Logs:Scope for Wrecking

Scope for Wrecking
Dramatis Personae Sarah, Shane
In Absentia	2019-07-24 Why shouldn't everyone have a motorcycle? They improve life like, three hundred percent.
Location Village Lofts - Roof
The heat wave that's been hitting the city seems to have calmed down some today, which means the rooftop has stopped being an oven. Well, as much of an oven. Sarah has brought a pillow to sit on, positioned by the garden to give her some illusion of shade. As always, her trusty sketchbook and pencil bag are with her, open in her lap; most of her focus is on the page. (It has the outlines of two individual figures, interpretations of the Mad Hatter and Red Queen, each about eight inches tall.) Every now and then she glances at an open container of bite-sized fritters beside her, checking for ants and grabbing one to eat. There's a low humming from somewhere overhead -- at first distant, quiet, but steadily growing. It's never loud but it does become a very present thrum, humming palpably in the air as a sleek tiny silver and blue -- thing? descends from overhead to land lightly atop the roof. In form it vaguely resembles a motorcycle, or maybe some cyberpunk interpretation of a motorcycle, gleaming and tiny and glowing metal circlets humming where tires ought to be. The figure atop the hoverbike is, like the bike itself, diminutive. Several inches under five feet, very slender, dressed in impeccably tailored grey trousers, pale green and white button-down shirt embroidered with vines. A neat leather vest adorned with several patches -- the largest, on its back, says MUTANT MONGRELS MC surrounding a grinning sharktoothed skull with crossed violin bows beneath it. The rider's helmet is, also, grinning, its visor adorned with a similarly sharktoothed smile. Sarah, at first, looks up because she thinks there might be a hummingbird nearby. That alone would have been something to be excited about. When she realizes it is most definitely not a hummingbird, there's a small bit of alarm at something so new before it's completely overwhelmed by curiosity and an entirely new level of excited. Flying motorcycle! Moving to New York City was the best decision her family had ever made. She's so engrossed in the bike itself that it takes a moment to fully comprehend the rider. The skull on the visor gives her some hesitation, until she sees the Mongrels patch. It's not completely familiar, the skull different, but the last person she met with that patch was nice enough. "That's a really cool motorcycle! I didn't know they had flying ones!" "Well, 'they' don't," the tiny biker replies cheerfully. The engine's quiet hum, along with all the glowing bits, fade out as he gets off the bike. When he tugs the helmet off -- it's like a matryoshka doll of sharky grins; the extremely blue face beneath is wearing an extremely wide smile, an excessive number of sharp teeth gleaming inside. "Just we do. You ride?" Shane tucks his helmet under an arm, his solid black eyes looking over Sarah thoughtfully as he approaches. "The wheel-ier kind of bike, I mean." Sarah's eyes widen, possibly at all the teeth or possibly at the idea of riding any kind of motorcycle, flying or other. Either way, there is no staring, no mouth falling open in surprise. She's learning! "Me? I guess I could ride a bicycle if I needed to, but I don't--" She leans over to look around Shane at his bike. "I always thought the ones with wheels were too big, but I think with that one I'd just worry about going too high." "Oh yeah." Shane heads over to plop himself down on one lip of a garden bed, setting his helmet down beside his foot. "Almost definitely too high. I mean if you fall off, anyway. But so long as you can keep your seat --" He shrugs, his smile still bright. "You just do not want to know how many times we fell straight out the fucking sky while those things were still being, uh, beta tested." He rests a foot lightly atop the helmet. "You build a bike custom, though, it won't be too big." "I dunno. If I get a motorcycle, then it means my sister gets a motorcycle and - even if it doesn't fly, I don't think anybody but Angie would want that." That's before the small problem of actually affording any type of bike. "Nobody got hurt testing, huh?" she asks, grabbing the tupperware to hold it up, offering some food. "Want a fritter? They're onion, spinach, and feta. I'm Sarah, by the way." "Why shouldn't everyone have a motorcycle? They improve life like, three hundred percent. Mad? Just jump on the motorcycle and zoom off. Excited? Bike's right there to go whizzing around on. Annoyed at your housemates? Guess what'll get you away from them fast -- bike!" Shane's endorsement comes with a cheerful wave of his webbed fingers towards the hoverbike to punctuate his point. "Hell yeah we got hurt testing but it was worth it. And I'm good, thanks. Dairy doesn't really like me." He rests his palms on the wood on either side of him, rocking absently back towards a tall bean plant. "Shane. I live in 305." "I live in 203! I just moved in with my sister and his wife a few weeks ago." Sarah takes a fritter before putting the rest back down. "You do make it sound really nice," she muses, before taking a bite. "Maybe one day I can give it a shot. Angie, though, he-- he's reckless enough without having something like that." He'd forget his helmet, go too fast, something. "Maybe one day." Shane gets up again, scooping his helmet back up as he stands. He holds it loosely under his arm again. "Angie, you say?" There's a curious lilt to his voice. "This city's got plenty of scope for wrecking, motorcycle or no motorcycle. Someone who's determined to find trouble here -- they won't have to look far."