12992/Breakdown in Robbinsville

Breakdown in Robbinsville
Date of Scene:	07 October 2022
Location:	Robbinsville - Bleake Island
Synopsis:	Phoebe's ancient bike experiencies some technical difficulties. Robbie (and his hitchhiker Eli) come to save the day.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Robbie Reyes

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    You know what the worst thing about purchasing a fifth-to-seventh hand cafe rider motorcycle was?

    The fact that every person has tried to fix things, build upon things or replace things, and inevitably they all did it wrong. Probably including the sixth-to-eighth owner, who currently in a fit of frustration that was befitting any overdramatic Gotham native, slings her wrench into a concrete divider with a bright DING! that echoes under the overpass where she had limped her bike to get out of the rain.

    And it's not like she was on duty tonight, luckily, so Phoebe Beacon just GRUMPS, sits on a barrier, and looks at her phone. She scrolls through it, and sends out a text to someone that she knew might know.

    'Hey, when a motorcycle goes WHIRRWHIRRCLICKCLICKCLICKbrrrrrr and then loses all pressure from the tank to the engine, do you know what that could be?' she asks, sending of course to the Ghost Rider who happens to be a mechanic.

    ... because this would be embarrassing for her to text to anyone else.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
'Probably your oil pressure sensor, if I had to guess,' reads his reply, a solid two and a half minutes later.

Robbie, a California native through and through, is done with the rain. And from what he hears, New York's only just getting started. What the hell compelled him to move to this godawful city, anyway? His keys are tossed on the counter, and he prowls over to the door of Gabe's room to see if he's home. Nope. Just the next door neighbours being rowdy again.

Scraping fingers through his damp hair, he digs his phone out again, sighs, and fires off another message: 'though I'd need to see it to know for sure. what kinda bike you got, and how bad you want it fixed?'

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Robbie would receive a picture (https://i.pinimg.com/736x/92/c8/fa/92c8fa01e166b874f1f1d115a977bc13.jpg, except more banged up and wet and matte gray) in the form of a Selfie, with Phoebe with her hood up, and a 'stuck under a bridge. May develop into a troll' she adds as a text.

    '1977 honda cb550 but even god prolly doesn't know what parts are on my frakenbike.'

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The flash of a grin that lights up his face is *almost* evident in the single-word reply he gives after a few moments: 'cute'. Then, pursing his lips, he adds a little more, 'I mean the bike'. Which on reflection, also sounds bad. He winces, starts to say something more, then changes his mind and backspaces like mad.

'Anyway, you got a real antique there. they don't build electronic sensors for those museum pieces, so best case it's your oil pressure switch. You want me to come take a look?'

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    'yeah it is, cute and old and waves a cane.' Phoebe's first response hits. And then she's typing... and then she's not... and then she's typing again. 'bruh don't you live in NYC? I'm not going to make you come all the way out to GOTHAM on a thursday night in the rain to look at my grampa bike. I'll wait until the rain stops and walk it to the bus stop, lock it up and get it tomorrow after class.'

    And there's a few seconds that pass before there's a new message

    'Unless you really need to get out on a thursday I GUESS"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
While he's waiting, Robbie goes to grab a beer from the fridge, pops the cap, and dunks its contents in a single slam. Then his phone pings again, and he takes a lean against the counter to read what she's sent him. When he reaches the end, he snorts in amusement.

Then starts typing: 'up to you. you want me to come save your ass or not? wouldn't offer if I had a fuckin social life on a thursday night that wasn't buying toilet paper or picking my brother up from his friend's house'. Wait, that sounded rude, too. But then Robbie's social skills pretty much rival damp cheesecloth.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe calls Jason Todd her brother. She's used to brusque.

    'my ass (3rd best in Gotham Certified) is fine, u gonna come save my bike?'

    Then there's a pause and then 'ass (3rd best in Gotham Certified)' is sent again.

    'Apparently someone autocorrected my phone for ass (3rd best in Gotham Certified).'

    'fml.'

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, it begs the question of who's first and second, doesn't it? Despite briefly considering this, Robbie's not (quite) crude enough to ask. Instead, 'keep your panties on, I'm coming. fuck's sake.' Because that's clearly much more appropriate. He thinks about saying something more, but then shoves his phone into his jeans pocket, tosses the empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink, and swipes up his keys before heading out.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later, the liquid growl of a big engine throttling down; it's impossible to miss, even over the cacophony of rain on asphalt and steel. A wash of headlights flicked low as soon as he spots her, and then he kills the ignition and swings out, slamming the door.

The usual leather jacket, black skinny jeans, shit kicking boots and some kind of grunge metal tee shirt adorning his lanky six foot frame. His hands are shoved into the jacket's pockets as he ambles on over like he's got all night.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Number one is Dick Grayson and that is one hundred percent the meme.

    Number two depends on who you talk to.

    'THX' is the three letter response, and Phoebe wasn't exactl sure if he would head out her way. So she was content to sit in the rain, and thank goodness she was layered up beneath a rainproofed leather jacket. Best gift ever.

