#kickflipped

"See, this is why you fix shit when it breaks and don't manage this place's social media. Can't imagine the clientele you'd bring in." He says it all with a toothy grin. He's impressed, per usual, and Svetlana runs circles around him when it comes to these things.

Cross-training is everything. A lifelong wrestler, when severe cranial trauma derailed his hopes and dreams of going pro, Josh found another way. Sure, that other way saw him take to a sordid life of crime, but it also means he gets to travel, has an excuse to brush up on other martial arts (including boxing!), and make new friends.

He's been based stateside for almost half a year at this point. All it took was getting his shit rocked by Sveta once to know he had a go-to for spotting him in gym as well as running drills. He's got zero compunctions about intergender punching. She hits back fucking hard, after all.

"Guy who runs this place might be down, though. Maybe we can make a powerpoint to convince him."

Pac will not agree, but it would be funny to try.

"I was gonna go twenty more minutes, but now I feel like I need to build momentum again first, and that doesn't fucking count." He never calls it early. "Got a tattoo appointment later. Don't want to miss that." He hasn't shut up about finishing that shoulder piece- involving a grizzly bear- in weeks. Not that his arm ink is even visible- not with the compression shirts he tends to wear, regardless of the heat.

"Look I don't want to buy a new bike. I just need to fix this one."

Piper's tone can only be described as the voice of someone who has had this conversation with three different mechanics now and is trying to head it off at the pass. Her bike, a sapphire blue Kusanagi, has been making a weird ka-thunk ka-thunk sound for the past few days now. The fact that it also seems to be an amalgamation of three different Kusanagis welded together isn't of any importance to Piper.

She stands by, sunglasses on and arms crossed as she lets this new mechanic get a look at it. It's side business, a name given to her rather than going through any direct means of operation.

With enough money, you never have to go through the direct lines ever again, apparently. A lesson Piper was still learning.

"Can you help me with that?"

"Rough night?"

That wasn't even the half of it, not even the tip of the iceberg, but she wasn't about to spill her guts to some bartender just chatting her up. It was in their job description, to talk to people and to get them to buy drinks, so all in all she couldn't fault them for trying when she pulled up to the counter. Besides, what she did and where she'd come from was far above their paygrade.

But she wouldn't go as far as to insult their intelligence. Not to their face. No, she just smiled and tapped two fingers against the bar, asking for a whiskey on the rocks. After the day she'd had, she just needed a drink to take the edge off. Some of her clients really thought that they had her on a leash, and if they yanked hard enough she would come to heel. Those were the clients she hated most--they needed a firm reminder of who raised them, often with a show of force.

Well, he wasn't too happy by the end of it. But her dogs had their fun playing with his thugs. And he wasn't breathing through a tube, so really she was being generous.

She took her first sip, resting the glass idly against her forehead, feeling the cool condensation on her skin--when suddenly, a noise erupted from the other side of the bar. A biker with an over-sized cue ball for a head had slammed into someone, backing them up against the counter like he was about to clean their clock. And even with their hoodie pulled up, she could tell that the other party was a woman. A woman who just wanted to be left alone, and drink in peace.

Maybe if she just hadn't had an encounter with a client who was too big for his britches, she might have looked the other way and moved on. But it was greasy lowlifes like this one, with a misplaced sense of entitlement that just rubbed her the wrong way.

So, she stepped in. Before either of them had the chance to say otherwise.

"It seems you've had too much to drink." She grabbed him by the shoulder as she pulled him off of the other woman, digging her nails in hard enough to pierce through his leather jacket, but leave his skin intact. She was still in public, after all, so she had to show some restraint, even when she had a smile that felt composed and yet somehow belittling at the same time. Silent, but deadly.

These woods plastered with silence in comparison to the city life he was so used to; those never-ending noises in which the urban lights never sleep twenty-four seven. It's still surreal to decluster the stimulation and appreciate the silence for once. Manny could go on a forever rant on the people themselves, the cityfolk, and especially the conditions that haunt him in dread, waiting until the day he's kicked out into the gutter with no home in sight. This vacation was needed with every step on autopilot, with no aim or direction of where he wanted to go. He just needed some time for himself before heading on back to the inn.

Suddenly, a whiplash washed over him from the bike passing right beside him. If he was directly in front of the path, who knows how grave his injuries would be. Legs underneath him wobbled to walk backwards, collapsing down on his behind. The entirety of his body wouldn't stop shaking from what just happened.

Here he was, having a serene moment in Mother Nature's embrace - only to transition to chaos himself.

"I'm fine. I'm fine there," He demissed with a nonchalant wave, attempting to stand back up with his legs almost betraying him. "You almost turned me into mesh meat like fuck, not even mesh meat, more like mashed potatoes splattered across the birch trees." And what's better than some dark humor to clear his mind from panic?

He dusted his pants before giving a thumbs up to signal he's in good condition…for now-

"Safe to say I'm surprised to see a biker out here. None come to ride out here, considering how frigid it'll be soon. Good to see another daredevil in these woods." As if he'll stay here for another hour. His fingers will freeze over soon, and they'll turn into popsicles. "Are YOU okay? Saw that fall, surprised your knees aren't buckling underneath you."

His own knees massaged from both of his hands — they were aching badly. "Let's say mine are fragile, not the most pleasant feeling in the world." The worst part? He may have to limp his way back home. How insufferable that'll be.

"someday, i'd like to go one week without meeting an insane person. just one week."

　　' 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄. ' it felt like the last time she was in this city, it was an entire lifetime ago. one where she barely left her hotel for fear of getting lost navigating on her own and not one where she was living out of her car. and with a dog, who was standing beside her and wagging his tail as they watched the car getting worked on. ' i'm afraid i've put a lot more pressure on it as of late. i assume that's why it's failing now. '