Logs:Hell-Honda

Hell-Honda
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Kitty, Robbie	2021-02-28 <<"Christ, you're fucked up.">>
Location
<NYC> Lower East Side - Lower East Side Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It’s early afternoon, and the cold has eased a bit as the rain threatens to roll in. This street, two blocks away from Kitty’s apartment, has street parking available for once, not that Kitty currently is able to appreciate it. The young woman is currently staring at the engine of her car, knitted mitten clad hands crossed under her arms and a frustrated expression plastered on her face. She’s not dressed for Car Problem Time - her hair is hastily tied back, flyaways catching on her cream scarf. Her long red down coat is zipped up but the sleeves are pushed back. The blue Honda Fit, with the hood popped open and the engine whining heavily, does look like it is slightly surprised by this turn of events. Inside, the engine malfunction light blinks slowly and determinedly. Kitty lets out a sigh, her breath frosting into a white cloud, putting one chestnut boot on the fender. “I knew I should have taken Scott’s class,” she mutters, looking sidelong at her companion. “Sorry about this.” Alongside Kitty, Dusk has intermittently been peering at the engine as well, not that he has even One Single useful thing to offer about its current state. Casual as ever in faded old brown corduroys, beaten up Vans sneakers, a soft grey wool jacket that buttons comfortably neat up between his enormous red and black wings, dark glasses, he's now a few steps back from the hood sipping slowly from a much-dented matte black thermos, his phone still held in his other hand since the texts and calls recently made. "Pff, it's a weekend, I'm not rushing anywhere." His brows knit for a moment after this before he allows freely: "-- I don't really rush during the week, either. Bonus of the self-employed techie lifestyle." The car that rolls down the street is probably not what someone would expect for roadside assistance. As black as pitch; a sleek 1969 Dodge Charger, heavily customized. A gunmetal grey supercharger juts up from the hood, its metal plates producing a distinct POP as it gulps in a shot of cold, dense air. The engine sounds... hungry. It's clear that someone's put a lot of love in this beast of a machine. It slows down as loose gravel pops beneath those wheels, swinging in to a spot next the Honda Fit. The engine rumbles, then cuts off. The driver side door opens -- and a lithe-looking kid with russet-brown skin and a short, broad mohawk (combed back) emerges. He's dressed up in a buttoned-up windbreaker to fend off the chill, and has a toolbag in his left hand. As soon as he's out, he lifts a hand to Kitty and Dusk, making his way over... only to stop, mid-step, and peer at Dusk's wings. There's... maybe about two seconds of stillness. His expression is hard to read, but it looks more perplexed than concerned. Then, suddenly, he starts moving again: "Hey. I'm Robbie." Up close, it's obvious he's got heterochromia -- left eye is brown, right is more hazel-ish. Almost green. “Would that I could choose to not rush,” Kitty grumbles, leaning just a little harder onto the car before pushing her weight off of it. The arrival of the other car does steal her attention - her eyes are wide as the Charger swings in, go a little wider still when Robbie emerges. “You didn’t mention that,” she murmurs to Dusk before Robbie reaches them. She shakes her head quickly, easing into a smile as Robbie greets them. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kitty, and this —“ a sidelong grimace at the engine, still making the saddest of noises — “is the problem. I’m grateful you do house calls.” "Kind of silly they make you all rush, honestly. Where are the stars going?" Dusk slips his phone back into a pocket, watching with eyebrows just slightly hiked as the car pulls up. "It's very -- Supernatural," he decides, as Robbie steps out. "I feel like it's definitely the kind of car with a personality. Or liable to become possessed. Yo." His chin lifts in greeting. "Dusk. Not my car. I'm just here for the color commentating." "Hnh." Robbie's eyes drift to the Honda Fit's engine and that steady whine. The tool-bag thumps to his left, right next to his heavy work-boots. He steps up toward it to look inside, and -- <<sniff. sniff. scratch.>> "...can you throw on the emergency brake and rev it?" he says, glancing back to Kitty as he leans over the hood -- then looking back at Dusk, again. <<sniff.