Participants:
| Scene Title | Dude, Where's My Car? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Some people might be worried about what sort of heroes dress up in floral Sunday wear and drive while drunk. These two don't fit the mold of the regular rescuer. |
| Date | April 14, 2009 |
Utah State Route 12
The hot Utah sun blazes overhead the car as road stretches out in front of the beater car Hiro had acquired for the unlikely duo. Or perhaps not so unlikely duo? Both perform in their own right, both have been in front of an audience for pay, yet they have little to actually talk about. This, however, has never stopped Bradley Russo before.
They'd been driving for hours. And hours. And hours.
Fortunately, Brad knows many stories. Too many to count. Unfortunately? They've gotten less colourful as he's sobered up. "…anyways… that was when he asked me in turn whether I was a Republican… I mean really…" His eyes are still bloodshot from his many drinks the night before. With a loud yawn, he stretches a little, making the car veer just a stitch along that stretch of highway.
There's no AC in the vehicle, it's likely already been reported stolen, and Edgar's patience is wearing a bit thin. Not because of the stories, which he's been ignoring for the last hour or so, but because he knows he could have made this trip in no time flat if he wasn't pumped full of suppressant.
When the car veers, the carnie's sharp glance flits to the television personality.
"I think you need teh either lemme drive, or we need teh stop fer sum'then teh keep you'wake." The grunt from the carnie isn't anything that Russo probably doesn't already know, but he doesn't have any of his own stories to tell…
Pointing up ahead, Edgar motions to a dismal little town with nothing but a few dilapidated houses and a gas station that combines as the local tavern. "We can ge' sum'then fer everythin' tha' ails us there, I be'… You go' any cash?"
The comment earns little more than a wrinkle of Brad's nose and another yawn (one that doesn't make the car veer for once). He leans to the left to reach into his back pocket and extract his wallet which he tosses in Edgar's direction before actually asking, "Do you want to drive?"
With furrowed eyebrows, he frowns just a little, "Any cash? I'm not sure I have any in there… check, please? I normally bring some when I go to the bar but I wasn't exactly expecting some time-traveling asian man to kidnap me and thrust me into the past to rescue my — " what is Melissa anyways? There's a purposeful pause before he clears his throat like the word my was never involved, "Missy for something that couldn't have possibly happened in this timeline or we already succeeded at preventing? Because she lives later on. And if she doesn't live later on we'll never have met her in which case we couldn't have time traveled to save her — " again, he's going cross-eyed.
Finally the car begins to slow down as it enters the tiny township. "What looks like it's actually open?" With a sigh, he pulls up towards the gas station. At least here they'll be able to talk to someone, right?
Flipping through the wallet that was handed to him, Edgar pulls out a few credit cards and a small bundle of cash. He keeps half the money while giving Brad back the wallet, credit cards that look safe enough to use and rest of the bills. "You ge' wha' yeh need an' I'll see wha' kinda things I can ge' us tha' we migh' need."
It's been almost twenty four hours since his last injection and he keeps testing his own mettle with the flick of his wrist and the twitch of fingers. "Man I can' wai'til this stuff wears off… I 'ope I'm back teh normal before we find'er.."
As they pull into the gas station slash tavern, he climbs out of the passenger side of the car and primps his dress before shaking the sleepies off and begining the slow saunter inside. "See if they go' any'o tha' stuff you can ge' teh stay awake… The stuff truck drivers drink, eh?"
With that, he makes his way inside. From the outside, Brad can hear the raucous laughter of the locals… it can only be assumed that they're laughing at his travel companion.
Brad's eyebrow twitches. Coffee wouldn't do the trick and more booze would just dull his senses and lull him back to sleep. With a high pitched whistle, he puts the car into park. "Yeah… I'll… see what I can find…" Within minutes, he's sliding out of the car, stretching with a loud crack in his spine. He groans loudly, murmuring to himself amid the bar's laughter, "What I need is a stimulant."
