Let's Talk Trash (Gothenburg/Public)

((FINALLY, SCHOOL IS OFFICIALLY OVER--/sobjoy))

Alice's nose wrinkled. She wasn't sure exactly what she was smelling out here, but it wasn't savory. Not that she expected much from a junkyard.

In it's own way, this place was kind of creepy. It was totally abandoned, for one thing, and the refuse was piled up so high around the narrow, moderately clear paths that ran through it (forged by foragers like herself), that you could never see much more than a few feet ahead of your face. If you got lost out here, no one was ever going to find you. Perhaps she shouldn't have come alone.

She'd brought a crowbar with her, but if the chills going continuously up and down her spine were any indication, it didn't make her feel very safe. The sooner she found what she was looking for, the sooner she could run away from this sea of garbage as fast as possible.

Because unfortunately, this also happened to be home to the largest collection of car parts in Babylon. And the only one that was totally free.

At the moment, she was searching for a new head gasket--relatively important, seeing as the engine was overheating without it. And the engine overheating could possibly cause the gas tank to ignite. Which would not only certainly lead to her losing her job, but also death and/or injuries. Therefore, it was fairly vital for her to get it replaced asap.

She didn't really expect to find anything magically lying around, so she was going into old cars (usually already looted for their tires and whatnot) to see what she could scavenge--an unpleasant experience, given that most of them were infested with some kind of vermin. Having come across another one (a Ford, it looked like), she hesitantly popped open the hood, flinching back slightly when a slew of roaches escaped from it's interior. She didn't get paid enough to do this.

Glancing around suspiciously, her back already feeling terribly unprotected, she pricked her ears up for the thousandth time that day for telltale signs of people nearby. ...Silent as the grave. She wasn't sure if she felt reassured or not. Deciding to just get it done with quickly, she propped the rusted hood up and dipped inside to poke around with the putty knife she carried in one of her oversize pockets.

((btw, I don't know anything about cars, sshhhhhh--))

No one could ever say that Dimitrie didn't treat his women right. Well, most of them. Vesna was his favorite. Probably the only woman in the profession that looked upon her situation with a sense of pride and optimism. So, naturally, he wanted to keep that going. He'd seen her sad only once, not sure what it was about (she was too inconsolable to speak) but he was sure the whole brothel had gotten a little darker that day.

Lately she'd been a little more down than usual. Not that he didn't care, but asking her about it wouldn't fix anything. He knew she liked to paint... Or sculpt... Or something like that. He knew he could get a welder from somewhere, so he would get her some metal to bend into whatever she was sad about. A very dim girl, but quite expressive.

His thoughts stopped when he spotted a woman hunched over a car hood. Quietly he circled around, appraising her. "Nice." He finally commented. "you still using this car?"

With all the clanging noises that were echoing around the hollow chasm that she had her head inside, she didn't even hear that she'd been approached. 

When he spoke, seemingly out of nowhere, she jerked upward automatically, banging her head against the underside of the hood. A shower of dust fell out around her--thank god she was wearing a hat--as she quickly drew back, cursing and coughing at the same time.

Frowning, she rubbed the back of her head as she turned to see who the hell had snuck up on her.

...Not anyone she recognized. Not that she expected it to be; she only knew a few people from Mistique, most of whom wouldn't be caught dead skulking around the dumps. She eyed him wearily.

"Nej," she replied, "Just looking for a gasket; if you want something else, you can have it."

She assumed he was just looking for parts, too. Or at least, she hoped he was.

She turned around looking angry. Well. He knew he wouldn't be jumping right into that. A sour woman was sour in all other ways, too. But he would see. Maybe she'd warm up.

"Thanks, beautiful." He remarked casually, going aside her to inspect the car but also her features. She looked oddly familiar. "Aren't you the mechanic?" well, he felt a little ashamed to admit then that he had no knowledge of cars at all.

Glaring down at the parts, still connected, he decided to just grab one, not knowing it was all connected with bolts. He pulled as hard as he could. No dice. "I'm usually not such an idiot." He grinned. He wasn't a learned man, but was clever. And that meant intelligence to him.

((So short, whyyy))

Her cheeks flushed slightly, though it was marred somewhat by the smears of grease. It wasn't often that she got compliments--especially not in her work attire. She decided not to comment on it, though. Maybe he said that to any woman.

