- TXT From Sid To Lucky : Dude, which shrub are you passed out in? I'm picking you up.
- TXT From Lucky To Sid : *picture of what appears to be the floor of a seedy hotel*
- TXT From Lucky To Sid : Fuck. Dropped the phone.
- TXT From Lucky To Sid : *picture of a sign for one of the seedier hotels*
- TXT From Lucky To Sid : *picture of a door number*
- TXT From Sid To Lucky : And you didn't call me you fucker. You sober enough to stand or need I bring coffee?
- TXT From Sid To Lucky : stupid frappuccino question. I'm bringing coffee
- TXT From Sid To Lucky : Jack rabbit even my auto correct is fighting me today. fml
- TXT From Lucky To Sid : *selfie of Lucky grinning, thumbs up*
The seedy hotel, as promised, is pretty seedy. It's not exactly 'Hookers and Heroin R Us', but it's definitely the kind of spot that gets very little in the way of regular maintenance. Or business, outside of the people who rent the rooms for... well. So maybe it -sort- of is Hookers and Heroin R Us, but at least Lucky's got one that doesn't appear to have much in the way of damage, detritus, or DNA. Other than potentially his, anyway. The door's already unlocked, of course, and the air smells like the man just got out of the shower. Which he did, judging from his wet hair and the lingering smell of Axe body wash. He even managed to dress himself. Sort of. The shirt isn't quite on yet, still laying on the bed, but pants have been accomplished. Progress is being made!
It was about twenty-eight minutes later that a lyft car dropped off one Satyr that looked uncharacteristically well rested. The door was tapped twice with the toe of his boot. He was rocking his general casual attire down to the scarlet suede sneakers. It was sickening that the man could wake up butterside down with hair on point. Asshole. But he was their asshole. When the door opened the coffee with 2 extra shots was shoved into Lucky's hand and there was a sigh, "Baby I told you never fly without a wingman. This happens." There was a sad, sad shake of his head and then? Cowboy hat. It was shoved on Lucky's head with the simple explanation, "You're gonna need this"
"Dare," is all Lucky says in response to the 'wingman' thing. Which should explain just about everything. Lucky never could resist a dare, no matter how outrageously bad he's gonna feel in the morning. And from the looks of it, if he actually managed to win it, the other guy is probably in the hospital. Still, he grins brightly, eyes lighting up at the Satyr's appearance -- or maybe at the coffee. It's hard to say at this point as he reaches out to take it, slumping against Sid as he sighs, "I'm gonna build a temple in your honor, You Who Delivers Me."
Sid wrapped an arm around his partner in crime and kissed the side of his temple. "Yeah. Those do that. I'm tryin to get better at pickin my fights." He walked Lucky back into his room and kicked the door shut and cracked the curtain A BIT just a bit because some light. Mostly the whole gesture was to get the ruthless dayball off Lucky until he could open his eyes on his own, not have them burned out of his head. "Ain't learned to be picky yet. From the looks of it? You understand. But, that's okay. Today? Today you're with me."
Lucky allows himself to be led back to the room, naturally. Not that he's got much fight in him to go anywhere else. The shirt manages to be put on somewhere along the trip, even over the hat, so the man's obviously not having -that- much trouble. The coffee certainly helps. Still, he's listening. If Sid is here, and has come prepared, there is a plan. There is always a plan. And Lucky seems to come to life at that realization. "Oh?" he asks, that gleam in his eyes growing a bit brighter. "You bring me coffee -and- you wanna go on an adventure?" He flutters his eyelashes a few times, sighing dramatically. "Time to go to Brazil."
Sid had...a plan. There was a sharpness to his grin that suggested possible arrest in their future, which meant reward well worth the risk. I mean he didn't SEEM a bad guy, just someone as rabidly curious about pushing life's envelope to see where the edge of the table was, and that was educational. And was education not always a worthwhile endevour? See, folks, Sid was good for the soul. He too had a hat and his own coffee and watched, and waited with the patience of a cat fucking with shit or in this case a Satyr summing up the subtleties. "Not Brasil yet. Remember for Brasil we have to find a whale first then we can ride it in the rain forest. This is... different." He looked around and though he was a party boi poster child he asked, "You currently got anything goin on that you're hoarding that'll make your brain explode if jostled too hard that I should know about?" There was something... else behind that question but he was pretty fucking inscrutable about it.
"My brain is prone to exploding at random times," he tells the Satyr in turn. "That's just one of the risks you take dragging me along. I told you to read the fine print, but noooo, you thought you could handle it, so now you're just stuck, fucker." The last one added on because Lucky -can- say it, and Sid can't. So it adds an extra little jab in there. Which is all too apparent from the smile that accompanies it. "And it doesn't matter what the plan is," he tells the man in return. "I can't let you go off on some kind of crazy adventure alone. I mean, you're the goddamned -sidekick- here. I'm the hero. You're not cool enough for your own spin-off yet."
