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Boys and their Toys (Isis and Sigurd)

I

Isis

Moon
Joined
Jul 30, 2010
Jo didn't like the rain. At least, not where bikes were concerned. First, there was having to ride in the tire tracks of cars. Second, there was the whole dirt-on-your-new-paint thing. Third, there was the smell of wet leather steaming from her jacket- fuck, it reminded her of rotten hamburger meat. And fourth, there was the whole "getting soaking wet when your day was already shitty" deal. And the fact she hadn't had a good boning in a month, but really, that had nothing to do with the GODDAMN TORRENTIAL FUCKING WRATH-OF-THE-GODS RAIN THAT WAS POURING FROM THE SONUVABITCH SKY. Jesus, it felt good to get that out.

She'd just been asked to make a run for Tony, the chief mechanic and the guy who owned the Bike-n-Bar, the banged up old building in which Josephine sold drinks and motorcycle parts to old men with beer bellies.

It was a "Come for the bar, stay for the bike talk and tips" sort of place- which meant half the men in the bar were over fifty, and the other half had tits and mullets and probably weren't men, but one could never be too sure. At least no one tried anything too shifty. Well, they tried, Jo just threw them out or kicked them so hard in the balls they'd never jack off again. Pulling up along side the damned place, Jo accidentally splashed some poor asshole who was in her way. She was about to dismount- God, she couldn't leave her baby outside. Not her Aprilia. Not her Betty Paige. Dammit. She hopped back on and smoothly drove into the open garage, sliding off her bike like a drop of water.

As luck would have it, Tony was in the garage, spiffing up a V4. With his usual Italian harrumph, he motioned to her wet hair and dripping body. "The hell happened to you, Smith?"

"It's fuckin' raining, Tony. Here's your paint. Catch." She threw the little cherry-red bottle to him, her aim deft. "I gotta clean off Betty. Mind watching the bar for a bit?"

"Jo, you know they don't buy from me. You gots the face for sales. Now go make me le mula, or it's out on your ass. I'll take care of Miss Paige." Tony smiled a gruff, crinkly, chubby, greasy smile, nodding to the door. "You old bastard." Jo laughed, even though she sorta wanted to stay and be with her bike and her wrenches and her transmissions and her pipes and her nuts and bolts and parts. But she knew Tony would do Betty Paige good. The man was an excellent mechanic, and a sweetheart once you got down to it. He didn't mean anything by that whole, 'out on her ass' thing- he was just a greedy little prick was all. But Jo loved him anyways. Fuck, but she was cold.

The bar was cold, too, when she stepped back inside, hair and clothes dripping. Finally she took off the leather jacket- great. Fuckin' peachy. Her clothes were clinging to her body; tits, waist, hips. Ass. All perfectly outlined; a dark silhouette against the glow of the TV behind the bar. It wasn't that she was embarrassed. No, she boxed and worked hard to keep herself fit. It was a hobby. She just didn't want to throw anyone out today. She set to cleaning, trying to scrub away the chill in her bones. Aw, fuck. The door just opened. That meant company and puddles and oh, fuck, she hated people. Really, really hated them.

Sweeping her long, black hair up into a quick ponytail, Josephine Autumn Smith put on her best smile for whatever poor prick just walked into the shit-hole- not to mention her horrid temper.

"Hello, welcome to the Bike-n-Bar. How may I help you?"
 
Jordan shivered in the cold wet rain, his two dollar plastic poncho covering his head and backpack, leaving his torso, arms and legs open to assault by the evil wetness. He hated the rain, It always meant he had to stop and settle down some where for a while, airing out his entire livelihood that was his backpack, making sure it didn't get an offensive smell, or moldy, or spoil, or the other numerous things that water did to items needed for daily living. That tended to ruin his days, and several nights afterward to wait out the drying. It was almost worse then a week without a light, Now those, those kept him going when he ran low on foodstuffs, the rush, the pace of the world slowing as you inhale that wondrous combination of toxins into your lungs, the simple warmth and accompaniment one receives from looking at that small ember of heat inches from your face.

