maskormenacelogs | she was the fastest thing around ( open )

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she was the fastest thing around ( open )

WHO: rupert hentzau, his brand new bad idea, and you
WHERE: jeopardy
WHEN: second half of august
WHAT: watch a victorian jock evolve into a boy racer before your very eyes
WARNINGS: ~~something naughty will probably happen at some point~~ make outs, bad language, drug references, a car crash

start your engine (if you can) ( open )
car status: brand new (but not for long)

Jeopardy | What's even the point in having ill-gotten gains if you can't spend it all? The sudden influx of shiny American dollars was burning a hole in Rupert's pocket and he was certainly overdue buying something stupid. And so he had picked a Mustang because he liked the name and a G5 because the sound of the engine promised him adventure, and that was the better part of his illicit money gone.

He'd insisted on no questions asked (because the nature of the money demanded silence) which had somehow extended to nobody bothering to check his license. Which was a damn good thing, considering Rupert technically didn't have one. And somehow, one hour after meeting his questionless car-selling contact, Rupert was driving (haphazardly) away with a brand new car.

Getting the car back to Jeopardy 001 was harder than he'd thought. The rules of the road were something that Rupert only vaguely knew of from his brief foray into Bluetube, but the understanding was largely lost on him. But by some miracle - and mostly avoiding traffic cops, cameras, pedestrians and other cars - Rupert rolls up the government-assigned imPort street with his brand new toy. It's a miracle really, not that Rupert has anytime to congratulate himself as he parks the beast half on/half off the kerb outside 001.

What a lark. He punches the horn experimentally, delighted with the angry urgency of the barked reply, and sets the windscreen wipers going just for the hell of it. He tunes the radio to something smooth and jazzy, throwing the volume knob so farto the right that the brassy swell of noise rumbles through the whole chassis (and the street beyond). Just because the car is stationary doesn't mean that Rupert still can't be a bloody nuisance with it.

be fast or be last ( closed to cassidy )
car status: car-length scrape (shrubbery), dented right wingmirror (post box)

Maurtia Falls | Portalling the Mustang over to Maurtia Falls feels like a terrible idea, even for someone as terrible as Rupert. So he thumbs a quick text to his chaos twin, parks the Mustang in a desolate patch of desert outside of town, and neatly tears himself a portal over to Maurtia Falls 002.

Stepping out into the relative coolness of Pennsylvanian street, Rupert dusts a little of the desert off his shirt as he waits for Cassidy to come to the door.

"Hello," Rupert says cheerfully, pulling a pair of obscenely overpriced sunglasses from his face to squint up at the other man with a grin of satisfaction. "Father's bought a new toy. Would you like to play?"

full throttle ( open )
car status: dusty, dented

Jeopardy | In time, Rupert learns how to tame his new creature. A voracious and powerful need to excel drives him to learn everything there is to know about the car, from black-magic-and-science engineering behind the hood to the way the vibrations should feel just so as it moves through the gears. It was a project of sorts, a whirlwind of devouring car-nerd driving blogs at 2am and many, many roadside failures.

He hadn't expected the car to feel so alive; the Mustang is as willful as it's namesake and Rupert's more than a bit in love with it. Encased by black leather and glass, sprawling low behind the wheel, he isn't entirely sure he's the one driving this creature. The car doesn't pull away so much as prowl, a predator on the roads, muzzled only by the fact that Rupert is yet to unleash the engine's true potential.

But he knows it's there. It's what drives him to seek out another taste of that heart-stopping delight as the car roars and plunges forwards with barely restrained power. Taking the Mustang out to the desert surrounding Jeopardy - late at night, early in the morning, whenever Rupert feels a burning need to stretch his (and the car's) legs - has become part of his everyday adventures. It's addictive, and Rupert's quite sure that if he turns the wheel just a little harder with every turn that he could very well spin the car over and kill himself. Not that that stops him, exactly. The intoxicating hit of equal parts fear and primal joy as the Mustang greedily leans into every dusty desert doughnut is just too exciting. There are definitely worse ways to die.

( existing cr, feel free to assume that rupert has invited your character out for a ride! new cr, tell this young hooligan to cut it out (or join in) )

now for something completely different ( closed to cecelia )
some fancy deisgner clothes outlet (car status: grateful for a rest)

De Chima| Rupert doesn't spend all of his free time trying to kill himself in the Nevada desert. After all, there's still a considerable amount of ill-gotten gains burning multiple holes in his pocket. The Masked Man costume had been his only other purchase - other than the monstrous Mustang, of course - and it seemed a shame to just have that kind of money lying around.