With that he's stepping into the makeshift bar, and perching himself at the counter. The female bartender earns a toothy grin — the most charming one he can muster. "Hey," Brad begins, "Any chance you can hook me up with whatever keeps the truckers up all hours?" The smile turns dimpled, one thing can't be denied: he's not a horrible flirt when it suits him. "I got the cash~"
Meanwhile, Edgar's found a nice little game of poker. Clearing his throat, he tries to disguise his voice as much as possible, trying to adopt the accent of his lady love rather than that of a British man. "Excuse me~" Unfortunately, combined with the dress, it makes him sound a little more like an ugly transvestite than an American. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra chair at that table~?"
Four men just give him blank stares. Until Edgar flutters his eyelashes in an unintentional twitch. This sends one of the men running for the bathroom with his hand over his mouth.
Taking that as an invitation, Edgar grabs the seat and throws down his half of the wad of cash and the car keys. "Deal me in boys~"
Brindy, the bartender, rests her elbows on the counter as she eyes Russo, attempting to catch his gaze. She shoots him a playful half-smile. "For landsakes sugar, aren't you a little far from home?" the blonde bartender leans a little closer to Brad, her own posture and body language giving into the flirtation. Of course, it's a posture she assumes a lot because, let's face it, Brindy likes her tips.
Brad stares rather openly at her, somewhat confused. How does she know he's in the past? "Excuse me?" his eyebrows furrow tightly together.
"Wait a tick, you're not the hottie on the tele every Sunday night? Whatever! Of course you are, I'd know those cool coloured eyes anywhere!" Her fingers push his chin upwards a little so her eyes can meet his, "We always turn to your show! No volume, so I had no idea your voice was so — " she rolls her tongue, emitting a vibrato r sound through the air " — and no idea the makeup could cover wrinkles so well — "
"HEY!" A year's time has added some wrinkles, but Russo can't help be a little sensitive about it, "I don't have that many wrinkles…"
"Aw honey. A little oil of olay will clear that right up…"
At the sight of the car keys and cash, the three remaining three men's eyes go wide and a little snigger passes between them. The one with the deck passes tosses out the cards, "Name of the game is five card stud, nothing wild no throwbacks. What you see is what you get."
flip flip flip flip
As Edgar picks up his cards, he clears his throat and flares his eyelashes. A nonchalant glance is given to the other three 'more experienced' players and he gives them each a wide grin. "I don't even know how to play~" For the first round or two, he keeps up the ruse which only goes to encourage the sly looks between the three locls.
"So what kinda car you drivin' there?" The dealer asks as he pulls a tin of chew from his pocket and tucks a generous bunch under his bottom lip.
"Oh… it's pretty fast~" Lie. "And red~" Mostly a lie… rust is a reddish color, isn't it?
"I don't need Oil of Olay," Brad retorts rather defensively before shooting her another charming grin. The ruse, must flirt with the girl to get the goods, right? He let's his lips fall into a half-smile as his fingers walk across the countertop. "So… you like the show?" His voice drips with that charm he saves especially for talking to fans, the kind of charm he utilizes to win them over; the charm that let his party days — prior to meeting Karolina — even exist.
"Oh Mister Russo, you turn a girl's head don't you?" She taps the counter absently before chewing on her bottom lip, her own smile becoming bashful. "Did I mention I used to be a cheerleader? I'm very bendy…"
Bendy women seem a dime a dozen (like Kristen, for example), but it doesn't throw Brad off his game. "I'm just looking for something to keep me awake at the wheel. You know… able to get home. I'll even mention you on the show sometime. Hell, I'll have you on," a year and a half later, "showing off your cheerleading moves if you hook me up with whatever keeps the truckers
The pile of cash in the middle of the table is growing larger and larger, the hand is down to Edgar and one other man. Rather than fold, the other man calls, and Edgar, in all of his finery proudly lays down a two, another two, a five, a nine, a ten, and an ace. The smile on the other man's face as he lays down the other three aces along with a pair of eights is a greedy one.
