Topic: Acting Out of Turn

Ketch Creeley

Date: 2015-05-01 13:11 EST
October 25th, 2014

The usual jumble of activity in the marketplace had subsided, only a few unwise souls lingering around the sidewalks lit up by the faint glow of the street lights. Antonia was one of them. A sleek black motorcycle was parked at the curb and she was sitting on a nearby bench. She wore black leather pants, a black leather jacket, matching black boots and her dark locks were as wild as ever, the cause in the form of a helmet sitting beside her. She was hunched forward, sucking on a cigarette that she ashed on the ground occasionally in front of her. She was enjoying the fresh air. Every now and then her head would sweep the streets, side to side. It was difficult to keep everything in her gaze considering her right eye, while healing, was still black and blue and partially swollen shut paired with a few bruises along her cheek and temple.

Ketch entered the Marketplace from an alley tucked between two southward facing buildings on the outskirts, hands shoved into the pockets of well-worn jeans, a leather bomber jacket that had seen a better lifetime 10 years ago brushing aside the moderate chill. The comparative quiet of the square bothered him little, and though it might be considered unwise for some denizens to chase the shadows down the alleyways of Rhy'din, he was no stranger to the city or the vast array of threats it harbored. His gait was sure-footed and light, maybe even a little careless haughtiness in the way he jangled some change in his pocket. The car he'd abandoned last night was still in the same place, and he was slowly on his way back towards it to test his luck again when the dark figure of Antonia and the curl of smoke rising from her cigarette caught his attention. He squinted a moment before cutting a path in her direction, moving slowly enough so as not to present himself as an immediate threat to her space or person.

Considering the sort of person she was and the sort of town this was, someone new on the street instantly had Antonia?s attention. Her one good pale blue eye fixed on the figure making his way towards the car but when he began cutting a path towards her that's when she shifted in her seat just a little, shoulders rolling and and the lazy sprawl of her legs tightened to place both feet flat on the ground. "Can I help you?" No need to beat around the bush, she wasn't the sort. Her tone wasn't rude or inviting, it held no heat or interest. It was flat, same as her unreadable expression aimed up at him through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Ketch stopped a good seven paces away. His head tipped to the side as he studied her, recognition blooming when the shiner mottling her right eye caught a passing beam of light. Whether it was because he sported similar often enough to think the better of asking or because he assumed that she might be the type that collected bruises like blue ribbons as others he knew in passing did, he made no comment even if his eyes lingered where the the bruising transitioned into unmarked skin. "Not unless you're good with cars." His thumb hiked in the general direction of the Inn. "I left a loaner dead on the curb last night. I think you were in the Inn, but you left with a quickness,? A pause as eyes lingered upon the orange ember studding the dark figure in front of him. ?If you're feeling generous, I'd take one of those cigarettes off of your hands." Mouth formed a noncommittal smile, brow quirked slightly. The tension running along Antonia?s body did not suggest a generous frame of mind, but he often played the odds even when they didn't seem to be in his favor, willing to live with the results either way. Kept life interesting, if not challenging.

She had left too quickly the night before and had been too focused on getting to her room to recognize him but she was studying him now, openly and without hesitation. Head to toe. Until he mentioned his car and her gaze ticked that way. "Better with bikes but I'm not incompetent." She looked back at him when she said the word. Always making friends. She continued to stare at him unmoving for some time like she might just ignore his request and him entirely. But eventually she straightened in her seat then rose to her feet entirely. Her jacket was unzipped and she reached into it, searching briefly before coming back out with a pack and red plastic lighter. Stepping forward they were extended to him. "You really want me to look at your car, princess?" The damsel in distress that he was.

Ketch Creeley

Date: 2015-05-01 13:12 EST
"I never got into bikes. Got the adrenalin fix other ways, I guess," Ketch offered vaguely as he palmed the pack and shook a cigarette out before handing it back over. He turned the cigarette in his fingers a few times before finally lifting it to his lips and sparking the end with the lighter, which was also promptly handed back, a "thanks" murmured into the smoke tendrils of his first upward exhale. When she called him princess he laughed, sharp and contained, though there was a latent affability in the sound, as if the moniker held little weight as an insult; he'd been called far worse. "I'm not sure, actually. Probably give you further ammunition against my manhood if the problem turns out to have a simple solution." Eyes swept along the cobbles below before his chin inclined towards the sky.

?What other ways?" While Antonia held everything tight to the chest it didn't stop her from expecting everyone else to share. The pack was accepted then the lighter, both of them being returned to her inner jacket pocket. At his thanks she simply gave a nod. He laughed and her expression didn't change at all, watching and waiting for an answer. "Your car sitting on the side of the road helplessly with you unable to fix it is more than enough ammunition against your manhood without my help." Bootsteps carried her towards her bike and one of the travel packs on the side of it. Opening it she fished around and pulled out a small case of sturdy black material that was zipped shut. She waved him in the direction of his car. "She shouldn't have to sit there for days on end." She had more compassion for the car than people in general.