"Ja, for Mistique," she replied, a bit surprised, "Who are you? I've never seen you before--" He certainly didn't look like one of the yuppies that normally hung out at the ritzy carnival. Must have been a stage hand, or something...? But he didn't quite look like of them, either.

Well, whoever he was, he obviously knew nothing about automobiles. Or perhaps even machinery in general.

Snorting, she pulled a wrench out of her pocket and tossed it to him, pointing out the bolts, "You'll need this. You don't sound like this is your thing--do you even know what you're looking for?" It seemed like he'd just picked something at random. What was the point of scavenging parts you didn't know how to use?

He certainly knew he couldn't admit to any woman that he operated the brothel. But it was one of many businesses there. So he could be vague. He nodded to her, as if proving his point. "Not everyone's a carnie, you know. My job is bringing people in--" True enough. "Just trying to make a living in a world like this, same as you."

At least it didn't seem to make a bad impression on her that he didn't know how a car worked. Truthfully, he had no idea that all that was even under the hood. He gratefully took the wrench and started working at unhinging some parts. "Multumesc. Where I come from, cars aren't really in fashion yet." He pulled out some metal contraption and rubber tubing and tossed it in a pile with a hubcap he found lying around and some metal baubles. "So I'm not looking to repair a car. That's your job." He added with a laugh. "A friend of mine likes to make art... or whatever you call it. She hasn't been happy lately. And clay is hard to find around her unless you dig for it. Even then, it's too dry." He did try to assimilate to city life, but really he was just a farm boy. Which explained why urbanity chewed him up and spit him out the way it did. "Although I'm not sure I want to let her around a welder. She's not the smartest. Maybe I'll just give her a supply of chewing gum she can stick it all together with."

"Är det så..." She muttered, then, after thinking for a brief moment, "I'm usually just around the garage," (they called it the garage, but it was really just the tent with the cars inside), "so I guess that's why you don't seem familiar." She shrugged. Assuming he meant he worked in the front (where else would you work to bring people in?), she figured he didn't venture much to the very back of the carnival, where she was located. Wiping her blackened hand on her pants leg first, she held it out and said simply, "Alice."

Although she gave him a strange look at his proposed idea, she couldn't help but laugh a little, "Vad i helvete? What kind of art can you make with car scraps?" As far as she knew, art was all painting and drawing or whatever. It wasn't really her kind of thing. She didn't figure how clay worked into it, either, but she decided not to ask, in case it was common knowledge. (If she were told it was for sculptures, she would have responded that she thought sculptures were made out of marble or something.)

"I'd say she can use the welding torch in the garage," she went back to prying up the gasket as she spoke, "but it's not really safe for amateurs." She'd be in trouble if she let someone use the company equipment, and it caused an incident. "Women aren't good with power tools, anyways," she noted, clicking her tongue. She was an exception, though, of course, because she wasn't very...womanly.

When she presented her hand, he remembered how that French guy greeted women and how much tail he got. So, in accordance with those hopes, he leaned down and lightly kissed her hand. He didn't know how she would react but hey, it couldn't hurt. "Dimitrie." He exchanged in return.

What kind of art? "How should I know? She's the artist, not me." He shrugged and chuckled, collecting more scraps. "If it makes her feel better, who am I to question her. It's much better than seeing her upset."

At her comment about women, he laughed in return. She was right. Women weren't good for much. "What makes you so different?" Not having anywhere to wipe his hands, and not caring much about the clothes (they were given to him) he wiped the oil and dust onto his vest.

Well, that certainly wasn't what she'd expected. Good thing she'd actually wiped her hand off first, for once. Blushing bright red, she pulled it away, muttering some kind of acknowledgement incomprehensibly.

She didn't say anything as he talked, choosing to keep her eyes focused on the task at hand. She could only assume he was talking about his girlfriend...or something similar. In that case, what was he going around kissing hands for? Maybe it was a normal gesture, where he came from. In that case, should she have felt embarrassed for getting flustered? Maybe.

Looking up sideways at him, she finally had to ask, rather bluntly, "...Is she sleeping with you, or something?" She didn't make much effort to hide in her tone that she couldn't see why else he'd go to the trouble.

Breaking off one last clump of rust, she wrenched up the gasket and held it up to the light to inspect it. It was awfully rusty--moreso than she'd realized. But maybe it would do the job, with some elbow grease.

Hesitating at first, she offered to his question in an 'I-am-what-I-am' kind of way, "I was raised by sailors--not many ladies out on the docks." Indicating the putty knife before slipping it back into her pocket, she added with a short laugh, "I grew up with this stuff."

It seemed the gesture had the desired effect-- he supposed his family was right to rave about the French all along. He said nothing else about it, rather, he inwardly smirked, knowing all the thoughts he'd just stirred up in her mind. Nervous women were always the easiest. It was easy to tell when a woman hadn't had any in a while.

Did he sleep with Vesna? He lit a cigarette in thought, finally shrugging and speaking through the stick, "Once or twice a long time ago. Not anymore," Lie. "you think I'm THAT kind of man?" He was. "We're just close friends." Now for the closer-- "Why do you want to know?"

The two women were quite alike, really. Both blonde beauties (one more obvious than the other but he knew where to look) who grew up by the sea. "So did she," He responded to her condensed life story. "Except you're one of those few women with an actual head on your shoulders. Poor soul's got nothing up there but air." With more pretend thought, he added, "Maybe that's why we ended up being just friends." A lie within a lie.

She gave him a somewhat strange look, "Sounds like a lot of trouble to go to, if you're not getting anything. It's...'nice', I guess...?" More like stupid. He was doing all this for a chick that wasn't even going to put out? What a waste of effort. Maybe they really were just good friends, but still...he'd even admitted they'd slept together before.

"I don't know, if I were going to go to all that trouble for someone I used to screw around with, it'd be because I wanted something in return." She shrugged, "Reminiscing, maybe." Maybe the men she'd grown up around were just different from these types (she wasn't sure how to label him); usually it was something of a triumph if one managed to woo a girl into bed.

...Actually, no, she was certain that's how it was for guys. Maybe this one was just some weird kind of gay. Maybe he came out of the closet after doing that girl... Yeah...that could make sense.

...Or maybe it was a load of bullcrap.

It was that last line that tipped her off, though she was admittedly confused at first before it really hit her. It had been an odd way to word it, after all...unless he was trying to make some kind of a point. Arms folded, she leaned against the car frame and grinned as if to say 'go on'. "Wow, you don't waste time, huh?" Another short laugh, "What's next? ...Poetry?"

He rolled his eyes as he blew out a puff of smoke. "What are you trying to say?" Shooting her a not very genial look, he finally shrugged and let it drop. "Reason it was only twice?" It wasn't. "She's a really... Emotional person. She cries after she makes it with anybody. It got annoying." Truth. It most probably was connected to her profession, but she didn't need no know that. He tried to say he didn't know why she was so sad, but he had an inkling. "Her blind sister disappeared a while ago. Ain't I allowed do something nice for it?" And with an afterthought, reevaluating what she said before, "Ain't no fairy, if thats what you mean."

Raising an eyebrow, he matched her tone. "You think I know how to write anything? Ha-- Didn't I just say I wasn't no fairy? All I said was you were the only smart woman I'd ever seen. Coulda meant something. Coulda not." He examined his cigarette as smoke disappeared into the air above him. "But from what I've heard, smart women are supposed to be not so good in the sack."

She put her hands up, "That's all you had to say." She'd never heard of someone that cried after getting laid, but it seemed possible enough. Some women would cry over anything. And it usually was annoying. She did feel a little sorry after what he said about her sister--though she chose not to comment. Was it the same blind girl that had been kidnapped? Probably. How many other blind girls were running around?

Pulling out her own pack of cheap cigarettes, she grinned and replied, "All I'm saying is that I'd be more impressed if you said you did her all the time, and now you're going back for more," flicking a lighter that was just as rusty as the car behind them, she talked while trying to get it to spark, "'Cause I'm not one of those emotional girls. But I guess if you only got her a couple of times..." Finally getting it to light, she took a drag on it before continuing, "I can respect the truth."

As an afterthought, she added unabashedly, "And I'm good after a few drinks."

"Yeah? Well it didn't seem like it." He ended the topic curtly. He didn't like having to explain himself. But at her next comment, he wouldn't mind. He strode past her to get to another car, and grinning, winked. "Woah, woah, who said it was just her? There's a ton of gorgeous women here, no way I'd deprive myself like that. You think I'm stupid or something?"

Leaning against another car, he laughed. "Are you kidding me? 'Not one of those emotional girls? Bullshit. You shoulda seen yourself when I threw you just a couple of compliments." Tossing his cigarette into the dirt, he ground it in to the ground with his foot. "You're just as easy as the rest of them."

