They were twenty caravans strong and had been pushing down the road like metal bison on a migration to... that place. Where there would be some sort of portal to take them onward. They had done most of their driving at night, when traffic was low and kids were asleep. The MacIntoshes hadn?t taken many kids with them, their group was lean and once they found their destination the remaining thirty caravans would join them. The voyage had only hit one bump in the road, which was bad weather. Beyond that they had moved swiftly and easily through the evenings to the location marked on his map. This night, though, was different.
They had stopped at a campsite to rest and shower but when they tried to leave one of the metal bison wouldn't get back up for the road. The group mechanic was looking the engine over while MacIntosh swore under his breath and cut over to the rest area's bathrooms for a piss.
Ian angled the RV into a parking spot and climbed down out of the driver's seat. It had, in theory, been a very long, very boring drive with nothing but the stereo for company. He was a scrawny thing, all hair in his face and long sleeved button down shirts tucked haphazardly into jeans that were probably a size too small. He stretched awkwardly, locking the doors before he cut a line towards the rest area.
"Of course it has to break down now," he was the only one in the bathroom and his voice echoed just a little off the tiled walls. After the stream of yellow stopped and he gave himself a shake he went to the sink and washed his hands. There was black along his forearms from the grease of the truck he'd been looking at. It took some scrubbing to get it off.
When Mac got out of the bathroom he was stopped outside by the picnic tables by one of his crew who muttered something about the truck?s condition and he said, "Well, they'll just have to get strapped to the top, now won't they? We'll have to leave them behind and go on without and let them find their way to us."
On his way towards the vending machines to try something sweet, full of chemicals, and generally terrible for him from its mechanical jaws, he tilts his head curiously as he passes the picnic tables. Overhearing snippets of conversation, his steps slow.
"Hey man," mumbling, he clears his throat as a hand passes over the back of his neck. "Where y'trying to get to?"
Mac folded his arms across his chest and sized the stranger up quickly. He didn't look like a boxer or anything like that. Young, runty sort of guy, wasn't he? "We have about another 200 miles south to go." He was going to keep it vague because he wasn't sure what sort of company the kid kept. The guy that was talking with Mac also turned to look at the youth. Friend? Enemy? Target?
He wasn't immediately intimidating, that's for sure. He was skinny and slight. His clothes were rumpled from long wear or utter apathy. Mouse brown hair hung in his face, over long and unkempt. He was clean, though, and green eyes --when you could see them through all that brown, that is -- sparked with a quick-witted intelligence.
He looked from one to the other of them, plucking unconsciously at a ring pierced through his lower lip. "As it happens, I am also headed south. How many people y'need to make room for?"
He wasn't buying what the kid was selling and it showed. Mac took a step forward. He wasn't exactly bulky or slight, but somewhere in between, with a few marks on his face that said he threw and took enough punches that one more wasn't going to be a worry. Was he trying to see if the kid would back down if he went forward? "Whatcha want for it? How much you aim to charge? The drive is going to be days, kid. I don't want to cram two people into the back of your Honda civic."
The kid stood his ground, his hands falling to dangle limply at his sides. He didn't step forward, but neither did he back down, his chin lifting defiantly. Hooking a thumb back over his shoulder, he indicates the RV in the parking lot some twenty yards away. "That's my ride. Truth is, I'm gettin' fuckin' sick of being out here on my own. Maybe we can come to some mutually agreeable arrangement?"
"You're out here on yer own?" Mac didn't sound like he had much of an accent. It slipped in a bit, here and there. He was third generation so it was pretty far removed. He looked from the boy to his RV and then back to him incredulously, "You... are riding that thing... alone? What are you, running away to the circus cause you didn't want to do your homework?" Then Mac laughed and unfolded his arms from his chest, "I'm just bustin' your balls, kid. Sure, we'll take the help if you're not asking for anything."
The kid had a mild hint of an accent, but usually only when he was really tired or when he touched on certain words. Lips twisting in an irreverent smirk at the jab, Ian shakes his head. "Nah, man. I'm running away *from* the go**amn circus. And, yeah, it's mine." There was a notch of pride in his voice when he said this last. "So how many do I need to take on?"
