Fringe Elements

[Aurora]

Her eyes drift over to the yellow Corvette as it pulled in. It was a nice car, and the two that got out looked like they might be interesting.

She pushes herself off the car and makes her way through the crowd and over to the yellow car.

A smile appears as her long legs carried her around the car, appreciating it before approaching the guy and girl.

“Nice car,” she says with an easy smile, “How much horsepower?” she asked, it wasn’t directed to anyone specifically. For all she knew it could be the womans car, which would be awesome.

[Asa]

Some cars are meant to go fast. Others, are meant to transport their passengers in style. Behind the yellow Corvette, one of the iconic road yachts of the twentieth century glides across the gravel -- a Mercedes S Class. There are nicer rolling living rooms, but few that could be used as a daily driver. None --like a Range Rover-- that any sane Kindred would want to rely on to outrun a sunrise.

It settled, and parked; a door opened, with the unmistakable dull, solid sound of German engineering.

If the idle wealthy, the Rich Young Adults of Instagram, could have a poster child, they would do far worse than Asa Clarke. Decades ago, one might say he'd even campaigned heavily for the title. Anything can be perfected with time and practice. He'd had plenty of both to become a perfect dilettante.

The only thing missing from the insouciant smile were some Wayfarers.

[Malcolm Green]

It takes more than a few moments for Green to realise there is someone at his side. His big head moves and his eyes stare down on the much smaller man. In the moment and the press of bodies, the giant doesn't have the time or the space to try and appear less of the man-mountain that he is.

Instead, he offers simply: "No idea. I hope so. I'm here for the thrill of the chase. Yeah?" Its a brutal honesty, but it has its endearing qualities. While he talks, his eyes flip over the growling arrival of more vehicles. "Niiice...!" The rumble bursts from his lips, heedless of those around him.

[Coco]

"Will I be racing? Oh, no, you mistake me, Wanderer! I am not one for automotives, I am merely one that enjoys all things racy," Coco gleefully corrected the oddly still man. "Hence why I am here! I came for all that which surrounds the actual race, all that is still, undeniably, racy. Whether this is because of the word association, I do not know, but I am more than willing to find out! Are you?" she challenged, scarlet brows quirking upward.

Yet, though she had just asked the man a question, she gave him no time to answer for something truly spectacular caught her eye, and with an almost audible gasp, the sound only stymied by the music, Coco's cane free hand flying upward to cover her gaping mouth.

"Oh! Oh! Mon Minou!" she cried, dropping the appendage now that speech had returned to her. "Come," she demanded, attempting to grasp David's hand and drag him after her, "there is someone you must meet!"

That said, David in tow, or not, Coco set off with the speed of exuberance to accost the flame which had so deeply drawn her attention in nights past.

"Mon Minou!" she called again as the distance closed.

David Regan Vivian York

[Star]

ntz ntz ntz

Ever have someone turn the dial on your car stereo?

It should be a crime. Like leaving an empty milk carton in the fridge. Maybe even a Sin. But who's to blame? No one. No one ever is to blame. It's the best and worst part of of a street show. Anything can happen. Sure, there's nothing wrong with speed metal. But, in a set. Not all in the middle of...

Spilled milk, yo.

A twist, a turn, touch the pack, touch the wallet, make sure they're still there. People work crowds. True story. Want proof? Just wait until someone gets thirsty and the velcro and vinyl is empty. Someone? Who? Could be anyone. Out of the press, a bottle appeared from the pack. He'd overdressed. T-shirt, Henley, hoodie, and dancing? Yeah, way overdressed. A hand upended the bottle over the mop. Cool off.

...

Spilled Gatorade.

Red. Gatorade. Not water. If there's anything worse than being sweaty, it's sweaty and sticky. Gross. Fingers rubbed at stinging eyes. Apparently? Electrolytes sting. Who knew. Just like who knew walking around with your fingers in your eyes can walk you into someone?

"Dude. Sorry."

Blink.

"Holy. Dude. You're. Huge. Don't you need, like, warning lights. Like a plane. Or, you know, a big truck. Maybe a siren. No, wait. Just lights. Yeah. You totally need lights."

Really, it wasn't his fault. Guy was so big, how could anyone miss the guy?

Malcolm Green Yumyumcrow

[Xander]

Emrys was about to respond to Malcolm when a familiar face bumped into the giant. That spill was gonna suck and, wait, what was he going on about?