>> His eyes linger for a few more moments; perhaps a moment longer than appropriate. <<"What is it?">> he internally asks, trying not to roll his eyes at the incessant scratching. <<sniff. "murder. fuzzy, confusing. but murder." sniff. "dead cop." scratch. "slit throat.">> <<"Anything we ACTUALLY give a shit about?">> <<sniff. sniff. then... a reluctant whine. "...no.">> It only occurs to Robbie now that he's still staring. He suddenly flushes, turning back to the engine. "Possessed with the personality, maybe?" This half-thought is quickly pushed aside at the promise of a solution. Kitty nods, slipping around Robbie and to the driver's seat - slipping through the door rather than opening it. She yanks the brake up, revs the engine. Looks out the window to see Robbie staring away from her. "You need more?" Her brows furrow, just slightly. Dusk takes a step to the side, onto the curb and out from behind the vehicle as it revs. At Robbie's look his wings twitch. Just a small fidget, a little ripple through their large vanes, though the long sharp thumbclaws atop them jerk more noticeably. "Yes, they really fly and no, you can't touch them," he offers in reply to Robbie's staring, the kind of off-the-cuff indifference that suggests it's something he's said A Lot. "Does the car have a name? It looks like the kind of car that should have a name." After a beat, a little more hopefully: "Or does it have a ghost?" "No, that's good." As Kitty revs the engine up, that discordant whine increases with the rumble of the engine. Robbie immediately creases his brows at the sound, trying to focus on that: "Okay, hold your foot on the brake..." he makes sure to emphasize this part. "And put it in neutral." Dusk's comment about the wings causes a mild little flinch. Robbie doesn't turn, trying to focus on the engine and avoid the surge of embarrassment. "Name?" Robbie looks up, back -- then back at the Dodge Charger. "Oh, uh..." <<"tell him. tell him!">> "It's --" <<"'HELL-CHARGER!'" it cackles.>> "--not got a name, no." Robbie's not accustom to lying; it stumbles off his lips. "Sorry about -- uh... Right, yeah," he cuts himself off once the Honda shifts into neutral, grateful for something else to focus on. The whine immediately stops. "It's definitely your torque converter." "Brake, neutral, got it." Kitty's got the window down, one eyebrow arching. "Looks like it should have a name," she adds mildly. Kitty's foot moves, the gear shifts, and the terrible noise ceases. Her eyes light up. "Oh. Torque! I know about torque." She pauses, then clarifies - "Like, the concept of torque. I am - not quite clear on how my car is broken." "Looks like it should have the vengeful spirit of an elderly greaser fueling its hunger for blood." Dusk lifts his thermos again, popping its lid and taking another slow swallow. "But I guess, if it did, it could just have that guy's name. -- Wait, does your car have a name?" His tongue swipes over his teeth as he recaps his thermos and eyes the Honda speculatively. "Is that an actual thing people do? I've been -- very detached from the world of People Who Have Cars." <<"'we' could give it a name. we could make it... the 'HELL-HONDA'.">> <<"Shut up.">> Robbie drops down to peek underneath the Honda, tilting his head as he does. "Yeah, the torque converter turns the engine's power into torque, spins the wheels -- <<"you're BORING her. tell them. tell them the truth. yes. the HELL-CHARGER is haunted. AND SO ARE 'YOU!'" -- more cackling.>> "--and it looks like yours is leaking transmission fluid. I can top you up. Should be enough to get you to the shop." Kitty’s cheeks go pink. “Um, yeah, actually. Widget.” She pats the dashboard once before putting the Fit — Widget — into park. “It didn’t catch on, but. That’s its name. I don’t know if it’s a thing thing though.” She swings back out of the car, once again skipping the opening-the-door step. Robbie’s analysis is met with a grimace. “Ah, boo. I was kind of hoping I had just - gotten gum into the engine or something easy.” "Widget's a mad cute name." Dusk nods to himself as he looks from Widget to the HELL-CHARGER. "Your car could have a cute name," he adds, after a moment, tipping his head down toward Robbie. "Like. What if it was Binx. Totally ready to get into some Halloweeny hijinx with Binx by your si -- I guess not so much side if you're driving." Robbie gets back to his feet, dusting off his trousers. "It's not... too bad. I mean, I gotta take out the transmission to reach it, but..." <<"i could fix it right now, kid. make it my glorious chariot. my HELL-WIDGET.">> He grimaces, before glancing back to Dusk, then to Kitty, and... "Hell-Charger," he mumbles, before turning back to his own car -- moving to retrieve the transmission fluid in the trunk. "That's what my brother called it." The Rider is, for a moment, quiet. Then, as Robbie retrieves the transmission fluid -- a small black 2 quart jug -- it speaks up. Its voice is much more tight, much more quiet. <<"ask dracula about it. your brother.">> <<"What? Why? Just because he's a mutant-->> <<"'and' a cop-killer.">> Robbie's lips straighten into a sharp line; his grip on the transmission fluid tightens. His eyes are drifting back to Dusk. <<"he killed that cop for a reason, kid.">> “That’s good news at least— Oh, yes,” Kitty says, a smile spreading over her face. “Your brother has excellent car naming skills.” She’s earnest in her assessment of this, glancing at the Hell-Charger then back to Robbie. Her mouth opens to say something, but she stops when her gaze lights on Robbie’s tensing hand. Follows his line of sight to Dusk, eyebrows scrunching together. "Hell-charger?" Dusk's forefinger lifts to his lips, flicks away forward in time with a high lift of his brows. "Okay, I was a little off base with Binx but that would definitely have been like my second --" He glances again to the Dodge. "-- third guess." His wings stretch, briefly flexing several feet out to each side and then pulling back in to resettle tighter. The claws twitch again; he looks briefly to Kitty but then back to Robbie. "You good, man?" "My little brother. Gabe Reyes. Cops nabbed us a while back. He was..." Robbie's nostrils flare. The grip on the transmission fluid tightens. <<"...easy, kid.">> "They put us in separate cells. A few hours later, they let me go. They say --" Plastic creaks beneath his grip. Barely perceptible ripples of heat rise up from between his knuckles. <<'"TAKE IT FUCKING EASY!"'