spaalonebabuguuscooties | ♠ | OPEN MEME

Down as far as it'll go.

[Damn thing is jammed. He grimaces. Might be the heat, or might be the shit maintenance the car's been through. He doesn't want to risk breaking the thing just to get out, but if it comes to it, he will break the goddamn windows so he can climb out.]

[The Trans Am might be home, but that doesn't mean he wants to live in it twenty-four-fucking-seven.]

Shit.

[It's hissed both at the stuck window and the unsatisfying tick the lock makes when he turns the key, rather than the clunk he's used to.]

Gonna buy some time. Hold tight.

[Then he's off, faster than his usual leisurely stroll.]

[It's not long before he steps back into view, lopsided, now lugging a battered toolkit and a canteen.]

Here.

[He tries shoving the canteen through the crack above the window. He's got a metal straw if it won't fit, but he'd rather it not come to that. Granted, given their shit luck so far, what's one more inconvenience?]

[Jet's wariness immediately ratchets up a palpable amount as he watches Kobra attempt to lever the window open with a water canteen of all things. He grits his teeth, shaking his head furiously.]

Stop.

[As if that's worth this.]

It's fine. Cut it out.

[He can deal, all right? Don't break the car. It's the only home they all have.]

[His eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses, but he pulls back the canteen a few inches.]

You sure? I got a straw.

[And he does. He's got a dented metal straw. It's not obvious whether or not it was originally a straw, but it's straw-shaped enough to do the job.]

...how does that help.

[Walk him through this one, buddy. How is a straw supposed to make this better.]

[Silently, he holds up one finger. Just wait.]

[Then, he unscrews the top of the canteen, pops the straw inside, and holds the whole thing up to the window.]

[Carefully, he angles it so the straw goes through the opening in the window, far enough in that Jet could take a sip if he likes.]

Like this.

...

[Oh my god.]

...thanks.

[Look, he's not about to begrudge the assistance in getting some water. God fucking knows he could use some water. Even if it's from a canteen, even if it's sunwarmed, even if it's not really getting him out of the car, he will take a fucking sip because he has been roasting in this thing for goddamn hours now. He will take this.]

[He's been dehydrated before. Not the standard, day-to-day, might-shoot-you-for-a-jug-of-water kind, but the kind where your eyes sink back into your head, where your skin peels and spots flash in front of your eyes, the kind where you can't walk straight and you stumble face-first into the dirt. The same's probably true for Jet.]

[Better if they skip that part.]

[Kobra stays locked in place, holding the canteen as steady as he can manage, for as long as Jet keeps sipping from the straw. While Jet drinks, Kobra talks, his voice a low mumble:]

Two options. Call 'em carjacker and kidnapper. First's easier, if it works. [The barest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.] Second might be more fun.

Edited 2020-04-15 06:35 (UTC)

Which is gonna get our asses kicked?

[Who's he kidding. Both are gonna get their asses kicked, knowing the caliber of plans regularly dreamed up by any combination of the members of the Fabulous Four. Jet leans back in his seat with a sigh, pushes his hair out of his face, and resigns himself to a future of uncertainty.]

[Just kidding. He's already been secure in his uncertain future, ever since he was born.]

[The water's helped. Warm and tinny-tasting, but better than nothing.]

All right. Let's hear 'em.

Neither, if we put things back the way we found 'em.

[This is a lie.]

First one. Done it before, but not with the Trans Am. If you stick something thin between the window 'n' the weatherstripping, should be able to jimmy the lock open. Pretty sure Ghoul left somethin' under the seat that'll help.

Second one, we get the backseat out of the way, get you in the trunk. Should be a latch in there that'll let you get out that way.

Carjack.

[No hesitation. Jet's all long limbs, six-foot-something, and he doesn't want to think about trying to cram himself into the trunk. He's already anticipating that being the option that's actually going to work.]

What'd Ghoul leave?

[No surprise there. It's not that Jet's no fun--obviously, or he wouldn't be family--but as far as Kobra's seen, his definition of "fun" doesn't typically include "unnecessary discomfort". That's more like his day job.]

Box of shit, probably under his seat.

[If Jet checks under the back seat, there will indeed be a cheap pencil box, the Battery City-white plastic yellowed from age. It's got the words "FELONIES + MISDEMEANORS" scrawled across the top in a rainbow of paint marker. If he opens it, it's...junk. A roll of tape, several twisted-up wires, a half-disassembled battery pack, that kind of thing.]

[Bingo. It's not literally shit when he flicks the old pencil box open, but to say he wouldn't have been surprised if it was would be an understatement. He studies the assorted shit without much surprise. That Ghoul keeps this beneath the seat is, to him, more or less characteristic with what he knows of the guy.]

[He picks up the roll of tape.]

This?

Cold.

[On second thought, probably not the time for a game of "hotter, colder". Jet's roasted enough as it is.]

It's the uh, the wire hanger. [He points. Not much help in a box this crowded.] Used to be, at least.

[Now the wire's all balled up, further evidence that Ghoul is physically incapable of leaving well enough alone. At least it fits in the box this way.]

[Oh, so that's a hanger? Good to know. He wouldn't have guess by looking at it. Jet picks up the bundle of wire and turns it over in his hands, eyeing it dubiously.]

Gonna have to straighten it.

[Kobra tilts his head.]

Can it fit through the window?

[He's got the toolbox to bend it against, if Jet can get it out to him. If not...hope you haven't been skipping arm day, Jet.]

[Does he ever?]

Let me see.

[It takes some doing, but what else is he going to do? Got nothing else going on right now, and he's determined to get out of this goddamn situation he's found himself in.]

All right. Here.

[Bundle of wires: acquired. Step 1: complete.]

Thanks.

[And a sarcastic "Thanks" to Ghoul, for giving him this tumbleweed of wire to work with. Kobra ducks down to kneel in the dirt; easier to use the toolbox as a base that way.]

[After a few minutes of frustrated muttering, Kobra appears at the window again, the wire now fashioned into a long hook.]

Alright. [Looks like you're getting a carjacking lesson, Jet, whether you want one or not.] So if you ever see a car you want, and it don't belong to anybody, you can just--

[Gently, gently, don't want Poison to kill him, Kobra bends back the weatherstripping next to the window and slips the hook inside.]

--few inches in front of the keyhole, here. Then, you turn it, move it 'til you got a hold of the latch, and--

[CLUNK.]

[That's the sound he wanted to hear. Kobra full-on grins.]

Try the door.

[He won't ask how the Kobra Kid knows about carjacking. He won't ask, 'cause there are a lot of things that they all know between the four of them that originate in a place that never gets brought up. They don't ask each other why they know certain things. It's one of the rules out here. It's not a rule anyone ever lays out, but it's one that'll get you shot if you don't follow it.]

[They're past that, but they're also past the point of asking each other about things that might raise unpleasant memories. That's not why they're here.]

[Jet will instead content himself with swinging the door open and clambering out of the car with a sigh.]

Thanks.

[The word is a low, gravelly pull. Right away, he stretches, bending his arms up above his head and sighing.]

[God, that feels good.]

[And with that, the spaceman's been released from his prison to wreak havoc on the world.]

[Instead of a "you're welcome", Kobra lifts an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses, still maintaining a hint of a grin, and says:]

Almost forgot how tall you are.

[Kobra's been the tall one for enough of his life that it's always a bit jarring to remember Jet's got at least a fraction of an inch on him. More with the hair.]

[God, it feels good to stretch his legs. That was like the world's most boring road trip but with none of the actually ending up somewhere he wanted to go to accompany it.]

[Doesn't mean he's lost his ability to be a deadpan motherfucker. He hasn't.]

Say something, pintsize?

[Oh, so it's gonna be like that, is it?]

[Kobra takes a second to consider the situation, size up his opponent, and fucking--]

[--lunges out to shove him in the arm. Not too hard, obviously. He may be the team's hand-to-hand guy, but he's only using a fraction of his true ultramacho muscle power.]

Ow.

[Jet stumbles, catches himself against the car, but the word is completely deadpan. Don't you go and try and pack him back in that sweatbox, Kid. Not after all the effort you both went to get Jet out.]

That bitter?

You got too much hair is all.

[Still, he's grinning. Jet looked too much like a TV character, trapped on the opposite side of the glass. Nice to know he's still as solid a punching bag as ever.]

[He steps back, stretches his neck, gets a better look at the car.]

Got any ideas how we're gonna get her back to home base?

[If the lock's busted, then he's sure as hell not leaving it out here. It'd probably be a limited edition collectible among the right people.]

[It's not too far, though. Good thing Jet had the good sense to get himself stuck somewhere convenient.]

Edited 2020-04-16 08:42 (UTC)

Not pushing it. [That's for damn sure.]

[The good news about driving a rig this old is that it's kind of lost all its safety features. That's "good news" only for a killjoy. No time for seatbelts (all melted) or airbags (long since removed) out here. Just speed and windows down and the sound of music blasting into the fucking highway.]

Could drive with the door open.

♠ | OPEN MEME | TEXTING

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)