ArchivedLogs:Worthless Kids

Worthless Kids
Dramatis Personae Anette, Billy, Ion, Lane
In Absentia	2014-08-12 Touches on Future past TP.
Location <NYC> Brooklyn
The most populous of the boroughs, Brooklyn has nothing if not character. With a thriving music and arts scene, and a distinctive New York slant to its stereotypical gritty accents, Brooklyn ranges from the high-cultured to the very much working class. From botanical gardens to beachfronts, Manhattanites might like to think their borough is the only one that matters, but Brooklyn has a lot to offer of its own. While rush hour has died down significantly by this hour, there's still a sufficient enough crowd of people traveling home from Manhattan to make things a little lively. Among those stepping down to street level from the J line, is Lane with the top half of her jumper removed as she wears the other half - stained with car oil - like regular pants. Her dirty hands pat her pockets before pulling out an empty box of cigarettes and with a tired frown she says, "Damn ..." Stepping just around Lane, arching away from her stains and cigarettes, is the pristine, bridal-white Billy. He flicks his eyes down and up the woman as she curses to herself as he offers a breathy, "Excuse me." He tries to pass her, despite traveling in the same direction. It's polite, but not without a pang of judgement. Markedly without stains, the young man cradles a reusable bag of hardcover books while a tan messenger bag full of a few more flaps at his side. VRRROOM; even amid the regular city-traffic sounds Ion tends to stand /out/, a distinctive growl of motor coming from the black-and-chrome Harley he is perched on (its vanity license plate reads WIRED.) He /looks/ like a biker, too, heavy jeans and tall shitkicker boots and a leather kutte worn open over his white undershirt; the kutte bears a large patch on the back reading MUTANT MONGRELS MC around a modified skull-and-crossbones logo (the skull itself has horns and fangs, the crossbones modified instead to a jagged pairof lightning bolts.) He's zoomed right past Lane and Billy before the latter catches his eye; the sudden veering u-turn he executes to pull up alongside the curb is probably not very legal. Whups. He tugs off his helmet (hair damp with sweat and smooshed into a flat bowl) to reveal /wide/ toothy bright grin, head jerking upward in a nod to Billy. "Eyyyyy, boy, que tal, how you /been/." His voice is just as exuberantly unapologetically /loud/ as the thrum of his bike. Unlike Ion, Anette seems to be going for the 'blend in' approach. Strolling casually down the sidewalk, she doesn't really stick out much, unless a large leather coat that covers most of her body sticks out to you. Which, admittedly, it does to some people. Otherwise, she seems content to just mind her own self until Ion does his little show. She watches curiously (and annoyed) until she notices just who caught his eye. "Hey Chlorox!" she yells out, grinning as she makes her way over. "Long time no see buddy!" "Yeah," Lane first says to Billy, disregarding his passing in all her empty cigarette sorrow. Until she notices a some material on her cover all lightly graze part of the boy's pants enough to - "You're gunna wanna check your pants, bud." But the vroom naturally catches her attention as Lane crumples up the empty pack of Marlboros and tosses it into a nearby trash can. Eyeing both the flashy hispanic boy and the virginal one, the relationship doesn't seem to add up in her head. And now a third leathery girl. "Any one of you got a smoke I can bum off of you? Maybe you got one on your hog there?" She gestures to Ion's bike with her chin. Going all doe-eyed, Billy seems just as surprised by the flashy hispanic boy knowing him as Lane is. "Uh?" He gestures towards himself with an index finger, smiling but obviously not registering any memories of the very drunken night the shared. Billy knows a lot of people on motorcycles, so. It's hard to keep track. Slowly, it does make its way back to him and he redirects the finger to the biker, "Ohh! HEY!" Without batting a lash, spits on his hand in a dainty little fashion and begins gently wiping the stain away. It's actually rather quick work, "Oh, did I bump you?" He chirps genuinely enough, "I'm so sorry!" To the plea for cigarettes, he offers a helpless little shrug. The blonde