Logs:Bike Lives in the Heart

Bike Lives in the Heart
Dramatis Personae Damien, Ion, Rocket, Tian-shin
In Absentia Polaris, Taylor	2024-06-05 "Hell, I'd give up the whole satchel."
Location <NYC> Hellhound Bikes - The Hole
Located not far from Jamaica Bay in a predominantly Latinx sector of East New York, this garage doesn't look like much from the outside. A low-slung squat dingy brick building with a hand-painted sign over front proclaiming it to be HELLHOUND CUSTOM CYCLES, this garage has a small office area with its own pedestrian entrance from the street at the front, containing a minifridge usually full of beer and beaten down old desk with a ledger and an antique cash register that no one ever seems to use. The rest of the space is roughly L-shaped, its walls lined with racks of tools and heavy workbenches with built-in steel drawers full of hardware and spare parts. There's a raised platform in the wider leg of the space for working on one motorcycle, and there's space in the narrower leg for parking at least three more. It's been a pretty hot day, although evening coming on together with an incoming front that promises plenty of overnight rain is cooling things off a little. It's still been great cookout weather (in fairness, the Mongrels think it's always great cookout weather), and the block right now is bustling with many of their neighbors from around The Hole. Someone's stereo is blasting J Balvin; there's a small dance party in the middle of the sunken street, a couple of men are brawling outside the garage doors though the fact nobody seems particularly alarmed suggests no real bad blood in the fight. Ion -- no vest at the moment, just a sleeveless tank and jeans, a red and black bandana over his hair -- has taken just a moment away from tending the grill to cheer on one or other of the fighters, though he is returning now to turn his current batch of ribs and steak over where they're slow-roasting over a low heat, head bopping absently to the music. His rumbly bass voice is chiming in here and there, though mostly on the "un, dos, tres --", tongs tapping a beat in the air. Tian-shin is refilling one of the coolers with soda and then another with beer, head also bopping along to the music. She's wearing a lightweight mandarin collar shirt in scarlet red with a black dragon print wrapped around from the back to the front and blue jeans with swarms of red hearts printed all around the cuffs as if they were bubbling up from her black boots underneath, and her long black hair is coiled up into a neat bun secured with a single red lacquer hairstick. When she stands again she brings along two Coronas, presumably already chilled, and goes about uncapping and garnishing them before setting one in Ion's easy reach. Somewhere in the small cluster of dancers is one figure who definitely is not from the neighborhood. It hasn't seemed to bother his current company, exuberant in their dance. Damien has been stomping and whirling with his newly-made friends but he's slipping away as one song switches into another. He's not exactly dressed for the summer warmth, in a soft black alpaca sweater, wide-gauged knit in the pattern of a damaged spiderweb, a bronze torque around his neck in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail, decorated with obscure Celtic designs, which seems to slither slowly over his collarbones, a matching but less disturbingly mobile penannular pin secures his red leather belt and black leather trousers tucked into knee-high red boots with polished bronze hardware. He's heading towards the Mongrels and their grill, dipping in a small bow as he approaches. "They tell me you are the ones responsible for all this wonderful hospitality." "Bruh." Ion's eyes have lit up as Damien nears. He's just picked up the beer Tian-shin brought, hook clinking against the glass, but now he's waggling it in Damien's direction instead of drinking. "Lookit this motherfucker {you see this shit?}" It's a very delighted you see this, his eyes drifting appreciatively over the other man's form. "How I get me hooked up with that kinda bling? That shit's fire. You need a drink?" Now he's not gesturing anymore but offering the beer to Damien. "Hospitality who. This --" He waves his spatula around the gathering. "Just our big-ass family." "I see it," Tian-shin reassures Ion with a smile as she lifts her beer for a drink. Then she does a double-take. "Whoa. I see it--and, yeah, that shit is fire." She gives a kind impressed head-dip in Damien's general direction. "We try to be hospitable. In a big-ass family kind of way. Have you eaten? Because this man can work magic with that barbeque pit." Damien accepts the beer, lifting it in silent salute. "Bling?" He is looking down at