Briskly portalling over to the designer boutiques of De Chima, Rupert busies himself with exploring the racks of clothes. This particular shop is painfully minimalist in a way Rupert doesn't understand, dotted with strange abstract art installations and mannequins wearing clothes that seem to be made more of rips than fabric. It isn't Rupert's style - far from the monotone elegance that he often opts for - but he's distracted by a smooth leather jacket that most certainly has his name on --

A short scream and a prolonged crash. It's nearby, a little too close for comfort, and Rupert idly wonders if this is another bizarre attack of some sort, the kind that seems to happen so regularly in this world. Aliens, perhaps. Cryptids. Robots. It honestly could be anything.

Coolly curious, he leans around a rack of artfully torn jeans in search of the source.

wildcard
build your own

( come at me with a starter of your own or hit me up on plurk fizzier for something else! It doesn't have to be car-related, I promise. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Still sprawled on the ground, surrounded by fallen fancy coats (he'd wanted one of those anyway) Rupert lets the pretty redhead claw herself free and concentrates on righting himself a little more slowly. He hadn't quite expected that to work as well as it did, truth be told. He pulls a broken wooden clothes hanger out from where it was jabbing him in the shoulder and slowly, carefully, sits upright.

All in one piece, more or less. It certainly wasn't one of his more elegant moments, but needs must! ]

Apologies for the indelicate landing. Are you quite alright? [ That stunned look could be concussion! Who knows! Rupert points to the rack of dramatically lacy shirts Cecelia has thrown herself into, adding: ] That's your colour, by the way.

[oh, my.]

I...what...?

[still dazed, she blinks slowly at his hand before slowly turning her head to peer at the fabric crumpled against her.]

...Oh...

[that's nice? but? what. just. happened?

she looks back, face starting to redden. oh no he's hot. she has no idea what is going on here.]

I, I'm...Just a little...confused, sorry...What. What just happened?

Ah. I was afraid you were in danger of making a rather unladylike landing several feet down that, ah, escalator, and in public too. [ He only just learned that word today, luckily enough, but the strange American word is a little clumsy in his German accent. ] I thought it best to make that landing elsewhere, and a lot closer to the ground. Something of a softer landing here, don't you think?

[ The pointed hand elegantly (and perhaps with just a little bit of a flourish) transforms into a hand of help; Rupert stands and offers her a hand with a gentlemanly bow. Never mind the fact that a crumpled fancy coat is still clinging to him. ]

Allow me, miss.

[oh...

Cecelia feels a flutter, holding her breath for a beat before gulping and gingerly accepting the hand.

is this real? no way. this is the most...mannerly crash-into greeting she's ever experienced? accented by fancy coats and lance, no less!

even upon getting to her own feet, she's a bit wobbly at the knees as she gawks at him with some disbelief.]

Tha...thank you. That's. You're... [so gentlemanly? and...handsome? oh, dear.] You're very kind.

[ His hand on hers is strong and firm - a swordsman's hands, capable of all the strength and dexterity that comes with wielding a rapier every day of his adult life. Rupert likes his hands, he knows they're capable and beautiful, and he shamelessly keeps Cecelia's fingers in his own for just a little bit longer than necessary after she finds her balance.

Kind, she says and Rupert smiles indulgently. He can't remember the last time someone mistook him for that.

He releases her hand, slowly, and inclines his head. ]

Rupert of Hentzau, at your service. [ A beat. ] Snatching beautiful young women from the teeth of social embarrassment is included in that service, naturally.

Oh, that-- [she flushes, finding herself straightening up in response to his own posture. elven breeding best be useful for something.] It can't be so very common, right? In this realm of all places, even...

[she can't imagine many people teeter off of escalators? but then, she doesn't get out much...what does she know. does it even matter?]

Re-regardless. I'm...My name is Cecelia Ardenbury. And I'm very relieved you were there to save me, common or not.

You're quite right, of course. [ His smile practically glitters with a warmth and easy charm; he inclines his head in polite deference to her good point. ] Not so common after all, Miss Ardenbury.