does catch Anette's appearance, but would rather preoccupy himself with a /different/ stain. He haughtily does just that. Ion digs into a pocket of his kutte (it still bears distinctly /handprint/-shaped bleached stains on its front flaps) to extract a pack of Newports and a cheap plastic lighter. He leans in towards the curb to offer both these things to Lane. Still with a broad grin at Billy's initial non-recognition. "Look this boy," he seems to be directing this mock-complaint to /Lane/ rather than Billy, "take him out, give him a good time, he don't even remember your name the next day." Next day, next month, whichever. One eye squints up towards Anette thoughtfully, his, "huh" quieter than his previous greetings had been. Anette frowns slightly at the less than enthusiastic greetings she's just gotten. Not that she expected a parade but a full and complete 'hello' would have been nice. She suddenly grins at Ion's mention of a 'good time' with Billy. "Really...you two? Not bad Chlorox, not bad," she says, glancing over the guy on the bike briefly with a playful smirk. Hey, girl in leather coat, guy on motorcycle. Tale as old as time. "Don't smoke, sorry," she says in response to Lane's inquiry, not that it matters as she's already been offered a smoke. Lane raises a brow at Billy, slightly confused at his apology. He was sorry for bumping into her? Maybe he's new around here. "Nah don't be. Be sorry for your pants instead. Motor oil never comes out," she shrugs. Clearly, Lane isn't sorry for her own dirty pants. She gladly accepts the Newport and lighter with a bit of a tricky smirk on her face when she looks at the box. As if she's thinking something, but won't say. But as she lights up, using the brim of her baseball cap to block out a small draft. Lane both Ion and Billy with utter non-chalance, "You guys dating or something? One night stand maybe? Since he can't seem to remember your name." Everything else about Ion doesn't seem to forgettable though. A heavy plume of smoke is exhaled in another direction, she hands back the pack and lighter with a, "Thank you." The motor oil is gone but Billy continues to rub vigorously, nonetheless. "No! Nothing like that!" Wild eyed at having his honor /impugned/, "And don't fu- don't call me /Chlorox/." He stomps his foot. It is not intimidating. The strap on Billy's reusable bag snaps, unloading a small library and a few leaflets of paper out onto the sidewalk. White-faced, he lowers to the ground to recollect them. He doesn't know how but Anette did this. Ion chuckles as he takes back the lighter and cigarettes, killing the engine on his bike and tapping out a smoke to slip between his own lips. "Ah, shit, no, not that way. The boy he was having a bad day, yeah? I take him for a ride," a pat of hand against his handlebars implies this is /not/, in fact, innuendo, "buy him some beers, cheer him up maybe?" His next laugh is exhaled in a stream of smoke. "Maybe a little too /much/ of the beers." His chin jerks upward to Anette in greeting. "Dreamgirl." Once he's tucked the cigarettes back away he eels his way off his bike to help Billy gather his spilled books. "You seem to have a lotta unfortunate days, ese." Anette laughs a bit at the revelation. "Aw, don't know whether to feel happy or disappointed. Can't blame me for assuming that's what happened, eh Mr. Clean?" she says, smirking slightly to Billy. Once Ion mentions Dreamgirl, she turns to glance at him again, thinking deeply for a moment before the light suddenly clicks. "Oh! Shit, I thought you looked familar. Wait...you had the dream to?" she rattles, suddenly both intrigued and confused. Good news is this distracts her from Billy for the time being. Lane ahhs understandingly before taking a drag. The sweet fiber glassy goodness of a Newport filling her lungs. Her first nicotine love. Like mother's milk really! "Well, beers are good at doing that. A good ride too," she eyes the Harley before turning back to Billy, "Did you hurl?" Exhale, again in a polite enough direction out of the way of Anette and the virgin. "Yes," Billy answers the question in a sheepish mumble. The sides of his mouth turn downward in a comical frown as he stacks his belongings, turning open the flap of his messenger back to try and lodge some in what little space is left there. The slightest glint of a mischief twinkles