Ketch shrugged and rolled his shoulders, the movement only slightly detectable beneath the weight of his jacket. "Pick some, the odds are pretty good decent that you'll hit upon at least one of them." Aware he'd invited her question with his comment, but stubborn about making any further revelatory comments to a stranger, his cards were kept in a slightly looser, though still stingy grip. He considered her for a long moment before nodding. "True, unless it's all a ruse." Either way, he ground his boot heel where he dropped the cigarette before starting off in the direction of the car with no further comment. Any sense of abrasiveness he got from her did not seem to deter him or put him off, though he did give her a thorough once over when her back was turned to him. And then he added, "How do you know it's a she?" Curiosity igniting a spark in the blue pools of his eyes for the first time.

She wasn't bothered that he didn't share but she didn't dive into guessing either. Her mind automatically went towards dirty hobbies and she decided it best to leave it alone giving him a grunt in response instead. "This is a ruse?" The only inflection in her tone since the conversation started and it was her sounding unimpressed. "You've got a bad eye for a mark if that's the case. That's how you end up with a screwdriver in your neck." A little pat to the black case in hand. Once at the car she tipped her head to the hood. "Open." Such a way with words. She peered back at him when he asked his question. "Because any car that can give a man such a proper headache has to be a woman." Her smile was sharp, her cigarette held between her teeth.

"Yeah? That shiner would suggest otherwise on first impression." Glances were spared for the mouth of each and every alleyway they passed. "If I were the sort that picked marks, you wouldn't even be on the list. The risk-rewards ratio would be completely skewed, and it so happens that there are some odds that aren't appealing even to me." The car was a travesty of machinery, an El Camino that looked like it'd been mainlined in from the 80's, complete with sun-bleached bumper stickers tacked all over the back end, the most legible of which was blazoned square in the middle of the rear window on a field of black with white text proclaiming, "I need Jesus." Sometimes life handed you lemons and there was no amount of sugar that'd make them lemonade. He opened the door and popped the hood. Engine looked fairly clean, though it had the same wear and tear the rest of the car sported and a few wires were fraying here and there. His laugh was genuine when she gave her reasoning for the car's gender. "Clever. Well, maybe a woman's touch will set her to rights where mine has fallen short."

Ketch Creeley

Date: 2015-05-01 13:14 EST
"Going by first impressions is a great way to get a set of teethmarks in your ass cheek." With the hood popped she hoisted it open and put it in place. Opening her black case a flashlight was pulled out and she dove into shining it here and there to see what she's working with. "I have to be clever. I sure as hell can't get by in life on my looks or personality." A nod of her head. "Get in and turn the key."

"Depends on if you like teethmarks in your ass cheek," grunted as he slid into the driver's seat with a reticent squeak of naugahyde. The first turn of the key in the ignition brought a choked sputter before the engine turned and wheezed to life. Frustration slanted his brow and he jumped out of the seat, moving around alongside Antonia to peer down at the engine as if it had grievously betrayed him. "What the hell did you do?" His hand hovered atop the various wires and parts, scanning placement, checking the battery contacts visually, baffled and ready to be sour if he missed a no-brainer.

She aimed the flashlight at his face and wagged the screwdriver in hand at him. "I told you I would fix it. I didn't say I was going to share my knowledge with you." The cigarette bounced between her lips as she spoke, she hadn't even bothered removing it during the process. "Anyways, it shouldn't happen again. If it does? Just means you have to track me down and I get to mock your manhood again." She aimed the flashlight beneath her face like people do when they tell ghost stories around campfires. "Everyone needs a hobby."

"Stingy." His hand rose reflexively to shield his face from the incoming beam of light until she tipped it under her own chin. "I'll figure it out, though," and the determination with which he said such suggested he was likely to waste a good deal of time doing so, if only for the opportunity to spite her. At the prospect of his manhood being mocked again, his grin skewed with sarcasm. "What a treat that will be." He waited until her hands were clear and slammed the hood shut, leaning his weight against it for a moment before he started edging back towards the door. "It'd make my night to hear one of your hobbies included bird watching," the idea so outlandish to him that it curled his lips further as he slid into the seat, cranking the window down as he closed the door.

"I'm making my own fun. When you figure it out you're going to be kicking yourself. I can't wait." Except there was no excitement in her tone. Her tools were put away and she clutched the black case at her side watching his slow retreat. She rounded the car to stand near the door a few paces off. "You've got me pegged. Something relaxing, peaceful, educational. That's what I'm all about." A glance aside, up at the sky then back to him.

Eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at her for a few long moments, considering something or other that never quite reached expression across his features. "Maybe so, yeah." He turned aside to thump the radio until it pushed out some static. "Thanks." Not overly effusive, but a solid acknowledgement nonetheless. Trying to imagine Antonia relaxing in a spa or in meditative repose was impossible, but there was something about her deadpan tone and bent towards sarcasm that he actually found comfortable, or at the very least, familiar in a distant way. He shifted the car into gear and coasted forward a little bit before applying the brake and leaning out the window again. "Your looks aren't so bad, really, all things considered." Backhanded compliment, yes, and he smiled like the devil for it before he started forward again, slow enough to allow her the last word if she wanted to zing him one last time.