To his grin, her eyebrow just shot up, "Oh, sure, now you say that." Admittedly, she was just prodding him--truth to be told, she couldn't decide what to make of this guy. He was interesting, in a way (if he wasn't, she'd have been trying to think of an excuse to walk out of the conversation), but he also seemed like an asshole. Normally, this wouldn't register as much of an issue to her--back on the docks, she'd had guy friends who were assholes to women. But it hadn't felt like a problem then, because they didn't seem to consider her a woman.

She frowned, "There's a difference between being emotional and being embarrassed." To her, anyways. She had to give him an irritated smirk, though, "How about you call me easy after you've managed to lay me?" Not happening any time soon, unless he was hiding a considerable amount of alcohol somewhere on his person. The only sex she'd ever had was the drunken kind, and she wasn't sure she'd have it any other way.

"Now I say that? Ask any woman in the carnival, they'll say the same thing." He grinned proudly. "And by the way, embarrassment is an emotion. Which would make you emotional." kicking some scrap metal away from his feet, he added, "You wouldn'ta blushed like that if I woulda just shook your hand. Is that a safe assumption to make?"

It seemed this trip wasn't as all bad as he thought it was. He was getting entertained. A cough made it's way into laughter. "Didn't you just hear me say I got a whole load of broads back there that are perfectly willing to give me a lay for nothing? I gotta put effort into you, then, so what would i get out of that, huh?" He crossed his arms defiantly. "Wasted time and mediocre sex, I bet."

Well, he had her there, but not in the way he probably suspected. "Tch," her frown deepened, but this time it was at herself, "I don't know any of the women in the carnival." Not out of a lack of desire for friendship. She just felt awkward, as there was almost nothing she shared in common with other women, interest-wise. She could definitely relate to guys who were bad with the ladies; she felt their pain. The fairer sex was almost intimidatingly difficult to establish a relationship with, in her experience.

"If you'd just shaken my hand, I wouldn't have been embarrassed, because that's what normal people do," she retorted, "I didn't offer it to you so you could drool all over it." For the record, she hadn't met Bourbon yet. But even if she had, it was a toss-up whether or not he'd put his lips on grotty mechanic's fingers.

Throwing up her hands, she laughed almost incredulously, "And I thought you were supposed to be smart or something? Don't waste your effort; I wouldn't." She was probably supposed to be making a case for herself, but the solution just seemed so obvious. And banter aside, she didn't necessarily want to have sexual relations with this guy, so why lie?

"Hmm." He tapped his chin in mock thought. "A woman with short hair... Who doesn't know any other women. A woman who is covered in grease all day and says she would only sleep with a man if she was drunk enough. What does that sound like to you?" He pushed himself off the car and started picking up the metal he was going to bring back for Vesna. "To me, that sounds like a dyke. And if that's the case, then I'm truly sorry, I seem to have been wasting my time. Yours, too."

He popped the trunk of the car he drove there in (relatively nice-- hey, they had to make the brothel seem clean and classy. And he was it's spokesman.) and dumped the car parts inside. "You'll probably never see me again for a while-- but you'll hear me. Don't worry, I'll spread the word about your, uh... Preferences so no man makes my mistake again."

She practically sputtered in anger. If her face wasn't red before, it certainly was now--though not just from embarrassment.

Not that he would be the first to come to that assumption, but was he really going to gossip about it? Hurt her chances at relationships (platonic or otherwise) with both genders even more? Douchebag. And after she lent him her wrench so he could give leftover pieces of a rusted car to some dumb bint--

"Wow, fuck you," she finally managed to spit out, "What did I even do to you?"

Sickened, she turned and began to walk back towards the highway (she'd hitchhiked a ride there; ironically, she herself had never driven out on the open road), unwilling to stay in the present company any longer. She sorely hoped his car would have to be taken into the garage soon; she'd have revenge for whatever lies he spread about her.

In response to her anger, he just laughed and started the car. Turning around, he drove along side her, slow enough that he could bother her more. "Come on, girlie, can't you take a joke?"

She still looked infuriated. Why had she brushed off every other potential insult but this one had made her so upset? He leaned out of the car and took her arm. "You want a ride? Come on, I'm sure we can work something out..."