Sid watched Lucky get his pluck back antagonizing him, and it WAS working mind, but that was a good sign. Fight was good because it meant systems were coming online. Ambivalence was a bad sign. At the last bit the grin went wide with a laugh, "You Dawson's Creek binge watching turtle wrangler! I'm the sidekick? Seriously? You say this to a guy who was in not one but three video games as a playable character you brilliant, beautiful cartoon." The facts far outweighed the amusement but in there he wasn't going to shove his partner down either in that regard. He didn't know what his history was before that and it was blindly a shitty thing to do. Still the barb struck home which he rode out in humor because the fact was? He would never completely be that person again. He sipped his coffee. "I'm about to regret what I'm about to say, but put your pants on and let's go."
"You've got mug on shoes. I've got porn credits. At the end of the day, we both have our perfect features marred by the presence of other people's feet. We can both wear the tiara," he teases, clapping Sid on the shoulder as he stands up and finishes the coffee, then knocks back those two shots as well. For good measure. Go big or go home. Though he does look down at the torn jeans, curious. "What's wrong with the pants I've got on now? We going somewhere fancy? Do I need to show more skin?" Not waiting for an answer, he just heads out the door.
Sid chuckled and tilted his head sideways acquiescing, "Someone's mug. Guess we're in good company. Let's mosey." He didn't comment on the pants and checked the lock on the door and didn't bother asking if Lucky had his keys. They'd work it out. The important part was making sure someone else didn't. And with that locked the door. "Ever just want to leave stuff arranged REALLY weird and see if you could confuse housekeeping?" Shades...on. Travel, we are now a go. Phone was pulled back out and he sent a message like he had the world on auto dial, and maybe he did. "Pfft I did. Found out the hard way there's a short list of stuff only we find funny? SOOOOOO sad. So sad." He worked on sipping his coffee and looked around at the street. There was no car and then he just asked Lucky, "So how we want to get to Connecticut?"
"Same way I get everywhere," Lucky tells Sid in return. "Use the tools that are available to me." He takes a look around the lot, looking at the cars that are available. There are probably a dozen of them, all in all, but he picks out a beat-up looking station wagon, heading in that direction. Sliding into the driver's seat, he reaches up to pull down the visor, a spare key falling down into his waiting hand. One which starts the engine. Apparently, he's staked out the lot already. Or he's a -really- good guesser. Either way, he rolls the window down, telling Sid, "Get in."
Sid arched an eyebrow and squint at Lucky, "You want me to drive?" Because Satyr wheelman will be asking hungover lucky sunnovabitch if that's the case." Still though he didn't argue possibly having a DR plan rolling in the back of his head for that. Somewhere in Oakland his publicist was having phantom chest pains. This never stopped him before and not now. He chuckled and muttered, "something about challah and chives but he didn't elaborate. There was an amused look, "We mosyin'?" Because at this moment hangover or no if Lucky said get in the car I'm a do a thing? The satyr knew he was already going to call shotgun instead of talking Lucky down off that idea which he loved and hated himself for.
Lucky looks over at Sid, raising an eyebrow, that smile growing a bit wider. "Sure," he tells the other man, climbing into the passenger seat. "You drive." Sid may regret that decision in a few hours, naturally, but for the moment that works just fine for him. He leans the seat back, relaxing and getting comfy as Sid does whatever Sid is gonna do, pulling that new hat down over his eyes a little bit like some kind of Hollywood cowboy. "You -are- the hero of this story, after all. The sidekick only drives if the hero is in trouble." Which is an utter fabrication, and they both know it, but it works as a convenient excuse.
Sid looked over the heap and a slow grin crawled onto his face and he said, "Buckle up. Let's see what this box of chickens can do." He gave Lucky's knee a pat as he settled in and threw that VW in reverse and pulled it back out of the parking space in a tight circle all the way back out to the street and somehow, without making it explode, pulled it up to 65 on the service drive minding both the squirrel and the broken box in the road. It was a certain sort of intensity that settled into the adrenaline junkie, wreck or not. Highway wasn't far and weather they'd shake apart or not he'd get that bucket of bolts up to 82 if it killed the car in the process. Finally he spoke, "Your hero maybe. Trade you though. Let's... just not be the villain. pop the glove box and find the owner's manual. It'll have insurance. If we get pulled over i need to know who I am." There was a creepy statement. The Satyr tilted his head keeping periphery ahead never actually taking his eyes off the road. There was really really good and then there was exceptionally stupid, so the look to Lucky was a fleeting glance. "And to see who we owe a present to."
"You're Jake Laughley," Lucky tells him, pronouncing the word LAW-lee. He doesn't even have to open the glove box. "Manager of the fine establishment that we just left a bit ago. Also," he notes, "probably still recovering from all of his entertainment and recreational substances last night, and usually unaware of where he left his car. We could have gone with a couple of the other options, too," he tells Sid, "but this one felt right. Jake's never up before sundown, and has every reason to not call the cops. Just like everyone else there. Just don't expect all that good fortune to last for long. " Whatever that means. Lucky doesn't appear too terribly phased as Sid drives ... well, recklessly by the vehicles standards, like an elderly woman by most others. "As far as a present goes... we'll think of something." Though he does look over, asking, "Why Connecticut?"
