Participants:
| Scene Title | Ra(e)vens |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Raeven finds herself down on Staten Island, with a new form of employment and place to stay. |
| Date | Sept 17, 2010 |
Anarchy Customs: Garage
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 stand outside the open bay door leading into the depths of the garage. Clad in a torn and fashionably frayed, dyed, re-tied tank top of white and lime green, the biker femme stands out in the middle of the deserted road, bent forward and staring intently into the depths of her own building. Crouched awkwardly, dark eyes alight with a spark of dangerous curiosity, the woman clucks her tongue a few times…
"Come here. Come on. That's right, baby, this way." It sounds disconcertingly similar to how someone might be calling a new puppy or crawling child. Hopefully no one has left either of these in the care of the Raven Queen.
THUD THUNK THUD. Then… silence…SWOOSH! Devi straightens up and leans back as a whirlwind of fire spurts of the garage bay door. She blinks and pulls a section of her bleached bangs to eye level, going cross-eyed to examine an area of singed waves. "Ugh. Well, excuse you," she speaks to the fire-burping thing-a-ma-jig still hidden just within the garage bay.
Raeven can be heard coming from a mile away. How can she not? Such a heavy duty motorcycle is definitely capable of announcing it's arrival long before it can be seen. She had heard word of this place just by listening to a few people talking about garages, and while some have said they wouldn't come anywhere near this place, it hardly scares off the adventurous teen. For better or for worse she finds her way here, edging her bike up to the two dooes and keeping away from anything that might pose as an obstacle.
She turns off her engine and dismounts the large beast, kicking the foot into place and walking right up to Devi while pulling the fingerless gloves off each hand. "You work here?" The fellow woman is sufficiently taller than herself, something that would probably be rather intimidating for more girls of her height, but she puts up a front, making sure it doesn't appear to bother her. She looks Devi over. Examining her style, as well as the tattoo at the base of her neck, finding a touch of appreciated humor in it.
Devi scowls at the echo of sounding approach and ultimately the words that flitter from Raeven's lips and across the atmosphere. They remain unregistered for a long moment as Devi continues her work - her fingertips fiddle at a pair of joysticks set into a remote control…
THUD THUNK THUD "YEAH BABAY!" Finally the menacing, fire-spewing, spider-robot lumbers out of the garage on clumsy legs before stilling to a halt. A few more flips of the controls and the spider curls its legs under itself in becomes a placid hunk of contorted metal and gears. Only then does Devi turn her dark attentions to the newest interruption in her work.
"Huh? Oh, no. I don't work here, I own this bitch. Whatcha need, Small Fry?" Those dark orbs turn over Raeven's frame before flittering away to take in the details of the motorcycle. "Nice hog," she says in offer of her approval.
The youngling pauses in her steps, giving Devi all the room she needs without invading any personal bubbles that lubricate such a charming personality. She smiles at the compliment to her bike, turning to look at it, then right back to the one she's speaking with. "I'm just looking to get some maintenance done. Check the oil, lube the chain, inflate the tires. You know. That whole bit." There is a pause here, allowing some time for these small details to sink in before putting out another bit. "And well, since you are the owner here, I was hoping maybe I could interest you in hiring me. I've worked in a garage before and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. Apparently work is still needed to be done in this city."
ORDER: It is now your pose.
Devi's lips, painted a slick black today, teeter in a lopsided smirk. Her eyes roam again. "Honey, you look a little bit small to be making love to the machines." Great, first she compares a motorcycle to sex, and now maintenance is 'making love'. Welcome to Devi's World.
The woman glances to the spider-'o-doom and back to the inquiring woman.
"You think you can handle it in this 'hood, Shortie? Po-po's don't come out here for shit. And that's the way we want it, dig? Shit ain't all on the up-and-up here, and when it gets dirty all you've got to rely on is yourself. Think you can handle that shit?" Devi flips her chin, banishing a few wild waves of dark hair away from her face to reveal the mesmeric print of stars tattooed around her temple.
