Participants:
| Scene Title | Like a Kid at Disney World |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Keira rolls into Anarchy Customs, making a new friend in Dev, and also righteously abuses Amadeus. |
| Date | September 9, 2010 |
This three story building is constructed from old, cracked concrete and cinder blocks, the naturally gray hue is long since caked with the common signs of neglect and vagrancy, filth and graffiti, common on the island. The graffiti here, however, seems notably fresh.
The entrances to the buildings are too wide, large bay garage doors. The words 'Anarchy Customs' are painted in chaotic letters on each. Just inside a large garage is home to various motorcycles and parts in different states of dismantling, repair, reconstruction, or destruction. The walls are cluttered with various tools, mobbed further with stolen street signs and more untamable, fresh graffiti. The smell of oil clings to the air as eagerly as the grease stains spattered on the concrete floor.
Across from the large, bay garage doors, a single black-iron, spiraling staircase is set beside the opposite wall, corking up to the floor overhead.
Devi sits sideways on the seat of her 1950 Falcon Triumph, glaring across the width of the garage at a collection of items scattered upon the metal bench across the way: a dented Transformers lunchbox, a half-built mechanical arm, a large remote control, and… is that an engine-sized blender?
The tattooed vixen sticks out her tongue, making a childish display of blowing a perturbed raspberry noise in the inanimate objects' general directions. "Fuckers," she mumbles, tipping her head back to down the rest of her beer. She tosses the emptied bottle into the nearest bin and plucks up a fresh one from the gathering of bottles stacked by her feet.
Her leather pants catches a few drops of dribbled condensation of the beer bottle, her top a matching sheen of a low cut, leather vest. Lines of vibrant gold sweep across her eyelids, to match the new streaks of blonde painted into the front section of her bangs.
Outside, the sound of a motorcycle can be heard, a little bit too loud, with the occasional pop as the engine backfires. The engine sounds rather awful, actually. The source of said noise rather quickly comes into view, a 1995 BMW R 1100 R, which carries a few dents on top of the bad engine noises. Riding on this bike is a slender, small young woman, clad in a pair of pinstripe pants, a short grey vest that exposes those plentiful tattoos of hers, and a pinstripe fedora, complete with a pair of high heels.
Keira Fionn looks a bit out of place on the bike, which she slides to a stop, kicking the stand down and hopping off as she cuts the engine. A cigarette rests between her lips as she pulls off those shades of hers, arching a brow as she peers over the items on the bench; then, her blue-eyed gaze turns to Devi. It almost looks like she's sizing the woman up.
After a moment, a small smile forms on her face, and she raises one tattooed arm in greeting. "Hey, I've heard from a few homies that this place does some fuckin' badass customizations." A gesture is cast toward the bike. "I just picked this shitbucket up, and I'm lookin' to have it fixed up."
As if there were a mirror to guide the actions, Devi's dark eyes follow in tandem with Keira's searching gaze, blatantly taking stock of the woman presented before her.
"Huh," she mumbles, by way of her final judgment of the new arrival.
Those dark eyes turn scrutiny over to the bike, as if the Raven Queen determines from afar whether or not it is even worth the effort to rise and inspect the motorcycle further. Click. Click Her ability drinks in the finer details of the mechanics, making her wince and steal a deeper swig for her bottle of booze. Finally, she pushes up off her own ride with the lazy, fluid grace of a waking feline.
"Your bros know a thing or two, then, if they sent 'cha here." She offers a tilted grin and makes a gesture towards the numerous bottles of beer by her bike, heading towards the abused, dented BMW as if it were a magnet pulling her near.
"Got anything special in mind for her?"
As Devi comes closer, Keira's eyes follow her face, that small grin remaining on her face as she tucks the sunglasses around the rim of her hat, brushing her hand through her hair. "Good t'know that they didn't steer me wrong, then." Her bros never do steer her wrong, in any case. They all know it's far too much trouble to earn the tattooed woman's ire.