It's for the best that his thanks isn't more complicated than that. The simple word as it is makes her nose twitch, the hint of a cringe at pleasantries. "Don't mention it." Literally. Don't. When the car moved she didn't. She was standing her ground like some sort of leather wrapped statue, only her head ticking aside bit by bit to follow his progress. He tossed at that final comment and she spat the dying remains of her cigarette onto the ground in front of her to crush it beneath her boot. "Thanks, princess." She never actually got his name, did she? "Coming from you that means all of jack and shit." Her departing gesture for him was a bite to her thumb.

Hand lifted out the window as if he might wave and diverted into a prominent display of his middle finger, instead. Princess. With no names exchanged, he fully expected that was going to be the one that'd stick if there were any future encounters.

(Taken from live-play with Antonia Salvato)

Ketch Creeley

Date: 2015-05-01 13:16 EST
November 1st, 2014

A half mile of twisting alleyways and dark ruminations on the tension that had pervaded the evening?s conversations separated Ketch from the Inn before the image of Antonia?s helmet on the bar gradually stalled his steps. Unsure whether he was in the mood to make the trek back, and even less sure of the intention that would be the guiding force behind it, he stopped in a refuse-crusted doorframe to light a cigarette and puzzle over the graffiti spray decorating an opposing brick wall before his resolve solidified and he turned back.

The walk was longer and colder this time, but the alleyways were not a lonesome place: danger and dirty dealings spiked the air with a heavy with adrenalin that lent its own brand of rush to those who cared to entertain it. Ketch did. He?d known the city better once; it had grown in his absence, additional threads of alleyways gangling off thoroughfares like the awkward growth spurts of teenagers. He took the scenic route, one that led him past the desperately oozing back stoops of brothels and gambling houses, crumbling brick facades of West End and, at last, the mostly unremarkable alleyway entrance to the Inn. He pulled the door open and stuck is his head in long enough to ascertain that the helmet was still sharing space on the bar top, untouched among clusters of empty glasses and bottles, and with its own sentient sort of black standoffishness, as if absorbed from its owner.

Ketch retrieved the helmet, turning it between rough hands before he tucked it beneath his arm and wavered between checking the register and leaving it at the door to Antonia?s room, or looking for her bike. In the end, he chose the bike. The first option felt too intrusive for the casual nature of their brief acquaintance. On the back of a flyer advertising workman?s comp for bungled cantrips he found stuck beneath the windshield wiper of a nearby car, he wrote a note that he folded and tucked inside the helmet:

?Still looking for a car. If there?s some speck of altruism beneath your stone facade, consider coming with me. Strong urge to mock my taste in cars also works as motivation. I might not notice the difference.?

At the bottom he added the address of a car lot on the outskirts of West End and a phone number next to the letter "K.?

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-05 23:47 EST
November 5th, 2014

The sun was enjoying a late afternoon swim in a heavy bank of clouds that split the sky into shards of deep blue and diffused orange and metallic grey light over the car lot. Ketch was standing on a gravel and dirt tongue that spilled from the mouth of the entrance between two fraying sides of a chain-link fence. He sucked a cigarette down to the filter before he pinched the cherry off to crush underfoot and sent the butt in a sailing arc towards a nearby dumpster. Hands free, he stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans. He?d put some effort into cleaning up, and it added up to a slim, but important difference between slovenly and charmingly disheveled. He?d barely made the cut, and ?charming? might be arguable; his jeans weren?t threadbare or overly spotted with dirt or grease, and his boots were relatively free of muck. A white button down shirt was crisp at the collar, but the effort had been abandoned a quarter length down the torso and left untucked. Jacket was slouched in the crook of an arm as he watched a banner flap forlornly in the breeze, its neon silenced by the trudge of time, and its use as advertisement had long since passed. Ketch watched it the way most watched a flying kite, with a brief spark of interest that quickly faded.

It was always the roar of an engine that announced her arrival. Motorcycle majority of the time just like today, starting far off in the distance and arriving at the car lot without the obnoxious revving that usually accompanied her when she came to the Inn. She liked making her presence known there, a swift kick to the balls to everyone inside letting them know the gargoyle would be gracing them with her presence. Instead it was with little show that she brought the bike to a halt out front and turned off the engine, dismounting with smooth grace and creaking leather. Her helmet was hoisted off her head releasing a spill of wild black hair down her back and she left the helmet on the seat of her ride.

She was dressed in black leather per usual. Pants, jacket, boots. No gloves today, the splint on the middle finger of her right hand making them impossible. Other than that the split in her lip was practically a faded memory and she wasn't sporting any other injuries, the miracle that was. Slow thumping steps carried her towards Ketch, a glance to the car lot then back to him. "I should punch you for touching my helmet." That's a warm greeting in the world of Antonia.