At first Raeven chuckles to herself, listening quietly as her apparent superior verbally tests the waters. She crosses her arms under her breasts and leans her body into one leg, waiting until the talking has finished before she spurts out her own bit. "Being short has never hindered me before. I've been on my own for over a year and I've travelled all the way across the country. I've stood my ground well until now. I'm quite sure I can still manage things out here." These is a cheeky attitude weaved into her voice, unwilling to let a little repremanding bring down her spirit.
The biker biotch holds a stern expression for a long moment, if just to inspire the youngin' to sweat it out a moment longer. Finally, Devi's expression break with a devious, enticing grin. "Ai'ght. You got spirit, Punk. I'll give you that. Let's see how ya pan out at Anarchy Customs, and take it from there, yeah?"
With that said, the tattooed femme extends her hand, fingertips coated in a thin layer of grease. "Anyone that can cross the country on that beast has got to be worth somethin', besides. The name's Devi."
Grease on the hand isn't something that is going to scare this young girl away, reaching out her own to complete the handshake with a proud smile. "Raeven." It's the best sort of introduction she will give to someone who plays in the same grounds as herself, and best of all it's far from rude with people like this. She looks behind her, gesturing to the massive machine chilling near her backside. "This would be Heavy Fuel." May as well get past explaining the name later on. Of course anyone working in a garage would probably be able to figure that out due to the custom tag printed on the engine.
Looking back to Devi she inclines her head towards the spidery machine, showing a hint of curiosity. "What's that thing you're working on?"
Devi lofts a brow and gives the motorcycle a more inspective glance. "Heavy Fuel." She grins and nods approvingly. "Like the song, yeah? Sweet deal." The woman blinks a bit belatedly, leaning in and squinting at Raeven. "What the fuck you say your name was?" She wrinkles her nose and leans back, scratching idly at the black bird inked across the front of her throat. After a long moment she laughs aloud. "You got to be shittin' me, hey. Raeven? HA! Bitch, we're going to get along fine, and you can forget any pet names this time 'round. " Really? Really? But, Devi gives everyone a nickname.
Devi is still grinning and nodding when her attention wanders off towards the spider contraption. "That thing? That fucking hunk messed up my garage real good one day. Some Fruit Loop built it and it got loose in my shop. But, I'm fixing it up know. It works like a charm, but the controls are a bitch. Too damn scared to set the bitch on autopilot after seein' what it does." She shrugs and looks towards the garage. "Why don't you roll Heavy Fuel in and we'll get a brewskie, yeah?" She nudges her chin towards the building and heads off at a casual strut.
Hey, whatever floats. Raeven is certainly a name she likes, and it's not exactly uncommon to see someone with a tattoo of said bird inked into their skin. "Raeven it is, then." Agreeing with the idea of using this as a nickname as well. She chews on her lower lip for a second, targeting her eyes back to the once hazardous machine with a bit of a scratch to her head. "I never understood wanna-be inventors that don't know what they're doing."
A few steps back and the teen kicks up the foot of her bike, now pushing it to the garage doors and wheeling it into the shop and off to the side, keeping it out of the way. Shortly after she walks around a little, checking out the place before looking for the woman known as Devi. AKA: her new boss.
Devi waits at the bottom of the spiral staircase, brow lofted. "He ain't no hack, this fella. He's not someone you wanna fuck with, yeah? You hear someone mention the names Warren, Alex, or Mortimer, you remember Fruit Loop and get the fuck outta dodge. Honey, I've built some shit in my time…" The bench nearby is testament to that in its displayed goodies: a mechanical arm, a giant blender made from what appears to be a car's engine, and what was once maybe-possibly a microwave turned into something that locks convincingly like a bomb.
"But, I ain't got nothing on this guy, okay? And, his little Shot Tart packs a punch. You stay away from the his blonde sweety, too." With that she makes a gesture of her tattooed hand and leads the way upstairs.
Best to just listen than say anything against this. She isn't exactly an inventor herself. All she does is repairs and maintenance. Maybe one day she might pick out something from her mind and put it into the motions of being made real. The girl follows behind you up the swirling stairs, still letting her eyes roam over everything to see. May as well get use to the idea of being here. "How long have you been in New York for?
