Teritus "Wesley Drakon" Venizelos (tattooed_skin) wrote in halcyon_halls, @ 2008-10-02 11:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | kat, wes |
Week Nineteen: Wednesday
Who: Kat, and Wes
When: Wednesday early evening
Where: The garage, then who knows
What: Lessons in being a biker
The weather had put a slight damper on the plans they had originally made. A first time rider would have a hard enough time, without having to deal with slick roads, mud, and rain clouded the shield on their helmet. Thankfully, the following day seemed to provide more appropriate weather for the lessons. It was still humid as hell, which explained why his unruly hair seemed to have taken on a life of it's own. Even with his old fashioned helmet, it was still bushing out to the point of being ridiculous. Not that he cared, people were used to him looking like a wild, hairy, beast of a guy. Most thought he didn't bathe... which bothered him to some point. You could be unkempt, and still into hygiene, thanks very much. Having lived during a time in history, when sanitation wasn't wide spread, having been exposed to the stench, you came to appreciate a bar of soap. Plumbing, and toilets as well. Fuck, people didn't know how lucky they were this day, and age.
They had agreed to meet in the schools garage, which is where he had headed, after grading a few projects for his class. There were still quite a few that he needed to sort through, but there would be time for those later. He never liked to rush grading. You had to get inside the artist head a bit, try to see where their point of view was going from. If there was true effort, you had to look more deeply into it. Of course, there were those few who simply didn't give a damn, didn't try, and they usually received the same grade. No reward for the lazy. Wes sat on the hood of one of the few cars that littered the garage. Who it belonged it, he had no clue. Not that he cared at the moment, it was some place to plant his ass while he waited for her to join him.
His old helmet rested half way on the hood, half way on the black, and white fabric colored knee of his. Actually, the knees were the only part of his legs not covered in the strange looking trousers. They were cut rather wide open, fared, and ragged. The strange didn't end there, as he paired the pants with a bright yellow t-shirt, with a faded graphic of Bruce Lee on the front. His normal chucks had been traded for a pair of boots though. It had been long enough since he last rode, that he couldn't trust his feet in anything that wouldn't provide a bit of protection. Granted, he would heal if anything happened, but fuck, it would still hurt.
The bike.... yeah, he didn't know what to think. Dull eyes kept sweeping back to the machine every few moments. It wasn't cheap, he knew that. The fact that it was from that kid didn't help either. Why the hell was she fucking around with him? Unless he was magically nicer to her, than anyone else, he didn't get it. Then again, some people were completely different behind closed doors. Nah, that dickhead couldn't be that deep.