himself in a mild puzzlement, but doesn't linger on this question. His eyes turn out toward the party. He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. "In that case, a lovely family. I have heard much about the rudeness of New Yorkers and none of it has aligned at all with the days I've spent here." He takes a pull from the drink, meandering closer to peer at the cooking meats, now. "My mother has an immense cooking magic," he's saying fondly, "though I myself did not pick up much of that Knack." He studies Ion and then Tian-shin, and then the grill itself again, with a puzzled tip of head. "Where does your magic come from?" "Bling, you know, that collar you got on," Ion is nodding towards Damien's collar, "how the fuck you get that necklace looking so alive, shit. Oh oh oh I gotta friend you gotta show that shit some time, she always making her jewelry move around. You a metalbender, cuz that some dope crafting. Where do magic come from. All kindsa places, yeah? Come from the heart. Come from your elders. This one a little both." He is going to get a sturdy paper plate, and he hands this, too, to Damien. "Hold this shit I show you the magic here, though. Slow-roasting and the best goddamn chimichurri you ever gonna taste. I do the roasting," as if this was not obvious, but he's nodding across the street to where a grey-haired woman is playing double-dutch with some young girls, "but Tía Elena over there, I'm still tryna learn her secrets on the sauce." He makes a little -- well, maybe it would have been a chef's-kiss gesture if he used his fingers; using the hand with the hook makes the gesture slightly less legible. "You new in town or you just visiting?" It's been a few twist and turns, but when Rocket slows down to look over his shoulder, it seems that he's lost his pursuer/babysitter. At least for the time being. He's been otherwise letting his nose do the travelling for him, since something out here smells like food. Possibly free. He wears a little pirate outfit, though the eyepatch on it is flipped up so both his eyes are plenty visible, as are the metallic glint of the bolts beneath them. A red cowl is worn over a the black jacket, with designs of crossed swords on both sleeves and a full jolly roger on his back and tricorn hat. This is over a navy blue shirt, brown leather belt, black slacks and leather booties. "Magic's from lots of places, 'cross the stars," opines Rocket, gesturing vaguely upwards, before he accuses, "I smell food." Tian-shin smiles brighter as Ion explains. "That tracks. Being a disappointment to my mother is probably why my cooking is so cursed." She's casually setting her beer exactly where Ion's had been before he paid it forward. "I guess kung fu is magic from my elders, though sadly my neighborhood might be a little less welcoming. But, you know. Politely unwelcoming. Unless you're this--" She's gesturing at Ion again before catching herself. "Wow, I just realized your hospitality vibes are so strong they work in reverse, too, My mom doesn't like anyone who isn't Chinese, except you and..." Her brows furrow in thought, but whatever that thought was it's quickly sidelined by the entrance of one raccoon pirate. "Oh hey, welcome! Yeah, there's plenty of food for everyone." Damien holds the plate -- obligingly? It's not much of a sacrifice really given he's about to be loaded up with delicious food. "Oh! Yes, this was a gift. I do not -- think I bend any more metal than the average, but the smith who made this was quite skilled. I am -- not yet sure how long I will be here." His brow wrinkles in thought. "I came here seeking family and I think that might depend entirely on how it goes with mine. I am enjoying meeting your fair city along my way." He is dropping his gaze to the raccoon, and the small bow he gives Rocket is just as courtly as the one he had offered the Mongrels earlier. "You smell it because there is food. This man is putting magic into it." "Kung fu a magic for sure. Elders don't lose that shit just on account of sometimes they suck a little bit. My ma she always love everyone, though, 'less they fucked with us. You, she, you'd get along." Ion is looking past Damien when Rocket speaks and, only a moment later, drops his gaze down. "Hot damn, bro, we getting so many new face here today, I definitely woulda recognize your style. Shit, and you decked out already halfway to a damn Mongrel, what." He's looking, wide eyed and tickled, at the little Jolly Roger. "They right, they right, we got hell of food. You like some steak, you like some ribs? Grilled veggies? Where you just rock up from?" He's following Rocket's gesture upwards as if the sky will enlighten him about the provenance of Talking Raccoon. "What's a mongrel?" asks