Anarchy Customs: Hangout
Dark wood flooring is illuminated by dome-cage lighting set liberally in the ceiling overhead. This room is simply furnished - a stout rectangular table in the center of the room, flanked by deep, plush leather sofas shoved up to the walls at either side. The northern quadrant of the room is set with a personal mini-bar; namely a fridge full of beer, a shelf of hard liquors, and a cabinet set with a large padlock above it. The walls are covered with large mirrors, the reflective areas surrounded by sketches as well as snapshots of completed tattoos. In one corner, well out of the way, there is a bench complete with tattooing equipment.
The southern portion of the room, however, is set with an opening in the floor, supported by a black-iron staircase that offers passage into the greasy garage bellow. The same staircase also leads upwards to a hatch door into the last, upper floor of this building.
Devi leads the way without further ado up the stairs, distancing herself from the new 'employee' to traverse the hangout and dip down into the dorm-like refrigerator. She returns, popping the caps off of two Heinekens and passing one of the green bottle out towards Raeven. She squints one eye, the other looking up towards the ceiling as if intending to roll back and search the inner contents of the femme's brain. "Oh, 'bout a year. Not been here the whole time, though. Took a leave and waited out the blizzard in Mexico. Snows no good for riding or crops," she comments with a grin.
That said, the woman flops down onto one of the plush, leather sofas, stretching out her legs towards the coffee table and spreading her arms over the cushions on either side of her - a true queen of her castle. "What 'boutchoo?"
Once in a darker area the girl removes her sunglasses, exposing the glammed up, bright blues hidden behind. The first thing that grabs her eyes in this room is the many pictures and sketches of what appears to be tattoos. Another would be the equiptment used for inking the skin of any clients. Sinking her way deeper into the loft eventually brings her to the sofe opposite where Devi sits, accepting the bottle and taking a good swig of it the second it's in her grasp. An appreciative and relaxed sigh escapes from the gutters of her throat.
"I've only been in New York for a few days. Like I said earlier, I've been traveling cross-country, starting all the way in Seattle. There's nothing for me there, so I figured this would be the best place to be. A lot of people leaving, a lot arriving. It still seems like a land of opportunity."
Devi snorts. "Land o' opportunity my rear end." She chuckles. "Nah, your right kid. There's shit 'ere, you just gotta dig - and not get trapped in the bullshit. That's why it's nice out 'ere on the island. Cops mind their own on the mainland. But, I tell you what…" The biker diva leans forward, bear dangling from her three lower fingers as the index is freed to point in Raeven's direction. "Things keep goin' the way they are, and it won't be long before they've 'cleaned up' over there and march this way. But, we'll take care o' that before shit gets crazy."
The biker grins and leans back, swiveling on the sofa to spread out as she tips back a few hearty gulps of the beer. "How ya likin' it so far, huh? Where ya been shakin' up?"
"'Take care of that'?" Raeven questions curiously with an obvious sense of interest in her voice. "Owning a garage doesn't exactly help much when it comes to the streets. So either you've got something else up those sleeves of yours, or you have an amazing amount of pull in this city."
She waits for a second, taking a sip of her drink and leaning back on the sofa with her back pressed into the cushion. "So far things seem alright. Haven't come across any trouble yet, which is a plus. I checked out the ruins earlier today. Not a hell of a lot going on in the day, so I'm guessing things get worse once the sun sets. Typical for any city, though I was expecting a little more chaos. Maybe I just found it on a good day."
"Hey now, don't get nosey and too big for your little britches, Raeven." Devi grins and pushes to her feet, tapping her fingertips casually on the neck of her beer bottle. "I'll fill you in. Sometime. No tonight." She chuckles and steps away, digging into a bag behind the sofa. She pulls out a blanket and pillow and tosses them at the end of Raeven's selected couch.
"You can crash here, kid. Don't touch nothing downstairs, and don't shoot the blonde pimp-squeak boy that shows up at weird hours. He's a bitch, sometimes, but he's okay people and crashes on the couch from time to time. We'll start tuning up your Heavy Fuel tomorrow."
With that, Devi slips away to the staircase, and begins to ascend. "Oh." She pauses at the top of the stairs, peeking back down before shutting the door. "Don't wake me up before noon unless you want a bullet in that fine ass o' yours, okay?" Sexual harassment in the workplace! Welcome to your new career, Raeven!