in his eye as he peeks up at Lane, who asked. Ion turns over the small stack of books he's gathered to Billy, cigarette bobbing between his lips with his smile, with his speaking. "Good ride can cure most any sads, yeah?" He straightens, tipping a nod to Anette. "What I hear, there been a whole lotta fuck-upped dreams floating around lately. Though," he admits, "you were badass in mine. Take /you/ for a ride any time." Hands freed, he reaches back up for his cigarette, turning his head as well to blow the smoke out. "He a little bit messy a drunk, mmm, next time, maybe? We stick with one beers." Anette watches casually as Billy collects all his books. She doesn't help but she does try to stay out of the way for the most part. "That's...that's weird. Think the dreams mean anything? And fuck...you think I was badass? You had a fucking squad car!" She chuckles a bit and brushes loose strands of hair from her face. "Though I'll take you up on that offer. If you think that was badass, wait til you hear about the last dream I had. Pity you weren't in that one." She glances over to Billy, grinning as she looks him over. "Messy drunk? Sounds about right. I don't know what happens when booze and bleach mix but I can't imagine it's good. I'd kill to see it though." "Yeah a good ride can do that," Lane says in a wistful tone that indicates she understands Ion completely. Picking up the last bits of leaflets, she hands them back to Billy. "We've all been there. I'm sure you were a real champ up until then," she merely half smirks back to the shockingly blonde boy and tries to pat him on the shoulder sympathetically. Her hands are so dirty they leave dark finger prints on the leaflets and potentially on Billy's shirt. She's on a roll today. "Anyhow, thank you for the cig, amigo," she says to Ion and unsure what to say to Anette she shrugs, "...And for your company, darling. Have a good evening." Lane turns away and waves her hand apathetically behind her, walking off in her slightly bowlegged way of walking. She ducks into the corner bodega a few minutes before exiting once more - this time in quite a rush for she disappears into the commuter crowd. An explanation comes soon after, when the short Puerto Rican shop owner comes out yelling, "CABRON!" The terrible curse word rings in the ears of the crowd around him and he fumes and kicks the brick wall next to the entrace. Then angrily before turning to the group. "Did you see that guy? What he looked like? Where he went?" Billy whimpers, leaning into the background as he licks his fingers and wipes at the black blotches on his shoulder before giving up. Throwing a few glances over his shoulder to see if anyone saw him using his power, he rises with his things clutched to his chest, "Good seeing you, again!" He says to Ion, smiling. Billy's smile fades quickly enough as he acknowledges, but says nothing to Anette. When the hubbub occurs, he waggles his eyebrows at her as if to say, 'Your kind of people,' before sauntering into the commuter crowd, himself. "Any time." Ion answers Lane with a smile that only /increases/ shortly thereafter at the commotion. "{I didn't see nothing, man.}" Ion's Spanish comes -- /quicker/ than his English, certainly, but it's still kind of every bit as ghetto. He drops his cigarette to the ground, stumping it out with the toe of his boot. "Maybe we run into each other again some time, querido." This is as Billy leaves; he slides back onto his bike, eyebrows lifting questioningly to Anette. "In this city, you know, nothing surprise me anymore. How 'bout you take me up on it /now/, yeah? Tell me about your /even/ more badass dream. Over a beer, maybe." He gestures onto the seat behind himself in invitation to hop on. Anette takes a step to the side as the shopowner comes out, pretending she has nothing to do with this group at all. Nope, nothing. She shoots Ion a glance at the offer, grinning excitedly. "Really? Well...if you insist," she says, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping her arms around Ion's waist and pulling herself closer. "Make it whiskey and you've got yourself a deal," she says, leaning up to his ear as she waits for Mr. Bodega sigh heavily, furrowing his dark brows disapprovingly at the group before turning away and walking back into the bodega. "Worthless kids," etc etc, other spanish curses.