Rocket, a suspicious look levelled towards Ion, though he is diverted from getting too suspicious by the prospect of food. He looks momentarily at Damien and decides, "I'll take any magic food you'll give for free. Haven't sampled enough of the cuisine around here." He tilts his hat down a little. "I've also been meeting your 'fair city', been a rocky ride though. I crash landed my pod during the Brood stuff a little while back." "He is." Tian-shin gestures at Ion. "I'm starting to feel like an extremely incompetent publicist here, but he meant the motorcycle club. You're in theme. Want something to drink?" She nudges one of the coolers with the toe of her boot, and was perhaps about to make some general statement about the beverages available when she looks up--as if in delayed response to Rocket's gesture--and back down at him. "Where did you crash land your pod...from?" "Motorcycle club?" Damien's eyes are sweeping the crowd first, a bit critical at its lack of motorcycles before he comes back around to looking at the garage itself with a firmer air of approval. It turns to curiosity when he looks down at Rocket, then back to the garage. "How many sizes do those come in?" Only now is he, too, looking up to the sky. "-- Oh, dear. If you are stranded here against your will I think hospitality becomes all the more important." "I the Mongrel," Ion confirms, proud, with a thump of his hand against his chest. "And my dogs, like --" He's gesturing to a large broad Black man not far off, actually wearing his mutant-Jolly-Roger cut, and then another man, shorter and lighter skinned and sans vest. "Them boys. You serious with the pod thing? Like, I thought you a freak like us but damn you saying you a freak from a whole other --" He gestures kind of excitedly skywards; this time, there's a small shiver of sparks that flit harmlessly off the end of his hook and vanish quickly into the air. "How you get home, then?" He's starting to load up Damien's plate, finally, and getting a second to add some meat and grilled veggies to that, too. He spoons some chimichurri over both plates before handing one down to Rocket. "Only charge for the food is don't nobody start no shit with us. You pay that price we good." "From space. I'm sure you're a perfectly normal publicist, but I don't keep up with the local stories," Rocket clarifies at the prompting from Tian-shin and he becomes even more animated when he explains, "Hospitality'd be great, and I don't mean to start any shit, though I don't mean to take any more either. My first experience here was getting boxed up and jostled around." He scowls, this grudge still rather fresh on his heart. "And my pod exploded, so I don't have a way back to my ship! I'm a pilot, among the best damn pilots in the galaxy, so being separated from it probably feels as bad as being separated from-- You said motorcycle club?" He looks suddenly more interested as this information properly lands. "What counts as a motorcycle to you? I got a machine I built, a real beauty, runs on all terrains, and I mean all terrains. And fast like you wouldn't believe," though the excitement fades as he adds the defeated words: "It's back on the ship though." Very likely Ion is the only one present who can tell Tian-shin is poleaxed, because she was the daughter of a tong man before she was a lawyer. Her expression shakes out to one of friendly curiosity with a light touch of perplexity. "I wouldn't say they come in all sizes, but there's definitely a range. Some of the Mongrels are not very much taller than you," she says with an indicative nod at Rocket, "and some of them are..." Something flickers across her expression her and something hitches her breath, but too fast to really disrupt her mahjong face, "...much taller. I think what counts as a motorcycle is some kind of cultural gestalt I don't feel competent to explain." After the barest of pauses, she adds, "it lives in the hearts of bikers?" Evidently this all warrants a drink because she's stooping to fetch herself a beer (again), though not without offering one to Rocket with a faint lift of brows first. "I'm sorry you didn't find much welcome here," she says this while she's at eye-level with him, "and the situation sounds like it would be pretty stressful even if you had your...vehicle that may or may not be a motorcycle." "Boxed up? That seems quite savage." Damien's expression shifts into a scowl at this information, brief but stormy in its abrupt darkening of his expression. The ire lifts with his first bite of food. He gives a deeply pleased hum, rising brief up onto his toes and then setting back. "You spoke truly, this is wonderful. -- what would it take to get you to your ship?" he's asking Rocket, and, just as contemplative: "What would you give to get back to it?" "Motorcycle in your heart!" Ion crows this with delight, though is possibly immediately contradicting it with a slightly suspicious: "How many wheels your baby got? -- We a club for freaks," he's adding, proudly, to Damien, "someone show up, got a body don't nobody else make bikes for, we gonna hook 'em up." He adds a small swirl of sauce over the vegetables. His grin has faded, though his expression's still warm, when he offers the raccoon the food. "My dogs ain't 'bout to put nobody in no fucking cage. I'onno how to get nobody into space, man, lo siento. Do know a thing or two 'bout getting some part of you tore away, though. Solid meal the least we can do after all that fuckery." Rocket gives a very affirmative bob of his head at this silent offer of beer, apparently having become familiar with this Earth custom. He takes the food from Ion, though his arms are mostly now spent holding it aloft. "Anywhere between zero and four, it has different modes it shifts between," he says with a healthy dollop of pride, "It can hover, smooth as a dream, but if I want to save power and really feel the terrain, runs nice on two. But then it can have a sidecar, so that's gotta stabilize so I don't toss my passenger..." He looks curiously now towards Damien, though, and says, "I don't have much local currency. I could spare some marbles, I dunno what they'd be worth here, but they've got a healthy shine. Hell, I'd give up the whole satchel." Tian-shin seems inordinately and vicariously proud to see that Ion's cooking is appreciated by their visitors from Not Around Here. "Oh, we have some hovering motorcycles. Your ride sounds pretty sweet." She finally sets about getting a plate for herself. "By marbles you mean...little round glass balls, right?" Her cheeks flush ever so slightly. "Please forgive my ignorance, I've never been to space, so I thought there might be some...differences in language? Translation?" What one means by "marbles", she does not say. "Your steed sounds wonderful," Damien says, quite sincerely. "And shiny marbles a treasure indeed." The collar around his neck is shifting in its motion, slower but more disconcertingly sinuous, somehow. "I am still getting the hang of this city, I think, but if it contains a route to your ship I will find it for you. For those marbles, I think, and a lesson. I've never ridden a motorcycle, and I think I would quite enjoy learning how." "Part-time bike," Ion judges, "four wheels you veering into a car there. Think I'd like to see that, though, sound like a sweet ride." He's loading up Tian-shin's plate, drizzling her some of the sauce as well. "You a confident fucker, ain't you?" He sounds impressed, and this time the appreciative sweep of his eyes is definitely not just checking out Damien's fantastical jewelry. "Dunno what kind of miracle you gonna work but I pay half that fee right the fuck now." He's considering Tian-shin for -- only the briefest of moments before he waves one of the other Mongrels over. "{Yo, Banhammer, you come give my meat some love, huh?} Gotta teach this weirdo to ride so we can get this raccoon back in space." If Banhammer finds any part of this statement odd he's taking it in stride. "Just tell me if he pull off this magic trick you gonna bring that bike of yours by here. Wanna see that thing fly." "This isn't my first language or anything, but I got the meanings down. Like marbles, yeah, though one of 'em is actually a metal ball bearing," explains Rocket. He finds a seat to place the plate down on, and then reaches into the ruff of the shirt to pull out a repurposed Crown Royal bag that indeed seems full of marbles. He shakes it in his hand a couple of times, and it's absolutely clear that he is reconsidering in the face of this. "Just don't make me regret it, I don't like getting scammed on weird planets," he relents as he holds said satchel up to be taken, his head turned a bit away so he does not have to fully witness the loss, "And if I am, you better believe I'll come to collect with interest." How one pays interest on a motley assortment of marbles (and a ball bearing), he does not clarify, but says to Ion, "If I get back my bike, I'll stop by, check out your rides, too. Talk shop, and what it takes to join your club." "This is amazing, I am here for this space race." If Tian-shin is offended at Ion's admittedly wise reluctance to hand her the tongs, she's expressing it with an only barely suppressed smile. She is in any case digging into her food with an enthusiasm her mother would probably find unladylike. At least she does finish chewing--if only barely, covering her mouth with one hand--before volunteering to Ion and Damien, magnanimously, "Oh, I can watch!"