13355/What time is it

What time is it
Date of Scene:	14 November 2022
Location:	Canelo's Auto and Body
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Jacob Walker, Robbie Reyes

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Jacob Walker has posed:
Not all that many old pickups on the streets of New York. This really isn't the kind of territory you expect to find them in. But there's one pulling in to Canelo's now. It's a faded forest green, with an extended cab and a camper top over the bed. By the look of it, it's traveled many a mile, and all the owner's loving maintenance can't disguise its age. There's an unpleasant screeching noise in the engine's sound - a fan belt is about to go.

The man who swings down from the driver's seat might be familiar, but it's that jolt of some other presence with him that's the best jog to memory. Not a demon, exactly, but something, someone he carries as Robbie does Eli. It's wary, even as Jake ambles up to look for whoever might be around. He's nearly as out of place as the car: tall, rangy, long blonde hair bound back in a low ponytail. Clad in a blue chambray workshirt over a white t-shirt, dark jeans, scuffed workboots....and a hitch in his step.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Canelo's, to be fair, is no high end shop. His boys do good work, but there are precisely zero pretensions of any kind; this is the rough side of Brooklyn, and everyone knows it.

There's a late model hatchback getting some work done on its transmission in bay number two. Bright sparks shower the floor of the garage as one of the mechanics works with a soldering iron and an impact-resistant face shield beneath the vehicle's undercarriage.

Nearby, a relatively familiar face in a pair of grease-stained coveralls. His scruffy curls aren't *quite* long enough to warrant a ponytail yet, but he looks like he's getting there. He appears to be on his smoke break, loitering just outside the two open bay doors. The arriving truck gets a long look, which shifts to Jake as he climbs out.

"We're closed in twenty-six minutes," he informs the older man obtusely. "Whaddya need?"

Jacob Walker has posed:
It takes Jake a moment to reorient on Robbie...and for an instant, his passenger is almost visible. Feral and bright-eyed, scenting the wind in a way that has nothing at all to do with the odors of hot metal and solvent.

"Need to have it checked out," he says, in that sighing drawl, no urgency, no heat. "I think it's the fan belt'll need replacing, but I haven't done more'n taken a look under the hood. Y'all're the professionals, after all. I know it's late in the day, no hurry to have it done. Just wanted to start the process." Despite that lupine gleam at the back of his eyes, his posture is more tired and resigned than anything else.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
There's a long pause from the kid, like he's concocting a story in his head about how they don't deal with vehicles from the Stone Age, and there's a place across town that he can direct Jake to if he's willing to take a chance on the thing not exploding on him in spectacular fashion.

Which, of course, would be a lie. All of it lies. But it might get the guy out of his face, so he doesn't have to deal with whatever he's playing host to.

"Could be," he offers eventually, pushing out of his lean. Eyes on Jacob as he prowls in closer. "Or maybe your alternator. Can't know for sure 'till I take a look." He glances at his watch, makes a little moue with his mouth. "Might be able to have it done tonight. Might not."

Jacob Walker has posed:
It's an unpleasant strain - trying to act like a human with human manners when his passenger really wants to get out and tangle with Robbie's buddy. Like trying to restrain a leashed dog. So Jake's smile is a little forced.

"Don't worry about gettin' to it tonight," Jacob assures him, softly. "I'm in no hurry. Livin' in this city I walk just about everywhere, don't need it immediately." His following Robbie with that hunter's avidity. This boy smells....different. But how?

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Buddy? No, that demon's no friend of his. *That* much is abundantly clear. There's a tension between them that Jake can undoubtedly sense; dark and violent.

"Suit yourself," Robbie answers brusquely, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it to the ground. It trails smoke and embers for a moment, before the toe of his boot comes down on it and crushes it out. "Keys?" He pauses, close enough to touch the other man. But all that's offered is his open hand, and a little 'come hither' of two fingers.

The demon smells like burning metal and smoke and char, like a city on fire with no hope of rescue or abatement. And then there's *him*: leather, engine oil, the lingering spicy-sweetness of cloves.

Jacob Walker has posed:
Jake puts the keys in his hand almost delicately. Robbie can see his mouth twitch, as if he were suppressing a smile, though of course it's nothing at all so benign. See his nostrils flare as if scent might tell him something. The tension is visible in the tightness of his jaw, the skin around his eyes.

