ArchivedLogs:Landsharks

Landsharks
Dramatis Personae Alex, Thing One, Thing Two, Lulu
In Absentia	2015-07-20 "Just when you thought it was safe --"
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. Even long after dark things haven't cooled down all that much, the temperature still hovering in the high nineties. Things have /quieted/ down some, though; the thick crowds that throng Coney Island during summer days have thinned out, this late at night, to trickles here and there. A group of teenagers clustered on the boardwalk sharing Chinese takeout. A couple strolling past the empty shut-off rides with ice cream cones. A jogger in reflective vest out for a late-night run. A pair of kids out walking a very large and shaggy dog. Two young men arm-in-arm walking slowly down the beach. Far down one of the strips of beach there is a pair of motorcycles parked right up on the sand. Small and sleek and sporty and identical in frame, they're distinct (if also /coordinated/) in colouration -- one deep blue with accents in silver, the other bright silver with accents in deep blue. The silver one, moreover, sports a paint job on the front that features a sharklike face -- narrowed eyes, a wide mouth with very sharp teeth bared to chomp. At the moment the bikes don't have any riders obviously attached. Though there is, just now, a splashing coming from the water. Sploosh-splash! Splish! "{Ohmyfuckinggod,}" this is a spluttering voice coming from the darkened ocean, in breathy-amused laughter-tinged Vietnamese, "{Ohmyfucking/god/ get /off/ I am /not food/ what the fuck is wrong with --} fff." There are two (very small!) silhoutted human...oid figures tumble-wrestle-spilling their way out of the water and onto the sand. There's an unceremonious /shriek/ from one of the pair of men walking down the beach. "Ohmyfucking/god/." /He/, at least, is speaking in English, scrambling back and jerking his companion back from the pair as well. "What /is/ that." While the evening bringing high-tide is not good news for many of the creatures that feed on the food that scatters across the beach, Coney Island beaches enjoy a special bonus for the animals that commute from Manhattan to the Island for their meals. (Besides, of course, the reverse-commute.) The trash tossed by the locals, and even the few tourists, means the beach is an all-you-can-eat buffet that is only marginally more likely to cause food poisoning than the resturants that line the strip. There are birds scattered all over the beach and the boardwalk, and though a few scatter at the loud yell, several others look up in unison, curiously looking at the two pairs of people. Two black birds abandon their meals to flap-hop over towards the cluster of people -- one even taking perch on the bitey-motorcycle's handle. The tiny silhoutted figures flump down into the sand, scrambling to detangle themselves. There's a flash of sharp white teeth bared fro one of them -- less threatening, more a broad amused /grin/. "Just when you thought it was safe --" The other stifles a giggle. Pokes elbow sharply into their companion's ribs. "We're /out/ of the water. We /left/ the water." (The two men are still backing away. Quicker, now.) "You should tell people!" Thing One calls after them. "Beach is closed! Dangerous! There's /landsharks/ now!" Thing Two slings an arm around the other's waist, tugging them over closer to the bikes. "{Oh god, I hope birds didn't shit all over our rides.} -- You know sometimes you're terrible? We probably ruined their date." "By /existing/?" Thing One still just sounds amused. One of the two ravens who have been watching takes to flight, flapping quickly to get up in the air as it follows after the pair of men. Sometimes, birds just gotta poop. Besides, it's lucky, right? The raven on the handlebars just watches as the two blue Things approach, head tilting to one side and twisting this way and that -- as if a different angle would help identify what exactly they /are/. "Quork. Rrrr-ee? Quork!" The motorcycle raven spreads its wings out for balance, stretching them out wide and then letting them settle back against its body. Amongst the people who enjoy the scenery and take a late evening stroll on the beach there is Marilou : a teenager like many others, though it seems she's on her own, keeping her eyes focused on the boardwalk. She hops from one section to the other, making sure she her feet doesn't touch the same one. She balances herself with her arms spread out, "Four hundred ninety seven..." Another jump, some flailing, "Four hundred ninety eight..." Jump, "Ninety-nine...!" Leap, "Five hundred, wooohooo!!" She bounces and punches the sky, "Ooooh yeah, it's a new record!!" Lulu beams and she grins proudly, glancing off into the distance. The loud noise she hears though seems to be the least of her worries : she enjoys the sight of the setting sun, but what catches her attention are the particular bikes. Her eyes widden and she moves over closer to them, leaning over, "Oooooh, man, that's awesome..." "I'm suddenly kind of feeling in the mood for poetry." Thing One comes to a halt in front of the bikes, tipping their head as well as they examines the raven on the handlebars. "Or maybe Shakespeare." "I don't think Hamlet rode a motorcycle." Thing Two has a brief crooked smile at this, though. Arm still slung around their twin's waist. Neither twin is dressed in very /much/ at the moment after their swim, similar black briefs still saltwater-wet. Thing Two