Sid nodded "Jake huh?" He took a deep breath and filled in many a blank on his own. But hey, who was he to fuckin judge? No one that was fuckin who. He asked one question, "We like em?" Because they were we now and Sid trusted Lucky's judgement on this. He? He was not an altruist but he tried at least not to be an asshole either. The look was subtle but sober, "Going to get something important to me." He shrugged, "Didn't want to go alone and figured you could use quality distraction." Which was always a correct guess. Because no one avoids shit professionally like the diurnal courts
Lucky shrugs at the question of whether or not they like Jake. "He's useful," he tells the other. "Not exactly a saint. Probably wouldn't be much missed if he suddenly had to leave town or whatever. But he's discreet, and so long as you stroke his ego a little bit, throw him a shiny every now and then, he's good to have on your side. But it's not like another carbon copy of Jake wouldn't pop right back up to take his place. Useful," Lucky tells him. Which largely means 'asset that is expendable if necessary'. Because the other side of the diurnal courts? Knowing which pieces are able to be sacrificed when the time comes to make the hard calls.
Sid nodded and quint behind the sunglasses having the car pretty much calling him lord and master at this point. He groused, "Bugs me that so many people drive an automatic. Inefficient, lazy, and more expensive to maintain." He sighed and glanced back to Lucky with a nod, "Well we won't burn em less we have to. We'll get the car towed back for him with a present in the trunk. Let him guess what he did last night." That made him grin more than a little. "Speaking of which you know if he's holding in the car in case we get nicked?" Which was the second most useful question as they were pulling a solid 85 somehow in the heap, and Stateies were not something ever to fuck around with tearing through Mass highways.
"If there was a car that was clean enough to pass inspection in this entire lot, it'd be this one. I doubt he'd be sloppy enough to leave anything where anyone else could get it, anyway. In case you hand't noticed," he teases, "the security there is on the lax side, and the things that happen in the dark are the kind you don't tell the cops about. It's kind of perfect. If he is?" Lucky shrugs. "Leave it to me. I have a way of taking care of those kinds of things. Haven't been busted yet, and I've been in plenty worse situations." The fact that Sid's the one driving right now probably gives them a bit of a window before disaster strikes, which works to the Changelings' benefit. It also leaves Lucky time to think about the various things that could happen, and how to deal with them. There are only so many possibilities, after all. "You just do that thing you do, where you look all pretty and pretend to have no idea what's going on." And then, a look over to Sid. "Yeah! Just like that! See, nailed it."
Sid laughed and grinned ear to ear simultaneously offended, gloriously looking the part, and amused, "Did you just call me vapid!? '"Flailing nuns in in a windmill you really went of the jugular on that one. You owe me." Was he offended? Nah, but would he collect? Hell yes. Hell. yes. "A'iight, a'ight, if I have to be the pretty one fine but if I have to blow a cop to get out of this shit you own me. OWE. me. like we're detouring through New Hampshire on the way back, stopping at Markey's and like four pounds of lobster 'owe me'." Hey he wasn't local to Tamarack Falls, but he was a son of New England all the same. "I'd ask why you agreed to go, but the answer is who wouldn't want to get in on a good heist. So. Lucky, why the bangarang are you in Vermont? You got skill, charisma, we could be sweeping up Monte Carlo sooooo... you're not in it for the money cause you don't Fargo need it. If you were really chasing death to make it choke on your dick and die? We'd be in Teotihuacan right now base jumping off old architecture temples and whatnot which-" He squint and asked deeply and sincerely, "Seriously you want to hit up Mexico with me this summer? I kinda wanna go do that now." Because inspiration sometimes strikes in odd moments. The Blackbird HAD to ask. "So what're we dodging?" We. For whatever reason it was a team effort now that just...was.
"Yeah right. Like I'd let you blow the cop if it came down to it," he tells the other man, rolling his eyes. "You know better. I give better head, and we can't risk that getting all fucked up. You're gonna sit that one out, Junior." Which is probably his way of saying that he'd be the one taking that particular bullet. Just, you know, in Lucky parlance. "As to why I'm in Vermont? Originally, I was looking for someone," he tells the Satyr. "Part of what I do. Judges never work alone. There are supposed to be at least three of us. New Freehold, no Judges. Problem needed to be solved. At least, that's the one I generally put on paper. Truth is, I probably would have volunteered. Needed a change of scenery. And I heard an interesting rumor that we didn't get chased out with pitchforks and torches in this one. So I figured I'd give it a shot. Then, met this crazy motherfucker who kind of works with my crazy in a way I like." Which is, of course, Sid. "So I decided to stick around. Might even go with him to Mexico this summer." To make it more obvious. "And as to what we're dodging?" He shrugs. "Hard to tell. But we needed some good luck, and I made some happen. Best possible choice. Downside is, it won't last. Something'll go wrong" he tells the other. "But it's not like it wouldn't have anyway. It's us. This way, we just know that it's gonna happen on a scale we can deal with."