?I look alright with a couple of bruises. Maybe better,? his reply drifted in the wake of the dust caught in a swirl behind the tailpipe of her motorcycle. He watched it settle with the same unhurried gaze that greeted her arrival. Laconic and easy by all appearances, he scoured her face for new bruises as she thumped closer, watched the way her hair uncoiled, Medusa-like, from the helmet. ?Wasn't sure you'd show up with your busy schedule of getting socked in the face and all.? Humor hinted at but ground out on his jaw before it manifested as a smile.

"Yeah, me, too. It's why my personality is so damn inviting. It welcomes a little much needed color into my life." When most people would smile and laugh at their own jokes she offered a sneer. "I'm the master of balancing my itinerary. First, get finger dislocated. Then, lose self in stupor of alcohol and pain meds for a while. Next, meet ballsy boy at the lot so he can get himself a set of wheels. I'm a very precise running machine. Isn't it obvious?" Except she looked like a mess wrapped in leather. "You got any sort of budget to work with in here? Toss in any beejays and hand jobs you're willing to offer the guy, I know what the currency exchange rate is for them in RhyDin."

?Your personality should come with a biohazard label and instructions for proper disposal,? he quipped with a sharp laugh. ?I get called ballsy for touching your helmet?? A sad, world-weary shake of his head didn?t align with the gruff set of his shoulders. ?You work on your multitasking, you might be able to accomplish all those things in one fell swoop. Imagine the amount of time you?d have on your hands, then. You could start getting manicures and massages.? He glanced around her at the entrance and the sea of gleaming metal beyond. Visually, the lot was divided in half: sleek, expensive muscle and grandeur on the left, rusting hulks and sad collections of parts on the right. ?I?ve got enough money to buy what I want, no more and no less, it?s just a matter of convincing the guy that what I?ve got is the right amount.? Negotiations were relished. Eyes narrowed at her last comment thoughtfully. ?You do, do you? That?s not my typical currency, so enlighten me.?

"No hazmat suit could protect the sorry soul who had to get close enough to my personality to handle that task. And lucky frickin? you, you summoned me for a play date." Summoned, as if she were a demon spit out from the flames of hell. Her smile was sharp like a shark. "You're ballsy because you touched something that doesn't belong to you. More importantly, something that belongs to me. But I'm here. I'm being helpful... or something." Hands lifted like it was a brief surrender, a truce, she would be nice. Nice by Antonia standards, but nice. "You have to separate the finger dislocation and the stupor." She prowled towards him, her face lifting to hiss at him through her teeth. "You really want to feel the pop and sting so you remember to not do whatever the hell you did to get in that position to begin with. Don't worry, I'll teach you my ways."

She continued onward into the lot, carrying on the conversation by raising her voice. She didn't care about the subject matter. "I'm not buying a car from you and if you're not sucking anyone's dick you don't need to know. If it's needed to get the extended warranty I'll fill you in. Now move your ass."

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-05 23:55 EST
Ketch caught up in a few short strides, imagined Antonia was the type that was used to taking the lead, and he was amenable to a point--at least where this errand was concerned. She hissed and it had a forward momentum that felt like a sting against his jaw. He smeared his hand against it and laughed. ?I touch a lot of things that aren?t mine. Pay for it if I get caught, otherwise?? he trailed off. Beyond the rows a figure appeared like a mirage in the late afternoon light; it wove between cars, zipping with the kind of speed that could only be called over-eager. The man was short and squat, as if his torso had been compacted atop popsicle legs. Probably a mixture of RhyDin?s many races, though this man was one of its less glamorous concoctions. He was as oily as befit the used car salesman stereotype, and his hand had begun to stretch out towards them long before he arrived. Ketch pegged him for an overly aggressive pumper and reached forward to meet the extended hand with a firm grip that minimized motion. ?Name?s Al,? the salesman introduced himself, before uttering a phrase that Ketch absolutely loathed. ?What can I do you for?? The salesman?s eyes ping-ponged excitedly between Ketch and Antonia, ?Convertible for long seaside trips, maybe? Or maybe a classy ride for date nights. Oh no, no, no, one of our finest minivans for your brood. We?ve got some stylish options. Minivans are so underrated.? Ketch gave Antonia a gratifying smile and arched his brow, but said nothing, allowing her the honor of slicing through the man?s highspeed reel with whatever verbal weaponry was currently collecting on her tongue.

"You raise a lot of questions, Ketch." It was rare for someone to actually make Antonia pause and give a damn but Ketch did manage to make her curious. There were too many bits and pieces dropped here and there that seemed to promise a much bigger and interesting picture. Or she was getting her hopes up and would be disappointed that the story in her head was better than real life. Either way, she would donate some of her time and energy in the effort to find out. For now she didn't voice any of those questions, only the fact he caused them, because she wasn't going to interview him in front of their incoming new best friend.