She reaches up, puffing at the cigarette, her eyes turning down toward the bike as she takes a few steps back, as if to take the motorcycle in. "Well, first off, she needs a new fuckin' engine, or somethin'. I want 'er to purr when I run that engine, instead of spewin' fuckin' death rattles. If y'do any cosmetic shit, she could use some body work." As she speaks, she waves a hand, which is clad in fingerless gloves (to complete the gangster look she has going), as if illustrating her ideas through gestures.
Once she's finished speaking, a small smile is turned up to Devi, the woman arching a brow. "I got money, cost ain't an issue."
Devi caresses her tattooed fingers over the curvature of the dented tank, as if in a single touch she was assuring the motorcycle things are going to be just fine. With that she turns her back to the two wheeled vehicle, lofting a brow in a curious expression. "I sure as hell hope so. This pig needs some serious TLC. New lines, timing, body." She tisks and shakes her head.
Finally, her lazy paces carry her back towards the woman, beer bottle dangling lazily from her fingertips by her side. Her lips, painted a daring black today, draw back in a Cheshire-like expression. "Where the fuck did you come from, eh? Money. Tats. Bikes." Her eyes wander the broad a second time, searching the woven designs of her tattoos for some hint.
A small smirk forms on Keira's face, and she gestures to the bike. "Give her all the TLC she needs. I hear you're good, so I'll fuckin' let you have the reigns on this baby. Go crazy on 'er, treat her like she's your own, and I'll pay you well." She laughs softly, pushing her hat back as she ashes the cigarette, taking a quick draw and blowing the smoke up toward the ceiling.
The question prompts a Cheshire-like grin on her face, as well, and her eyes wander around the garage as she responds. "Buffalo, New York. GKBs there, workin' with the Bloods. Here…I do a bit more freelance shit." She puffs on that cigarette. "Call me a rough and tumble merchant, if you would."
Her eyes stop on that familiar van, and she stops for a moment, her eyes narrowing toward it. Oh, that had better not be…
Amadeus, with the smell of a joint blowing into the garage, has his black Yankees bat bag on his back and his black AC/DC shirt on, hands in his pockets as he heads right in with the two. He tilts his head, gaze instantly focusing on Keira. "Guess I'm gettin' laid tonight." he says loud enough for both of them to hear, grinning.
Devi's dark, tattooed features cling to a note of curiosity for another moment. The vixen lifts her arms, crossed the limbs of inked canvass across her breasts. "Gotta flaunt what ya got, I guess," is the woman's response to the brief, but informative, explanation of Keira's arrival.
The biker bitch extends a hand. "Devi," she introduces herself, only to turn her head sharply at the intrusion of her couch-surfer. She glances at Keira, jutting a thumb back over her shoulder in Amadeus's direction. "You know 'im? Better yet, please don't tell me ya fucked it. I mean… you were just startin' to earn points."
The gangster woman extends her own hand, shaking Devi's with a small, if polite smile on her face. "Keira." She's about to continue talking, when Amadeus barges in and makes that cocky remark.
Keira's head turns, her gaze focusing on Amadeus with fierce intensity. And suddenly, it's like something has flicked on, and the woman is turning toward him in slow motion, her face twisting into an expression of what can only be described as burning anger. Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, though no sounds come out, as she takes in the good (or bad) luck of the situation.
And suddenly, Keira is reaching into the bag resting atop the bike, pulling out a baseball bat, which she hefts over her shoulder as she begins to silently make her way toward the man, her knuckles white on the grip of the bat. Once she's halfway to him, she stops, holding the bat out and pointing it at him with a rather grim expression on her face.
"I'm sorry, Devi, but I'm probably gonna have to spill some blood on your garage floor. This fucker owed me fuckin' five grand three years ago. This fucker disappeared three years ago. This fucker has ten minutes to get me fuckin' ten grand, before I fuckin' make his pretty little face pretty fuckin' ugly." Her voice is calm, but she sounds pretty deadly serious right now.
