ArchivedLogs:As You Go

As You Go
Dramatis Personae Neve, Trib
In Absentia	2014-07-22 '
Location <NYC> Central Park North
Central Park North is slightly quieter than its southern counterpart, being further uptown and slightly out of the bustle of the City - insofar as one can escape the bustle of the City even here, in the acres of green and blue that make up Central Park. The reservoir is in the northern half, providing miles of jogging and biking trails along the clear water, as well as benches for people to sit and rest. Give it another hour and Central Park (both north and south!) will be dark save for the amber glow of lamplight and the leaf-filtered haze of the city. It's been a sticky day and it's shaping up to be a sticky night too, the sort of weather that begs a rainstorm to spend some of that moisture and cool things off. Many people have opted for air conditioned pursuits tonight but not Neve. No, Neve's recently started to get the hang of riding her bike and by golly, she means to continue that trend of improvement. Arimed with a brand spanking new bell (ding ding!) she rolls along one of the paved paths at a decent clip. There are no wobbles in evidence for now but...as she crests a mild lift in the path and comes down the other side, there is a slight increase in /speed/. Time to try out that new bell? Oh yes. It wouldn't do to run over any hapless pedestrians. This is exactly the time of night that Trib likes for running in the park. It's late enough that only his fellow runners and the homeless really litter the pathways. (And the occasional cyclist, as he'll soon find out.) It might be a bit stickier than he'd like for physical activity, but if it bothers him, it doesn't show on his face. He has, however, tied his hair back into a ponytail that bounces as he comes down in his oddly light gait. Dressed in a pair of loose, knee-length shorts in navy, his white shirt has been shed some time ago, tucked in at the back of his shorts like a flapping tail. Unlike the other runners on the path and despite his expression of concentration, Trib sports no earphones to soundtrack his running. Which makes the bell-ringing coming from behind him very audible. The boxer turns just in time to see the juggernaut that is Neve's bike bearing down on him, and he juts his hand out to grab the handlebars with a small growl of surprise at the shock of impact. "-- Holy /fuck/. Watch it, lady." Whoa, usually they /dodge/! Moving without wibbling Neve might have mastered but rapid steering is still a skill she needs to master. She's only /just/ starting to jerk the handlebars to the left to avoid Trig when he intervenes. It's effective. It is very, very effective in stopping the bike. Unfortunately, a sudden stop like that, unprepared, at even mild speeds, means that she is launched forward. No, she doesn't come over the handlebars at him but her seat leaves /the/ seat and the bike jerks in his hands as her weight comes down /on/ the handlebars. A second later feet connect with pavement, providing some steadiness--and a wrenched knee, which she mostly ignores through surprise and having had the breath shocked from her. Two very wide, very startled brown eyes peer up at Trib through a spray of bright hair. "I..." Wait. No voice yet, thanks to loss of breath. The woman heaves herself into a rough approximation of "upright" and coughs in some air. Take two. "I...am so very, very sorry. Are you all right?" Trib grimaces slightly at the results of his intervention, stiffening his arm as Neve pitches forward to hold the bike as steady as possible. He might also be thwarting any attempt to escape. It's not entirely clear. He watches the woman intently as she gathers herself and straightens. The apology gets a snort, and a lowering of the big man's eyebrows. "/Me/? You're the one who's ridin' like a bat out of hell." His voice is deep and rumbling, painted thick with a Jersey accent. He shifts his weight, then, golden eyes raking over the smaller woman in neutral assessment. "Are /you/ fuckin' all right? You know they put brakes on these things, right?" That he is /continuing/ to hold the bike has not escaped notice. It's why Neve plants her feet--with a slight twinge, ow, knee--and resettles her hands on the grips. See? She is capable of keeping it from falling. Oh, and that language? Yeah, her cheeks have colored. Woe, the delicate flower. "I didn't think I'd pick up so /much/ speed. I apologize. It's...I'm still learning and when I use the brakes, it tends to be /worse/," she confesses with a wince. "Hard as that must be to believe. I went right over the top the first time I tried, I thought I might have better luck steering around. But..." Her gaze dips to his hands. Yeah, no. When the woman steadies the bike on her own, Trib releases the handlebars, wiping his palm against his ribcage as he listens. There's a small knit of his eyebrows at the idea that she's just now /learning/, and he raises his half-hand and shakes it lightly. "Whoa. Hold on. You're just now learnin' how to ride a fuckin' /bike/?" he asks, his tone somehow a mix of annoyance and incredulity. As if this idea somehow is /bothersome/ to him. "And youre teachin' /yourself/?" He steps back, gaze dropping to tbe bike and its braking system. He considers both for a long moment before he looks back up to Neve, rolling his shoulder. "You need rear brakes," he declares. "Not front ones. When you're learnin'.” "Why does everyone ask that, as if it were the strangest thing they'd ever heard?" A rhetorical