If Antonia looked unfriendly before, she really became the ice Queen when Al arrived. She didn't shrink in his presence, Antonia wasn't the sort to shrink, but she did sidestep Al to make sure that greasy palm was finding Ketch's and not her own. Antonia watched with the least amount of interest needed, the rest of it already being passed around the lot and all of their options. It?s when Al started listing off suggestions that her shoulders rolled and she looked back to the man with the fire of one thousand suns. "Do I look like someone to be trusted with a child? Let's be honest, Al. Besides, he's not my type." She leaned in towards him, dropping her voice "Lesbihonest, Al." She lifted her left hand free of the splint, separating her forefinger and middle finger to press them against her lips and tick her tongue between them. Just to really make her point and shut down that line of thought. She could have insulted him but that wasn't going to help Ketch. "Tell the man what you want, Ketch, or let's go look ourselves."

Al was slow on the uptake, was already greasing his tongue with his next round of offerings when he caught Antonia?s drift. ?Oh, yeah, okay, yeah,? copious nodding ensued. ?I see your meaning. It?s not like that, so maybe,? he looked around, momentarily lost, and Ketch took the opportunity to put him out of his misery by waving the man off. ?I?ll call you over when I?m ready.? Al?s hands dropped to his side and he sighed at his lost three month?s rent he?d anticipated.

Ketch strode decisively towards the right, leaving Antonia to follow, discerning gaze already picking through heaps of rust and chassis like a picker at an antiques show. He had a rough idea of what he was looking for, but he was waiting for the blanks on his list to be filled in. An open hand skimmed the frames of cars as they walked, stealing the last of the afternoon?s warmth from the hoods to pool in his palm. ?I want a fixer-upper. Gives me something to look forward to on the weekends.? Ketch had the typical man?s preoccupation with cars, but his sense of nostalgia bypassed any desire for current models in favor of something from a long gone era of American cars. He was aiming in the direction of outdated clunkers, Mustangs and GTOs, Cyclones and Chargers. They were their own breed of machine. ?What?s your hurry? Got a date with a fist? S?not the guy that came out of the kitchen the other night, is it? That smacks you around?? The casual roll of his shoulders spoke nonchalance, but the whip-quick jerk of blue pierced in her direction, keen with assessment, said otherwise.

"Yeah, yeah." Repeating Al and straightening in place. She wasn't all that tall by normal standards but the way she held herself you might think she towered over the hulking men of RhyDin. She was thankful when Ketch stepped in, sucking at her teeth and watching Al take off. Ketch wandered off and Antonia followed.

"I'm not in a hurry. I just didn't want to be around that frickin' guy anymore. I'm not a people person." Surpriiiiiise! She was taking as much care walking through the vehicles as Ketch was. For as restrained as she normally was she was very hands on, not shy about getting close and personal with the cars, peering through windows and kicking tires. Even getting down on the ground to see what the underbody looked like. She noted where his tastes seemed to run and focused on the cars that fit the bill when she passed by them. "What guy that came out of the kitchen?" He obviously didn't hit any sort of nail on the head because the talk of someone at the Inn slapping her around didn't even make her look up from her prowling. "If you're talkin' about Fin you're stupider than you look. Wouldn't lay a hand on me or anyone. Unless they really deserved it." Now she looked up at him. "Why you askin' anyway?"

?That?s the second time you?ve questioned my intelligence. My one feeling might get hurt if you do it again. But that one, yeah, Fin. I didn?t get a good look at him. You two left fast,? he shrugged. ?Plenty of folks get jacked up by people who appear entirely harmless, quote shit about being righteous and then go home and slam their wife?s jaw into Tuesday.? Sour memory triggered a downward slant of his brow, there and gone. Ketch paused occasionally, eyes following Antonia more in appreciation that a woman existed who was willing to dive into the guts of cars than anything overtly leering. Why was he asking? Silence as he pondered it. ?No clue, really, guess I wanted to pin an origin on all the bruises. I?m curious that way.? That was not entirely true. Ketch had spent a good deal of his life erasing all sense of curiosity by necessity. Maybe it was repetition in appearance that led to the question. He seemed mildly attached to the answer, watching her over or around his shoulder as he roamed.

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-06 00:01 EST
There among a few VW carcasses was a GTO in passable condition. Body needed minor work, the interior could use some patching up. Ketch dropped to a crouch beside the left front tire, stuck his hand inside and felt around before giving an unintelligible grunt of approval. ?Too predictable?? questioning his choice as he thumped on the hood of the car and looked to her. ?Open the hood and have a look. Probably a mess, but I know a guy that can get parts from no problem.?

