#clove_raphael

in a daze for a sec, she looks up with furrowed brows as the silhouette of some guy picks up her board. he extends a hand to her. 

“got it, thanks.” clove declines his offer and hauls herself up, wiping her gloved hands on her shorts. the guy cracks a half-smile and hands over clove’s battered skateboard, its purple and white checkered paint well worn over the years. 

“you look familiar.”

“that a line?” clove’s eyes roll. she’s not in the mood. 

“no, like, i know you. venia’s choom, right?” he replies. “i work with her. raphael.”

clove feels a little bad for brushing him off. her scowl relaxes along with the rest of her body. instinct is to be on the defensive, especially with random strange men. didn’t matter that he was… handsome. oh. he’s one of the models venia uses for her clothing line. she’s seen him around before.

“for the record, my lines are way better than that. i’m insulted” raphael smirks, as the cogs are still turning in clove’s head. in one easy motion he kicks up his own skateboard and leans on it casually, effortlessly, with one hand. the skull decal on his own beaten up deck mimicking the style of the tattoos which scatter his arms. clove hugs her board to her chest as she looks at him, still sizing him up but intrigued all the same. 

“sorry,” she mutters. “didn’t realise who you were.”

“no worries.” he gestures to her knee pads. “you good?”

“yeah, pads did their job,” she glances down at the scuffed plastic. “pavement didn’t win this round.”

raphael smiles, “that’s the spirit.”

unconsciously, they both start a slow aimless walk together along the pier. the low hum of traffic, an ever-present bed track of night city, fills the silence between them. the sun is low and golden, bouncing off the grimy sea water and lighting the angles of raphael’s face just right. clove narrows her eyes at him. “skate much? or just do it for the aesthetic?”

he chokes out a laugh. “ouch, dude. i’ll have you know i’ve been skating long before i became a clothes hanger.” 

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he continues earnestly. “got me outta the house y’know. into some trouble, but outta the house.” 

“don’t look like the trouble type,” clove jabs, raising an eyebrow. 

“haven’t heard of looks being deceiving?” he replies, prompting an eye roll which only amuses him further. “what about you, anyway? looked like you got good form. y’know, before you ate shit.”

clove shoots him a signature glare, but the corner of her mouth tugs upward, betraying her despite her best efforts. she’s used to johnny rattling off smartass commentary all hours of the day; this kind of verbal sparring is her bread and butter. has a soft spot for it, too - for men who don’t treat her like she’s breakable, but can take a hit just as well. 

“not as much these days,” she admits. “they bulldozed my old spot for offices.” 

“ouch. classic night city.”

“yeah,” she sighs, “was nice. good setup, decent crowd. ‘til corpos filled the bowl with concrete.” she gestures to the pier, its cracked pavement and rusted railings leaving a lot to be desired as far as skating goes. “so i just make do with our stunning public infrastructure.”

raphael exhales a laugh. “well, i know a place, if you miss verts. diy setup out in rancho. bit of a ride but it’s quiet. corpos didn’t get a hold of it yet.” 

clove raises an eyebrow. “you inviting me to your secret spot?”

“maybe,” he smirks. “depends if you’re gonna wipe out again. i can’t be held liable for the roasting you’ll get from the rancho kids.” 

“low blow, man.” 

“sorry, couldn’t resist.”

their slow amble brings them to the start of the pier, where it meets the street. the sun is dropping below the skyline now, bleeding out and painting everything it meets a warm amber. clove pauses to peer back out to the sea, shielding her eyes with one hand. “almost looks beautiful,” she says quietly, “if you forget that the water’s radioactive.”

“that’s NC for you,” raphael sighs, his gaze following hers. “everything looks better if you squint.”

when she turns back, he's offering out his cell phone. it looks out of place in his hand, its perfectly sleek black case at odds with the man holding it; all ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers. thing looks like it costs three months’ rent. guess modelling pays after all. 

“here,” he says. “put your detes in. i’ll drop you the pin.”

she hesitates for a moment - not too big on handing out her contact to just anyone, especially men. but something about him felt sincere. not pushy or sleazy, just confident. plus, she figures, venia has a sixth sense for creeps and wouldn’t hesitate to zero any guy who looked at her wrong, so he can’t be a total weirdo. if he was trouble, she'd know. 

“alright,” clove says as she takes the phone. “but if this ends up being some weird scam, just know that venia’ll castrate you.” 

“preem.” raphael nods, holding back a laugh. 

as she’s keying in her number, johnny glitches into her peripheral, reclining on the steps like he’s been there the whole time. “doesn’t take much, does it? pretty face, disheveled hair. and here i was thinkin’ i was special.” his usual sarcasm has an extra bite to it today. clove exhales through her nose. “don’t start.”

“huh?” raphael’s eyes dart up from his cell phone to clove’s furrowed brow. fuck, she keeps doing that.

brushing away her bangs as if to physically swat away johnny along with them, she hands the phone back. "nothing."

“V,” raphael reads the contact name with a soft smile, and tucks the phone away into his back pocket. “see you in rancho then?” 

before clove could throw back a sarcastic reply, raphael’s board hits the ground with a clatter, and he pushes off down the street. 

“bet the rips in those jeans were crafted by jinguji’s finest slaves.” johnny glitches into the now empty spot in front of her, arms folded across his chest. close enough for his mirrored shades to reflect her own scowl back at her, if they actually existed. “what’s your fucking problem?” she snaps, shoving her skateboard under one arm as she heads up the steps. “jealous?”

he disappears and quickly flickers back into view ahead of her, leaning against a wall. “of that guy? gimme a break, sweetheart.” he scoffs.

"remember this feeling-what-i-feel shit works both ways now, right, asshole?" she jeers, uncaring if she's actually saying it out loud anymore. she drops her board down and it crashes to the pavement. in a practiced motion she pushes off one foot, skating past him, heading back towards the smog and chaos of the city. she flips her radioport on to ritual FM. something to drown him out. 

clove snakes through the crowds of pedestrians, focused, until a message flickers onto her optics with a soft ping.