question, probably. Neve is looking uncertainly from Trib to the braking array to Trib again--but when he gives his assessment, she slowly nods. Apparently she is willing to take this as gospel! He sounds so sure. "I wasn't aware that one could learn any other way than by simply doing it. Nor that brakes came in front and rear varieties." Her mouth twists in a sudden painced grimace. "I'm not sure I could justify buying another, though. I...oh. I'm sorry, I've been remiss." Now that /his/ hands are free, and the bike is secure, she extends one of her own hands towards him. "Seeing as how I almost hurt you, I should introduce myself. Neve." Trib barks a laugh at the summation of the best way of learning, and shakes his head. "Good way to break somethin', anyhow," he rumbles, his eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Which probably ain't great when you're teachin' yourself." He rolls his shoulder, his mouth flattening out to a loose and neutral-looking line. "You can get rear brakes without buyin' a whole new bike," he says, wrinkling his nose. "It's like fifty bucks for the kit. My ex was a fuckin' courier, an' he was always replacin' that shit." The introduction gets a small flare of the big man's nostrils, and he pulls his chin to his chest in a slow nod. "I'm Trib," he grunts. "An' you don't look like you weigh enough to do that much damage, even with the bike." "I have good insurance?" As counters go, it is a weak one. Maybe even an equally weak stab at humor, given that Neve's lips curl in a tentative smile. "Really...that cheaply? And a little more for labor, I'd imagine. But that's not bad at all. Thank you...Trib? Thank you, Trib. Ah..." Here what had been just a faint coloring in her cheeks shifts to a veritable /flood/ of red. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's just that you're the second person I've almost mowed down. I /thought/ maybe if I kept at it I'd be less dangerous but...you're right. It is a good way to break something. Mine, or someone else's something. No more of this until I have that kit installed." And so, having decided, she swings her leg up and over the seat to dismount. The bicycle menace has /abated/; all of New York can breathe a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I don't know about labor," Trib admits. ducking his head and pulling at the stub of his ponytail. "He generally did the work himself. But they probably do that kind of shit in the shop, so it ain't out of the question." He notices the flood of red, his brows knitting in sudden, sharp thought. There's a moment that realization flares in his eyes, and he nods imperceptibly as he listens. He tugs his shirt free of his waistband, shaking it out before sliding it on. Because that is clearly the source of her discomfort. He smirks as Neve makes her decision, and lifts his chin slightly to offer a toothy half-smile. "On behalf of the fuckin' joggers in Central Park, thanks for makin' the paths a little fuckin' safer tonight." And yet, pulling his shirt on only makes it worse. Movement of that sort pulls Neve's eyes down--where before they had remain strictly, stubbornly, focused on Trib's face--and thereafter she proves she can become even redder. She ducks her head and lifts her hand in a gesture that apologizes /for/ her, or tries to. Gestures aren't always the easiest to read when they don't involve lone fingers raised in defiance--and that's most definitely not her style. "You're very welcome. I am sorry for the attempt on your life, and I promise it won't happen again," she says, earnestly enough that it seems serious...for a moment. Then she cracks a faint smile too, to prove the joke in her words. "I...have it on good authority that you should be careful here, after dark. So don't let your guard down, all right?" The further reddening is something that doesn't escape Trib, but his expression doesn't change as he rolls his shoulders. "I ain't scared of the park," he rumbles, waving off the friendly advice. "/I/ ain't some cute blond girl who's shit on a bike. Anyone comes at me gets what they deserve, yeah?" He lifts his eyebrows pointedly, and slaps his fisted half-hand into his left palm once meaningfully. "Unless they're doin' it at fifty miles an hour on a fuckin' Schwinn." That...would be Neve's cue to begin a careful withdrawal. Whether it's the continued use of obscenity or the slap of fist into palm, she twitches--not quite a flinch but near enough. Does she believe him? Oh yes, yes she does. "I worry for any potential muggers in the area," she says, making light of it and doing her best to draw a polite veil over her own reaction. "Take care, Trib. And thank you, for the tip about the brakes. You've likely saved countless souls," she adds as she turns the bike's handles to begin steering it at a sedate walk around him. Trib doesn't seem aware of Neve's nervousness, or maybe enough people are nervous around him that it doesn't bother him. Instead, he drops one hand and lifts the other in an unfocused wave. "Muggers don't bother me cause I'm big, but also because I ain't got no money, an' look like it,' he rumbles, crinkling his eyes at this half-joke. "It was good meetin' you," he says, nodding as she begins to make her way around him. He even steps back politely, to make it easier for her. Because bikes are treacherous creatures to the uninitiated. "Hey, even if you an' me are the only people I saved today, I'm chalkin' it up as a fuckin' win," he says, and points down the path. "Careful as you go, though. Just in case."