    She turns, looking cautiously to the oncoming car, and she reaches for the handle of her ancient bike to pull it out of the way before she recognizes the driver.

    "Really." she says, with her actual voice (which still sounds a bit creaky; still healing up), "I could have taken the bus to Bristol. Then it's just a three mile run in the rain and back woods of Spooksville City to the boarder of where I'm living." she states, sticking her hands in her pockets as she eyeballs Robbie's lanky form.

    "... but kinda glad you came out."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Mmmyeah, but then you'd be drenched, catch a fuckin' cold, and some asshole'd probably steal your bike and scavenge it for parts." He pauses, and gives one of the tires a light thump with the toe of his boot to emphasise this.

Considering the relic of Japanese engineering a moment, he sinks into a smooth crouch and starts poking around with gloved hands. Thankfully they're under cover of the bridge, so there isn't much but a little flyaway rain to deter him.

"Could've got here faster, but.." He glides a fingertip along the crankshaft, pauses to jiggle a piece of the timing gear. "..I don't like to portal if I don't have to. You wanted me here quicker, you shoulda asked." A glance, and a wink. "You, uh. You can wait in the car, if you're cold." He jerks a thumb toward the even older vehicle -- '69, to be precise -- hunkered down behind him, not quite inert.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    At least the tires are good. Phoebe puts good stuff between her and the road. She shakes her head.

    "I can't catch cold. My immune system is literally healing magic. Last time I caught a cold I was like, eleven." Phoebe answers back, and she gives a small smile, reaching over and palming one of her emergency lights, and she sticks its magnet to the frame so Robbie has good light to work with.

    "Yeah, I don't like portaling either unless I have to. IT takes a lot out of me. And right now it's really only to places I have a lot of emotional attachment to." Phoebe sits back on the barrier, turning her collar up a little, and she shrugs.

    "I know how to lock things down for Gotham City. I've lived here almost my entire life. That I can remember, anyway. New York's nice, but there's just something about Gotham that attracts the bleeding heart in me, yknow?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie swipes some grease off the oil intake valve and sniffs at it. Then wrinkles his nose, and wipes the stuff off on the thigh of his jeans. "Yeah," he murmurs. "I could tell." Tilting his head the other way, he leans in for a closer look at the pickup pipe. "Eli ain't a fan of it." Her magic, one presumes. "You related to angels or something?"

Then, "Aha. Here it is." He braces a knee against the wet asphalt, and wrenches the end off the valve, and dirty oil spills out. "Your pickup's clogged, which fried your engine. I'm gonna need to bring this in to the shop." He screws the piece back in, pushes to his feet, and backs away from the bike. "I mean, unless you got a place around here you like using."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No; apparently my family passes a spark of Creation through our bloodline. When my bio-mom died, I inherited it. It's... a long-ass story, not third best in Gotham certified." Phoebe replies, and she sinks further into her jacket.

    "That's weird. I changed the oil myself at... home..." she trails off, and she purses her lips.

    "Before I drove it Everywhere. Yeah, I think I've just been riding it too hard." Phoebe gives a huff, and looks around.

    "Not in this neighborhood." she states. Not that she can show Robbie, anyway.

    "I can take it to my friend Tim's. It'll fit in the bike holder on the bus, they'll just bitch about it. But no one rides bikes this late at night unless they're in big trouble."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Maybe he bristles slightly at that; maybe it's just that he's cold, and wet, and really fucking done with New York in October. Or maybe he's mildly offended at the notion that some Bat kid could do a better job fixing up her bike than *he* could.

"Up to you," is all he says about it, jamming his hands into his jacket's pockets again, and lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He turns away to glance out across the bridge. "Just tell him it's the pickup pipe. He knows anything about bikes this old, he should be able to fix it for you."

He hesitates a moment like he might try to make more conversation, but seems to decide against it. "See ya 'round. You need anything else, just.. you know." He waves his phone as he starts trudging back to his car.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks at the bristle. She can feel it, and she's not sure if that bristle comes from Eli, the Weather, or...

    She feels her stomach drop. She rubs the back of her neck a moment, and she hops off the barrier.

    "HEy, Robbie? Look, it's late. No one goes under this overpass, I can get it to your shop tomorrow if you have an opening to take a look at it, but could I trouble you for a ride?" she asks, and she wraps her arms around herself.

    "I can withstand cold for a while... but it doesn't mean it's comfortable."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The wet crunch of his boot heels on rainslick asphalt slows, then stops entirely as Phoebe's voice reaches him, about halfway to his car. He's already got his keys out and hooked on a gloved finger. The keychain's a pink cat, inexplicably.

After a minute, he turns back around to watch her curiously as she stands there huddled in her jacket and the ominous backdrop of Gotham at night looming behind her.

"Who.. exactly is tryin' to do who a favour here?" he wants to know, gesturing between them back and forth with a fingerwaggle. "You want a ride, I'll give you a ride." The way he almost snarls it, well, sometimes it's hard to say where he leaves off and Eli begins. "But quit lookin' at me like I'm gonna bite your head off. I only do that to people I don't like." His expression softens into a slight smile.