Arthur & Garrison | Put the Hammer Down
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xp_logsGarage talk with Arthur and Kane.
Kane did not pretend to be the kind of gearhead that others in the mansion legitimately were. That helped the ego when a petite blonde he'd known since she was fourteen would occasionally wander by, correct how he was doing a tune-up, and worse, be entirely right But he liked to maintain his own car - an ugly and out of date beast compared to the mansion garage full of expensive vehicles - giving him an odd sense of closeness with the vehicle.
"Garrison Jonathan Kane, this beauty belongs to you?"
Behind him, silhouetted in the mid-afternoon sun, stood a reedy, peppy man with his hands on his hips and surprised delight in his tone. "A Crown Victoria Interceptor? The absolute workhorse of the 1950s mixed with the practicality inherent to a limited police issue? Outstanding."
"Yup. Came off the line in St.Thomas, Ontario in 2010." He wasn't used to, well, any kind of admiration about his car. It had once been compared to a taxi with leprosy, and that had been from his girlfriend at the time. "Still has the upgraded suspension and vehicle armor, although they wouldn't let me keep the cherries, even if I am FBI. I wasn't aware you were a car fan, Arthur?" To be fair, in the years they'd been at the mansion together, he doubted he'd talked to Arthur more than a dozen times beyond anything more than the polite interactions and general pleasantries of living in the same space.
As Garrison talked, Arthur circled the vehicle. His eyes appreciatively drunk in every detail as if it were a true beauty. "There's something special about cars, any car really, but a car that's loved." His attention snapped back to the other man, though, at his name.
"Back when I was in the industry, I drove in addition to all the falls, swords, spills, and fights. I'm a fan of a car that can take a solid beating. Scott's babies are beautiful, sure, but give me something that can take a tumble off road."
"Right, right, the stuntman thing. I forgot. Stunt driving or did you ever take a combat driving course?" Kane said, turning to sit on the edge, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"A bit of both. I did some time in Bobby Ore's school and we had quite a few special reserve members take the courses there. My specialties were skiing and braking, not tactical." Arthur's gaze drifted back to that place wistfully. "What about you, with your thing?"
"Quantico. When they seconded me, I took the chance to sign up for... pretty much all the driving programs; combat, evasion, advanced tailing, urban density maneuvers. Every few years I go down for a refresher." Kane said. "I admit, it's kinda fun to tear around those tracks, harnessed in, feeling the car whip you around on the knife edge of control..."
"Hm, yes," was delivered as flatly as a pacifist might be enthused about combat, but the "I bet it is. These days I only get that thrill escorting mafia princesses through the city" was on Garrison's own wavelength of enthusiasm. "Something I occasionally wonder if I should pick up as a hobby. Get back to my roots, you know?"
"Always worthwhile. You know, I have a few contacts at Quantico. I could get you into some of the training. Lots of high speed control stunts, drift control training. If you want, I'll make a call."
Arthur paused deliberately, meeting the other man's eyes straight on. "That is amazingly considerate." Then he frowned, "But, you know, the industrio-military complex. I'm allergic to the machinery of war."
This was followed with an apologetic smile and a pivot that could have rocked any vehicle into a roll. "Tell me about this girl instead. Does she have a name?"
It was the first time he'd heard the Bureau likened to the industrio-military complex, but it was at least not ACAB for the twentieth time. "No. Part of the training really demystifies the whole 'tool as a manifestation' idea. Which is a little sad because then I can't steal cool lines like 'she'll hold together' in a chase. But, as a tool, it's a pretty damn good one. There's an ex-agent turned gearhead in Albany that replaced out the engine with a 5.2L flat plane V8 that can top out well over 400 horsepower if needed. If it wasn't for the fact that the car frame and armor are so damn heavy, it would almost be race worthy."
"Oh. That's a shame," Arthur replied mournfully, internally making a note that this car was now named 'Jessica.' Wait, no. He knew too many of those. "For both your possible one liners and this tool." Perhaps more of an Eleanor. Queenie? She did wear a crown. The gears twisting behind his eyes settled. "Sometimes all that matters is that she still purrs, though. There's something words can't say in simple efficiency. Being able to outrun most everything else is just..." He blew a mock chef's kiss to punctuate the idea.
"I take it this one isn't going to be chasing anyone, though."
"Fortunately high speed chases have been few and far between. But after getting ambushed by Creed and some mercs years ago, I like something with armor that can roll over an obstacle. What about you? One of these your ride?" Kane waved towards the rest of the garage.
He got a good natured, honest laugh at this. "I don't try to own things. Too risky." That was apparently all of the explanation for that phrase, shince Arthur just barreled onward, "Plus I'm near a city with a lovely transit system on top of living in a mansion with a garage full of cars already. I might ask you the same, since I doubt you plan on using this tool here," and he wordlessly added 'Queenie,' "to outrun any future merc ambushes."
"I'd rather avoid merc ambushes all together from here on out, but I don't really get to decide that." He said with a wry twist to his mouth. "But, if you give me a quick hand finishing off this oil change, I'd be happy to buy you a drink at Harry's and talk automobiles for the rest of the afternoon."
"Isn't that the mood," Arthur replied as if Kane's lines held the secrets of the universe. "I would be delighted. Give me a wrench and I'm all yours."