"Might be too sensible for us then," he smirked and so did his compatriot. Then when he asked the details he reached in his pocket, pulling out a toothpick to pick at the base of his teeth, "Two. Just two louts that were out of their luck. When would you be ready to go? They can swap out driving for you."
That smirk still present in the edges of his mouth, he shrugs, "Gimme a second to restock on snackage, and I'm good to go." Tipping his head towards the brightly lit vending machines. Feet heading in that direction next, the kid hauls his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling a couple of badly crumpled singles from its depths before he replaces it. Feeding them into the machine with a little trouble and a lot of swearing, he eventually punches the right combination of buttons to give him a sugar rush for the next several days.
Pulling his prizes from the box, he has one arm full of them when he heads back towards the picnic tables. "All set. Y 'gotta name?"
"I'm Macintosh, this is Jeremiah, and that's our crew," he nodded to the line of RVs impatiently idling, waiting to figure out about what was to be done about their situation, "Can you pull up over to where we are?"
"Yup. I'm Ian." Looking out over the parking lot at a veritable sea of RVs, he struggles for a moment not to look impressed. "Quite a caravan y'got. Looks like maybe I joined a different circus, yeah?" Laughing awkwardly at his own joke, he takes a step back towards his own RV. "Be there in a sec."
"Liam? What are you, Irish?" He had misheard him, his head tilted to the side curiously and then he grinned at the circus comment and turned around, trotting back over to the "dead" RV. He was chatting up his crew, letting them know that the alternative ride had been found. Liam the Ian was going to save the day... and maybe in the morning if they didn't like him they'd steal his RV and leave him behind so he could learn a thing or two about strangers. In the meantime, they'd be on good terms.
That might be why he had a cooler full of energy drinks right next to the driver's seat - so he could keep his eyes open in the morning to prevent just such an occurrence? Letting himself back into the camper, he hoists himself back into the driver's seat. Divesting himself of his arm full of sugary snacks, he rips one open first, slotting the key into the ignition. Tugging his phone out of his other pocket, he sets it on the dash before throwing the vehicle into reverse. Navigating the parking lot, he turns the RV in a wide circle, bringing it up side by side with the one where all the people are standing around, presuming that this is the one that is stricken.
Pushing his way out to the concrete again, he rounds the nose to find himself back near Mac and Jeremiah. "Ian. Not Liam."
"Ian? Oh, that English, right?" Mac cracked his grin and pushed the short brim of his hat back to make a few motions, "It's gonna be Cole and Tommy that ride with you, if you don't mind. They are putting most of their stuff with us but a few things they gotta load in with you. No problem," he reached over and clapped Ian on the shoulder, "right?"
His face twists in an ugly expression. "I ain't no fuckin' Englishman," he says with a scowl. He knew he was being baited, probably, but couldn't help the reaction. "Cool, cool." His gaze searching out Tommy and Cole, he unlocks the side door and opens it up to let them on. The interior of the RV was... well. It was about like you'd expect a teenager living by himself to keep it. Clothes and empty energy drink cans just about everywhere. Stepping on, he kicks a few things out of the way, shoves a few more in a side cabinet. There. That counts as clean, right?
"Oh, with a mouth like that you sure aren't." Mac folded his arms across his chest, his smile one of approval. Jeremiah, the guy at his side before, was also smiling and nudged Mac saying, "I like the kid." Mac's smile faded a bit and then he nodded for Jeremiah to move on. Using his hands like a speaker he called out, "Let's get this show on the road! We don't have all day!"
There was a circular motion thrown up by Mac?s hands to encourage cars to get back in gear and back on the road. Tommy and Cole showed up moments later with two duffle bags and sheepish smiles. It never was good to have a car die, especially before a stranger. Mac held his hand out for Ian's phone, "Lemme give you a few numbers to call."