In that small ember was is constant friend and companion, the thing that pushed him to move onward to the next town, and the next. That small light at the end of his journey that he knew existed somewhere in this crazy world. He knew he would find what he was searching for, questing for, It was there, at the end of his road. It was the road less traveled, sure, but he was always one to find his own way. The roads were his home, he was a vagrant, never staying in place too long, had been for years, ever since the rest of his family was 'purged' in some unholy ritual. The memories of that day were still..fuzzy at best, he could recall vague details, but never precise items, that's what he ran from, what he feared, those eldritch things that still came to him in his dreams haunted him, hunted him from some plane beyond the stars.

He shook his head he couldn't think of those things or he would start to become paranoid. “Need to forget again...” He said spotting a conveniently placed bar. “Perfect.” He could get his clothed ass out of the rain and into a dry warm place. Something cold and sudden his his legs then his chest and finally knocked his poncho off, “ Damn it!” He said shaking his fist clenching the caught plastic object . “Bitch almost ran me over!” He said as he placed the poncho back on his head and backpack, his whole body soaked, He trudged on, his eyes following the biker bitch as she rode into the garage of the bar. Maybe he could tell her a bit of his mind as he filled his empty belly.

He shivered in the cold, his bod was starting to feel the effects of surviving on cigarettes and water for the past three days. Damn he hated the long walking distances more then the rain, but he had to stay moving, no mater what.

He walked up to the door of the bar and sighed feeling in his pocket for his money, he got a twenty and clutched it, moving into the dining area and being greeted by that same women. “Can I get a place I can dry out my things, I kinda need it cause you got them and me soaked with your little Mini-bike a few minutes ago.” He said arrogantly to her. He quickly calms down then places the twenty on the bar, “And a hamburger with strong drink...Please...” He said calmly staring into those eyes of hers.
 
". . ."

Maybe the entire fucking bar went silent when he called Betty Paige a Mini-bike. Maybe Jo just stopped listening. Maybe it was just all the blood rushing to her goddamn brain as she tried to figure all the ways she could beat this prick into a fucking pulp. Maybe it was all three, because people were staring at the two- really staring at him, more than anything. And her- but only a little. Damn skippy. She'd earned that respect one ass-kicking at a time.

Of course, she was shooting the guy her best death-glare. Green eyes narrowed, arched brows, thick lashes framing those eyes, slender jaw clenching as her full lips pulled taught. Dammit, it was probably her fault. She'd splashed him. Aw, fuck . . . It was starting to look like she'd have to take his damn money after all. But dammit, she didn't want to. So she slowly set both hands on either side of his table, leaned in real close, and whispered. She was invading his space, making him back off.

"If you want anything from me, you'll learn to watch your damn mouth."

She stood straight, snatching up his money. Of course, gagging him was always an option. He wasn't too horrible looking.
 
He raised an eyebrow as she leaned into him, uncomfortably close, but this was something he was use to. “And you should learn what's too big for you, little girl.” He said with a devilish grin on his face. He had never been one to insult others bit this was a rare exception, she had made a normally unpleasant task even worse with her actions. He backed off of the bar counter and found an empty booth to sit as he started to unpack his things. “I sure as hell should get my damn hamburger...I already paid for it.” he said under his breath as he removed a length rope from the pack, along with a map and several other nicks and nacks.

It was then he noticed the silence, He looked around, and even some of the bigger older men were staring at him, with a strange look on their faces, each the same, What was it, awe, admiration, hate, anger. He couldn't figure it out as he waited for the meal. His soaking hoodie sopping against the booth. He shivered as he looked at his shirt, soaked but it should dry out in a half an hour, give or take. “So, what are you guys staring at?” He asked to no on in particular.
 
