Logs:Recharging

Recharging
Dramatis Personae Ion, Skye	2019-11-08 "Ideally I'd only rock the people I'm trying to rock."
Location <NYC> Hellhound Bikes - The Hole
Located not far from Jamaica Bay in a predominantly Latinx sector of East New York, this garage doesn't look like much from the outside. A low-slung squat dingy brick building with a hand-painted sign over front proclaiming it to be HELLHOUND CUSTOM CYCLES, this garage has a small office area with its own pedestrian entrance from the street at the front, containing a minifridge usually full of beer and beaten down old desk with a ledger and an antique cash register that no one ever seems to use. The rest of the space is roughly L-shaped, its walls lined with racks of tools and heavy workbenches with built-in steel drawers full of hardware and spare parts. There's a raised platform in the wider leg of the space for working on one motorcycle, and there's space in the narrower leg for parking at least three more. The chewed-up pothole-filled strip of road that runs by Hellhound Bikes is, as it often is, lively. Several doors down there's loud reggaeton playing from a boom box set up beside some weatherbeaten old grills; the young women working them are singing along loud and cheerful in between tending their pinchos. The grill has attracted a decently sized stream of workmen stopping by for a midday snack -- Ion, clearly, recently among them; he's blowing on one of the skewers as he ambles back towards the garage. He tears off a strip of meat with his teeth, tossing it towards a very hopefully wagging mutt (once black-furred though much of that has now gone to grey) who has been trailing behind him. The stray snaps up the chicken eagerly, licking her lips and staring up at Ion for more. "{Good thing I got extra, huh, little friend?}" Ion has a thick warm flannel on today to ward off the heavy chill, sturdy workboots, dark jeans. He settles on the stoop outside the walk-up entrance to his garage, his paper-and-foil tray of skewers resting on his knees. He takes a bite for himself, tosses another torn-off piece to the dog who has settled just beside the stairs. "{You have good taste, I'll tell you that. Those sisters they do this better than anyone in the *whole* of Brooklyn, you don't listen to any dumbass, food critic, they tell you go some new shiny place in Flatbush. Wrong, wrong, wrong.}" Skye's ancient GM Conversion van, its navy blue paint faded but in startlingly good repair, pull into Hellhound Bikes' driveway. Skye hops out, clutching a paper bag of egg cakes in one hand. She's wearing a dark green Attack on Titan hoodie, blue and white "wings of freedom" emblazoned on the back, a purple-and-pink flannel underneath, and skinny jeans tucked into slouchy black ankle boots. "Hey man, 'sup?" She pops one of the egg-shaped egg cakes into her mouth as she walks over to Ion. "That your pup?" Ion glances up as the van approaches, eyes narrowing and then relaxing just as quick. He jerks his chin up in greeting when Skye emerges. Snorts at the question. "Issa dog," he tells her, with a sort of gentle patience. "She live --" His hand waves in a vague gesture around the weed-and-trash strewn block they sit on. He holds out the tray of chicken and soft bread rolls towards her in clear offering. "You have a lunch? Come eat. Is getting cold you got enough meat on them bones for winter?" His gaze is one of deep scrutiny -- though he's examining the van and not, actually, Skye. "How warm it get in there huh?" If Skye is very put off by Ion's explanation about the dog, it doesn't show. Maybe she's just distracted by the pinchos. "Woah thanks!" She happily tears off a chunk of bread and a piece of chicken, sitting down beside him and offering the bag of egg cakes in return. "I had boba and cake, that's lunch, right?" Her grin is crooked, but judging by how fast she devours the chicken and bread, it wasn't enough lunch. "I think I've got enough padding, but if you ask my mom she always thinks I'm going to waste away to nothing. Any minute now." She follows Ion's gaze to the van. "It gets pretty warm, especially if I got all the equipment running in the back, but still no fun come wintertime. Especially not if the battery keeps dying every time I leave it off for more than a couple hours." "That's like a --" Ion snaps his fingers. "Just a little -- a before-lunch. Like just to get the lunch engine going, right? Now for real you do the lunch." He takes a cake, munching it down happily. "Moms they know this kind of thing, you listen. Winter ain't no joke." His brows knit deeply -- though his concern isn't distracting enough to stop him from tearing off another cube of chicken to toss to the patient old dog. "Shit, no, see? Then you freeze, maybe, one day, February hit, you got no power, you wake up dead. How long that been happening?" "Brunch? Elevensies?" Skye hazards, sounding uncertain but unconcerned. "Or just a snack, I guess. Holy shit, this is really good." She continues picking at Ion's food. "I dunno man, I could gain fifty pounds and my mom would still worry about me being too skinny." But this sounds more amused than irritated, at least. "You make it sound pretty serious, and lemme tell you I am not about waking up dead." She nibbles at an egg cake. "It's been going on a