"Definitely sirens dude." Emrys called out over the music. "Lights don't help when you cover your eyes."

A hand lifted to his face to mimic the former Councilor just before the collision, while the other moved about like a blind man finding his way by touch. Both arms dropped right after, and the Enchanter just shook his head and laughed. Totally a look back and laugh moment.

His hand slipped into his pocket and procured a clean handkerchief, which Emrys handed to Malcolm before looking over to the newly arriving cars. "What do you guys think of them? The rich guys got some slick rides, but I'm lovin' the old Chevy Nova."

There were lots of cool cars about, but they caught his eye first as the perfect subject change. He didn't come to the party to watch Star get pummeled by a giant after all, as funny as that might be to watch.

[InvertedMonkey]

There is really nothing remarkable about Ramona's new vehicle. Not that there had been anything remarkable about the last one. She'd traded in her Honda Civic for a used Ford Ranger. Both automotives of practicality, the former chosen because it was cheap, the latter chosen because it was cheap and it could haul around a few hundred pounds of coal, propane, or metal if necessary. Useful for supply runs, and work outside the main smithy. It has the look of a used car, and hasn't been washed recently. She'd tried to find somewhere on the edge of the event to park, but people were clearly arranging their cars in a very deliberate fashion. And so her utter 'blah' of a light pickup pulls up next to a Corvette, a Mercedes, and a Chevy Nova. Oh the shame.

Fortunately, on departing the truck, things should start going better. She's here for fun, after all. The echoing bass line promises good things in the way of music and dancing. And while her own vehicle may be unimpressive, from the looks of things there are plenty of other machines to marvel at. Maybe I'll even meet someone. The hope is a small and uncomfortable thing, but it's also the main reason she got a little dressed up tonight. Tight, black-leather pants cling to her legs, tucked into her best pair of Doc Martens, black and knee-high and buckles climbing up either side. A dark red halter top leaves her abs and powerful shoulders bare, and a little makeup shades her eyes and gives her lips more volume. Silver gleams and winks from the piercings crawling up both ears.

She steps out of the trucks cab and closes the door firmly, the gust kicking her fringe of white hair about a bit. The car locked, and any valuables left at home or secured, she turns to face the party. The stage is calling her, but damn if there aren't some nice cars here. She pauses, looking down at the blue Chevy Nova right next to her truck. Classic. Maybe the driver would pop the hood. Ramona's not an automotive mechanic, but she'd picked up bits and bobs of the trade as she learned the metalworking arts. She glances up at the enticing woman clad in white leather perching on the vehicle and facing away from her, but before Ramona can decide to ask her or not, a voice calls out across the distance.

Clear blue eyes soon confirm what her ears reported. That's Coco. Great. They hadn't really gotten off to the best start. Ramona is out in front of the Chevy now, about at the corner opposite White Leather, where she'd paused to admire the car. She takes a couple steps back, a tacit invitation for Coco to ignore her and focus on 'Mon Minou' (whatever that means). Maybe they'll just go their separate ways and enjoy the event. But somehow, I doubt it.

[Teeramus]

"Of course. Though I don't think they'd..." He cut his response to Aryana short as the stunning long legged blonde approached them and he grinned casually as he saw her checking out the Corvette. "It was ahh, four sixty." Chuck offered recalling the dealers words and the numbers on the screen from earlier. He'd done the research and compared the numbers like he always did, but in the end he'd gone for the car that spoke to him on an aesthetic level. Usually form followed function in performance vehicles, but he had the feeling that a great deal of work had been done to optimize and balance both on the Corvette.

"Are you racing the GTO tonight?" he responded with an intrigued look. Either she'd been sitting on someone else's car, or this was a girl who knew her vehicles from experience. Chuck was betting on the latter.

He couldn't help but notice the Merc pulling in behind him, belying a whole other level of style and grace. He was mildly interested that an event such as this would garner the attention of someone who drove, or was driven in, a Mercedes, but he took a second to note the face that appeared from within. It was always good to be able to recognize a face.

It seemed a few other cars had chosen this time to show up as well as his Corvette's distant cousin many times removed rolled in and what could only be described as an enticing white clad beauty stepped out and greeted Chuck. He gave her a subtle look of interest briefly before his gaze flicked to her car, then back to her. Were those racing gloves? "Hello to you too. I take it you'll be showing us what your Chevy can do tonight?" he responded intrigued by her demeanor and her accent.