Fringe Elements

[InvertedMonkey]

It's a bit of a surprise when Green almost bulls past her. Back in the direction she'd come. He's clearly headed for the knot of folks clustered around the sweet rides lined up next to her pitiful truck. A very active, volatile cluster of folks. Including Morgan, and Coco. There's a sense of energy building, and a race is clearly in the works. She glances back at the stage and the dance crowd, her original objective. But whoever had been playing before has been replaced by Eviscerating A Cat With A Circular Saw band. And oh god are they awful. It feels kinda wishy-washy to turn around and head back to her truck now, after just passing everyone by. On the other hand, who wants to have that noise blaring in your ears? The race will probably be more entertaining, at least for the meantime. Hopefully these guys will finish their set list by the time it's done, and there'll be someone worth dancing to on stage next.

Resolved, she turns to follow Green back to the crowd around the cars. He's all doused over with red, and smells sweet. It both clashes with and compliments his cool, crisp Mantle. Did someone spill an energy drink on him? Huh. When they start reaching the little crowd, she parts from the Elemental, making her way around the outskirts of the gathering back to her truck on the far end of it. She grabs a hand rail, places one foot in a step-slot, and easily hoists herself off the ground and onto the side of the truck, swinging one leg over the side and into it's bed. A key slips out of one pocket, and she fits it into a tool locker resting at the cab-end of the bed, popping it open and bending over to reach inside. "Green," She calls again, quieter this time as there is a much smaller space between them, and beckons him a bit closer. "Heads up," she warns him, when he comes into throwing range, and when he looks ready she tosses him a striped beach towel and a bottle of water.

[Malcolm Green]

"Huh? Oh yeah. Thanks, man."

It takes a while for the big elemental to process what is going on, and to turn around. But turn around he does and with a grateful timbre to his voice, if not his stoney visage.

He moves closer to Ramona's truck and is happy to take the towel and water. Idly busying himself in yet another attempt to clean the sticky juice from his person, he watches the swirling knot of people with interest.

"I think they'll be a race soon. 'Bout time. WAs starting to think they were just going to stand around all night looking pretty."

[Morgan Bellanar]

Morgan couldn't help but smile a little more as the jokes were made about her message. Fortunately, the pretty lady that owned the car didn't seem to favor "shoot the messenger" as a valid tactic. The Twilit Page did tilt her head to the side in curiosity before following the gesture to the yellow car. The car was a vet? A veteran of what? She almost voiced this before spotting the Corvette logo. Ignorant of automobiles she was, inobservant she wasn't.

And which one was Chuck? The guy was probably but nicknames could be very weird sometimes. "Um, heh-heh, oh-kay. Negative-ve-ve on pretty-blue-car-lady, sorry-nada-name-known, b-b-but maybe Chuck," she points between Chuck and Angel, "Not pre-judge nicknames if-tis-one of ye two, heh. Um-uh, ammm I to-to return with a, uh-correct w-w-w-phrase?" she mumbled the last bit. Then she bounced in place nodding her head rapidly, "Counter challenge? Yada, go-go-go with that. Izzz I bring-ing back a counter challenge to...dood thaaat-not-give-me-his-name-yet? " She pointed back towards Asa Clark with her thumb, whilst sounding a little confused.

Asa really hadn't mentioned his name to her yet. Maybe the man was unsociable?

[Star]

"She's not, you know, talking about The Business."

No one's forgotten That Word. Especially when you throw in the camera bit? Make sure everyone is super clear on that. Crazy Californians. Eyes watched Fanta prance away, to do God Knows What, but nothing seemed to be on fire, so...

"But, ummm. Well. That sucks. Mine worked out, and, like, I'm not saying that just to be all woo-hoo-look-at-me, but only to say that...," eyes slid from the ground into the dark sky. "Well. If if didn't? It would really suck. So. I'm sorry."

No We? Inconceivable.

Khakis don't get worn to parties, or out on dates. It's just a truth of life. Just like two people with four foot tall green mohawks might know something about one another, the same can be said for khakis. Commiseration and invitation. That's really all that can be done.

"But, ummm. Kind of surprised? This doesn't really look, like, you know. Your thing. Unless there's a Space Invaders tournament?"

[Teeramus]

Chuck was disappointed that Vivian seemed suddenly reluctant to race. Maybe friend is not the right term after all and perhaps they have some history. When she implied that he may be a challenge for the Merc owner a smile played on his lips which was only encouraged by the energetic redhead sliding over and offering to place a wager on his abilities.