For his part, he smells cleanly of soap and fresh tobacco smoke. But beneath it, there's something like fresh fir needles, a milky animal musk, and the impossible bright headiness of the wind off the high snows. Like Jake's just come down from some mountain fastness, into the grit and grime of the city. "*Muchacho, creo que hay que tener cuidado,*" he says, still quietly. His accent is flawless; he sounds like he was born and raised in Monterrey.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's that animal musk that stands out the most. The scent of the Other on Jake, unmistakeable to someone like Robbie, who's been twisted into a hunter of men. And keenly aware of their sins.

"Yo podria decirte lo mismo, gringo." It's murmured with a deliberately teasing wink before the keys are snatched up and given a light toss. Then he prowls right past the other man, pops the door to his pickup, and swings inside with one leg dangling out the open door. "You're gonna want to be careful, walkin' home in a neighbourhood like this." The engine's fired up, and he listens carefully to the sounds it makes, like a doctor with his stethoscope. "I'm gonna bring it in, take a look at it for you in the morning, yeah?"

Jacob Walker has posed:
There's that flare of his nostrils, and the most fractional lean towards Robbie as he passes. Making no secret of the way he's watching him...and at this point, it's hard to tell which hunger is the fiercest.

"I'll be very careful," Jake assures Robbie. "But I don't think I'll have any problems." He straightens up, blows out a breath. "Sounds good. I'll call later in the day, if you all don't call me."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The heat he exudes is unnatural. Like a dark, raging inferno held in a body that shouldn't be able to contain it. Eye contact's held a few moments and then released, and the kid proclaims with a nod to the dashboard. "Congratulations. Think you're right, it's the fan belt." Does Jake get a prize? Not really. Unless that quick, dimpled grin counts as a reward.

"If I don't call, it ain't fixed yet," he informs Jake, and takes the steering wheel so he can maneuver it carefully the twenty or so feet into the empty bay.

Engine switched off, he hops back out and holds up the older man's keys with the ring looped around his middle finger. Coincidence? Maybe not. "But don't worry. Shouldn't take me long."

Jacob Walker has posed:
Enough of one for now. Jake grins, and it's funnily boyish, as he saunters up to reclaim them. "Hey, none of that now. I've given you no call to be nasty," he says. But by his posture and tone, he's not really offended.

Deliberately relaxed, like if he pretends hard enough he can make it so. Once he's close enough to take the keys, he leans in, nearly kissing distance. "Good thing you're about off work," he says. "I can feel you have quite the fever."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Reclaim them? Oh, no. Robbie makes a tch noise with his tongue, and holds the keys away from Jake's attempt to grab them. Like he really thinks he can play this kind of game with a guy who's taller and bigger than him.

Low-voiced, and with maybe a touch of amusement, "Carino, if I'm bein' nasty with you. You'll know." No attempt whatsoever to pull away when Jake gets up close and personal with him. But he's fairly radiating tension; tension, surely, from his efforts to keep Eli in check. Because god does his demon ever want a piece of his erstwhile customer. Quieter still, nearly a whisper, "What the fuck do you want from me? A fight?" His mouth twitches like he wants to grin again. "You want a fight, gringo, you only gotta ask."

Jacob Walker has posed:
Game-playing it is. Jake declines to reach for them, after that. "Well, that's not the first thing I want, but I don't know that you'd give me that under any circumstances. So a fight might be nice, instead."

He can feel the pressure of it, of Jake's passenger so very desperate to get out and duel with Robbie's. The blonde's body has that wire-taut tension to it. But there's no attack from him.

Not quite.

For Jake leans in and puts a kiss at the corner of Robbie's mouth. Chaste and decorous, for what's behind it. An urge to take in whatever form, and drown that heat in shadow and ice.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's so completely unexpected, so out of left field, that Robbie doesn't even have the wherewithal to shy away or rebuff it. Not immediately, anyway.

Brows furrowing, expression shifting to one of blank confusion, he touches the side of his mouth where the peck of a kiss landed. his fingers are grimy, but thankfully most of the engine grease has wound up on his coveralls instead. He glances at his palm like he half expects to have wiped something off, then looks back to Jake.

Drops the guy's keys into a pocket of his coveralls, and takes a swing at him that's meant to break his jaw. And may well do so, if he doesn't do something about it.