It wasn't the fact that he'd gotten back into her space that bothered her. Jesus fucking Christ, it didn't break her. Not even the half-muttered comment did anything but cause her fists to shake and her soft, pink lips to curl into a snarl. No, it was the way he talked to her goddamn customers that did it. It was that fucking question which sent her off the edge, and sent her turning back towards him, money clenched in fist.

The men he'd addressed were shaking their heads, obviously thinking this newcomer was a bit less-than smart. "You ain't from around these parts, is yeh?"

And that was when Jo did it. When she slipped her fist into her back pocket, fingers sliding easily into the set of brass knuckles she kept there. That was when she sent her fist flying towards his goddamn jaw, hopefully knocking him off his seat, if not knocking him out.

"I said, watch your goddamn mouth." She tossed the money at him, not really caring about his reaction- if he was reacting at all.
 
Jordan felt something hit his jaw, something painful, cold, it tasted coppery, the taste was actually his blood, he realized this about two seconds before his head hit the floor. He looked at the women, his wet clothes now soaking the floor. "I guess..this means...No Burger, huh?" He said before the warmth of unconsciousness enveloped him.
 
No. It damn sure didn't. She'd let him lie there until closing time, and if anyone said anything, she'd just give them the same treatment. Tony came in through the back once and raised his brows pointedly at the man knocked flat in the middle of his bar. Josephine simply shook her head slowly, held up her hand, and muttered "Don't ask." Finally, it was closing time. Everyone cleared off in their due time, and she collected tips from each jar, as well as each table. The traveler was still on the ground, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. Stepping around him, she gently tilted his head with the toe of his boot. Well, he was handsome. At least the fucker had that going for him. But he needed to be taught a lesson.

Slowly, an idea was hatched in her mind. A wonderful, lust-filled goddamn idea. Why not? He'd been so fuckin' rude . . . been so in need of someone to teach him how to treat a woman . . . Why not her? Why not teach him her own damn self?

She propped his unconscious body against the bar and then pulled him up onto a chair. The man was unusually light- probably not eaten for a matter of days. But he was rather well muscled, wiry and lean- she liked the feel of him against her. Smiling wickedly, she removed his poncho and his pack, allowing him to rest easily against the smooth surface of the chair's back. Rope. She needed some fucking rope . . . But all she had was her belt, unless- yes. The bitch was wearing one too. Taking it from the loops of his pants, she tied his wrists to the chair, making it impossible for him to move anything but his hands. Even then, it was only a small bit.

That done, she stood back and simply waited- hip cocked against her hand, chin raised and defiant. Mini bike. She'd show him a fucking mini bike.
 
He slowly came around, his vision blurry from the strike. The pain he received from the occasional fight wasn't much, but he hated it- which was why he tried to not be on the receiving end of the pain. He shook his head to try and clear it, then tried to move his hands to wipe his head and rub his jaw. He soon found he could only barely move them. “What the . . . ?” he asked no one, his vision finally getting focused as he looked down to his arms. He found his hands bound to a chair by a belt. His belt.

"Wait. That's . . . That's my belt . . ." He looked up to find the the bartender/bitch from before staring back at him, eyes rather cruel. “So . . . You stole my belt and tied me up." Pausing, he smirked. "Where's my hamburger and vodka for all this trouble?”He was expecting something to happen, why else would she have tied him up? That was the main reason he continued to antagonize her, to see how far he could push her before getting yet another strike.
 
Jo sent a slap to his cheek, her hand flying almost as soon as the words were out of the traveler's mouth. Glaring down at him, the woman narrowed her eyes, long legs shifting her weigh almost unnoticeably. "You really do need to learn some manners. But then again, you've not yet learned the rules . . ." The smirk on her lips was one part dark, two parts sexy, a fourth part daring. Walking closer to the bound man, she allowed herself a low laugh.

"Rule number one: you address me as 'Ma'am.' Rule number two: you do exactly as I say. Do I make myself clear?" Black brows arched, she waited for her goddamned reply.
 
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