Sid slouched and drove. eventually he dropped the speed through hazard areas not wishing to get stopped before getting to the goal which seemed to become more numerous the longer they drove. Taking one for the team though? He arched an eyebrow. It was weird and touching sentiment truthfully and in a way it bugged him that he knew that Lucky wasn't wrong per se. "Eeeeh you may be right. I'll make it up to ya." It made him grin just faintly. He listened to the story thought apparently finding that REALLY interesting he had a sitting Judge riding shotgun. "Hot Deputy Dawg, Luck, I didn't know you were authority? Man." Daunting to many, perhaps a bit to consider but it didn't seem to put the Blackbird off course any. "That's got possibilities." he didn't comment on his /other/ reason for sticking about but he sure as shit wasn't sad about it. He glanced over to lucky, grin widening a bit and the Dusk fixed his eyes back on the road giving Lucky's leg a squeeze before going back to downshifting. "Tell them to bring it. We got this. I trust ya. Just tell me what we gotta do." Enabler number two has entered the game. It wasn't too long to cross Massachusetts from north to south and he remarked, "Not far to New Haven from here" New Haven . Huh.
"In my experience?" Lucky tells him, reaching over and squeezing the Dusk's leg right back. "When shit hits the fan, the best thing to do is just go with it. Don't even try to fight it. Bad luck comes from Their magic. And if there's one thing that They could never resist, it's a good story. Sometimes, you just have to let it suck for a minute, but have fun rolling with the punches. It'll work out in the end." Ah, look. -There- is the Dawn. Sanguine to the end, in both its definitions. Though when Sid mentions him being a Judge, Lucky just has to laugh. First, he holds up his hands, both of them gloved in black leather. The right one is pristine, immaculate. It might as well be never worn, even though it's on his hand now. The left is battered and old. Then he points to his eyes, the right a bright, vivid blue, the left a washed-out, pale green that borders on gray. "We tend to be a bit on the obvious side, even when we aren't trying to be," he tells the other man. "But I'm glad you think it's got possibility. I'm all about possibility."
Fortunately for the pair of them, the trip into New Haven isn't that eventful. Well, at least on the outside. As the two of them get closer to it, however, the very air seems to shift somehow. In the area where the Mantle of the two fae creatures interact, a pregnant feeling grows, like the slightly sinking foreboding that comes when one stares into a chasm that is much, much too deep, though from a relatively safe distance. It's subtle, but it's there nonetheless, fae magics interacting in just the right way to create an uncomfortable aura.
Sid wasn't blind tot he tangible, no palpable shift from 'woo' to that forbidding feeling. Sid arched an eyebrow over his sunglasses and snorted, "Stars and comments man, I thought yous was colour blind. I was trying not to say anything." The Dusk drove. The words though? The philosophy he was willing to consider. ""I dunno about lucky, but I DO know they never expect us to try. That's where They make mistakes. They lack creativity so when you push that just... enough? They got nothin. Sure the poop hits the propeller but you can , as you say, ride the wave, and come out on the other side swinging.>> His brow furrowed and it was clear that from the Dusk's mantle of making things a little worn was clashing in the undoing or re-doing of Lucky's mantle. He chewed the inside of his cheek and seemed to be puzzling this out before murmuring quietly, "Won't let you go through the fan alone... Somethin's up."
"Of course something's up," Lucky laughs. "We made sure that something was up. Shouldn't be -too- bad though. Maybe a punch in the face. Or something -really- annoying. Nothing much in the way of dangerous. Usually." The man doesn't seem terribly concerned about it. But then again, he's Dawn. He might not seem terribly concerned if a comet were heading toward the earth, having faith that it would all work out. It might not be the most inspiring thing in the world. Once they get into town proper, he asks, "So, do we have an -actual- plan here? Or are we here for the antiques? I mean, I didn't think we were at that stage in our relationship yet, but I'm flattered all the same."
Sid would either try to ride or screw the comet. Depends on how good at being a comet it was. Let's just be honest. The city though was pretty damn big and had money. He cruised and thought he mantles mixed with turbulence promising everything at the risk of everything. Still though it was something either Lucky said at some point or being back in Connecticut that had him vaguely vexed. He wasn't trying to be subtle and small motes of dust gathered around him a moment in his mantle as he cleared his lenses of his shades with a finger. Almost being snapped out of thought he flashed a grin to Lucky, "You already started planning a wedding with my sister, I don't think it's too early for antiquing which is, actually, exactly sorta what we're here for." But they passed the antique store and went onto the side drive where there was a rather secure looking storage unit. Okay he did risks but they were calculated risks. "This... is it. Glad you're flattered though. Just hope deterred doesn't become a spontaneously learned trait." He turned the car off pulling into the yard trying to figure out which one it was. "Wouldn't go with the hat. C'mon. Mosey this way."