glances from Lulu to the bike and then back. "Thanks. We kind of built them." The raven leans forward, peeeeeeering at the closer Thing before letting out a quick ascending trill of tones and hops onto the Thing's wet shoulder. It's claws are sharp, true, but merely little pricks as its insubstantial weight rests down on the base of its feet. "Prrrk-prrrk-prrk!" The bird calls at the second Thing -- or maybe at the approaching woman. It turns to inspect its new perch, head tilting back and forth, and one wing extending slightly for balance. From the beach behind them, the call is responded to by one of the other ravens scattered over the beach. "Tok-tok-tok!" Lulu 's eyes follow the raven as it flies off toward one of the two silhouette drawing closer to the bikes. Their unusual form causes her to jerk up a bit in surprise. She stares at them for a moment, lifting a finger up to the raven, "And.. That's your pet guardian or something? Certainly brave for a bird..." In spite of her initial reaction, she doesn't seem to react further to their different appearances. "Kinda built them? That's nice..." She moves one hand over to rub its frame, "Custom look, eh? Built for racing?" She asks "{Holy shit, do you have a familiar now?}" Thing One's grin has returned, bright. Thing Two's eyes have opened wider, hand tipping up towards the raven on their shoulder. "-- I don't know. Not -- a pet, maybe just -- likes. Motorcycles." Blink. Blinkblink. They step cautiously forward to open up one of the panniers on the sharktoothed bike, digging out a bag of jerky and offering a small broken strip towards the raven. "Not really racing so much." Thing One shrugs. "In the city? Like, racing /where/?" "Though there was more room out by the school," Thing Two points out. "When teachers weren't getting on our case for /ohmygod/ /motorcycles/ so /dangerous/." It's too dark -- and really, their eyes too lacking in /pupil/ -- to see the rolling of eyes, but it can be /heard/ in Thing One's voice, really. "Just riding. I mean they're /sorta/ --" "-- built for," Thing Two picks up their twin's sentence seamlessly, "escaping. Everything. Speaking of which --" "-- Are you gonna need a ride back to Westchester?" Thing One's hairless brow hikes up. Questioning. The shoulder!raven leans out its neck when Thing Two's hand approaches, ruffling its neckfeathers up and giving off a series of what sound almost like beeps - a trill of noise, followed by a deep, grinding noise: "Krrrrk." The raven's pitch eyes match its furniture's, head tilting to one side as it inspects the bag being opened. Jerky, though, it seems quite content to reach out and take with a quick snap of a beak, tossing its head back several times and swallowing it. One wing comes up to brush the back of the Thing's head, a quick little movement as it moves along the shoulder to eye Lulu suspiciously. The teenager gives the duo a shrug of her shoulders, "Not really racing -- just speeding! Feeling the acceleration, the rush of the wind!" She spreads her arms back and lifts her eyes up, closing them for a moment, "Huuuum! Escaping, I can understand..." Her lips curl into a smile when she glances back and them and she pokes a finger to her lips, "Ahahah, that's what I thought, I knew I'd have seen you before..." Marilou arches a brow at the last question, "... Wouldn't mind a ride, but why would I need a ride back to..." She is obviously pondering out loud, though her eyes widen as she finally seems to notice. "Oh, sh... What time is it?" She lifts her hand up to check her watch. "Oh man, I'm late, late! Got to go!" All of a sudden, Marilou turns on her heels and she dashes off urgently all the while the gears in her mind are turning to find a way to sneak back into the Institution. Thing Two lifts a hand, scritching lightly at the raven's head after the jerky is gone. "I do like to go fast." This is soft, sort of dreamy-wistful. Thing One is stripping, fairly shamelessly right next to the bikes -- only for a brief half-second, really, long enough to strip out of wet clothes and exchange them for a dry set of underwear, linen trousers, a button-down shirt over which they pull on a black leather vest. Shark-toothed skull and crossbones emblazoned huge and bold on the back between the words Mutant Mongrels MC -- though instead of actual /crossbones/ the vest has a pair of crossed violin bows. "They're certainly /fast/, you've seen to that. Wish she'd have stuck around. We'd get her to Westchester way-the-fuck quicker." "Yeah." B is swapping clothes, too. Denim skirt instead of trousers, pink and white tee; hir vest is identical, though the crossbones on her Jolly Roger are a pair of fencing foils. Her motorbike hums to life as she turns it on. "I guess," she adds with a small laugh to the bird on her shoulder, "you're /probably/ not afraid of heights." The motorcycle starts to rise into the air. "-- Waaay quicker." B's raven laughs. The sound is unmistakable, coming right after her joke, though it does come in the form of a series of caw'ing sounds, rather than ha'ing ones. When the motorcycle lifts off of the ground, the laughter cuts off for a loud, "quork?" and a rapid glancing back and forth. Ground? Sky. Motorcycle. Head tilt. As the motorcycles take off into the sky, six other of the black ravens on the ground pick up their last scraps of food - and two of them a small backpack - and then they, too, take to the air, forming a V shaped formation behind the motorcycles in the blackened sky.