[ 'Whoever could ever use the word 'common' in relation to you' is the unspoken addition, said more in the gleam in his eye and the curve of his lips. Rupert tucks his hands into the small of his back, a gentlemanly kind of move and gives her an expectant look. ]

Were you perusing the shops? Perhaps I could accompany you. To prevent any further falls or trips, of course.

[it's almost pathetic how easily she's buying what this guy is selling, but teen girl hearts be like that sometimes, you know? especially in stressful environments! what could be better than a too-good-to-be-true, princely rescuer? would it really be that bad to play along?

probably. almost definitely. but the day sturdy logic prevails over teenaged dreaming is well and truly far, far away from now.]

I, honestly...I was just trying to make a quick escape! [she timidly shrugs up her shoulders, looking down at her bags.] Getting in and out of here is almost more harrowing than what passes for school in this realm. Between the heckling goons at their kiosks to the rowdy rough-housers you saw me trying to squeeze past... [wow she sounds pathetic. she hastily combs hair behind her ear, using the gesture as an excuse to obscure some of her face.]

Staying here any longer than I need to is mostly an exercise in torture. [she hesitates.] Pr-present circumstances notwithstanding! Of course...!

An escape, you say? As luck would have it, that just so happens to be my specialty.

[ With a murmured allow me Rupert gallantly takes Cecelia's shopping bags, then pauses thoughtfully. When he speaks again he's quite solemn: ]

Miss Ardenbury, I see before you two choices. The first is that we leave this place immediately via a portal, to a place of your choosing, saving you the intolerable pain of being in this awful place any longer than strictly necessary.

[ His expression darkens, with equal amounts mischief and sheer (slightly smug) confidence. ]

The second choice, is that you allow me to escort you through the mall, directly past the villains who have treated you so poorly, and we let them see that you walk with me, and we will not stand for neither rough-housing nor heckling.

[oh. well. there go the bags. Cecelia looks a little lost for response...because she is. this is more charge-taking than she's used to getting on her behalf! most folks aren't as bold. or dashing!

at his second option, she flushes anew, bringing a hand to her mouth.] Gods--no way! People and their cameras glued to their hands... That'd be so embarrassing! [a little wince.] For, for you! Of course.

No. No, if--if using that power of yours doesn't...drain you, then...I'd much prefer a quicker escape. Please.

As you wish, [ Rupert declares; as much as he'd enjoy the social victory smugness of the second option, he's more than happy to show off in other ways instead. ]

Where would you like to go? Shall I take you home, or do you have another appointment?

Ah, today? I--no, no, thank gods. I'd...be pleased with simply being...con-conveyed to where the government housing is, out in Heropa. [she hesitates, then, quickly:] But that's far from here! So...that machine. The one that connects all the cities? That would do just as well, truly. It'd be more than enough, and I've taken up...so much of your time already...

Not at all, Miss Ardenbury. It's no trouble in the slightest. Heropa housing it is!

[ Look, LOOK, just let him do this. He likes showing off his neat little party trick. Moving the shopping bags from one hand to the other, he reaches out to grab at thin air; the noise of stretching, ripping, tearing fabric as he pulls apart reality to create a perfectly neat, rectangular patch of space that looks out into the sunny Heropan street.

It's not subtle. People are looking, on both sides of the portal. It's not every day that people just rip apart reality to create portals like that, especially in the middle of such a respectable store as this one, and doing it makes a noticeably horrendous sound to boot. But Rupert doesn't care; he performs another flourishing bow, gesturing for Cecelia to go first and step through the portal. ]

After you, of course.

[this is really a thing that is happening at present, yes? Cecelia looks momentarily dazed, her mouth stuck in a quizzical, nervous smile as she soon beholds a bit of Florida torn open into this department store. no rotten portal to hell, this one...

probably.

her mouth twitches once she regards his voice, giving him a halfhearted sound and a nod before mustering up what's left of her courage to straighten up, hold a breath, and step on through--]

Oh! Puh-! Woh--!

[yeah, no. this incredible slap of humidity is definitely Heropa. she gasps a little with the sudden temperature change, clutching her arms to herself as she shuffles a step further to get her bearings, worriedly peering over her shoulder.]

[ Rupert follows shortly after, stepping briskly through the portal with his arms full of Cecelia's shopping bags. The portal stitches itself back up after him, with a curious sound that is somehow the exact reverse of the awful tearing noise that had created the doorway. Unperturbed by the weirdness of it all (Rupert's quite used to the strange looks that people tend to give him when he steps through his portals out of nowhere) he flashes Cecelia an apologetic smile. ]

My apologies, I should have warned you. The first time can feel a little queer.