."Is this where you show e the weird collection of bodies , like in Silence of the Lambs? Or, OH!, is this how we get into your, you know, Bat Cave thing?" Because what else does one find behind storage doors that you have to travel forever to get to, if not something Hollywood cinematic? "Let me just say, if the outfits are hot enough, I guess I'm okay with being the sidekick until I get my own spinoff. But yours had better show some damn bulge, that's all I'm saying." Lucky's mantle, tht feeling of potential yet unrealized, springs up around him again, biting into the entropic nothingness of Sid's as it struggles to get a foothold -here-, where it is most appropriate. "Antiquing comes -after- the wedding. You know, when we stop sleeping in the same room and have to keep up appearances for the sake of the neighbors."
Sid cracked a wry smile and said "with a shark-like grin, Baby I will leave the door to my bat cave unlocked for you and hella booby trapped so you're not disappointed." He considered the numbers on the units. 1184, 182, 1180...almost there, not yet. Sid's mantle was prominent and it strove to just kick in doors leaving the echo of the locks on doors being rattled against the metal even if they were physically unharmed. "What like that either get up from 300?" He thinks big don't he? He mused, half his thoughts on spotting the storage facility cause it's been a hot minute since he's been here, "Somehow I think now I can actually pull that off without looking stupid or desperate." Vans stopped on the concrete and there was a pause before he looked at Lucky letting him get all the banter out before, "You know Green Lantern and Green Arrow had a hugely successful track record together without actually belittling anyone." Okay sometimes his nerd flag flew. "like there's cross over titles and team comics. Hell Dazzler and Longshot, while unsung, were just as Bad Axe as Cloak and Dagger if you want to g the Marvel route? No sidekick relegation needed." He was stalling for time here.
"Please," Lucky says, rolling his eyes. "Those abs weren't the only thing that got airbrushed to add the illusion of depth." He walks along the doors with Sid, looking at the numbers with the man. He has no idea where it is they're going, obviously, or which one might be Sid's, but he's happy to tag along just the same. "And those two are fun, yeah. But then you have duo's like Deadpool and Cable," he reminds the other. "Snarky badasses in their own right who manage to build each other up by challenging their respective egos. Or, you know. Batman and Catwoman. Happy to chase each other around, poking at each other with... well, I don't think there's a whole lot that they didn't poke each other with, but you step into their territory and they're happy to team up and open a can of whoopass." He does stop, though, looking down the rows a little as he lets out an exasperated sigh. "What are the chances that yours is the one down there with the lock busted off and the door half bashed in?" Lucky crosses his fingers. "No whammy."
Sid shifted his weight to the other foot and pivoted saying "Hey I'm already Photoshopped what do you want from me?" Which laughably, was entirely accurate. And then Lucky said it. It wasn't often to see the Satyr angry. He walked over and just looked, for a moment, hurt. Like it was a personal offense, and then it started to look a little unpleasant. He turned on heel and just rolled up on the storage unit like thunder desperate, hoping. "Mother FATHER, do not do this to me. do NOT... not this" The sunglasses went to the top of his head and he was on that lock like a tick on a dog inspecting the damages. Kid was photoshopped but he wore his heart on his sleeve and if anyone doubted him being a Dusk? Well, we'll leave this as hurt and for all the world pissed. Enough to the point he gave the door a solid kick stamping at it to make the busted thing open
Yeah. The lock is a shambles. Someone busted it up good. No bolt cutters here, for sure. Someone took something heavy and blunt and beat on that lock until it came off (more or less) in one piece, though the same can't be said for the bolt on the door that it was attached to. That poor lump of metal has seen better days. It hangs off of the door, useless for the purposes it was intended. Lucky just winces, shaking his head. "Dude. Someone -really- wanted in that door. I don't think your batcave is secure, bro." Still, no use waiting to see what the damages are. Lucky reaches down, grabs the handle, and pulls the door up, revealing -- lamps. Old clothes. All manner of things. Definitely all manner of things that aren't Sid's. Huh. So maybe this one isn't his after all.
But Sid's Danger Sense starts going off right about then too. Which is also right about the time that a club comes down on the back of Lucky's head with an audible *THUNK*. It's probably not a surprise that they didn't see the assailant. She's all of five feet nothing, and they were both distracted. "HOLD IT!" she yells, the gun in her hand getting pointed at both of them, the shining star on her uniform that of a security company, not an actual cop, though they don't look much different. "Hand where I can see 'em, thieving motherfuckers!"
Sid might notice one thing, given that he's pretty familiar with it -- the woman is wearing a pair of shoes that previously had only been available in Japan. The ones with Sid's face on them. There are colored streaks in her hair, as well -- Sid's signature colors. And for a brief moment, it almost looked like she was wearing one of his t-shirts under that jacket. She's in her late teens, early twenties, with a couple of piercings, and has the general 'look' of someone that would absolutely be in one of Sid's shows, though her gaze keeps flicking quickly back and forth between the two of them, distracted as hell and clearly both nervous and angry.