He was amused by the turn of events but kept himself from laughing at the girl's request for a challenge. "Well I must say I didn't expect to come here tonight and play second fiddle on a challenge to race, but I can't say I'm not up for it. You can tell Anon that he's welcome to take a good look at the back of the Corvette when we're out there, Miss..." He said leaving the sentence hanging for the young girl to fill in the detail.

In honesty he was unsure how he'd do. The Corvette was built for speed and handling, that much was true but the Mercedes was a fine machine as well, if that was what he intended to race. Someone who shows up in a Merc might just have another car on the way as well. Additionally if he was issuing challenges it was likely he'd done this before. You never could tell without knowing and is this case Chuck was unsure.

He glanced at the lady wanting to bet on him. She was pretty enough, but nothing compared to the other beauties standing around and draping themselves over their cars. He gave he a smile of thanks nevertheless. This could turn out to be a very interesting evening indeed.

[Aurora]

Her eyes sparkle as the challenge was offered to Chuck.

She has to laugh and shake her head in amusement at the red haired woman literally throwing herself at Chuck. In her opinion it looked desperate, but hey, whatever worked for her.

"Well Chuck, this evening just took an interesting turn. And I'd be willing to place a bet on your car winning." she says with a smile, "But I don't carry that much cash on me. Maybe we can work out a different wager?" she asks, her smile turning sly.

[Asa]

Asa watched his Herald proceed to throw down the proverbial gauntlet, taking the opportunity to procure a red party cup full of god knows what.

Tasting it, he found identifying the contents no less confounding than a thirty year old Nova being the fastest looking car to some eyes.

[InvertedMonkey]

"Sure, that's why I'm here," she tells Malcolm. Her smirk suggests that the reply is in jest, however, and she hops down out of he truck bed to join him once again on the ground. He's right though, there's a lot of eye-candy around here. For a moment, she finds her eyes glued to the Chevy driver in white, as she climbs up onto the hood of that gorgeous car and leans back leisurely, not ten feet away. Wow, would be the polite phrase. That's hot, somewhat less so. That's gotta be deliberate, it's hard to imagine such a sensuous pose being achieved by accident. Not in that leather. Her attentive gaze lingers for a long moment, until the phrase It's impolite to stare breaks her out of her reverie, as if her mother were right next to her to speak the words. At least she hadn't been drooling. Maybe she can pretend she was thinking about the car. "I'd love to see that Chevy run," she says aside to Green, "But unless she's sunk a ton of money into it over the years, I wouldn't give it good odds against the Mercedes."

She glances at Asa, feeling the need to keep an eye on him, rooted in a protective sense towards Morgan. Not that she probably needs protecting, there have been plenty of subtle implications that Morgan looks after herself just fine, but Changelings watch out for each other. She keeps him in the corner of her eye, and turns her head to check out the other potential racer. The Corvette, that'd probably be a good match up against Morgan's champion. The guy who drove it here has a sharp look. Canny. That could be a good sign, but she's not familiar enough with the Sacramento street racing scene to know if he's a regular or a well-known driver. Wonder if Morgan will even get to him though, looks like he's caught between Coco and... whoever that stunning woman is in the cutoff shorts cut tantalizingly high. Oh god, I'm going to end up doing something stupid tonight, the thought comes unbidden, along with a quick glance between White Leather and Cutoff Jeans. It's almost a blessing that the latter seems focused on the 'vette driver, and the former on him and a few clustered friends. At least Ramona won't immediately make a fool of herself. But the night is still young.

[Star]

Is there a Hallmark card for Sorry Your Girlfriend Got Murdered?

It would be great, if there was. Cards are Super Great when you don't know what to say. Even if you don't buy the card? You can read a bunch and get Inspired. Getting Inspired is like plagiarism, but the verbal version. And maybe it wouldn't be great if there were cards for that, because that would mean there were an awfully lot of murdered girlfriends.

Nobody needs Murdered Girlfriends.

Eyebrows twitched. Eyes skittered. Teeth drew at lips. The only thing worse than Not Knowing What To Say is Uncomfortable And Super Long Silences. Still? Got. Nothing.

"Ummm. Man. Sorry to hear that."

The words felt lonely, meaningless leaves floating on a sea of inadequate.

"Well. Was, uh, the funeral nice, at least?"

There. That's better. Right? She probably had a Super Nice funeral.

Because Mortician.