open!!

[showtunes]

WHO: Hal Yorke + OPEN.
WHERE: On the side of the road, wherever.
WHEN: Whenever you'd like.
WHAT: Hal has car trouble and requires assistance.
WARNINGS: Probably nothing.



[ It starts with a soft cough in the engine that never really gets any worse, and Hal acclimates himself to quickly. After all, this car is third hand, bought very, very cheap, when he first decided to try driving as part of his meditation routine. Then one of the indicator lights grows unreliable. There's an odd screeching noise when he starts her up if it's cold. Fourth gear isn't as cooperative as it used to be.

Hal drives a lot. He splits his living time between Heropa and Maurtia Falls. His cleaning work takes him to all the major imPort cities. And he's unregistered, so he can't use the Porters to move quickly from place to place. All in all, this means rather a lot of strain on his poor car.

It also means he could be just about anywhere when the engine finally decides to give out.

He manages to avoid crashing, using the last of the momentum to ease himself over to the side of the empty road, and switching on his hazard lights. As he gets out to open the front, there's a rumble of thunder in the distant grey sky, and he looks up in dismay. He once pushed a car for ten miles, but it wasn't in the rain.

Then it's back to staring in puzzlement at his engine. He's not really a car person. It's possible he's going to have to flag someone down — or work out who he can call to come get him. ]

Comments

[nightcrawl]

[ Hal might have some luck, it seems. On the tail of another roll of thunder comes the sound of a car down the road.

But not just any car - a bright yellow, checkered taxi cab.

It slows as it approaches, then eases off to the shoulder of the road just ahead of the dead car. With the storm coming, the small Florida road looks even darker beneath the boughs of the old oaks lining either side. It makes the 'TAXI' sign atop the cab so much the brighter.

It seems the driver isn't eager to get out, or turn the car off for that matter, though the window will crack if Hal approaches. For now, it idles there expectantly, waiting for a sign or some telling stretch of ignorance. ]

[showtunes]

[ Relief washes over Hal at the sight of the taxi. It's incredibly fortuitous in a way that rarely occurs in his life.

He's no mechanic, and the cars of this world are a little more complicated under the hood than he's expecting, even this landbound piece of junk. It seems simpler to give up on working out what's wrong with the car and simply abandon it for now, reach somewhere occupied and dry, with a telephone and a phonebook and a hot cup of tea. If his luck holds, the fare won't be crippling.

He retrieves the keys and some small necessities, and locks up his car — though thieves would merely find a plethora of cleaning supplies and little else. Then he walks across to the hulking taxi just as the first couple of fat drops splash down, signaling the storm may soon break overhead. ]

Ah... hello. Could you take me into town?

[ British and mild-mannered, pausing for a moment to squint at the window before he actually gets in he cab. ]

sorry for the delay!

[nightcrawl]

Sure.

[ There's an incredibly photogenic flash of teeth behind the window of the can, beneath bright, wide eyes. ]

Hop in.

[ British and well-mannered. Lou was from Los Angeles, so his accent was pretty generic, almost toneless American, untouched by some of the southern and latino influences of Florida - as of yet, anyway.

Once his fare is inside and the door is shut, Lou eyes him from the rearview. ]

Seatbelt, please. I'm Lou, by the way. Nothing too bad back there, I hope? I mean, I didn't see any smoking...

[kingpawn]

[ The sky is definitely looking ominous. Walt gets out of the taxi, squinting up at it. As it is, he hopes he can make it the few paces to his house before the clouds open up and the rain starts pouring. The Florida humidity is so stifling, and the storms are even worse. It's definitely not what he's used to -- having lived in the dry heat of New Mexico for most of his life.

On his way to the steps, Walt looks over, noticing the flashing hazard lights of the car first before spotting the man hovering over his engine. A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, and Walt's first thought is: 'better him than me.' What unfortunate luck this guy has to be stranded at a time like this -- with a storm rolling in.

But Walt's second thought is -- 'hey. Who knows what this guy's story is. Maybe helping him will help me in the long run.' And it's not like it's any skin off his back. He lives with a master mechanic, after all.

He looks both ways before dashing across the street to meet up with Hal. ]

Having trouble?

[showtunes]

[ Hal looks up, a residual line between his brows that smooths into startlement. The idea that someone would stop and offer assistance seems somewhat ludicrous to him, but then again, he is living in a city of heroes.

Generally, he keeps to himself, but he also interacts with people in a professional environment often enough that one more isn't too much of a struggle. The awareness is there, of course, of the pulse in the other man's throat and wrists, the paper fragility of human skin, the need banked deep in his own chest. But he restrains himself from showing any of that, beyond a clenched stiffness and straight back that could simply be a personality problem — and something in his gaze and restless fingers that says, to those who know how to look, junkie.

Walt has certainly picked an interesting man to talk to. ]

Yes, er. I probably should have taken it to a mechanic sooner. I have no idea what's wrong.

[ A shrug, a little self-deprecating, knowing the suit and the accent probably only add to the appearance of being a helpless toff. ]

[kingpawn]

[ Walt does notice the mild restraint, but to him, in this particular situation it registers more as stress than a fixation or craving. Anyone would be tense when they find themselves stranded on the side of the road in the middle of an oncoming Florida storm.

Walt flashes a brief smile and he leans in to have a look at the engine himself. ]

I'm afraid I can't really help too much beyond telling you I think there's something wrong with your radiator. But you're in luck. My place is right across the street and I happen to be housemates with a young woman who is a fantastic mechanic. I'm sure she would be more than happy to take a look at it for you as soon as the storm passes.

Do you have somewhere you need to be at the moment? You could always come inside for a cup of coffee.

[showtunes]

[ Hal's brows lift, and he can't deny it: that is lucky. To have automobile problems right outside the door of a mechanic is incredibly fortunate, and he's both grateful for it and startled by it at once. ]

No... no, I was simply heading home.

[ Which isn't that far, but far enough that if he walks he'll get soaked. ]

All right. I'm not really one for coffee, but I'd take tea if you have any.

[ He closes the hatch decisively, moving around to lock the car. ]

[kingpawn]

Of course.

[ He steps away from the car, squinting up at the sky again. With another flash of lightning in the not-too-far distance and the roll of thunder following it soon afterward, Walt hurries a bit to cross the street. And it's good timing too because the sky suddenly seems to open up just about the same time he's reached the porch. He opens the door and holds it for Hal before stepping inside. ]

Make yourself at home. I'll get your tea water started and check to see if Kaylee's here at the moment. Have you met her? She's a lovely girl. Probably close to your age.

mind a super late tag?

[cuff]

[ Ray? Is just driving. Because driving is comforting and driving is something he can do and driving is something that isn't beating in the face of his best friend. Or, y'know, at least attempting to. He's still just on this side of guilt ridden and hidden behind the wheel of his GTO is an excellent place to keep himself when he knows there's nowhere else to go. It's a habit, and it's his, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

But zipping down the road, heel hitting the steering wheel at a steady beat to his music, he's not oblivious to the car that's pulled off onto the side of the road, flasher's going steadily. Swiveling his head as he goes by, Ray heaves a breath and makes a quick decision to see if he can help. Because at least sometimes he pretends to be a good guy. A useful citizen or whatever.

Here's hoping this isn't how he ends up murdered: a crowbar to the head.

Pulling off to the shoulder a good distance away, Ray cuts the engine and twists himself out of the car, boots scuffing up gravel as he goes. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders curled as he makes his way over, speaking up before he gets too close. ] Havin' some trouble?