ArchivedLogs:Blue-Green

Blue-Green
Dramatis Personae Ion, Isak, Rasputin
In Absentia	2014-03-31 '
Location <NYC> Coney Island - Brooklyn
Coney Island is a getaway without having to get away very /far/. Miles of bright sandy beaches provide lots of seaside fun in summertime, but the amusement parks are the peninsula's most famous draw. With plentiful rides and games and rollercoasters, food and snacks, shows and even the occasional circus, Coney Island has been a destination for millions throughout the years. At this time of year, Coney Island isn't precisely a hub of activity. There's a few people out, but the rides won't be open for a few more weeks. Isak is leaning up against a closed souvenir shack, a cigarette pinched in his fingers. He's wearing a stylish peacoat with a fur collar, skinny jeans and high gloss purple leather shoes. He makes it work. Without its throng of tourists and packed crowds and the bleeping and music of countless rides, it's all the /more/ noticeable when the roar of a motorcycle thrums through the air. It's coming from a gleaming black-and-chrome Harley with a vanity license plate that reads WIRED. The young man atop it does -- /not/ really share Isak's stylishness, though his clothes are very clearly /expensive/ from his black leather jacket (it has a very /small/ MMMC patch on the breast, its logo a Jolly Roger with crossed lightning bolts in place of crossbones and a horned fanged skull) to his hiiiiigh shitkicker boots to the /ridiculously/ ostentatious watch that glitters on his wrist. Beneath the jacket he's just in denim, unbuttoned blue denim shirt over black tee, heavy jeans. A red bandanna tied over his head, large sunglasses on his eyes. There's als a very small modified /sidecar/ attached to his bike. It's -- sized to fit a cat. Ion pulls up by Isak in a drizzly spray of gravelly water, puddles lingering all over from the day's earlier rain. "Ey, yo, ese. Prettyboy. Hop on, yeah?" He gestures over his shoulder, holding out a motorcycle helmet to Isak afterwards. Inside the catcar..is a cat! White, floofy, talking. "Oh hey you're Isaac Bluegreen we met last night!". Rasputin shows teeth, before promptly closing hir jaw. "I'm like, a bad kitty or something I'm on a /motorcycle/. Probably..not something you see every day!" Isak exhales from his cigarette, and there's a billow of smoke larger than should be possible from one cigarette. He blinks slowly at the arrival of the roaring motorcycle with accompanying cat-car. There's a conscious effort to not seem phased. "The comedy writes itself," he drawls when Rasputin speaks. "If I knew we were going to go for a ride, I would have brought my own." But he shrugs, finishes off the cigarette, tosses down the butt and then reaches for the helmet. "Haven't, ah, have not yet got him a kitty-size helmet. S'a problem maybe, I guess I'll -- just have to be mad careful not to crash then." Ion doesn't really seem overly concerned about this possibility, admittedly, as he turns the helmet over to Isak and waits for the other man to hop on. "Blue-green, huh? What like the ocean? Fitting." His head turns, gaze levelling out towards the sea. "We countin' up /sins/, though, Raspy, I think you'll have a /few/ ranked higher than your choice of /ride/." "I need a kush, too. Maybe one day, my own bike. Made for me, maybe Tony Stark. We're like, totally BFFs.". Rasputin shows teeth again, positioning hirself safely in the bike. "I feel dumb and have no idea what you just said. Though if we're speaking about vehicles birds are totally the best transportation ever.". A small laugh, before glancing over to the ocean as well. "So, where are we going? Safehouse?". "Blomgren," he says dully. "Isak Blomgren. I'm Swedish. And if you make a single Swedish Chef joke..." He motions with the helmet before he very carefully puts it on. Don't want to /completely/ wreck up his hair. "That's a good question. Where are we going. Also, who are you?" This to Ion. He's met the cat. He gets on the bike. "The fuck is a Swedish-chef, ese? You cook? I'm not-so-bad en la cocina, myself, but we can always-always use more folk who knows their way around? You met Dusk yet, batboy could burn a salad I swear." The roar of the motorcycle engine rumbles higher -- in place -- for a few cranks while Ion waits for Isak to get settled. "/Going/? Hermanos, we're at the /beach/, yo, we're going for a /swim/." Hopefully not -- while /on/ the motorcycle, and yet Ion is totally kicking them back into motion, roaring off through the quiet half-deserted park and towards the sand. "Ion," he tosses back over his shoulder, louder. "I'm /Ion/." "I think, Swedish Chef is like, someone from Sesame Street or something? Hangs out with Elmo, might be that elephant trunked dude.". Rasputin's voice doesn't need to be raised, because it's radiating near both of their ears, overlapping the engine noise in a certain area. "Oh man, swimming! Wish I