Sid stopped and turned slightly not certain what to run TO Lucky or away from him. He sighed and said "Sullivan. Last name is Sullivan and I'm looking for my car. It's stored here. I'm not a thief." He looked from Her to Lucky to her to Lucky and back to her asking candidly, "There was a car in here. Green one. It was my fathers and I came to get it back. But I came in and my door's all kicked in with someone's shit in there." Christ this was getting complicated fast. Any other day he'd be like yo that's my sig with the acid orange and black but no. Welcome home, Sidney. Le sigh. He sure as shit wasn't making any sudden movements because you know what they weren't? bullet-fucking-proof. A hand slowly went to Lucky's forehead leaving... some fortification there. It wasn't visual it was a feeling that said I will degrade anything coming at you. It was a weak apology for this all in all. His head swiveled around to the lady and he sighed. "I get the gun could we not with the hitting, lady?"
Lucky, for his part, didn't see the blow coming, so he didn't brace for it. Which makes the already bad headache he had explode back into painful white points behind his eyes, taking him down to his knees. He looks for all the world like he might be sick all over Sid's red suede shoes, which might give the man further incentive to back up. But he manages to hold it down, especially as Sid touches his forehead. "OW!" he cries, folding his hands over the back of his neck. "-WHAT THE SHIT, DUDE-?!? Who -does- that?!?" He's not gonna be helpful in a fight for the next few seconds, anyway.
The woman, however, trains her gun on Sid. "Yeah, right, mister," she says, voice cool as ice while her eyes blaze with angry fire. Not the literal kind, but the figurative kind. "I know the guy who's car was in here, and you're not him. I'd know him anywhere. You're, like, a prettier version of that guy, but I know a fake when I see one. What was the plan? Come in, take the car, hope no one notices?" She puts the club away, reaching for the radio. And the woman, in this case, might be right. Something itches at the back of Sid's brain. Some random memory of a girl about his age, that he went to school with. Similar features, if one takes the girl in ankle-length denim skirts and transforms her into a dyed-and-pierced warrior who learned to use makeup. Sasha Mitchell. Also known as Mouse, for her small stature and plain style.
Sid boggled and was not, in fact, cool under pressure. "Wait WAS? was? Sasha, where in grape country is my dad's car?" Sasha? He knew her. Wait he might... know her. He took a few deep breaths and was more than a bit non-plussed and god he hated losing his cool. He watched her for a reaction but noticed the radio. Reinforcements and - Christ on a cracker they were in a stolen fucking car. His fingers went to the bridge of his nose and he looked back to her and said flatly, "Had reconstruction done after the accident." Because it was ...sorta...true? Obliquely? but also the only thing that could explain why he didn't at all look like him. He looked to Lucky and said "Not how I had this planned." And then, more annoyed he said to the guard, "You dented his hat? It's mosey day c'mon. Seriously if I wasn't Sid Sullivan how the frankincense and myrrh would I know you me and like five other people spent prom night breaking onto the school roof with a hibachi and getting lit as Chanukah, before getting trapped in the school, breaking into the vending machine for food and skinny dipping and making out in the school pool?" Because that shit you don't wrote about in Wikipedia. He paused and dropped a hand to Lucky's shoulder giving it a squeeze cracking a grin, "Best prom night ever lemme tell you." He sighed and shook his head and repeated. "Where. is my dad's. Car?"
The guard actually stops, then, blinking a few times at the man. She looks at him closely, considering it. It's only when he relates the story of prom night that she looks actually startled, the gun coming down. "Sid? Holy shit!" The gun goes away, and she leans down to help Lucky to his feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Color is already rushing to her cheeks. "I just thought... you didn't get the letter?" Shaking her head, she says, "A few months ago we had a bad storm. Some of the roofs got ripped off the units, so we re-did everything. Your stuff got moved to one of the vacant units, and the lock got changed over while we fixed the storm damage. We let people know that they could just keep the new one instead of moving if they wanted, and I figured..." Though she does cast a suspicious glance at the door, and then back to them. "Wait, why are you breaking in? If you lost your key, we could have gotten you another one. Jesus, man, my boss is gonna have my ass for that door. Those things are expensive!" It's not like it's a big jump, to assume the man that you broke into the school with on prom night tried to break into his own former storage unit.
Sid seemed to lower his hackles when, and ONLY when he got a 411 on the car. He sighed helping Lucky up looking him over, not asking if he was alright because no he got clubbed in the fucking head and was probably pretty un-fucking-comfortable. There was a commiserating nod that he was glad his eggs weren't too scrambled. He lightly (lightly) headbumped him and rubbed Lucky's noggin assuring him that yes, all these terrible things were happening, yay. oh. joy. He'd live though. He turned back to Sasha and boggled at her, "Naw, I got here and the whole ever loving door was like beaten in and I thought someone stole her. I mean I got no tools on me here. Someone else did that." He paused and looked from Sasha to Lucky to Sasha and thumbed to the door, "I'm not stealing a shoddy lamp. promise."