Exiting the RV, he gives a nod to Tommy and Cole in turn. "Go on in guys. Hang out wherever. The room in the back is mine, but pretty much any other space is available. Have at it." Forest greens sweeping back to Mac, he pats down his pockets only to discover that he's left the phone on the dashboard. Oops. "Hang on a sec." Rounding the front of the vehicle again, he swipes the phone off the dash, then heads right back around to where he'd been a few seconds ago. Phone handed off nonchalantly.
The background picture was something stereotypical, something with girls about to fall out of their bikinis. He doesn't look ashamed.
There was a smile of amusement, but not surprise, at the picture. He hesitated and went through the menus, accidentally opening the page of his most recent messages. "Hey, where's the contacts... oh, there," and then he managed to navigate away from that little 'accident' to where he could program his number and that of Jeremiah and Sonny. He handed it back to him, "That's me and my two right hand men. So if you can't reach me the other two are just as good." Cole and Tommy were already climbing into the RV, giving a mutter of thanks as they did so.
Most recent messages were to some girl labelled "Redhead" and... his mom. The one to "Redhead" was nigh unintelligible, as it was written in letters and numbers that allegedly spelled out deeply meaningful song lyrics? The one to his mom said "Yeah, fine. Still driving." Ian watched as Mac fumbled with the phone, and there was a metallic clatter as he chewed on the ring in his lip. Taking the phone back when it was returned, he gave them an upnod. "Cool. Which one's Sonny?"
"The one with the arms as big as your head." He was still out of sight, apparently.
Mac clapped him on the shoulders, "Thanks, man, for helping us out. Not every day you meet someone who does you a favor." He took several backward steps and then turned, trotting towards the RV that was waiting for him. He climbed into the passenger seat and they flashed their headlights at him to follow them onward.
This... was not a promising description, but the kid shrugged it off like he saw people with gigantic arms every day. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he sweeps chocolate locks across his forehead -- not to get them out of the way, as you might expect, but to make sure they were *more* in his eyes than previously -- and he turns to make the semi-circle one more time to the driver's seat. Letting himself in, he cracks open a fresh energy drink.
"Everybody settled?" Called over his shoulder to his new passengers as he put the RV in gear. "We're headed out. Hope you like Twenty One Pilots..." The last wasn't so much a question as a warning - he was cranking his stereo back up as he flashed the headlights in answer. Ready!
They had stopped at a campsite to rest and shower but when they tried to leave one of the metal bison wouldn't get back up for the road. The group mechanic was looking the engine over while MacIntosh swore under his breath and cut over to the rest area's bathrooms for a piss.
Ian angled the RV into a parking spot and climbed down out of the driver's seat. It had, in theory, been a very long, very boring drive with nothing but the stereo for company. He was a scrawny thing, all hair in his face and long sleeved button down shirts tucked haphazardly into jeans that were probably a size too small. He stretched awkwardly, locking the doors before he cut a line towards the rest area.
"Of course it has to break down now," he was the only one in the bathroom and his voice echoed just a little off the tiled walls. After the stream of yellow stopped and he gave himself a shake he went to the sink and washed his hands. There was black along his forearms from the grease of the truck he'd been looking at. It took some scrubbing to get it off.
When Mac got out of the bathroom he was stopped outside by the picnic tables by one of his crew who muttered something about the truck?s condition and he said, "Well, they'll just have to get strapped to the top, now won't they? We'll have to leave them behind and go on without and let them find their way to us."
On his way towards the vending machines to try something sweet, full of chemicals, and generally terrible for him from its mechanical jaws, he tilts his head curiously as he passes the picnic tables. Overhearing snippets of conversation, his steps slow.
"Hey man," mumbling, he clears his throat as a hand passes over the back of his neck. "Where y'trying to get to?"
Mac folded his arms across his chest and sized the stranger up quickly. He didn't look like a boxer or anything like that. Young, runty sort of guy, wasn't he? "We have about another 200 miles south to go." He was going to keep it vague because he wasn't sure what sort of company the kid kept. The guy that was talking with Mac also turned to look at the youth. Friend? Enemy? Target?
