Icecream Bike Repair

November 02, 2018:

Neon returns to the Mansion and ends up getting a lesson on motorcycle maintenance.

Xavier's school

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

With the demons having been returned to their home in Limbo, the city of New York has returned to much as it was before the invasion. Repairs are still ongoing, of course. And the criminal activity that had been lessened during the time of strife was picking back up… but for now they're in a certain lull to which assuredly many of the city's heroes are taking their time to relax and recover somewhat.
One such hero is the man known as Logan. His efforts during the crisis had taken him back and forth into the city, almost constantly involved in the hunting of the creatures or ferrying people out of the danger area. But now… today, it's a decent time to relax even as the sun drifts low beneath the horizon, the thin wisps of orange and red casting long shadows upon the driveway where out of that garage an old 1970 Norton motorcycle sits upon the cement in a sprawled state of disrepair.
And it's there, amidst the parts and the chaos, a six pack of Molson beside him, Logan is leaning forwards twisting a ratchet as he works on the motorcycle. A smear of grease mars his cheek and a sweat shirt lies discarded to the side, leaving him wearing just jeans and a white t-shirt that's picked up its own shared bit of grease.

*

New York was slowly been patching itself up, but that didn't mean they had time to rest. Ne had certainly been the 'quiet' sort, but the icecream-toned mute had been slipping away from the Institute alongside others to try and offer a hand here and there to the survivors…that and she had to see if her favorite sweet shop had survived!

Now? Neon was on her way back. Even among the mutants her hair and attire did leave the short woman rather striking in appearance. Her path brings her closer, strides taking her towards the doors and the bike-tinkering Logan. Those two-colored eyes move towards the machine, leaving her to examine its state of disrepair. She was silent, enough so that most would not notice the mute, but Logan's other senses would easily detect the sweet scent of the girl (and the milkshake she'd had on the way home).

*

There's a brief moment, nostrils flaring, that Logan takes in that subtle scent. It's familiar… but only passingly so. She'll see the elder mutant tilt his head to the side and his blue eyes will meet hers. His brow furrows a touch, not quite recognition, but it's only there briefly before he lifts the hand holding the ratchet to offer a wave and then a voiced greeting of, "Hey."
To some that might seem rude. Not exactly outgoing but then the school's 'gym/self-defense/art' teacher has never been the most approachable sort. There were rumors running around from the first year students, all swirling about concerning the grim X-Man. Some say he's a werewolf and turns into a feral monster at night, running through the woods. Others say he once was a Wolverine that became a man during the crazed adventures of the X-Men some years ago. But perhaps from one or two of the students in the know, they'd say, 'Logan? He's a sweetheart. Crazy. But still.'
But as quick as that greeting was it might seem all the faster as the haggard looking man turns back to the bike, the metal clanking as he twists the ratchet.

*

A nod, a raise of the hand, but no words were offered. It might seem strange to most, perhaps even rude on her part, but those that knew of Ne knew she never seemed to speak a word even if they didn't know why. She's still watching, tilting her head to oneside before she raises a hand to wave as if seeking attention. Another gesture, the petite mutant's features take on a questioning expression. One probably didn't have to know sign language to guess she was asking what was wrong with the machine.

For all his own teaching, it was unlikely he'd taught the girl after the demon invasion had pulled her way from classes into a more…practical learning environment.

*

Blue eyes meet hers again and he cocks an eyebrow again, but then he seems to get her intent and waves her forwards, thumping the space on the cement beside him with the flat of one hand and then gestures to the motorcycle. He'll wait for her to draw near if she's inclined, and when she does he'll lean forwards and wipe a cloth along the mouth of the radiator that's detached from the motorcycle. Reddish black grime marks that cloth and he tells her simply, sidelong. "Corrosion."
He then shifts to the side, one leg unfolding as he reaches to the engine that's still in the frame of the motorcycle and scritches a fignernail along one of the pipes, his finger coming away with more rust. "S'an old bike." He tells her, crinkling his nose. "Treated like…" He pauses and eyes her for a moment, unable to determine her age most likely. He grunts and settles on, "Treated like crap."
A deep breath is taken as he scowls and then grabs one of the beers from the six-pack, twisting the cap off the bottle and then taking a long drink from it. S'gonna take a while ta get it runnin' again."

*

She nods, drawing closer and sitting herself down on her knees and cocking her head to the side while she watches the explaination. Neon didn't really know anything about cars or bikes, she couldn't even drive and her powers got rid of the immediate need after all, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious.

That pause was noticed earning a little silent 'chuckle' of her hand coming to her lips before she nods. He wasn't the first to question her age from her appearance. It didn't help being quite so short.

*

He rubs at some more of the corrosion and frowns to himself, then wipes his fingertips on his shirt without hesitation, as if he did that all the time. Then Logan eyes her sidelong, "You know how an Internal Combustion Engine works and all?" He asks her with just a hint of curiousity in his gruff tone. Then he adds, "I mean, they still teach that junk?"
But whether or not she answers in the yes he continues to fiddle with the motorcycle, reaching behind him for the radiator and examining some of the sealant, frowning to himself. "I mean nowadays I figure folks talk moreabout battery engines or whatever. Still."
He looks at her again and murmurs, "Ya never know when ya might get caught in a time warp or somethin' or lost on an alien planet and your life might depend on how ta get some old junker workin'."

*

Her hand comes up, flat and palm down before she wavers it a little in the lazy universal sign of 'kinda' before she makes to raise a hand and lift a single finger. The digit traces through the air, leaving a glowing cursive trail in her wake to form words. <Does that happen often?> the words ask, accompanied by a blink of her lightly glowing eyes.

Ordinarily she'd doubt, but she did just spend a month flash-freezing demons in New York.

*

The older man's eyes follow her movements and he makes a small surprised sound, more a gentle grunting exhale as he nods. Then his lip twists, "Not 'often'." He blows on the lip of the radiator just to get some more of the rust clear and then sets it back down beside the bike's frame. "But ya run with this crowd long enough, ya never know."
He reaches for a white bottle with a black log on it and tilts it on its side to pour some onto that old dirty cloth. He starts to wipe down some of the motorcycle parts, cleaning it most likely or perhaps just seeing how much can be salvaged and how much might need to be replaced. "Anyways…" He eyes the motorcycle, then back to her. "Basically, gasoline gets injected into the ignition chamber, spark plug causes it to explode and the force of the explosion causes the pistons to push outwards. After that it's just a mattera harnessin' the energy."
A layman's explanation assuredly, but some day it might help. Probably not though.

*

If that was one indicator that she was among her 'own kind', it was that the man hadn't really been that suprised by her neon air-writing. The thought is enough to have the mute smiling, but she nods and returns her attention to the explaination. Explosion makes something move, movement makes energy. Simple enough!

Leaning towards the bike, she reaches to try and dig for a rag of her own if one existed. She might as well -try- to lend a hand in return, if only for the fact that most were a little too creeped out to talk to her. Logan didn't seem the type who got creeped out often…

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