Lucky is a little wobbly on his feet, but seems no worse for the wear. He even manages to look a little more coherent as Sid manages to do that little headbump, reaching out to put a hand on the back of the man's neck. Either a gesture of solidarity, or because he actually might need to steady himself when he leans forward, and that happens to look like a good way to do it. Either way, it seems the Dawn doesn't have much in the way of hard feelings about it. And to her credit, she managed to give him a thwack in just the right area -- the hat isn't damaged at all! Though he -does- have questions now. "Ok. So. If someone was trying to break into this one, possibly thinking there was a car in here... shouldn't we be looking at the other one to make sure there's a car still there?" He looks back and forth between Sid and Sasha, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Sasha, for her part, is already on the radio with the office, asking, "Hey, get on the computer and find out where 1174-Sullivan got moved to, fast. And also, call the cops. Someone broke into 1174. No, it wasn't Sullivan. He's here and confused as shit."
Sid didn't move. He got Lucky into this mess and he was just going to be a good goat and stay put until the gambler was calibrated. "Oh. The door. Yeah do I have to make a statement?" He wasn't excited about that but sighed, and may have to. The upshot was they had no real cause to look into the other car as it wasn't at all involved with said incident. His neck was tense though. Whatever this was? This was important to him. He could let a lot of shit go but this was different. His sunglasses atop his head were fixed into place, and his weight shifted back and forth looking to Lucky. There was a lot to be said there and then? Then the sense of dread hit. He took a deep breath, pupils dilating in the eyes that Lucky saw, and the grey-green eyes Sasha saw. He asked "Can I, by any chance, see the security tape of the person trying to break into that locker to see if I know them?"
The radio crackles back to life, something unintelligible that Sasha apparently understood perfectly well from time spent learning garbled-cheap-radio-ese. Turning on her heel, she nods her head down the rows a bit, and even Lucky knows that's a universal sign for 'follow me'. Which he does, repeating the motion more slowly for Sid, just in case his brain leaks out the side of his head somehow. One storage building down, Sasha stops in front of another shed, already rummaging through a set of master keys coded by lock number. "I don't have a problem showing you the security tapes," she says. "I mean, if they were trying to get your stuff instead of the cheap lamps and flannel nightgowns, I think you could be helpful. Though knowing you, you've got warrants. Also," she tells him, "Bruce is a cop now. And even more of a dick now that he's got a badge. He's on duty today, so if he's the responder -- just try not to beat each other to a pulp again, yeah? It's more serious now." With that, she deftly undoes the lock, throwing the door open.
Inside, there is precisely one car, as expected, along with an assortment of items that were once in cardboard boxes, and now in plastic bins. "Some of it might have a little water damage," she says, "but if you didn't get called in to claim it, it's probably okay. We put anything that got a little wet in the plastic ones, though, to be safe about it." The car looks undamaged. In fact, it looks to have been recently detailed. Maybe as a sort of 'sorry for the fuckup with the roof' from the storage company.
Over Sasha's radio comes another little burst of static, this also largely unintelligible and garbled, but this one a bit longer. But through that static, Sid can hear plain as day something that might make his bad day just a tiny bit worse -- the theme song of a children's show. "Sorry, can you come back with that?" Sasha asks, cutting the transmission off short. Which leads to some confusion, apparently, on the other end. Finally, she just shrugs, writing it off to, "Sorry. We get interference from the radio station down the street sometimes. Anyway, looks like everything's still here, I think."
Bruuuuuce. Yeah. Great. The satyr's molars squeaked a bit, but hey it was all they could do, and likely? She was not wrong. He might have a couple outstandings for shit he would have done if he were his fetch too. He took a deep breath and assured her, "I won't hit a cop. My publicist would set me on fire." He nodded as she fuddles with the keys. It's hard to tell if it was a deliberate action or not, but he gave the gambler elf's hand a squeeze before helping roll the door open; his mantle just playing havoc on the acoustics of the locks, concrete and steel. Entropy, and Sid as its agent, wanted that door down yesterday and patience in imperatives wasn't a strong suit. But lo' there it was. A hunter green 1959 jaguar XK-150 roadster with ivory leather interior and convertible top and white walled tires under a canvas car cover that nervous fingers pulled back. Anxious satyr was momentarily abated. It was a beautiful if not ridiculously fucking expensive machine that cost more than a good number of homes. His' dad's car? The man had good taste. The windows were rolled up but it was, as promised, pristine. There was emotion in his eyes, maybe relief, maybe nostalgia or both. He nodded and said quietly, "Naw, everything's good. Everything's... where it should be." His horns and forehead rest to the canopy for a moment. Relief. This was what the heist was for? Neat! For now he started to peel back the canvas and fold it up.