"I went to jail, babe." Amadeus moves to place a hand against the side of the bat, walking closer and closer with that same grin. "And yeah, she fucked it alright. Or more like it fucked her. Guess it depended on the hour." He starts reaching in with his free hand, stretching out to touch her chin.
Devi leans back with that same, amused expression pulling up the sharp corners of her lips. Arms folded back over her chest, hip resting against the nearest work bench, she watches with a lazy smile as Keira takes her time in revealing the bat and its accompanying threat.
The dark diva laughs as she drinks in Amadeus's reaction. You have to give him credit. Her boots thud over the concrete of the garage floor as she picks up a leisurely pace towards the pair, lifting her hands in demand for each to surrender. "Gangsta, hun?" she begins, addressing Keira. "This boyo owes lotsa people money. Me included. But, he can't work off that debt if he's dead, beautiful." She taps the end of the bat with a gold-painted nail and glances to Amadeus.
"Ain't that right, Maddy boy? You're goin' help the Ravens out and pay this lady back?" She grins, pleased with the little circumstances of the moment.
"Oh, I ain't gonna kill him. I'm just gonna fuck him up a little bit." She smirks as Amadeus comes close, that cigarette still resting between her lips. She takes a large puff, and breathes the noxious smoke into Amadeus' face, a bit of a 'come hither' look forming on her face.
But if he thinks it'll be that easy, he's delusional.
The baseball bat clatters to the ground, then, as her hand flits to the cigarette, grabbing it between her thumb and forefinger. In the same instant, her other hand darts up to grip the man's wrist firmly. A wicked grin suddenly forms on her face as she promptly uses his arm to put out her cigarette, grinding the hot ash into his skin.
In the same instant, her knee flies up, aimed directly for his gut as she pulls him toward her with that vice grip. All the while, Keira has a grin on her face comparable to a child on their first trip to Disney World, even going so far as giggling. She's been waiting to do this for a very long time, now, and nothing is going to spoil her satisfaction of the moment.
Amadeus doesn't get much of a chance to answer Devi, yelling in pain when the cigarette burns into his wrist, and the knee comes up to his gut. When he's pulled forward, he's wincing, staring down at her as he tries to anticipate whatever's coming next. "C'mon, you know I'll pay you back, babe. You can count on me."
"Oh shit," Devi chortles, lifting a hand to try and hide her laughter as she steals a step back to let the woman have at it. "Daaaaamn," she comments, wincing this way and that as she watches the man absorb each brutal act.
"Dude. Dude. Dudedudedude." Devi steps forward, laughing as she shakes her head and waves her arm. "A'ight. A'ight. You're a badass, chica. But, keep your hand off my little moocher, dig?" She still grinning, fighting of bubbles of amused laughter as she puts a hand to Amadeus's shoulder and pulls him back a step.
"He's a fuckup, yeah? I'll make sure he pays ya back, or I'll let ya tan his hide till ya can throw him off the edge a' the Island. Cool?" She grins and slaps Amadeus on the back… hard.
It is extremely fortunate that Devi stepped in. Her hand still gripping his wrist, her arm is raised to issue a punch to the man. Amadeus knows what was going to come next: a demonstration of why her homies tend to refer to her as 'The Little Pit Bull'. She may be small, but that certainly doesn't matter much to her. She looks like she means business, too. But, Devi acts as the voice of reason that Keira clearly lacks.
After a moment, she lowers her arm. "I ain't fuckin' finished with you, Amadeus fuckin' Deckard." She sneers at him, taking a step back, and 'accidentally' stomping one of those stiletto heels of hers down at his right foot.
Then, a pleasant smile is turned toward Devi. "I think you and I might get along quite nicely. Sadly, I have nearly a fuckin' decade of history with this little dipshit, and if he ain't gonna fuckin' pay me, then he can fuckin' work his shit off with me too." Keira finally lets go of Amadeus' wrist, which she was squeezing as tightly as she could. He'll probably have a bruise in the shape of her hand after this.