Kane did not pretend to be the kind of gearhead that others in the mansion legitimately were. That helped the ego when a petite blonde he'd known since she was fourteen would occasionally wander by, correct how he was doing a tune-up, and worse, be entirely right But he liked to maintain his own car - an ugly and out of date beast compared to the mansion garage full of expensive vehicles - giving him an odd sense of closeness with the vehicle.
"Garrison Jonathan Kane, this beauty belongs to you?"
Behind him, silhouetted in the mid-afternoon sun, stood a reedy, peppy man with his hands on his hips and surprised delight in his tone. "A Crown Victoria Interceptor? The absolute workhorse of the 1950s mixed with the practicality inherent to a limited police issue? Outstanding."
"Yup. Came off the line in St.Thomas, Ontario in 2010." He wasn't used to, well, any kind of admiration about his car. It had once been compared to a taxi with leprosy, and that had been from his girlfriend at the time. "Still has the upgraded suspension and vehicle armor, although they wouldn't let me keep the cherries, even if I am FBI. I wasn't aware you were a car fan, Arthur?" To be fair, in the years they'd been at the mansion together, he doubted he'd talked to Arthur more than a dozen times beyond anything more than the polite interactions and general pleasantries of living in the same space.
As Garrison talked, Arthur circled the vehicle. His eyes appreciatively drunk in every detail as if it were a true beauty. "There's something special about cars, any car really, but a car that's loved." His attention snapped back to the other man, though, at his name.
"Back when I was in the industry, I drove in addition to all the falls, swords, spills, and fights. I'm a fan of a car that can take a solid beating. Scott's babies are beautiful, sure, but give me something that can take a tumble off road."
"Right, right, the stuntman thing. I forgot. Stunt driving or did you ever take a combat driving course?" Kane said, turning to sit on the edge, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"A bit of both. I did some time in Bobby Ore's school and we had quite a few special reserve members take the courses there. My specialties were skiing and braking, not tactical." Arthur's gaze drifted back to that place wistfully. "What about you, with your thing?"
"Quantico. When they seconded me, I took the chance to sign up for... pretty much all the driving programs; combat, evasion, advanced tailing, urban density maneuvers. Every few years I go down for a refresher." Kane said. "I admit, it's kinda fun to tear around those tracks, harnessed in, feeling the car whip you around on the knife edge of control..."
"Hm, yes," was delivered as flatly as a pacifist might be enthused about combat, but the "I bet it is. These days I only get that thrill escorting mafia princesses through the city" was on Garrison's own wavelength of enthusiasm. "Something I occasionally wonder if I should pick up as a hobby. Get back to my roots, you know?"
"Always worthwhile. You know, I have a few contacts at Quantico. I could get you into some of the training. Lots of high speed control stunts, drift control training. If you want, I'll make a call."
Arthur paused deliberately, meeting the other man's eyes straight on. "That is amazingly considerate." Then he frowned, "But, you know, the industrio-military complex. I'm allergic to the machinery of war."
This was followed with an apologetic smile and a pivot that could have rocked any vehicle into a roll. "Tell me about this girl instead. Does she have a name?"
It was the first time he'd heard the Bureau likened to the industrio-military complex, but it was at least not ACAB for the twentieth time. "No. Part of the training really demystifies the whole 'tool as a manifestation' idea. Which is a little sad because then I can't steal cool lines like 'she'll hold together' in a chase. But, as a tool, it's a pretty damn good one. There's an ex-agent turned gearhead in Albany that replaced out the engine with a 5.2L flat plane V8 that can top out well over 400 horsepower if needed. If it wasn't for the fact that the car frame and armor are so damn heavy, it would almost be race worthy."
"Oh. That's a shame," Arthur replied mournfully, internally making a note that this car was now named 'Jessica.' Wait, no. He knew too many of those. "For both your possible one liners and this tool." Perhaps more of an Eleanor. Queenie? She did wear a crown. The gears twisting behind his eyes settled. "Sometimes all that matters is that she still purrs, though. There's something words can't say in simple efficiency. Being able to outrun most everything else is just..." He blew a mock chef's kiss to punctuate the idea.
"I take it this one isn't going to be chasing anyone, though."
"Fortunately high speed chases have been few and far between. But after getting ambushed by Creed and some mercs years ago, I like something with armor that can roll over an obstacle. What about you? One of these your ride?" Kane waved towards the rest of the garage.
He got a good natured, honest laugh at this. "I don't try to own things. Too risky." That was apparently all of the explanation for that phrase, shince Arthur just barreled onward, "Plus I'm near a city with a lovely transit system on top of living in a mansion with a garage full of cars already. I might ask you the same, since I doubt you plan on using this tool here," and he wordlessly added 'Queenie,' "to outrun any future merc ambushes."
"I'd rather avoid merc ambushes all together from here on out, but I don't really get to decide that." He said with a wry twist to his mouth. "But, if you give me a quick hand finishing off this oil change, I'd be happy to buy you a drink at Harry's and talk automobiles for the rest of the afternoon."
"Isn't that the mood," Arthur replied as if Kane's lines held the secrets of the universe. "I would be delighted. Give me a wrench and I'm all yours."