couple of weeks. Tried swapping out the battery so it's not that, and it jumps just fine so probably not the alternator. Not sure what's going on, so I was hoping you could take a look." "Elevensies?" Ion repeats this with a perplexed frown. "Hell yeah this good. People here we know how to eat." He sets down his now-empty skewer, picks up another one to bite a chunk of meat off the end. "I look. Yeah. Today, this weekend, though, I'm busy like fuck. You come back with it mmm... Tuesday?" He sucks a bit of sauce off the end of his thumb, tipping a sidelong glance to Skye. "Normally I say just leave it but I don't know, you got some other place you good to sleep?" "Yeah it's like, a meal between breakfast and lunch?" Skye says, sounding slightly uncertain herself. "I think some Europeans do it, but honestly I learned it from Lord of the Rings." Skye holds up an egg cake, even though it doesn't really illustrate what she is saying. "Hm. I mean, honestly having to jump the damn thing all the time is obnoxious, and I can live without it for a weekend." She chews on her lower lip. "So yeah, I can leave it, crash at my mom's or one of the safehouse. Sure it won't be in your way?" "Huh." Ion gives Skye a look of some skepticism, now. Aaalmost casually he offers the tray of chicken back her way. "You taking lessons on right eating from them gringos?" He tears off a piece of bread, uses it to pull another chunk of meat from a skewer, pops them together into his mouth. "Sure I'm sure. Mmm. Bushwick the closest house but it crowded as fuck tonight. There space out in Jamaica or the Heights for sure. Probably down by Evolve you could get yourself a couch but it never quiet in there. Definitely," he adds this with a sudden eager flash of grin, "not tonights." "If it scores me an extra meal, I'll call it whatever they like." Skye wraps another piece of chicken in bread and devours it hungrily. She listens to Ion, nodding thoughtfully and pulling her phone out to check her calendar. "Thanks! I gotta be in Manhattan this evening anyway, so I'll check in Lower East Side. I don't mind the noise. Hell, I wish I could join, but..." She shrugs, offering a slip of her chicken to the dog. "I'm still pretty shaky on the powers front and should probably have a better idea what I'm doing before -- hah!" She rolls her eyes. "Shaky. That wasn't intentional. You gonna fight tonight?" Ion clicks his tongue against his teeth, cocking a finger-gun at Skye on that 'shaky'. "Eyyyy. Maybe one day, huh? You come and rock everyfuckingbody." He bounces more eagerly where he sits, his eyes lighting. "Me? I don't know, I don't know. The littlesharks, they say, maybe this week's the week, huh? Maybe we see that fucking --" His hand darts rapidly in the air, fingers opening and closing in small staccato bursts of motion. "Jackrabbit back in action, yeah? That'd be a good damn night." "Ideally I'd only rock the people I'm trying to rock," Skye says, grinning. "But yeah, maybe. I got a lot more practicing to do still." Her eyebrows hike up, then up further as she presumably recognizes who Ion is referring to. "Oh man, that'd be great! I mean, maybe I shouldn't be so gleeful about the possibility of him getting maimed, but..." She laughs abruptly. "What am I saying, it's everyone else I should be worried about, huh?" One of her legs bounces up and down rapidly. "You afraid to take him on?" She nudges him with an elbow. "Who know. Maybe he get maimed too." Ion sounds very nonchalant about this. "But I can count in my fingers how many times that boy gone down and I'm pretty sure at least one of them he was already nursing a bullet wound." The question of being afraid spreads his grin wider, a bright gleam in his eyes. "There a tiny handful people I'd give even --" He holds up forefinger and thumb, very close together. "So much odds on him and I sure as a hell ain't one of them. Watch him fight, though, that's a whole experience right there." "Honestly, I'm racking my brain about who could take him down and all I can think is like..." Skye chews on her lower lip, considering. "Telepaths? If they're quick. Or Matt, I guess, if he's got enough of an arsenal in reach." She smiles again. "Anyway, I don't actually think there's any shame not wanting to fight him. Or betting on him, if that's more your speed. I mean I've only ever seen him at training, and that was impressive enough." Taking up one of the two remaining egg cakes, she offers the other to Ion, standing up. "Well, good luck if you do fight, whether against him or not. I'll probably be stumbling in after midnight -- with booze -- so maybe I'll see you around if you duck out before I crash." "We still set odds on him over most telepaths that show up." Ion now sounds more thoughtful than gleeful. "He been married to the fucking borg long enough he know some tricks, and try to catch hold of him, even for some them brain fuckers it ain't an easy trick. Someone like Matt, issa more trickier math." He shrugs. Takes the egg cake with a grin. "Did I look shame? Please. Someone can kick my ass, I'll get my ass kick gladly. Twice as glad if they got as much art to it as that man." He jerks his chin upward, hopping to his feet as well. Tossed one last large chunk of meat to the pup before turning to the garage door. "Stay safe."