maskormenacelogs | 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

Well, that certainly got his attention. Klaus feels the car come to a halt, rolling to a stop with a cloud of dust and a quiet lurch. The engine idles, a purr that vibrates in his bones, and he gives Rupert a coy smile.

"Preferably in a place with shade, or at night. There are some places called makeout points or lovers lanes- but just anywhere the cops aren't going to bust you for public indecency," Klaus laughs.
"Geez, if you're this excited about backseat bingo, wait until I tell you about road head."

There's no shade here, nor is there a lane or a point, and it's the middle of the day... but that doesn't stop Rupert's imagination from leaping to the filthiest conclusion possible.

"My, my. The future continues to delight me at every turn," He muses aloud, with a slow, blossoming grin. Road head sounds promising. "By all means, do continue."

Filthy conclusions are exactly where they should go, Rupert, because Klaus may or may not have been prepared for a backseat interlude. All the same, the coy smile on his face becomes positively wicked as he leans against the window. He's completely unabashed as he leans close so he can whisper it into his ear, like it's a filthy little secret for just the two of them.

"Well, road head is when I give you a blow job while you drive."

That whisper goes straight to Rupert's stomach, pooling there with electric anticipation. Not for the first time he mentally congratulates himself for accidentally teleporting into the bedroom of someone as wonderfully, deliciously awful as Klaus. What a fucking fortuitous meeting that turned out to be.

The scrape of Klaus's stubble on his jaw, the suggestion of lips so close to his skin, the warmth and smell of him leaning so close; Rupert leans towards him in reciprocation, lips parted in a breathless smile, nuzzling faintly with half-lidded glee.

"You have the very best ideas," He whispers in return, voice edged with hunger. His hand falls away from the wheel to splay over Klaus's nearest thigh, fingers wide as he squeezes. Pointedly. "Shall we play?"

It had been one hell of a meeting, a stranger stumbling into his bedroom with a high appreciation of his leather pants. They'd had a good time, and Klaus was grateful for the nature of their relationship- friends with benefits, no real strings or affections attached. Just a good time. Fast times. Times to be shameless and indulgent and utterly hedonistic.

Rupert's hand comes to his thigh- he's worn his leather pants, like always- and gives a tight squeeze. And Klaus knows exactly what he wants to do. His lips trail down Rupert's jaw, stubble scraping against soft skin, lips and teeth catching against his neck as he whispers.

"Three conditions." He warns as one hand moves over to Rupert's lap, giving his thigh as squeeze before tracing up to his hip.
"You keep your eyes on the road, you don't go above 90, and when you get close you pull over so we don't crash."

"God, you really are a treat, aren't you?" Rupert marvels. "That sounds most agreeable..."

The road ahead of them is little more than a dirt track through the scrubby desert wasteland but it's vastly, gloriously empty. Pulling away for only the briefest of wicked grins, Rupert coaxes the car into life again and points her nose in the direction of the empty road. It's a gentle cruise at first; he has absolutely no idea if he's going to be able to manage his attentions being yanked in two very distinct directions but, hell, it's going to be good fun to find out.

And so, with one hand on the wheel, he delves a hand down the waistband of his jeans, briefly massaging his cock once, twice, before unzipping. The benefits of not quite being used to wearing underpants yet really comes into its own here, as he easily frees his cock from its confines with a satisfied grin.

"Do your worst, dearest Klaus."

(( continued here because NSFW ))

she was the fastest thing around ( open )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject