Baja

She stood from the place she’d secluded herself to for the last hour— slow steps carrying her towards Baja. Curious eyes peered over the machine, gaze flicking to the colored wires being adjusted.

Questions threatened to pour out from her lips— whatcha workin’ on, whose car are you tinkering with? ——But this was not Teddy; Rori needed to keep her questions in check. Too much chatter tended to put people off— it didn’t stop her on most occasions. 

Baja ran a hand over the front bumper, wishing that the car would buzz to life with some force, some force that would demand she take it to the road. It might as well have done so, the pull was strong enough. 

Walking backwards to face Rori she paced across the garage and slid onto the hood of her own car. Sitting on it was a terrible habit, but she was small enough she had no fear of denting the hood. The cool metal snaked against her skin and she sighed. "At least you're productive." 

It was a mystery how Rori kept so upbeat, something she had yet to master. Although, not truly something she had any desire to master. 

         What was she going on about?

"If you’re wanting to be alone, the garage isn’t the best place.

"We don't work together these days. And if we keep that up our next job is going to be wreck." She noted the bitter grounds floating in her mug. Admittedly she was hardly the best example of teamwork, and in every respect the last thing she wanted was a better connection to her teammates.

"I don't want any kum-by-ya nonsense, but I refuse to act like a bum." The test in her tone rose a pitch as she spit the last word out. This wasn't what she had signed on for, and she had been in too close a quarter with the others for too long. And all of this was not to mention the mounting boredom that grew inside her like an infection in her mind. Racing was a release, but it wasn't intellectual the way her preferred outlets were. 

"Well, if that's what Rusty was yelling about we'll order something else." She smirked and tossed a sly smile over her shoulder. "If we let him get his way he'll just be worse than ever." 

Jon was one of those folks she couldn't quite get a handle on. Perhaps it was his ability to shift like a chameleon, or maybe his charming mannerisms, but she felt that it was he who was distant from her, and not the other way around. An uncomfortable role reversal from her norm. 

                      Note to self: Keep your distance.

Brooks didn’t say anything in response to the blind assumption that he actually drank that liquid dirt. A man of his age, battling the notion of sleep with every waking breath, should (in all circumstances) be addicted: however, he was not. Instead, he fetched a glass from a nearby cabinet before filling it to the brink with tap water. 

He turned to face Baja, leaning against the counter in the process: nonchalance painted his features as he lifted the drink to his lips. “You know why all of my clothes are dirty?” He paused, eyes bored, tired, and distant. This wasn’t a trick question despite his rather suspicious introduction. “Because I don’t do laundry day.”

Returning to the sink Baja began sifting now semi-clean dishes out of the suds and rinsing them slowly. A bowl followed a plate which followed a large wooden spoon. Pointing the soggy spoon at her companion she narrowed her gaze and emphasized her words with a slight shake of the utensil. "We may be criminals, but we are not heathens." 

Rather violently aware of much she sounded like her mother, Baja tried once again to convince herself that she wasn't ashamed of this. Pulling the last of the dishes from the sink she yanked the drain from the bottom of the sink and let the gurgling of disappearing water fill the silence. Snatching a towel from the far right she began buffing a bit quicker than necessary. 

Keeping her back to Teddy she glared a hole into the offending dish. "Maybe I'll just head out to the garage." She muttered to herself. "Not like anyone appreciates what I'm trying to do anyway." 

"Alright, but if I'm doing the shopping we're eating a bit healthier." She located her targets and scooped up the small notebook and pen. Scribbling at the top she carefully began scribbling out milk, coffee, and other staple foods. "Anybody around here eat peanut butter?" She mused aloud. 

Baja paused and allowed herself to search Guz's face for a fleeting moment. "Yeah, well, I'm sure Liv'll pick it all back up here any minute." She felt her lips purse into a slight grimace. It was funny how much she abhorred the idea of working alone these days. In fact she absolutely refused to admit it. If she didn't like working alone, that meant she actually enjoyed working with others, simply unacceptable. 

”- but as for the rest of this shithole goin’ up I don’t think we got anything to worry about, I swear I could probably just press finger holes into these walls they’re so soggy.” I disturbed notion of smooshing a finger through the rotten plaster has a frost spike slip it’s way just below the rib, shake everything needlessly. Scratching at the nape of neck to throw off the evident shiver Guz leaned in to finger at the pile of flyers. “I dunno mano, I don’t think I can eat any more of this take-out shit, you might be on the right track with the whole groceries deal. Aft’a all people gatta eat between all the boom and swing eh?” 

She poked her head into the empty refrigerator and winced at the stale smell. Put that on the list of things to clean next. Letting the door swing shut she shrugged at the much taller man. "I honestly don't know, haven't bugged Liv much about our funds these days. Didn't want to bother her." Baja's brow wrinkled a bit. 

"Look, I'll buy groceries this time, Liv'll pay me back later. Can't say we don't need another job soon though. At least for our sanity." 

  "You weren’t talkin’ to me were you?" Back pedalling so there was less functional space between him and the shoddy humidity stained plaster, an accusatory look was thrown. Placed comfortably between mock hurt and indifference the play was rounded out with a minor splay of arms. "Cause really if you think I’m goin out in fuckin’ khakis we gonna haf’ta agree to disagree homie." Holding onto the iron casing for a few seconds before breaking at the powder, a huffed laugh migrated out, throwing out a rounded backhand of dismissal.

"No, no, nothing so exciting," Baja snorted lightly, "I've repressed my tendencies towards pyromania for the moment. She replied with a voice laden with sarcasm. 

"Although I honestly wouldn't be surprised if that's the eventual demise of this place." She glanced around the kitchen, noting for the thousandth time the placement of the electrical outlets above the sink, of all places. 

"You hungry?" She flipped the coffee stained menu upside down and wrinkled her nose at the options. "We've got to go grocery shopping. We've either burnt or eaten everything edible around here." 

                                                                                 ——But today was different. 

The sun shone just as bright, the coffee tasted the same. No, there were no cliched differences in the air. Simply the brunette’s activities-  they needed to change a few times a week, right?   She was bent at the knees, a stethoscope dangling from her ears. Busy hands continued to work, not seizing in immediate reaction to the heavy foot treading in. 

—»She was practicing on a safe;spending time with the sole voice between her ears. Eyes finally flicked away, trailing up to the face that lingered a safe distance from her. 

Her smile came pouring out- so simplistic in its common ways.  Always there, whether it  was accompanied with an insult or a giggle,  those  ruby  lips had a way of consistently staying outstretched. It was close to being ———————————» e f f o r t l e s s.

{{—“Thought I’d get some practice in.”—}}  

"Practice what exactly?" She reached in to carefully straighten a twisting wire. She straightened slowly, taking pleasure in the scent of oil that tickled her nose. 

Placing her hands on her hips she surveyed the room with a hawk like gaze. Not a ratchet out of place, and she preferred it that way. Although the phrase, "not your janitor" often frequented her lips, she couldn't help picking up after the mess a few of the others had a tendency to leave.