(Untitled)

[killyoufool]

Following the sound of squealing car breaks and a rather sudden pop, a peculiar cloud of dust rose from the outskirts of town. As the dust cloud settled, the driver of the stalled black van bearing a striking red stripe stepped out of the vehicle. While his movements were very heavy and collected upon exiting, the simple gesture of slowly running a

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[unbornlotus]

Wendy Watson is also a new arrival in Xanadu.  She still hasn't found the outlet for the Middleman (person) outpost yet.  The map Ida gave her was for some city in Bolivia.  Nice, Ida, nice.

The very large man kicking dirt beside a broken down van is a familiar sight to her.  Once cannot own her last car, and not recognize the international symbols for this fucking piece of shit.

It also teaches her  that no matter what type of car you drive, carry the basic car repair necessities.  A wrench, a screwdriver, a jack, a few extra belts and hoses (don't ask where she stores them in her smart car) and some extra tire nuts.

She pulls over and gets out of the car and approaches the rightfully annoyed and very large man.

"Yeah, that's a crapload worse than waking up in the morning and not feeling like P. Diddy."

[killyoufool]

He looks over his shoulder giving the girl a long look over.

"P. Diddy don't fix jack."

Turning his back to her, he pops the hood and lets the smoke vent before he starts to rummage around hoping the other will take the hint and wander off.

[unbornlotus]

Wendy's not perturbed. Anyone who has ever had to suffer through knowing about Pip's existence, can handle it when a man is frustrated at the breakdown of van.

So, snappy dialogue doesn't work on him. It's too bad, as Wendy prefers it but, what's a girl going to do?

"I used to own a Hruck Bugbear. I spent more time trying to get it to move than it did moving." There is a point. "I learned my lesson about not carrying tools." She gives a bit of whatdoyoudo smirk and shrugs her shoulders. Either he takes the offer, or he doesn't.

[killyoufool]

"A Hruck what?" He doesn't wait for an answer. By the time his mind is off the word Bugbear he has stepped up nearly toe-to-toe with her. There's a few things that he wants to clear up.

"Listen up. I carry tools. Always do. They just aren't where I left them, got it?"

Though testy, he isn't about to leave his van anywhere again. If that means accepting some help, he can stomach some of his pride and save the bitterness for later.

"You got any on you?"

[but_less_scary]

"Wow."

If B.A. were to more closely examine the terrain to his left he'd see a lanky guy sporting some stylin' purple and black plaid over a t-shirt proclaiming him a DARE MASTER. Topher, much like the van, had come to a sudden halt (though in his case there'd been less screeching).

"That bites the big one!" he called out helpfully.

[killyoufool]

The voice does catch his attention as he double-checks the van for his tool kit. Craning his neck around the van doors, his eye is immediately drawn to the obnoxiously yellow nucleus of a skinny kid.

"Yeah, almost as bad as your girl's t-shirt, man."

He's not in the mood-- but frankly, there's such a small window of time when Bosco can be considered in good humor.

[but_less_scary]

Because there's not a whole lot else to do (other than question his own sanity, which gets old pret-ty fast), Topher heads on over to Predictable Insult Man and his Faithful Smoking Van.

"Since you're obviously in very emotional place right now," he says, just brimming with sympathy, "I'm gonna let that one go, except to say: you must know some awesome girls."

[killyoufool]

"Van's full of 'em. Can't you tell?"

He closes the doors and moves around to the front of the vehicle. Though the other has confidently made his way closer, it's not earning him any favor in B.A.'s eyes for courage so much as stupidity.

that's it i can't take this anymore

[howlinmad]

"He's exited the vehicle! He has exited. The vehicle. I'm goin' in for a closer look."

Raspy, Australian stage whisper, anyone?

"Looks about...I'd say six-foot-one, maybe ninety-five kilos. Look at the sheer size of 'im! Note the distinctive blue-black markings and the cranial stripe; both are unique to this particular species..."

He is straight up lurking in a bush nearby, hat on backwards, hunched-up and ready to creep toward the van.

"Gorgeous specimen, just gorgeous. Let's see if we can't get a closer look."

Looks like he's going to try circling around to the other side, heh heh.

YAY! *shit blows up, because...well that's just the way it goes*

[killyoufool]

The stream of cursing and rock-kicking seem to be working in Murock's favor. B.A. is more focused on opening the rear doors of the van, determined to find his tool kit.

"It was here this morning," he mutters, face pressed against the back of the seat as he wriggles his arm around underneath them just to make sure.

"Tools don't just up and walk away." Tossing an old box of Pop-Tarts and some rope out of the back, he grits his teeth.

"Gonna wring some fool's neck. Eating in the car..."

keyboard why

[howlinmad]

"All right, he's distracted. This is our only chance to enter his territory without being detected." After spitting a little moisture into his palm, he rubs his hands together vigorously, then assumes a ready stance. "Quietly, now. Caaaareful."

Who the hell is he even talking to? Well, whatever-the point is, Murdock finally shuts his fool yap and, nimbly as a man-sized squirrel, climbs up the front of the van. The soft soles of his Chucks make hardly a sound against paint, metal and/or glass, and ideally, any squeaks or thumps wrought by his weight should be obscured by the grousing below. If all goes well, the tippy top of his head will appear over the roof's edge: dirty red hat, hints of messy brown hair, and a pair of squinting eyes.

Peekaboo, Bosco.

[killyoufool]

Not one wrench, let alone a plug kit of any kind. Slumping back against the side of the van, he starts to jog his mind of on the possibilities. The only thing left to do is to hoof it to see if he can find some kind of store along the road or other assistance. While not an ideal situation to put himself in, he would never subject himself to pouting like a child and waiting for something to happen.

Hauling himself to his feet, he heads for the exit nearly colliding with the human head dangling off the edge of the roof.

Cue screaming, namely in a higher pitch than he would care to admit, followed by a swift grab trying to yank whoever is up there back down to earth. Quite roughly.