Title: lazy w i n t e r DAYS ;;
Description: open - a bit of random bike-love. ^___^
Scout Bastien - December 26, 2007 03:34 AM (GMT)
"... Yes, Grandma... yes, everything's fine here. Everything perfectly fine. ... What? ... Well, it's sleet, Grandma. ... No, I'm not going to ride today. ... Yes. We're all perfect here at Aura. ... Yes, I've been watching over all of you, every day, in fact. ... Well, someday she will, Grandma, she can manipulate time, that'll get you into Aura pretty quickly. ... Grandma, you're breaking up. I gotta go. ... Love you too, Grandma. Buh-bye."
Scout Bastien hung up her cellphone and clicked it back into its holster on her belt. She had justhad a half-hour-long phone conversation with her grandma, in which the elderly woman had asked about a million times how Scout and her brother were doing at Aura. Luckily, Scout had been wandering around the whole day, so she wasn't too bored, until she got to her destination. She felt bad about lying to her grandmother--service was almost perfect all around campus--but she had wanted to get off the phone.
Now that she was finally in the parking garage, she looked up at the signs, quickly finding the section she needed. She jogged up the stairs, her breath coming out visibly in front of her, and came to a stop in front of a motorcycle under a grey tarp.
"Hey, baby," she said, walking over and laughing as she gave the bike a hug. "Are you lonely?" she asked it, chuckling again. She knew, of course, being seventeen and in decent mental health, that the bike couldn't hear her, and could definitely not answer back, but she loved to talk to it anyway. The Harley-Davidson bike was her pride and joy, her own little piece of heaven--when she was riding it, at least.
She looked around, glancing down below, where the snow had half-turned to sleet. The weather was not good for riding--the roads were buried under a sheet of ice, and with only a little under two years of experience, she didn't feel comfortable riding in these conditions--to do so, Scout figured, would be suicide. So she bummed rides off of other students in the winter, and, whether or not it was raining, rode her Sportster in the less icy seasons.
Scout sighed, lifting the tarp slowly off the bike, and sighing in slight relief when she saw nothing out of place. There were no scratches, no dents, no imperfections on the paint. She ran her hand over the leather seat, checked the mirrors, and then sat on the bike, feeling the pressure of the key that was hanging around her neck.
"I do love you," she mumbled, laughing softly, as she placed her hands on the handlebars.
[[OOC; I told you--random vehicle lust. Scout loves her bike. ^___^]]