[ And Florida is rather sticky in comparison to De Chima. Sticky and sunny. He fishes in his shirt pocket for his sunglasses and slips them on, before squinting up the sunny street. ]

Lead on, Miss Ardenbury.

I...I thank you...

[honestly, she thought that was the end of it. out the portal, bags stuffed in her hands, sent on her merry, somewhat starstruck way.

yet he seems keen on walking her the whole way, a prospect as thrilling as it is unnerving...even handsome strangers could be dangerous so close to home, after all! but it's fine, right? so far, he's been nothing but practically perfect, ticking every box; gods, all he'd need is better lighting and this'd be a proper movie, wouldn't it? for once could she just enjoy a moment without fear of some falling house of cards?

she wrestles with that as she starts the walk toward the block of homes built up for the imPorts, wringing her hands a bit as she goes. there need only be four or five steps of quiet before she can't stand another one and pipes up despite her worries:]

Is...is this what you do, day to day? Rescuing people from their own clumsiness, I mean.

It's not a common habit of mine, no, [ he replies brightly as he walks by her side, the sun on his face and hair ruffled by the warm Floridian breeze. ] But who am I to stand idly by when a charming lady is in need of rescuing?

I mostly spend my day teaching classes at my fencing salon. The students there are charming but need constant reminders which end of the sword to hold. [ He pauses, considering whether that comment is unfair (it isn't) or inaccurate (it isn't) then shrugs negligently. ] And I ride out in the afternoon when the weather isn't quite so warm.

[rides out? on, on what? a bicycle? she'd imagine a horse, but this world seems allergic to horses.

then again, on another quick, appraising glance, he does seem to look like one who would be leaping out of windows onto the back of a horse like some highwayman.]

That...that anyone here fancies learning how to wield a blade...that surprises me. Anyone native, anyway. I've only ever seen a sword or two borne by the hands of imPorts.

I think it's precisely that: the imPort swordmasters have made it rather popular with the natives.

[ That's Rupert's theory, anyway. Those nerdy hipsters and imPort fans, making his old school pursuits fashionable again! Rupert enjoys the attention really. ]

They have their televisual stories, full of dragons and swords and things, and then they have us - living, breathing, accomplished swordsmen, walking among them - and they fancy their chances. We make it look easy, [ He adds with a knowing grin. ]

Right... [a bit withering:] The endless allure of the exotic imPort and their trades. How could I forget.

[but that is leading her to get a touch too close to her typical, irritable self, and that won't do! she clears her throat, lifting her head up, more mindful of her posture.]

In any case, I'll consider you a boon. I'm glad you happened to be there at the right time, and that I've not kept you from any of your errands or duties.

Neither errand nor duty could be as charming as this, [ He replies cheerfully as he sweeps an arm, heavy with shopping bags, out to gesture at the pleasant weather, the pleasant street, the pleasant company. His smile softens a fraction as he admits with faint, rueful self-deprecation: ] And besides, I may be guilty of showing off upon occasion. It is a character flaw, I admit.

[she stifles a laugh at that, drawing her shoulders up as she slows down, spotting the overly ornate balcony of the house she lives at.]

It served me well enough on this occasion, so I've no gripes. You'll only see that flaw cause you more trouble if you're not keen on the populace spreading wild gossip about you in their magazines.

[ He shrugs demurely at her warning. ]

The price of fame, is it not? I can stand to hear a little gossip...

[ And besides, it's nothing new! Nothing they say about him here could possibly be worse than what they said about him back home. At least what they'll say about him here will be mostly flattering (hopefully) and Rupert does so like being liked...

He follows her gaze, squinting behind his sunglasses at the house with the balcony ahead of them. ]

This is yours, is it?

It is, yes.

[she hesitates, then turns around to face him, fixing her posture, folding her hands in front of her.]

Again, thank you...you, ah. You really did come to the rescue. It was very kind of you to have even gone that far, let alone escorting me back here. I won't forget it.

[ Rupert dips easily into another bow, with as much flourish and grandiose elegance that one can get away with when carrying shopping bags, as if it was a perfectly normal response to being thanked. Never mind the people staring! This is about charm, damn it! ]

Please, it was my pleasure, Miss Ardenbury. And perhaps you might permit me to call on you again in the future?

she was the fastest thing around ( open )

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