ArchivedLogs:Appreciating Life
| Appreciating Life | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-04-13 Shelby catches a ride to her meeting with Sebastian, after texts were exchanged. |
| Location
??? | |
As might be expected, when Jim rolls up on the corner where Shelby has been waiting, she is wearing the grumpyface. The world, it SUCKS! The only thing she has going for her at the moment is the lack of rain--which also kind’ve sucks because she came prepared in just a hoodie and jeans and everything, so she’d have been ready for that! She’s perched on the back of a bench near a bus stop, texting grimly away when the red Impala cozies the curb. Her phone gets stuck in a pocket and she ambles over, bending to squint at Jim through the window. What? He wasn’t expecting her to make a crack at a moment like this? “Hey baby, you looking for a good time?” The sour look only somewhat ruins the effect. Jim isn’t making this look much better, he’d been holding his finger down on the passenger side window button while he pulled to a stop, so it’s open for just this sort of exchange. And he pulls his cigarette from his mouth to permit himself to grunt, “Get in.” “Okay but no rough shit,” Shelby pops back, hauling the door open. Her backpack, her skateboard, these are shoved over the seat into the back before she lands herself in the passenger side. Seatbelt? No thank you. Instead, there is an imperious wave for the cigarette. Guess who she learned that gesture from? “Nice ride.” She allows him that much. “I should be the one saying that to you,” Jim growls, shoving his half-/used/ cigarette into Shelby’s commanding fingertips, but for all presented evidence seems to be doing this just to free up his HANDS. He twists around in his seat to check his blind spot before pulling away from the curb, mindful of New York drivers that might otherwise rip off his god damn rearview mirror. That and to avoid sideswiping one of the MILLION bikers now lording over the roads. “So what the fuck is all this shit?” He sounds somehow both /aggravated/, accusing and disgusted in one. It’s the Car of Fury, apparently. Vroomvroom, they’re back on the road. Shelby does not thank him for the cigarette. She just presses the button to whirr the window back up, leaving a crack at the top for smoke. Then? Then there is dedicated smoking. Jim’s not getting his cigarette back--and she tucks one sneakered foot up on the dash, to add insult to injury. No one does sullen teenager like Shelby does sullen teenager. “I dunno, is it a full moon?” She tilts her head to send a plume of smoke out into the wide world. “‘Cause it fucking feels like one. And before you start,” Shelby says, stabbing the cigarette in Jim’s direction, “I already /know/ I shouldn’t’ve kissed him. But he was like...you don’t even know, dude. He did this thing with his tongue and my fingers and...” She shrugs, expression discomfited. “Bastian’s gonna shit. He’s gonna think it’s just another reason to run off, like Hive said.” “I wasn’t gonna say a damn thing,” Jim says through gritted teeth that were /absolutely/ going to say something but are now NOT. He takes his aggression out on traffic, cutting off a little old lady and essentially /drag/ racing alongside a cabbie through a red light. Because everyone knows, if /one/ person does it, they’re breaking traffic laws. But if /more/ than one person does it, they’re just going with the natural flow. That near-death experience survived, he snarls in the aftermath of honking, “That’s on /Hive’s/ fucking head.” He fishes around for his pack of cigarettes, but because he’s fighting the traffic battle - zip! he cuts around a fruit truck - he hands the pack and the lighter over to Shelby to make /her/ light one up for him. Maybe it’s an expression of just how /insane/ a driver he is, but when Shelby taps out a smoke and lights it, she cups her hand around the flame. As if there were /raging wings/ inside of the car. Likewise the quelling look given to Jim as she passes it over, then uses her freed up hand to rub the shoulder that smacked into the door. “This ain’t NASCAR, asshole,” she points out flatly--striving to be MORE flat than he is growly or snarly. It is not easy. “And my tongue was kinda in on it too,” she goes on, jerking her head to the side to look out the window. “Man...if he’d picked any other day...” The sigh that follows is pure seventeen year old girl. The swearing, after? Less so. “Jesus fucking Christ, why can’t I have anything /nice/ for a change? Is it too hard for people to like...not be /stupid/?” Herself included, surely! “How’d you get him to agree t’come out, anyway,” Jim is never stupid. He /radiates/ a sense of ‘I’m not with you people’, never mind all the clear and obvious evidence that might say otherwise. This is not aimed at Shelby: “JESUS SHITTING CHRIST, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY - don’t you /do/ it, buddy, it’s not worth it, I will run you DOWN.” For all the volume, this is sort of Jim-driving whitenoise. “I didn’t, he /finally/ texted me--holy FUCK WATCH OUT!” Shelby grabs the ohshit bar and gets /both/ feet up on the dashboard now. Her other hand claps over her eyes. There is no way in hell she’s watching this. Okay, maybe a little. She peeks through her fingers. “...are you /trying/ to get me killed? Make me appreciate life?” “You /appreciating/ life?” Jim asks, never taking his eyes off the road. His hands are busy /rapidly/ turning the wheel, hand over hand. Pump-pump-pump! He reaches for /his/ cigarette in one of these rotations, tucking it professionally in the corner of his mouth. “/NO/.” But it’s difficult to tell if Shelby is roaring that at him because question, or if it’s in response to seeing the street veering in front of the windshield like a cheap arcade game. “Then no,” Jim slams on the gas and the car /purrs/ into a ROAR, effortlessly sailing through another yellow light and then immediately skipping sideways to pass around an adorable little green VW Bug. Shelby is pressed back into the seat. She is none too pleased with this, especially when momentum has its way and she smacks her shoulder against the window again. “God /damn/ it, Jim!” Has she ever actually used his name before? It is a mystery. But she’s using it now! “Stop the fucking car!” Rrrrch! Perfectly new anti lock breaks kind of take the fun drawn out /scream/ of stopping rubber, but Jim still manages to peel a few inches off across the pavement. He leaves both hands wrapped /hard/ around the wheel, eyes narrowed out the front windshield for an expansive second, as the silence of the engine no longer roaring fills the car. Jim sighs, and jerks his head past Shelby, out the passenger window -- where Evolve sits, thumping music just beyond the sidewalk. “Go take care of your shit, kid.” He reaches down for the radio, to turn it on - he’s gonna rock out once he has the car to himself. “And I’ll be in the ‘hood for a while if you need a lift outta here.” Pause. “Or either of you. Whatever.” First? Shelby needs to catch her breath. She accomplishes this feat while staring at him, unsure of whether to smack him or...okay, whether to smack him. It hurt last time she tried that. Good thing for him too, because she opts instead to shakily uncurl from crash position. “...right. Yeah. Sure, whatever.” There is a scramble as she twists around in the seat onto her knees to grab her stuff. There is perhaps less care involved than there should be--the board bops his shoulder as she hauls it over the seat. Then with a whumph and a heave, she’s exiting the vehicle. The door is /slammed/ before she stalks off. | |