((Sooo short :/ ))

She still had the crowbar--she eyed his car like she was seriously considering putting a scratch in the side of the door. It wasn't even a very nice car (not by the standards of what she normally saw, anyways), and it would serve him right for continuing to harass her. ...But then, she would have to be the one to fix it. That would likely detract from the satisfaction somewhat.

When he grabbed her by the arm, she stopped and considered it for a moment, clicking her tongue.

...Well, did she really want to walk the whole way? It didn't look like there were many other cars out here. It wasn't like she ever had to talk to him again after this day, so would it really kill her to take a chance? Besides, this way she could make damn sure it was really just a joke. Pulling out of his grip, she walked around the back and let herself in the passenger's side.

After a moment, she muttered, "Thanks." It wasn't like he was obligated to offer her a ride, so at least she had to give credit there.

"Well, you got in a man's car. One point off the dyke scale." He grinned, stepping on the gas pedal rather suddenly as the car struggled to catch up. "Still not convincing enough."

Truthfully, he had no idea if his strategy would work. But he did have a little help up his sleeve. He shuffled around in the back seat for a moment before pulling out a paper bag and placing it between them. He brought two pills out of it, and swallowed them both. Reaching in again, he pulled out just one and offered it to her. "A peace offering, gorgeous." He explained with a wink. "Can't stand to have a co-worker mad at me."

While he offered it to her, he was looking at her and away from the road, as if he was giving an ultimatum. Take it, or crash the car into another oncoming car. Decisions, decisions.

She shot him a dirty look, but he'd already turned around to get something from behind them. What was he doing, wasn't he supposed to be driving?

And then out came the paper bag, and before she could even wonder, he'd produced two pills and popped them into his mouth. As if that wasn't suspicious enough, he offered one to her, as well. She took it, but only so that he'd get his eyes back on the road.

"What is this?" She peered at it more closely, but there was no way to tell without any kind of bottle or label. Obviously, it was some kind of drug (likely not the medicinal kind), but other than that... This wasn't something she really knew much about. In any case, she at least had to know the name before she ingested something. At least she could assume it wasn't lethal, seeing as how he'd taken two himself. Speaking of which--

"Is it safe for you to drive?" She asked skeptically, "It's gonna look pretty bad on my part if I get in an accident, you know, being the car mechanic."

"Hm?" Oh, she was talking. He could already feel the effects of what he'd just swallowed. Previously, he'd only chewed them. But he'd learned that swallowing it was much stronger. One got the full effect all at once. Unfortunately, it was the least safe.

"Cocaine--" He snapped back with a grin, pupils constricted so much so they were almost too small to see. She hadn't swallowed it yet? He punched her (probably harder than he meant to) in the arm. "C'MON-- how dangerous can it be?" His hands were shaking at the wheel, at times they weren't even on the wheel. "They put it in medicine. And what do you think's in Coca- Cola?"

Safe for him to drive? "Of course, of course. It makes me 100 times more alert, did you know that? Or course not-- You know what-- I'll show you."

And with that, he slammed the gas pedal and off they went. A nightmare speed for country roads that were almost one lane.

"What the hell--" She punched him back, just as hard as she meant to. Which was to say, fairly hard for a girl--then again, she did make a living off of physical labor. Still giving him the evil eye, she looked at the pill again, as if it was suddenly going to tell her straight up or not whether it was safe. She'd never really dabbled in drugs before, and knew very little about them. If his reaction was any indication, they turned you into a raving lunatic.

And this was all but proven when he suddenly slammed on the gas. She'd made a serious mistake by not choosing to walk home.

Yelping when the car suddenly lurched forward, a horrible, horrible realization dawned on her: she was stuck in here, come hell or high water. If she tried to jump out while the car was at this speed, she would die. If she tried to take the wheel or incapacitate him, the car would likely go out of control, roll over, and/or crash into the fences lining the roads, and she would die. And then, of course, if another car came their way...

But then again, she didn't know the effects of this stuff, so what if it really did make you more alert, or whatever? She was trapped in here anyways, so why not try it? At least if she ended up dying, she would feel as excited as he looked at the moment.

Taking the leap of faith, she threw down the pill, questioning what the heck she was doing only after it was too late.

...

...

...

And then, a wave of euphoria rolled over her. She'd never felt so good about herself in her life--the whole world looked a lot better, in fact. He seemed better, a lot better, even. How had she not liked this guy before? He'd given her this miracle tablet. And of course he knew exactly what he was doing behind the wheel, she could clearly see that much now. She flashed him a smile, teeth and all.