"Looks like you lose, Princess!" The dealer's announcement as the winner cackles and pulls the pile of money his way leave Edgar with the expression of a kicked puppy.
"You're going to give me the chance to win it back, right~?" His sing son American accent is enough to give a person a saccharine stomach ache. "I still have some money and I have the keys to my car~"
In no time, another hand is dealt. Much like the last one, except this time Edgar's keeping a poker face. It seems… the ruse has been dropped.
There's a small smile that plays on Brindy's lips as she shakes her head at Russo, it's disbelief more than anything. "I'll tell you what, sugar." She reaches for one of the cocktail napkins and scribbles her phone number across it. "I give you my number. You remember to call me and I get on that show." She pushes the napkin in front of him before turning around and opening one of the drawers behind the bar. "All in exchange for this," she shakes a little baggy. Pill form.
"Tell me that's not Tylenol," Brad eyes it with that hint of flirtation still tugging at his eyes and lips, a small upturn to inspire he stay in her good graces, "you got yourself a deal, sweetheart."
She tilts her head a little, still scanning his face for any hint of malice or deceit. "Why my my, look who got himself some speed~"
He counters, mimicking her sing-song voice, "Well my my, look who sold herself some speed~" he winks. "Can I get a couple glasses of water? My friend," he glances towards Edgar before wrinkling his nose "and I need to take this right away and then hit the road…"
A the poker table, four sets of keys, two shirts, one pair of pants, a large pile of money, four nearly naked men and Edgar in a dress finish up what could be the final round. Again, it's down to the speedster and one other man, this time the dealer.
"Lay i' down, I wan'teh see wha' you go'," The carnie lays down his hand and flashes a large smile as he watches the other man gulp and fold up his hand. "I'm goin'teh take tha'… as me winnin'. Pulling the rest of the cash toward himself, he pick up all the keys and one of the shirts. "S'been a real pleasure playin' wi' you gents. Bu' I think I'll be goin' now."
He sniffs at the shirt before stripping off the dress in the middle of the bar and pulling it over his oversized shorts. At least Melissa can be confident in the fact that one of her rescuers isn't dressed like a woman.
A glass of water is thrust towards Edgar. "Drink this. And take this." In the meantime, Brad is downing one of the speed pills, determined to feel that buzz he so desperately needs to keep him awake; if he's to stay awake, he'll stay awake, darnit! His eyes narrow some as he stares at his partner-in-crime who is no longer wearing a dress. While he's glad Edgar won't be mistaken for the bearded lady, there was something randomly hilarious about a cross-dressing hero. Regardless, he swallows the drugs.
"Alright Miss Daisy, let's get rolling." He turns on his heel to tread back towards the door, and presumably, the car.
There's a peculiar odor that Edgar's trying to place that's coming off the shirt he's got on. It's not tobacco smoke, he knows what that smells like. To the eye of the bystander, the five jagged leaves coming off the stem might be a good clue. But the carnie's a clean living man, for the most part.
Taking the pill from Brad's hand, he pops it into his mouth before trading the glass of water for four sets of keys. "You fin' the new car… I'll clear ou' the ol' one." He says before gulping the little pill down. He really has no idea what he's taking, but the other man had one, so it can't be all that bad.
Like before, Edgar leads the way, going to the old rust bucket to clear out the shotgun and whatever shells they might have found in the cab.
The keys are accepted, and by carefuly matching of brand to brand, the perfect one is found. It has keyless entry. Which in rural Utah-ese means that the lock's rusted out but it's definitely better than the rust bucket they'd been driving earlier. With a sly smile, Brad steps to the driver side door of the chosen vehicle, dropping the other sets in the dirt. A black Toyota Tundra. With a broad grin, the television personality virtually skips to the truck, "Best. Day. Ever."