"I've questioned your intelligence before and yet you still leave me notes to go on adventures together. I'll stop when you stop making it so damn easy." She was replying from down in the gravel on her back, her head tucked beneath some classic beauty that needed a lot of love. "Fin doesn't hit me. Fin would never hit me. And if you ever bring up the idea of Fin hitting me to me or anyone else and get that rumor started I will stuff you into the trunk of whatever car you pick out today and make nine millimeter air holes for you." There was a scrape of gravel against leather and she rose to her feet, half ass dusting off what she could reach of her back and her hair. "Hope we're clear." No heat in her words but no room for questions either. "If you have a question, ask the question. Don't toss out your stupid ass theories searching for the truth."

When he called out about the car she moved that way, still idly brushing gravel out of wind whipped black hair. "Predictable but respectable." She did a lap around the car then hauled open the door to pop the hood and move that way. Unzipping her jacket to reveal a deep red long sleeve shirt beneath it she reached into her inner pocket to pull out a screwdriver. The scene was very similar to the first night they met, her investigating with the single tool in hand. "You ever do a rebuild on a car before?" She wasn't shy, leaning over the car and moving around the edges, checking hoses, wires, belts, and anything she could get her hands on while she waited for his reply.

?Duly noted, sensei,? sarcasm laced heavy with an oozing delta drawl as he spoke to her feet, poked out from beneath a car like the Wicked Witch of the West. He bit back laughter and made no comment on the fit of circumstances. Her next words had the ring of a threat, and the instinct to react pulled his shoulders taut and pulsed a frigid chill that twitched along his jaw, an instantaneous difference in degrees. But momentary. Restraint was the warmth that dispelled it, and his tone was even when he replied, though no less definitive than hers. ?I did ask the question, very clearly. I asked if he was the one that gave you the bruises. I felt pretty damn sure you heard that one. The rest was an invitation of explanation which you have apparently declined, and that?s fine.? Fingers found the seam of a headlight and bit against the edge. ?You leave even so much as one air hole for me, you?ve left too much.?

He watched her approach and shifted aside so she could take her time looking. ?Nope. It?d be a new venture for me. Slow going, but I?m patient.? He eased back into familiar neutral territory with a half smile.

"Don't go looking at me to be your sensei." She paused in her work long enough to fold her arms casually over the edge of the hood and look up at him, her smile holding an edge. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I get my ass beat a lot. I wouldn't follow in my footsteps if I were you." They went back and forth, their game of words and she wagged the screwdriver at him. "It's a theory. You had a theory about who was beating my ass and that's how trouble starts. You don't say... did this man beat your ass? You say... who beat your ass? I don't voice all of my theories about why you got a phone number that only lasts a week and a half. I don't voice my theories about all the things you touch that don't belong to you. I don't voice theories about where you get your money. I don't voice my theories about why you were ready to go when I threatened to blow a trunk to hell with you in it when most men would laugh or piss themselves. All I say is... what's your goddamn angle, Ketch?" A shrug like it was the most casual question in the world. "A rat with a game plan, I like it." She let out a low cackle.

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-06 00:05 EST
Antonia went back to work on the engine. "My first bike was a rebuild. I prefer bikes but I know cars. You need a hand, you ask. She's going to have a pretty purr and doesn't need some guy screwing that up because he doesn't know what he's doing." That was her way of giving the car a seal of approval. And also busting his balls. Because that's what Antonia does.

Mirrored shift in his stance. When she folded her arms over the hood, the very picture of leisure, he set both palms to the side, fingers curling around the rim as he peered into the guts of the engine as he listened to the barrage that followed. The edge of her smile bit up against the edge in his, and he didn?t speak for some time. His hand snapped out, quicksilver motion to capture the screwdriver mid-wag, and he spun it around to poke at a few wires in the stewpot of the engine, stirring them up. ?The rats with a game plan get out of the maze. Bet you knew that, though.?

He handed the screwdriver back over and looked at her with subtle consideration as she talked about her bike, ?I won?t screw her up,? he felt pretty certain about that. ?But you got the Midas touch that makes her purr just right and you might be handy.? That was way of agreeing with her. He twisted around to spy Al practically jittering on the borderline of intrusiveness and waved him over with a laconic gesture. ?This is the one,? he told the salesman. ?I?ll meet you inside and we?ll discuss the terms.? No room for disagreement in the way he leveled his gaze on the man. It was heavy when properly applied. ?Sure thing,? Al nodded and turned away. It was not the sale he wanted, but it was a sale. Probably.

She was comfortable in silence. Maybe others weren't comfortable sitting in silence with her but she never minded it. His hand snapped out to grab the screwdriver and she didn't put up a fight. She released it into his grasp like she had a choice. She folded her arms comfortably again, considering his reply. "I know all about rats. Don't know anything about your angle though and that's why you get shit answers for your invitations."

She accepted the screwdriver and straightened in place to slip it back into her jacket. "It's not the Midas touch. I'm just not a frickin' idiot." When Ketch looked over to Al her gaze followed and her mouth thinned into a hard line. Her jacket was zipped up and she was the one who went about lowering the hood of the car with a loud snap for something to do other than looking at the man. She was silent while Al and Ketch exchanged words. When Al was on his way she turned to perch herself in a lean against the car, arms folding over her chest and she was inspecting the splint on her finger which was now dirty.Dammit. "You seem like a smart rat. I don't have to go in there and hold your hand to haggle, right?"

