( + ) chugging along! @rietsu
âThere are no bad ideas.â
YOUâRE DRIVING AT THE speed of light. Hair flying haphazardly in the wind ( because you never liked helmets ), and you could of sworn you saw flashing blue and red lights in your rearview mirror but youâre much too engrossed in the adrenaline rush to fully process the thoughtâ or care. Itâs only when the blaring sirens reach your ears that you finally notice a figure of justice on your tail that you realize you done fucked up. AGAIN. But does that thought make you slow down or speed up?
âOnly great ideas that go horribly wrong.â
Survival skills. Thatâs what she likes to call it. Others call it resisting arrest or even eluding the cops. But to each their own, right?
She relies heavily on her INSTINCTS. Nothing but adrenaline pumping in her veins. Lifeâs going much too fast for her mind to keep upâto carefully lay out decision after decisionâ so she relies purely on her instincts. Theyâve had a few close calls, but when it comes down to it, they always manage to get her out of trouble. Somehow. Probably a MIRACLE. Though she doesnât believe in those.
Anyway, she managed to escape from the cops. Hallelujah! Yet the tricky part is theyâve seen not only her face, but her scooter as well. And after about five seconds of contemplation ( with sirens still blaring throughout the streets ), Yerin decides to ditch her ride and save her hide. âCourse, she was going to come back and pick it up eventually. She just didnât expect to do so at a towing place. Where the building is already closed but the bike is not officially hers ( it belongs to her job! ), so what does she do?
âShh,â she has a finger to her lips, while her other arm is snaked around Miâs shoulder, palm resting flat against her mouth in order to keep any startling noises at bay. Â Their backs are pressed flat against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with their knees drawn to their chests. A beam of light shines through the window above their heads. Yet just as quickly as it came, it vanished and the room transferred back into darkness. The security guard is gone. âI think the coast is clear.â
Call it a lack of her own will, or an insatiable thirst for adventure, but Mi always seems to be getting tugged along into the antics of her friends---no matter how illegal or wild their ideas are (barring murder of course, which, thankfully has not been proposed). After all, itâs not as if the upholsterer hasnât had her fair share of adrenaline rush-inducing borderline-illegal endeavors.Â
So when Yerinâs call lights up her phone screen at ten-p.m., it doesnât take long for the two of them to assemble. Assembling entailing Mi rolling her butt off her sunken old couch, putting on decent clothing, and making Yerin send a photo of her signature to an agreement that she owes Mi a top notch carrot cake slice within the next week. That is, assuming they donât perish in the nightâs events. Breaking in is new to Mi, but sheâs just been promised a slice of carrot cake and the coffee sheâd downed four hours ago is still keeping her up, so she figures might as well. Besides, the experience might come in handy at a later time.
Eleven oâclock finds the two of them huddled up against a cold hard wall, doing their best to avoid detection, and Mi wondering if sheâs gone a little too far this time. If she goes straight to jail, thereâs no way sheâs gonna get that carrot cake. Maybe they could make a detour on the way, or compromise and make a drive-thru run for---wait no, Mi---focus.
The plethora of broken down, stolen, illegal, and rogue motorbikes form a still and silent parade before them across the large room. Too big, too full of objects, too quiet. Silence is a terrifying thing, and itâs only the tapering down of hard breathing that keeps Miâs imaginative paranoia from getting the best of her. Slowly, with a tiny jerk of her head, she allows herself to glance up at the now darkened window, where only the lights of passing cars dimly filter through for a moment---then nothing. Miâs eyes train on Yerinâs face, then flicker over to the row of bikes and various small vehicles as she slowly creeps forward, crouching. âDo you see yours in there? Or are we gonna have to Accio Rinâs-bike-thatâs-not-actually-hers?â Although barely audible, her whisper maintains a joking tone. Humor, after all, is one of the greatest shields she has in the face of anxiety.