Of Samoas and Thin Mints


dutch_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif

Scene Title Of Samoas and Thin Mints
Synopsis In which Dutch provides himself with some roadside assistance.
Date May 11, 2009

Staten Island — Coast

"Splendid." Dutch growls, spitting out his toothpick as he walks down the side of his van. Frowning as he eyes the flat tire, jesus christ did the van even have a spare? Knowing the ATF, he somewhat expected they'd have skipped that option to save a couple bucks. He dips his head, stuffing a few sticks of gum into his cheek before he sets to work.

Dutch slides open the Sprinter's side door, before slumping in to park his ass on the deck. Theres a pause for aspirin, and to finish off his coffee before the work begins. He begins rooting about inside, searching for the jack and tire wrench. There were toolkits, but they dealt with the BMW set in wheelchocks in the middle. "No sir, the excitement never stops."

Coastal Staten Island is probably one of the worst places in the greater New York area to get a flat tire. Fortunately for Dutch, the road that unwinds in front of his stalled vehicle is as bare as the trees flanking either side of it, their branches bone white and limned with veins of green, though no leaves have sprouted yet — it's still too early in the season. His chances of encountering an ambush while he sets to work are slim to none as long as the sun remains high in the sky and the only thing blowing through the scraggily foliage is the breeze.

That doesn't mean his activities have gone unnoticed, however. A dark head of hair pokes over the top of a low stone wall to the right of the van, and a moment later a young woman pulls herself up the rest of the way in one smooth motion, moving with the swiftness of a cat springing into a vertical leap.

Eileen Ruskin swings both her legs over the side of the wall, her leather boots touching down on the pavement several feet away, and winces as she dusts off the dirt from her gloves. "Need a hand?"

There’s a bit more rooting about inside, until Dutch emerges once more. "I don’t suppose you have any cookies, do you?" His smile is genuine, though his gaze is fleeting at best. He fwumps down just behind his rear tire, before reaching under to grasp the toggle nut that kept the spare locked in place. "I swear, I don’t know what the deal is. Girlscouts at every turn, and I still can’t get my hands on any of those samoas. Those are the coconut ones right?"

She's certainly small enough to be a Girl Scout, but unless the youth group has traded in its uniforms for a battered jacket and denim jeans torn at the knee, Eileen's diminutive stature is where the similarities end. "I'm rather a fan of the thin mints myself," she says, though her tone lacks real humour, adopting an airy sort of wryness in its place. Gray-green eyes sweep up the length of Dutch's lean form and then back down again, perhaps in assessment, before finally settling by the tire beside which he's crouched. While there's definitely something predatory about her stare, it's tempered by apparent disinterest, body language otherwise cool and somewhat aloof.

Street tough kids are never easy for Dutch to really get a bead on, so he just plays it cool. Masking the twist of his hips slyly, as the tire plops down below the van and then neatly he tugs it out and free in a single smooth motion. "So tell me, do you shadow every guy with mechanical trouble or am I just lucky?" His tone was light, and his expression far from serious.

"Lucky," Eileen says without missing a beat, not an iota of hesitation in her voice as she begins to circle the van, her feet visible from Dutch's vantage point even when the rest of her is not. She trails her fingertips along the siding, pausing to glance down at the license plate when she brushes past the bumper, then back up at the windshield and shadowy interior beyond. Contrary to the fleetness with which she mounted the wall, she favours one leg over the other, gait defined by a noticeable limp now that her movements rely on her lower body's strength rather than that of her arms and torso.

The plates are current, and while the whole Van doesn’t seem that old its certainly far from dealer fresh. There’s at least a small ding on every body panel, and a couple big scrapes over the hood. Inside its pretty typical, There are no windows in the rear and it has a big metal partition behind the seats like most work vans. "And so I am, you haven’t seen a fella named Mortimer running about lately have you? Runs around with some tools in biker gear, with big red numbers scralled across the back? I was told he's pretty well known on the island." Dutch watches Eileen carefully out of the corner of his eye, reading her limp with no small amount of interest.

If the name Mortimer rings a bell, Eileen is careful to keep recognition from dawning in her eyes or tugging at the tightness in the corners of her mouth. She leans over, shifting her weight to the stronger of her two legs in an attempt to steal a quick glimpse around the side of the van at the man asking the question. "Sure," she says. Then, "That's hard to miss."

Dutch nods softly "You seen his ilk lately? I've been meaning to catch up with him, but he doesn’t exactly maintain a proper address so its somewhat complicated. "Up goes the jack, and off comes the wheel. There’s some curious prodding before he finds a 7" ground spike embedded through the inner sidewall. "Oh isn’t that just beautiful?"

"Lately," Eileen repeats, curling her tongue around the word in casual contemplation before she spits it back out again. Literally. A mouthful of saliva tinged with pink spatters against the pavement next to her foot, and a moment later she wipes some of the sticky residue from her lips with the back of her hand. "Not lately, no. Try the Rookery. Shooters. Maybe the Pancratium, if you can get in."

"You been in some kinda fight it looks like, you should really have that looked at."Dutch pauses, lifting gaze from spittle to Eileen's face. Then, in a single swift jerk he tugs that spike free. "I have a first aid kit, but speaking from experience yaknow punctured lungs rarely heal right on their own."he rolls the busted tire away, and begins to slowly line up the spare. Full sized, how nice! "The Rookery for certain, lot of rough fellows out there. Makes it hard for a fella to make things square, lot of folks there like to get themselves involved with things they have no business in. You know?"

"I know," Eileen agrees, and leaves it at that. The remark about her health doesn't go ignored, but she doesn't respond to it either — not with anything except a slight tilt of her head and a low snort that might be a snuffle of laughter blown out through her nose. Curiosity satiated, at least for the time being, she completes her survey of the van upon closing the circle, and begins moving off down the road. "Mind yourself."

"You too kiddo, don’t let yourself drown out here." Dutch pauses for a moment, maybe four to watch Eileen. "Hey, hold on a second." Dutch eases back, and then rolls to his boots. "I got some antibiotics and shit, just don’t ask where they come from and shit if you need'em. It'd suck to get the flu, or an infection with you beat up like you are."

Don't take candy from strangers, is what most parents teach their children. It stands to reason that Eileen shouldn't accept strange pills from strangers, either. She offers Dutch a slight shake of her head and steps up the pace, intent on increasing the distance between them and taking her leave of the man and his van. Although she doesn't have a name, she has a license plate.

That's enough.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License