?Maybe I?m still working out my angle, figuring out my game plan. Jumping the gun is the quickest way to get in a jam. I?ll wade around in some shit answers for awhile til I get tired of the stench. In the meantime, we can drink some beer and argue over what?s what in this car. You do know-it-all well, but I?m not as dumb as I look. I?m just less mouthy about my skillset.? He watched as she inspected the splint, one hand moved to smooth a bit of peeled back tape back into place before he arrested the motion halfway through and pointed, instead. ?Bet that?s been a real bitch on your bird flipping.?

?Smart rat, yeah,? a mild scoff, though, again, he wasn?t disagreeing. ?Smart enough to know that the maze changes daily in this place,? vagueness directed out towards the horizon. He turned and half-slumped beside her, hand scrubbing at his jaw. He laughed when she mentioned haggling. ?Nah, I?ve got a leg up on haggling. No hand holding required. Besides, hand holding might give you the heaves,? twisting her words literally just so he could jab her from a different angle. He laughed at vision of her skipping down the street holding someone?s hand and pushed off the car.

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-06 00:10 EST
"Yeah, well, keep me up to date on that ever changing phone number so when you figure out the angle you can let me know. I hate mysteries." Even though she was no where close to being an open book herself. "I'm not mouthy." Though the argument was bored and distracted, still looking down at her splint. It was when his hand appeared to smooth the tape that she blinked and angled a dirty look up at him, drawing the hand closer to herself so it could rest against her chest. "It still gets the message across with the splint. It's more like an exclamation point on it than anything. But bird flippin' is what got me into this situation to begin with, so... hell if I know. Is that a metaphor? Circle of life? Some deep shit."

She turned her head to look straight ahead through his scoffing and musing. She didn't even look at him when he sat beside her. "Yeah, probably." At his mention of her reaction to hand holding, another half hearted reply with no fire that went into a subject change. "I've been thinking about getting myself a car, too. Need something for when it snows. Figure it's about time my girl gets a sister." Nodding in the direction of her bike. ?We'll see how your girl from here works out and if she doesn't fall apart when you pull out of the lot I might have to come back in a week or two." Now her gazed was tracking him since he was on the move.

Strange, maybe, that the hardest laugh he?d had all day was when Antonia reflexively pulled her hand away. Even with his finger stalled a good six inches from invading her space, he could appreciate the quick withdrawal. The grit in his laugh had a rough sound of approval or maybe respect. Hard to know. It tapered off eventually, though it reignited at the mention of the circle of life. ?Something like that, probably, yeah. Deep shit,? he repeated, still smiling damnably.

Ketch didn?t seem to notice that she kept her profile to him, but the subject reroute was noted and he interpreted it as discomfort at the subject matter or at his close proximity. That was an easy retreat to make on both counts; his intention had not been to unsettle her, not in that way, at least. He continued to allow the space to build between them as he backed in the direction of the sales office. ?I think she?ll hold up,? ownership already in the way he referred to the car. ?You want company when...if...you come back, let me know. Otherwise, you usually look like you?ve sucked on enough lemons to spot one.?

He could laugh all he wanted but Antonia wasn't the sort to join in. It only made her stare at him, her expression unreadable. He smiled and that was when she gave him a look like he was weird or out of place, something alien to her. When he retreated from both her and the previous subject it didn't have a visible effect on her. There was no instance of her relaxing for the eye to see. She was still perched on his car, holding her hand to her chest and staring after him tensely. "Yeah, if I want someone to poke around at handles while I do the dirty work I'll give you a ring." It's her turn to push off the car to rise to her feet. "I don't know about lemons but lesbihonest, my new found lesbian super powers must be helping me spot a pussy from a mile away." A faux gasp and point at him with her good hand. The hand then dropped into a quick jerk off motion that evolved into a dismissive wave. "Enjoy your verbal circle jerk with Al. I'm going home." Turning on her heels she was stalking towards the exit of the lot without a look back.

(Taken from live-play with Ketch Creeley)

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-06 00:21 EST
Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 9:42 a.m.: She put up a fight, but made it off the lot. Snarling, but I'll have her calmed down by the weekend. Am somewhat better with cars than women.

Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 9:43 a.m.: Don't comment on that last part.


Text to Ketch : Why would you put low hanging fruit in front of someone like me then tell me to not partake?

Text to Ketch : Glad she made it. If your women to car skills comment is accurate make sure you hit me up when you need help.

Text to Ketch : I call five minutes in when you realize you're in over your head. Can't wait!


Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 10:45 a.m.: Was a test of your restraint. Results were inconclusive.

Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 11:12 a.m.: Are we still talking about cars? Did you just offer to be my wingman?

Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 11:20 a.m.: Car: 10 minutes in and still trucking along. Women: could've used you 20 years ago the first time I pissed one off. Been downhill ever since. Cars=easier to navigate by a landslide.


Text to Ketch : You're really screwed (or not) if you need a wingman in RhyDin. The females are like cats in constant heat.

Text to Ketch : Here's our tactic. We aim a sign at your junk that says FREE DICK. It's flawless.

Text to Ketch : As a newly minted lesbian I might have to agree with you. Wait, who are we kidding? I have so much more game than you.


Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 8:40 p.m: Funny. I'm allergic to cats. Possibly the problem.

Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 8:42 p.m: That's the worst goddamn idea I've ever heard. Don't run with that one. I'm not looking. Got enough on my plate right now.

Text to Antonia, 11/6/14 9:00 p.m: True story: Had a lesbian for a roomie in my early twenties. Best roomie ever. Her game was ridiculous.


Text to Ketch : I think you got too many problems for us to put our fingers on just one, but sure, that's a start.

Text to Ketch : You wouldn't know a good idea if it bit you on the taint. Message heard though. Food > Cat Women. Agreed.

Text to Ketch : I believe it. Who knows women better than women? Maybe instead of trying to hook you up with a cat we need to get on your level and start looking at rats. Think about it!!


Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 11:20 a.m.: 99 problems, probably.

Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 11:22 a.m.: ...

Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 11:30 a.m.: No cats, no rats, no women, no men, no nothing. No. Sixer and a pack of smokes fills the emptiness of my soul just fine.


Text to Ketch : Alright, 99 problems and a cat, rat, woman, man, green eggs and ham won't be one. Noted. You started it with that wingman comment. Not my fault.

Text to Ketch : At least your soul sounds like it knows how to party.

Text to Ketch : You a book sort of guy? I got some that might be able to help you out with your car. Bookmarked a couple spots of interest after what I saw under the hood. You want em?


Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 12:00 p.m.: Point taken. I accept full responsibility.

Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 12:02 p.m.: The hangovers are no joke, though. Gatorade doesn't work on the metaphysical.

Text to Antonia, 11/7/14 12:20 p.m.: I am, actually. That'd be great. Might stop by the Inn over the weekend. Will see if you're in the area if I do. Keep a mail slot there, too, 113.


Text to Ketch : The best way to help a hangover of the soul is to never stop drinking.

Text to Ketch : I'll be around. I'll keep them on my bike over the weekend and if I don't see you I'll drop them in your mailbox.

Antonia Skinner

Date: 2015-05-06 00:32 EST
Text to Ketch : Books are in your mailbox. if you have questions, let me know.

Text to Ketch : If you have answers, those are even more welcome. still trying to figure out your angle.


Text to Antonia, 11/9/14 11:45 p.m.: Ran by inn earlier. Didn't see your bike and didn't go in. Will pick them up later. Thx.

Text to Antonia, 11/9/14 11:56 p.m.: My angle...in regards to what: Life? RhyDin? Methods of earning money? Codes of ethics? You?


Text to Ketch : The day of rest usually revolves more around mass, personal errands, and being at home rather than decompressing from work at the bar like usual.

Text to Ketch : All of the above?


Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 12:25 p.m.: Didn't initially peg you for the pious type, but I reckon your smart mouth requires at least a weekly dose of penance to stay on the up and up.

Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 12:30 p.m.: That's a lot of ground to cover. Not saying I'm unwilling, but it's better done in the company of beer and engine parts. Not through a celltower.


Text to Ketch : Aw, you think I'm smart. It's the only way to explain why I haven't been struck down where I stand just yet.

Text to Ketch : Beer and engine parts I can do. That sound good.

Text to Ketch : ... ... I guess you're invited.


Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 12:58 a.m.: Not so sure about that. Maybe the ass kickings are a subtle form of karma at work? Not as efficient as a lightning bolt, but still effective.

Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 1:05 a.m.: It's a win-win combo. How nice of you to invite me. And here I thought you had no manners.


Text to Ketch : There's nothing subtle about me getting my ass beat. They might be a mystery to you, but I know what I do to earn my reminders.

Text to Ketch : Don't you start rumors about me having manners.


Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 1:20 a.m.: "Reminders." Is this an option as a future topic of conversation?

Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 1:23 a.m.: Lips are zipped. I won't be the one to ruin your street cred. No one would believe me anyway.


Text to Ketch : Considering the list of topics I got for you, sure.

Text to Ketch : I'm big on an eye for an eye. We seem to have each other curious so it looks like we're in for a little tit for tat.


Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 1:35 a.m.: BTW, she's downgraded from a snarl to a growl. Equals a successful weekend of poking around. She says I should tell you goodnight so I can get up early and get her radio in working order.


Text to Ketch : She sounds like a bossy bitch. She's lucky she's hot.


Text to Antonia, 11/10/14 1:50 a.m.: The hot ones usually are, yeah. You want appreciative, you have to be okay with a wallflower. Goodnight, Mouth.