Amadeus quickly pulls his foot back with a pained look, giving this a long few seconds of thought. Work off his debt or continue getting beaten up. "Yeah, sure, fine, I'll work it off. But you know what's gonna fuckin' happen later, so don't wait 'till Devi leaves to flip that little switch in your head." This might be his way of punching back.
Devi's painted lips disappear for a moment, tucking back in on themselves with the effort to wall up her chuckle. She snort again, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose as she steals a few deep breaths to settle her amusement to a bearable level. Finally, her focus turns back on Keira. "Hells, yes. We'll fix up your baby doll and ya gotta ride your ass with us some of these days. If'n ya want, I can throw some work your way, easy 60-40 split of funds if ya can keep yer mouth shut on the off chance your busted."
Devi lofts a brow expectantly before shoving her half-finished beer into Amadeus's hands. She leans in towards him, brows furrowed. "Dude, don't make me watch you get ya ass whooped by a chick. Please?" She pats his shoulder, pinches his cheek, and makes a gesture towards the pair to invite them upstairs.
The biker bitch's offer of work prompts raised brows, and a grin from Keira. "Fuck yeah, I'll take some fuckin' work. I ain't no fuckin' narc, I been to jail before and ain't nothin' gonna fuckin' pry any secrets from my mouth." She smirks to the other tattooed woman, one brow arched. "I got some shit for sale too, yeah. Mostly of the destructive variety, though if you like gettin' fucked up, I got some of that shit too."
She finally turns her eyes toward Amadeus, sneering a little. "Fuck you, you little bitch. You know you're just gonna come crawlin' to my fuckin' place, and you'll just try shackin' up with me and eatin' my fuckin' food. You got three years of debt to work off, bitch, and you know I will fuck your shit up if you cross me." She narrows her eyes. "Shit's changed in three years."
"We'll see." is all Amadeus has to say before he heads upstairs, spitting the little bud of his joint to the ground when it's almost ready to burn out. "I need somethin' to drink, gotta keep my energy up for tonight."
Devi leads the way into the second floor of the garage building, making a gesture to invite the others make themselves comfortable - which Amadeus most obviously, already has given the stretch position of a blanket and pillow sprawled out on one of the leather sofas. Are those a pair of boxers over the armrest?
Devi makes a bee-line for the fridge and grabs a trio of Heinekin to pass out. "Sounds like we'll make a good team," Devi replies to Keira first. "I bring in the goods, do a bit of distribution on my own, but mainly the gangs up for that part of the gig. Uppers, downers, firearms." She shrugs. "You help me push this shit and keep your fourty divide, yeah? You don't worry 'bout the hassle of smugglin' and I don't worry 'bout beatin' feet when somebody yapps off."
Suddenly Devi's ass starts issue a little tune of 'Fuck You' by Cee-Lo. She lofts a brow and digs out a cell from the back of her pocket, glaring a the caller ID. "Sorry, hey. I gotta take this." She waves a quick peace sign as she brings the phone to her ear, beginning to cuss and yell as she steps up the spiral staircase, droning out her tantrum with a slam of a door.
Keira smiles, taking the Heinekin and raising it to Devi. "I have a full-time employer, and my main job would be smugglin' firearms. I sell some of the goods m'self, as well as your wide array of drugs. Got a sweet deal on some Refrain these days, too, if y'know any Evos lookin' for somethin'. Pretty good shit, I don't deal in any crap." She sips at the beer. "I'm always up for extra work, though. If y'need someone t'be intimidatin', I'm your lady." She grins.
She blinks down at the phone, and offers a small smile and a wave to Devi. "Sweet. I'll be seein' you around, Dev. I have a feelin' this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship." She laughs, taking a swig of the beer, her tongue piercing clinking against the glass.