Lucky's Mantle springs up once again, too. That air of potential, of things that could be but which simply aren't yet, flares to life as that door goes up, creating a swimming, head-rushy anticipation. But as the car is there, and things come out for the better, he too breathes a sigh of relief. He moves up behind Sid, resting his chin on the man's shoulder as he looks the car over. "Sexy." That's pretty much all he can muster up on it for the moment, though it's clear he's got an appreciation for cars. Maybe not quite as deep an emotional response as Sid, but it's clear that he's happy his friend didn't get screwed over. And also that he didn't get a concussion for nothing.
Bruce's voice crackles over the radio then. "Sasha, what unit you at? I'll meet you there, inspect the damage." To which Sasha promptly responds, sending Bruce back to the one that was broken into. And also out of eyeshot of where Sid is. "I gotta go," she tells the pair of them, giving Sid a warm smile. "Hey. It was good to see you again, yeah?" She reaches out, brushing his arm gently. "I'll take care of Bruce. You'r'e not the current owner of the unit, so we'll have them make a statement. And I'll send you a DVD of the security video when we find out what happened. Just let me know where to send it." Starting to walk away, she stops for a moment, turning over her shoulder and saying, "And, Sidney? You should visit more often." There's almost a sadness in her smile, then, something nostalgic. "Don't become a stranger. Yeah?" And then, off to deal with Bruce.
Sid bumped a fist to Sasha cracking a bit of a grin, "Eh water, bridge. Tell Bruce I said hey. And... I appreciate the help." And like that a fragment of the past was gone, but at least he could live knowing she had good taste. Getting a hold of her would be easy as he could call the unit directly and just catch up with her that way. It was quiet and there was a chin on his shoulder. Sexy? He smirked and patted Lucky's cheek. "I doooo try." And as quickly as it came, the fury was gone. That was not something the Dusk liked to hold onto. The Satyr leaned back against Lucky in the space eyeballing the Jag. "My um, my dad used to race. Sean Sullivan. Slick Sully sometimes they called him. Late 80's, early 90's. And he was good. Like REAL good. Used to do Euro street racing with the hairpin turns and cobble streets and the don't pop a tire hitting that pointy thingie in front of the Lourve?" He shook his head with a warming grin. "Used to drive us from New Haven up to Cape Cod for a month in the summer. Just...tour the coast in it. Every summer til my seventh birthday. Which doesn't sound that long but... I dunno. I remember every trip in it.And that's when I knew I wanted to go fast and catch the wind too. " He laughed and grinned widely, "Such a rush, man."
Lucky stands up, testing out his newfound sea legs on this dry land. His balance is recovering after the clobbering, at least. "For such a tiny thing, she's got a hell of a swing," he laughs, rubbing at the growing knot on the back of his head. "She must have been on the softball team or something." But he moves past Sid, looking at the car more closely. "I used to see things like this all the time, at the Carnival. They'd always have these antique car shows, and people would bring in the best stuff. Old race cars, reconstructed Model T's, you name it, it was there. I mean, it was Nebraska, so it's not like there was much else to do." He slowly moves some of the plastic containers to the side. God only knows what they actually contain, and he's not the nosy sort. At least, not with friends. Unless it's their phones. No phone is safe. "I can see why racing is a passion now, though. Easy to fall in love with something like that. And it sounds like you were born for it."
Sid folded his arms across his chest walking around it. "Yeah. Like a lot of us I guess." He looked up to Lucky and arched an eyebrow with a bit of a laugh. "I can't picture you suffering Nebraska for long, Lucky." He glanced to the plastic containers and apparently decided that was stuff that could stay in storage. "I'm glad they moved her or I'd be more worried about the front bushings. Should probably have it looked at next weekend."He dug through his pockets and looked back to the gap. No Bruce. Ominous dread? Slowly abating. "C'mon. I think I owe you at least lunch after that bump. Let's go drop the other car off somewhere and get it towed." He did have to ask though with a curious squint, "When did you leave Nebraska?"
"Few years ago," he answers in turn. "Grew up there. Well, sort of. My parents worked in a carnival, and I sort of tagged along for the ride. It's not really that bad of a life, if you're willing to step outside the little box of tradition and embrace a different mindset for a minute. Meet all sorts of cool people, learn valuable life skills. Plus, you're always the most exciting thing in town. Money, sex, drugs. All comes pretty easy. You also get a feel for how people work, and how to survive when shit hits the fan. But after a while, those flat states all start to look the same, and it's time to get out, you know? It's not the kind of life you lead forever, for most of us. It's something you learn, pass along, and then move on so that others can fill the gap." He gets into the passenger seat, saying, "It's... really eye-opening. In both good and bad ways. When you work in a realm of illusions, nothing really seems magical, and you see the worst side of people. But you also learn the power of the illusion to make people forget their troubles. How you can do a little harm to do a little good. Balance."
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