>> Robbie closes his eyes, breathes in -- and loosens his grip. His eyes re-open. "He's gone. They say they never arrested him, never even saw him. He's just... Gone. You... know anything like that? Know where I would... look?" Then: "--he's. He's a mutant," he adds, almost like it was a confession. Or, more likely, something he hopes will convince Dusk to help. “Oh,” says Kitty, then — “oh, shit.” The light smile and confused expression are gone now, replaced with a more alarmed expression. She bites on her lower lip, glancing back to Dusk. “What’s his gift? Your brother, I mean.” Dusk's easy stance shifts, more upright, the vestiges of his smile fading away. "I'm -- sorry, your brother was --" His hand is dipping into his pocket again. He pulls out his phone, though he hasn't actually unlocked it. "How long ago was this? It happen in this city? How old is he?" Though he's looking at Robbie with a new intensity these questions seem -- unsurprised. "I wish I didn't, but mutants go missing -- a lot. Couple places I might start looking." "A few months back, and yeah. He's sixteen." That brief surge of... anger, that intensity slips out of him. He slumps a little, like he's starting to deflate. But when Kitty asks that question... "...gift?" he responds, and now there's -- almost a hint of cynical bemusement. "What's his...? He --" The left side of his mouth twitches upwards into a crooked sort of smile. "He can barely walk, that's what his --" <<"kid. far be it from 'me' to be the voice of reason here, but...">> <<"I know. Fuckin'... I know.">> "Sorry. Sorry. We never really knew how his mutation works, just... it messes with his nervous system." He turns back to the Honda, popping the cap off the jug. He moves to add the fluid. "Sorry, I shouldn't even be asking -- I don't know either of you. Just... saw the wings, and thought -- I know there's nothing either of you can actually do." Kitty lets out a small, sad, sigh. "No need to apologize. For not knowing or for asking." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm no good for finding people but, when he's found --" there's a sudden determinedness in her voice, one that doesn't leave a lot of room for ifs, "-- I know people who can help him figure out his mutation." She digs in her pockets for her phone. "Yyyeah, mutations can be like that. I spent a while as a teenager bedridden and -- not able to walk but at the end of it --" Dusk's wings lift in a small shrug. Behind his sunglasses his brows have furrowed deeper. "I'm really sorry. About the cops, and --" He's tapping at his phone, thumb swiping quickly across the screen. "Can't make any promises, but I can do some digging. You got a more specific time period than a while back? Date? Neighborhood? Station they took you to -- you know what, here, I'm just gonna give you my number, I'll probably have more questions." Robbie finishes adding the transmission fluid; as he does, the there's a subtle change in the pitch of the whine -- after a few seconds, it vanishes completely. "Won't last long. Has to go to a shop -- part's not too much, maybe don't even need to replace it. But it takes a while to get to it," he explains, his tone apologetic -- glancing to Kitty. Then, back to Dusk, his brow furrowing. He fishes out his battered, cracked phone from a pocket: "...sure. Okay. Thanks. Both of you," he adds, glancing back to Kitty. <<"Shouldn't have asked. Fuck can they do? They just being nice.">> <<"maybe. but at least one of 'em knows that taste, that anger, that hunger for blood. you can't trust nice. but you can trust 'hunger'.">> <<"Christ, you're fucked up.">> <<teeth gnash hungrily in the darkness. "aw. you're making me blush, robbie.">> Kitty's eyes light up when the whine finally disappears. "Hey, this is progress. Where's your shop?" Her phone emerges - she pulls up the contacts app, holds it out to Robbie to put in his information. Shakes her head at the thanks. "Dusk is good at this. If there is anything to find, he'll find it." "I wish I weren't good at it, but -- yeah." Dusk's sharp fangs press, briefly, against his lower lip. "Had kind of a lot of practice tracking down -- missing mutants." He offers his phone to Robbie, too, opened up to a blank contacts entry as well. "I'm not sure if you have the Signal app on your phone but if not this might be a good time to get it. And thanks. For coming out here, with the --" His wing extends slightly, one wingtip gesturing to the car.