He wasn't immediately intimidating, that's for sure. He was skinny and slight. His clothes were rumpled from long wear or utter apathy. Mouse brown hair hung in his face, over long and unkempt. He was clean, though, and green eyes --when you could see them through all that brown, that is -- sparked with a quick-witted intelligence.
He looked from one to the other of them, plucking unconsciously at a ring pierced through his lower lip. "As it happens, I am also headed south. How many people y'need to make room for?"
He wasn't buying what the kid was selling and it showed. Mac took a step forward. He wasn't exactly bulky or slight, but somewhere in between, with a few marks on his face that said he threw and took enough punches that one more wasn't going to be a worry. Was he trying to see if the kid would back down if he went forward? "Whatcha want for it? How much you aim to charge? The drive is going to be days, kid. I don't want to cram two people into the back of your Honda civic."
The kid stood his ground, his hands falling to dangle limply at his sides. He didn't step forward, but neither did he back down, his chin lifting defiantly. Hooking a thumb back over his shoulder, he indicates the RV in the parking lot some twenty yards away. "That's my ride. Truth is, I'm gettin' fuckin' sick of being out here on my own. Maybe we can come to some mutually agreeable arrangement?"
"You're out here on yer own?" Mac didn't sound like he had much of an accent. It slipped in a bit, here and there. He was third generation so it was pretty far removed. He looked from the boy to his RV and then back to him incredulously, "You... are riding that thing... alone? What are you, running away to the circus cause you didn't want to do your homework?" Then Mac laughed and unfolded his arms from his chest, "I'm just bustin' your balls, kid. Sure, we'll take the help if you're not asking for anything."
The kid had a mild hint of an accent, but usually only when he was really tired or when he touched on certain words. Lips twisting in an irreverent smirk at the jab, Ian shakes his head. "Nah, man. I'm running away *from* the go**amn circus. And, yeah, it's mine." There was a notch of pride in his voice when he said this last. "So how many do I need to take on?"
"Might be too sensible for us then," he smirked and so did his compatriot. Then when he asked the details he reached in his pocket, pulling out a toothpick to pick at the base of his teeth, "Two. Just two louts that were out of their luck. When would you be ready to go? They can swap out driving for you."
That smirk still present in the edges of his mouth, he shrugs, "Gimme a second to restock on snackage, and I'm good to go." Tipping his head towards the brightly lit vending machines. Feet heading in that direction next, the kid hauls his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling a couple of badly crumpled singles from its depths before he replaces it. Feeding them into the machine with a little trouble and a lot of swearing, he eventually punches the right combination of buttons to give him a sugar rush for the next several days.
Pulling his prizes from the box, he has one arm full of them when he heads back towards the picnic tables. "All set. Y 'gotta name?"
"I'm Macintosh, this is Jeremiah, and that's our crew," he nodded to the line of RVs impatiently idling, waiting to figure out about what was to be done about their situation, "Can you pull up over to where we are?"
"Yup. I'm Ian." Looking out over the parking lot at a veritable sea of RVs, he struggles for a moment not to look impressed. "Quite a caravan y'got. Looks like maybe I joined a different circus, yeah?" Laughing awkwardly at his own joke, he takes a step back towards his own RV. "Be there in a sec."
"Liam? What are you, Irish?" He had misheard him, his head tilted to the side curiously and then he grinned at the circus comment and turned around, trotting back over to the "dead" RV. He was chatting up his crew, letting them know that the alternative ride had been found. Liam the Ian was going to save the day... and maybe in the morning if they didn't like him they'd steal his RV and leave him behind so he could learn a thing or two about strangers. In the meantime, they'd be on good terms.
That might be why he had a cooler full of energy drinks right next to the driver's seat - so he could keep his eyes open in the morning to prevent just such an occurrence? Letting himself back into the camper, he hoists himself back into the driver's seat. Divesting himself of his arm full of sugary snacks, he rips one open first, slotting the key into the ignition. Tugging his phone out of his other pocket, he sets it on the dash before throwing the vehicle into reverse. Navigating the parking lot, he turns the RV in a wide circle, bringing it up side by side with the one where all the people are standing around, presuming that this is the one that is stricken.
