?” He’s interested...

"Horse and mule farm. We breed and train," he sounds a little sullen. Maybe he'd rather be at the farm? Maybe he just doesn't like the foreshadowing of the boss cutting back on Montrez's hours.

Blade seems to have suddenly forgotten all about his current drawing and turns part way to face M.C. better. “Horses? No shit?” he says sounding quite surprised. Maybe a little excited about it as well. He's only ever seen horses from afar.

"No shit," he confirms.

"You like horses?" Once they begin to get on this subject, M.C.'s whole mood seems to take a swing on the upcurve. Water and horses. He loves those best, you can tell if you pay attention.

He has Blade’s /full/ attention at the moment. Blade really does like animals of nearly any type.

“Never seen any up close,” he says. “Only ever seen ‘em from a distance. And in pictures of course.”

"You should come by the farm, then. We give lessons, too. You can learn how to ride and everything. Maybe you could bring your sketch book, too; see if inspiration strikes you. They really are magnificent.." he's looking for the word 'creatures' but cannot think of it. He falters and looks down at his feet. It makes him feel like shit but at least this time it's at the end of the sentence. Maybe Blade won't notice.

“Holy shit...” he says as his face lights up brightly. “Seriously?? Learn to ride??” Can you tell he’s growing excited.

“Holy shit...” he mutters again. “I’ll have to ask my foster mom if it’s okay..”

He’s quite excited about the aspect of not only seeing a horse up close and in person but learning to ride one as well.

“I always take my sketch pad with me. I’ve never home without it. Even when I was first learnin’ to draw,” he says with a wide grin.

Blade didn’t notice.

"Yeah I'm serious. Here," he fishes out a card from his wallet. It has the farm's adress, phone number and office hours.

He's smiling, pleased to meet someone with as much love for horses as he has. Smiling really suits him.

"I really think you'll have fun, it's a great place. It isn't just a plain trail riding place. There's a lot to do, I guarantee you won't get bored."

Can you tell he's excited, too?

Blade takes the card and looks at it. “Will you be there, too?” he asks while still looking at the card. He can’t read it... The boy can’t read much still. Can M.C. tell?

After a few moments, he takes out his wallet and puts it inside. So far, in his wallet, he has two phone numbers and now the business card from M.C.

“I sure hope Ellen will say yes...” he says all excited.

"I hope I will be. If I'm not, tell the boss that he should give me more hours, OK?"

No, M.C. can't really tell that the boy has a problem with reading. If anything he writes it off as the sun getting in his eyes.

"I hope she will, too. It's a great experience. You learn so much working with animals, it's worth every cent."

Good. The boy would be so embarrassed if the guy were to have noticed and said anything about it looking like he couldn’t read the card. He’s /very/ embarrassed about not knowing how to read much yet still. He’s learning. Slowly. But he’s learning. It had taken him six weeks to just be able to tell his foster mom that he couldn’t read. It had taken quite a bit of guts for him to have asked his friend, Sinister, if he’d help him learn how to read when the kid was but just a stranger.

“You’re not there a lot? How much are you actually there?” he asks curiously. "How much do the riding lessons cost?"

"I used to be there a lot but the boss has been hiring more people. Don't know why, I do the work of three men, anyway..." a kid doesn't need to hear this. A kid shouldn't care, anyway. Especially not when they've just met you.

"Oh they're not too expensive. And if they are you can always just take care of your horse after you use her. That takes care of what work we have to do, anyway."

“That sucks ass,” the boy blurted as he listened to why M.C. didn’t have many hours. “Seriously sucks ass...”

“What do you mean? Take care of the horse after using her?” Blade’s never been around horses. He has no clue.

He shrugs. He agrees wholeheartedly with Blade but such is life. He's not really going to ask for more hours, no matter how much he wants them.

"Oh, well the horses have to be brushed and sometimes they need to be hosed off. Take their tack off, put it away. Make sure they have food and water in their stalls. But you'd only have to do that for the horse you use if you decide to do that."

The boy is starting to get quite excited as he listens and is starting to fidget where he’s sitting.

“That sounds wicked cool!” he says eagerly. “What if I were to tell ‘em that I wanted to request you to teach me? Would they go for that?”

Montrez laughs. Actually laughs.

"Sure they would. I'm the most available instructor. This is great, I'm glad you're so enthused."

“Awesome!” he says excitedly.

“I don’t usually talk to strangers,” he says out of the blue. “But you’re alright.” The boy has a wide grin on his face.

"Thanks Blade, you too."

Montrez doesn't normally speak to many people, either.

"Well," he looks down. The tide seems to have risen some more. "I should probably get going. I work today, as a matter of fact." He stands and wipes off his shorts.

"I'll see you around sometime?"

Blade stands up when the other guy does and holds out his hand. “Hey it was nice meeting you,” he says with a grin. “I can’t wait to tell Ellen about this! I hope I’ll get to see you around soon!”

"Me too. It was nice meeting you, too." He takes Blade's hand and shakes it. "Yeah, definately. We'll set up that lesson soon then, if she lets you."

The boy continues to grin from ear to ear while putting his sketch pad back into his backpack. “Take care!” he calls out as he takes off towards home.