could like, become a fish that'd be awesome. Maybe there'll be a turtle I can probably possess turtles do turtles hang out around the beach? Ooh maybe a dolphin..!". Aaand ranting over the engine, too! "I'm Rasputin I don't think I told you my name I'm like, unkillable or something. It's kind of true I've /actually/ died before and stuff!" The sigh from Isak can't be heard over the roar of the engine, but the droop of his shoulders can be seen. "It's March!" he yells over the engine. "The water will be freezing. And a toxic cesspool. If I'm going to get that kind of disease, I'd prefer it was from doing something fun." "Sesame I don't know none of that?" This cultural reference is going straight over Ion's head. "-- Ay, mi dios, white boy, two seconds here and you're already complaining?" The /laughter/ in Ion's cheerfully loud voice /can/ be heard over the roar of the engine. "Next time I pair a gag with the helmet and we'll /really/ have ourselves a --" This trails off in a spray of sand as he veers down /onto/ the beach, gunning the engine faster to take off -- thankfully not into the water. Just /away/ down the shore, leaving the more heavily touristy parts of the offseason amusement park in their wake. "You and Kay, vato," he adds to Rasputin, "you can join the /zombie/ club." "Some kid show crap!". Rasputin is replying this /cheerfully/, as is hir next comment. "Sounds good, zombiecat! And..zombie..knitter.". Rasputin is staring forward to Isak, speaking again, still cheerfully. "Cesspools and freezing are fun! Atleast. Sometimes? I mean I think if I was a penguin I'd totally love the cold. I should get a penguin let's rob the zoo later." Isak grips firmly to the sides of the bike. He has too much pride to cling to Ion, no matter how much they're swerving. As a result, he /almost/ slips off once they hit the beach. Then it's a sudden grab for Ion's midsection to stop from toppling. Ahem. "Why do I feel like I'm being hazed?" "You want a penguin? We could get you a penguin. How you feel about penguins, whiteboy? I'd have to size my sidecar /up/, though. Could be done." Ion's laughter now is less heard and more /felt/ in the chuckling shake of his rangy-hard muscles where Isak grabs for him. "Whole-damn-world, it's one big cesspool. We swimmin' in /that/ all the time." He leans just a little more forward, blazing down to -- well, it's /Brooklyn/, there's not really any deserted stretches of beach but where they're headed for a less-built-up, more-residential stretch. "Though if we're robbing the zoo why not we get you a /you/ with thumbs?" "I don't even remember what thumbs work like I haven't had thumbs in years. But I could get a monkey I could do terrory stuff with..poo. Yeah no monkey is starting to sound unappealing.". At Isak's wondering, Rasputin's responding cheerfully. "Why would be hazing you we are always like this! If we were hazing you we'd..I've never hazed anyone I don't know what we'd do.". Rasputin laughs again, before twerking hir head to the side. "I've only ever actually been cats, birds, rats, squirrels, there was this time with the teeny lizard, oh and that yappy little chihuaha that I ran into a wall once. That..was a bad mistake when I felt it too." "A monkey would be a tad more conspicuous than a cat. We'd have to put you on a rhinestone leash and call you Bubbles." Isak deadpans that and tries to ride the motorcycle without holding on to Ion. "What about a horse from Central Park? Throwing a cop'd be fun." "Hazing, pah, we never hazed nobody c'mon what do /you/ normally do with your days?" Ion's quiver of laughter grows at Rasputin's chihuahua story. "Ras, vato, you steal a dog you steal yourself a /real/ dog, yeah? Maybe we get ourself one them big -- big /poof/-lion mastiffs? You be that for a while, huh?" He is veering back up /off/ the beach as abruptly as he veered /onto/ it, pulling the motorcycle in to park it beneath the overhang of a balcony on one small white house by the beach. He kills the engine, hopping down off the bike. "Horse? What, you want to go steal a /horse/ from la yuta now? Boy-o," Ion sounds suddenly /eager/-excited about this prospect, eyes alight and teeth bared in a fierce grin, "I thought /I/ was the crazy one." "I could be a great dane, call me Scooby!". Another laugh from Rasputin, who climbs off the sidecar as Ion dismounts. "Man I don't know about horses. The bigger the species the more..hard it is to get accustomed, also new species too like, swapping from a squirrel to a cat the first time was nauseating same with to a bird but now that I recognize all of those, I can swap from them easily, same with birds I've probably been a million different bird types without even feeling it. Though I would totally be up with a horse theft we could like rob a bank on /horseback/ just for the media coverage.". Rasputin's eyes are also bright, teeth showing at this as well. "We could get me a bat but I think