Pushing his way out to the concrete again, he rounds the nose to find himself back near Mac and Jeremiah. "Ian. Not Liam."
"Ian? Oh, that English, right?" Mac cracked his grin and pushed the short brim of his hat back to make a few motions, "It's gonna be Cole and Tommy that ride with you, if you don't mind. They are putting most of their stuff with us but a few things they gotta load in with you. No problem," he reached over and clapped Ian on the shoulder, "right?"
His face twists in an ugly expression. "I ain't no fuckin' Englishman," he says with a scowl. He knew he was being baited, probably, but couldn't help the reaction. "Cool, cool." His gaze searching out Tommy and Cole, he unlocks the side door and opens it up to let them on. The interior of the RV was... well. It was about like you'd expect a teenager living by himself to keep it. Clothes and empty energy drink cans just about everywhere. Stepping on, he kicks a few things out of the way, shoves a few more in a side cabinet. There. That counts as clean, right?
"Oh, with a mouth like that you sure aren't." Mac folded his arms across his chest, his smile one of approval. Jeremiah, the guy at his side before, was also smiling and nudged Mac saying, "I like the kid." Mac's smile faded a bit and then he nodded for Jeremiah to move on. Using his hands like a speaker he called out, "Let's get this show on the road! We don't have all day!"
There was a circular motion thrown up by Mac?s hands to encourage cars to get back in gear and back on the road. Tommy and Cole showed up moments later with two duffle bags and sheepish smiles. It never was good to have a car die, especially before a stranger. Mac held his hand out for Ian's phone, "Lemme give you a few numbers to call."
Exiting the RV, he gives a nod to Tommy and Cole in turn. "Go on in guys. Hang out wherever. The room in the back is mine, but pretty much any other space is available. Have at it." Forest greens sweeping back to Mac, he pats down his pockets only to discover that he's left the phone on the dashboard. Oops. "Hang on a sec." Rounding the front of the vehicle again, he swipes the phone off the dash, then heads right back around to where he'd been a few seconds ago. Phone handed off nonchalantly.
The background picture was something stereotypical, something with girls about to fall out of their bikinis. He doesn't look ashamed.
There was a smile of amusement, but not surprise, at the picture. He hesitated and went through the menus, accidentally opening the page of his most recent messages. "Hey, where's the contacts... oh, there," and then he managed to navigate away from that little 'accident' to where he could program his number and that of Jeremiah and Sonny. He handed it back to him, "That's me and my two right hand men. So if you can't reach me the other two are just as good." Cole and Tommy were already climbing into the RV, giving a mutter of thanks as they did so.
Most recent messages were to some girl labelled "Redhead" and... his mom. The one to "Redhead" was nigh unintelligible, as it was written in letters and numbers that allegedly spelled out deeply meaningful song lyrics? The one to his mom said "Yeah, fine. Still driving." Ian watched as Mac fumbled with the phone, and there was a metallic clatter as he chewed on the ring in his lip. Taking the phone back when it was returned, he gave them an upnod. "Cool. Which one's Sonny?"
"The one with the arms as big as your head." He was still out of sight, apparently.
Mac clapped him on the shoulders, "Thanks, man, for helping us out. Not every day you meet someone who does you a favor." He took several backward steps and then turned, trotting towards the RV that was waiting for him. He climbed into the passenger seat and they flashed their headlights at him to follow them onward.
This... was not a promising description, but the kid shrugged it off like he saw people with gigantic arms every day. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he sweeps chocolate locks across his forehead -- not to get them out of the way, as you might expect, but to make sure they were *more* in his eyes than previously -- and he turns to make the semi-circle one more time to the driver's seat. Letting himself in, he cracks open a fresh energy drink.
"Everybody settled?" Called over his shoulder to his new passengers as he put the RV in gear. "We're headed out. Hope you like Twenty One Pilots..." The last wasn't so much a question as a warning - he was cranking his stereo back up as he flashed the headlights in answer. Ready!