ArchivedLogs:Classic

Classic
Dramatis Personae Ion, Steve
In Absentia	2018-04-03 "{Friend this is New York. Them kids don't impress easy.}"
Location <NYC> Hellhound Bikes - Brooklyn
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 a cold and drizzly afternoon that seems to have forgotten all about this Spring business. Steve is still damp from the rain, shrugging out of his shield harness -- beads of water slide easily from the polished surface of the vibranium disc -- and then his much-weathered brown leather jacket. Beneath he wears a light green button up, no tie, the top button undone, neat but functional blue jeans, and black combat boots. "{I really enjoyed talking to these young people,}" he says, his Spanish reasonably smooth but still carrying a notable French accent, "{They weren't impressed with me just for /being me/. But they seemed happy enough to just chat with me...as a /person./ It was nice.} "{Friend this is New York. Them kids don't impress easy. I mean I go to Times Square right now I can find ten of you.}" Ion's cheerful voice comes from the central platform in the room. In faded jeans, heavy boots, an old grey flannel shirt over a white undershirt, he and his clothing are both heavily grease stained as he works on an antique green and black Harley. "{You talk with them all about throwing down with Nazis?}" "{Of course.} But do any of them have my flair? My attitude? My scrappy charm?" Steve hangs his jacket and shield up on a coat hook and drifts over toward the central platform. "{Nah. I talked about getting beaten up on the streets of Brooklyn. But mostly we talked about them -- their troubles and their fears. A lot of it is awful familiar.}" He tilts his head and studies the bike that Ion is working on. "{That looks familiar, too. I ever tell you I rode a Harley, during the War?}" "{Don't imagine there's any shortage of troubles and fears, lately.}" Ion tilts his head back, squinting up at Steve. A long moment of consideration. "There at least one chick there most weekend I think she got /twice/ your scrap man you could take a lesson." He scoots to the edge of the platform, sits upright. Grabs a rag that's been hanging over his shoulder, wringing the cloth between his hands to rub off extra grease. "{Yeah? Not many of those wartime bikes around these days. Solid rides though.}" He pats at the Harley behind him. "{She been fun to work on. Was a '39 EL originally but they put a '66 shovelhead on her later on. Still got a way to go before she getting back on the street.}" "{I wish I could tell them it's going to turn out alright, but -- well, it didn't for /my/ generation.}" Steve lifts both eyebrows slightly. "{Really? I might need to drop by Times Square and meet her.}" He walks around the platform, studying the Harley. "Honestly, I don't know a whole lot about motorcycles. Just the ones my team got issued. WLA Liberator. {You know about those?}" "{You'd probably make her damn day.}" Ion leans forward, grabs a squat and intricately carved gourd that has been sitting nearby to sip from its metal straw before offering it to Steve. "Sí, sure. Not had a chance to work on none they not common. Why you ain't ride no more?" Steve accepts the mate from Ion with a quiet "Gracias" and takes a long pull on the straw. "I never rode /before/ going off to war. I guess being back in New York, it just didn't occur to me. Also, I'm still not used to actually being able to /afford/ things on that sort of /scale/, you know?" He passes the gourd back as he finishes the circuit around the motorcycle. "{But now that I think about it, maybe I /should/ get one. Would be useful, sometimes.}" His smile starts slow but blooms warm. "And /fun./" "Hell yeah, man. I mean." Ion shrugs a shoulder as he takes the mate back. "Not that it /ain't/ fun to speed around while Nazis is shooting at you but sometimes is nice to just have a chill ride with your fam, right?" His smile curls wide around the straw, teeth clicking against its end. "You got any idea what you want to ride? Sleek and fast? Tough and heavy? Fly in the air like the littlesharks?" Steve leans back against a workbench. "You know, I've never actually done that. The other guys talked a lot about what they'd do after the war, but..." His lips press together, his eyes momentarily far away, one hand wrapping around to lay fingertips on his left flank. "I'm not sure!" His chuckle sounds only a little forced. "Not a wide range of experiences here. In an ideal world, I'd love to get my hands on one of our old Liberators, but you said they're not common." He uncrosses his arms quite deliberately. "But generally I guess I'm into something fairly fast /and/ moderately tough? I'm hard on equipment, historically." Ion's head shakes, a small sharp gesture that flicks hair back from his eyes as he looks up at Steve. Sips at his drink, offers the strong brew back to Steve. "{Guess this wasn't quite in your plans, huh?}" Quieter than before. His smile returns quick, though. "I mean, we know some people, right? Can't hurt to look at least. See what we can find you. And B, that girl she work miracles on /any/ damn bike. Get it tough enough for even you." Steve takes the mate again. "{I don't know if I planned for a whole lot, beyond keeping my team alive and taking down the Nazis.}" He takes a long sip, returns the gourd to Ion. "{I guess that's /still/ my plan, more or less.}" His smile comes easily, though. "Oh, I would appreciate that, a lot. /And/ I'll pay for it -- I imagine a bike that old would probably need a lot of work." The corner of his mouth twists up, wry. "If it's anything like its contemporaries." "{Kind of fucked how little has changed, seems like that's fucking all we /still/ got time for.}" Ion snorts as he reclaims his drink, squints into it. Gets up to saunter across the room and refill its hot water. "Yeah it be mad work for sure. Fun though. Maybe could learn you something about bikes while we at it, you could spare the time down here. Give the Nazis a break once in a while." Steve straightens up just a little at the suggestion. "Really? I would definitely take you up on that. Used to help my teammate work on all kinds of vehicles, but half the time I was standing in for a jack and the rest of the time just handing him tools." Even so, there's a faint but definite flush in his cheeks. "{Even if you can't track down the exact model, maybe you can help me find something similar.}" His grin is boyish now, excited and guileless. "I look forward to being your newest customer and student." "Excelente. I'll get to looking, then." Ion smiles bright as he returns to his bike, sets his drink down, drops heavily back to the platform. "{You have time now before you have to get yourself back to some respectable job?}" He nods to the Harley he's been working on. "{I could use some extra hands, you want a first lesson.}" "Gracias." Steve is unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves before he even speaks his answer. "{I have grand plans of skipping out on the rest of the workday, though I wouldn't call that job /respectable/ in any case, so...}" He crouches down beside Ion. "{What have we got here?}"