Dusk might feel like I'm cramping his style which is kind of why I want to do it. Or a robin. Yeah, a robin let's get me a robin." "To eat or to possess?" asks Isak as he swings a leg off the bike. He takes the helmet off and takes a moment to rearrange his hair. It actually behaves quite well. It's roguishly disheveled. There's a sense that it comes from practice. "So what are we doing, for real? Because I'm not on-board for random mayhem. I want to do shit that counts." "Who the fuck's doing any mayhem, Blue-green, we're just here talkin'. You got somewhere better to be, there a bus runs right down that street, yeah?" Ion jerks a thumb over his shoulder, up towards the streets beyond. "Tss. Steal a horse and /then/ knock over a bank this ain't the wild /west/, yo." Ion lifts Rasputin from the sidecar to set the cat down on the ground, ambling up towards the side door of the house. "Why would I eat a bird do you know how filthy those things are? Like seriously sometimes it feels gross being in one knowing how disgusting they are. Also we only save our mayhem for the MRA, FoH, HAMMER, police..okay we don't save our mayhem for anyone really." Once Rasputin's finally out of the sidecar, ze is following after Ion. "Do you own this hou- okay who lives here is this like a safehouse or..or mayhem?" Great. A nickname. But Isak knows better than to complain about it. As soon as he's a few steps away from the motorcycle, he pulls out a silver cigarette case, pops it open, and draws one out using his mouth. He pauses to light it, then steps towards the other. "What the cat said." "We own this house," Ion answers Rasputin easily. "Or near enough -- no mayhem. I mean, consensual mayhem only. You can throw down here if you /want/ to, I guess. I just wanted a drink, man." He doesn't actually open the door to the house -- he's still some feet away from it, trailing his hand against the wall, when he vanishes with a small popping sound. Only to reappear very shortly afterwards, pushing open the house's door from the /inside/ to let the others in. Within it's cozy, a small beachhouse outfitted in comfortable but plain inelegant furniture. Sitting room, dining room, kitchen, stairs leading up. There's a teenager already on the living room couch, deep tawny-gold fur and a long tail draped over the side of the couch. From upstairs there's the sound of footsteps, a murmur of voices, that suggests there are at least a few others in the house too. "You want shit that counts, pretty-boy, you start small, yeah? We got a /few/ of these houses and they usually need," he tosses a grin over his shoulder as he spreads an arm wide to indicate the house as a whole. "House-sitting." "How many of these places do we have I think I've only been to like..three or four.". Rasputin trails in after Ion opens the door, teeth showing in some sort of Ras-grin. "I don't want to throw down I don't throw down ever I'm more like Solid Snake or Sam Fisher or I don't know Jack Bauer wait is he stealthy I never finished that show.". Rasputin is then trailing off, to look around the safe house. Isak is not really accustomed to people being showy with their powers. So the pop and reappearance does cause his eyebrows to raise. He tries not to look too impressed, and instead takes a few pulls from his cigarette. He steps inside and gives a nod to the fur-draping teenager. "So. You need someone to watch things. And protect the residents if shit goes down?" He exhales slowly, but the smoke only goes about half a foot away instead of being caught and swirled around the house. It stops at an invisible barrier. "Yeah, you're less throw-down," Ion nudges the door closed behind them and then is wandering in towards the kitchen, giving the teenager on the couch a fistbump in passing, "more -- keep /eyes/-out, huh? I don't know who none those people are though. They got eyes like yours?" In the kitchen he opens up the fridge, pulling out -- bottle of (Mexican! /Real/ sugar!) Coke in one hand, bottle of Dogfish Head beer in the other, weighing his hands up and down as he offers Isak a pick of drinks. "Yeah, you got it. We got a bunch of these scatter-through the boroughs, but, ah, sometimes people get twitchy? See too many freaks at a place, they want to start some shit? We like to have people to keep an eye-out. Guard-shifts dull as dirt, really. Quiet usually. Drink some beers, read some book, whatever. People do start shit, though, the kids be /glad/ for having some backup. Had a /shitstorm/ at a place up-in the Bronx once." "I believe it," says Isak. "I can deal with a bit of boredom. May not be the most exciting work, but there are times when I sure as hell wished I'd had someone watching my back." He indicates the beer and reaches for it. "Cheers." He takes another drag from his cigarette and opens the bottle. The cap gets flicked like a pro towards the nearest trash can. Ping. Ten points. A skill of misspent youth.