GAS / * KIT

Izara "Kit" Levine Auto Mechanic @ Gaskit & Wheels NYC.

[izaralevine]

𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚜 ; 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝・ 𝚠𝚌𝚜・ 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢・ 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎・

[axelxreyes]

The call had been completely unexpected, along with the flurry of emotions from the conversation. Confusion, sadness, anger, worry, and a bit of guilt. Those emotions were what had caused him to sprint towards the hospital. Yes, a car would have been faster, but running was better for his mind. He needed to numb it before entering the hospital.

Before seeing her.

But what he didn't know was that all of the negative emotions he was experiencing, they would vanish the moment he saw the state of his ex girlfriend. When his eyes landed on her body, all he felt was anguish. Who did this to her? Why? I should have been there to protect her. I should have--

"No." Axel swallowed the lump in his throat as he approached her. "No, it's Axel." Why is she expecting Harry? Axel only knew of the man because he kept some tabs on Izara and her life, like who she worked with. He immediately moved towards her and poured her a glass of water, with a straw. Axel held it in front of her face, maneuvering the straw until it was in front of her lips. "Don't drink too fast. You might get sick."

He wanted to reach out to her, to run his fingers through her hair. To kiss her forehead. But he did none of those things. Instead, he stood there with the cup of water, waiting for her response. The shock of seeing her in such a state, and knowing that he was still her emergency contact, slowly setting in.

[josiahmaxwell]

"You're awake — " happy eyes on a pale face — ghost like, as if he'd been through the worst night of his life, becase in a way — it was just that. The worst night of his life. Worst than when he broke his arm. Worst than that night Max was shaking and crying in his bed, with withdrawels. Worst than —

His eyes only saddened, when they traced over her frame. Weak, and fragile beneath the white sheet. Broken, bruised —

Where would you be when she's dead? The only thought in his mind for the last eighteen hours.

Who's going to love you, when she's dead?

The man next to her be damned, Luis didn't even bother to glance up at him. If his legs didn't feel like jelly, he might have been by her side quicker. Yet, he moved slow and reached for her hand even slower. "I'm sorry, I — " he swallowed hard the lump in his throat, eyes pooling with tears he did not let roll down his face. She did not need a mess of a friend — but someone she could rely on.

"How are you feeling?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he glanced for a moment at the other man — features familiar, yet not enough for a name to resurface in his mind.

@izaralevine

[izaralevine]

There's faces, and voices. Dark eyes frantically search between the pair, reminding herself of the circumstances. Not Harry. It hurts, it all hurts. "Where's —?" It's Axel. A sweaty, warm version of a man she's never expected to be here.

She doesn't protest the water either, sipping through the straw. Exhaling when she needs to catch her breath. "Can I get sick from water...?" She croaked, finding it difficult to make a dumb remark when she saw flashes of the garage, of the man with the devil's smile.

He'd smiled. She could have sworn it was glee. He left me there, again and again —

Her breaths rose, eyes flying to the door, as if she expected him the be standing there. Waiting, and waiting til she believed she was safe. Izara didn't want to do that to herself, she knows better now. No more monsters — so many monsters, New York's a beast cradling them all. Involuntary, she lets the trembling words fall: "Thank you, Ax—"

Luis' voice draws her back, and the hand she almost lifted to squeeze Axel's arm stops, falling back to the bed. She isn't sure if he looks as shit as she feels. Both of them, here...

Dread fills the tiniest of openings beside fear, and agony. Spills into the cracks, and has her realising that her worlds are colliding. An old one, and a new one. Shaking her head against the pillow, "Don't apologise, please, no. Not you."

Kit isn't sure she could have broken any more, but the sight of the pair of them, standing — watching over her with those glazed gazes has her exposed; she's being ripped open all over again.

She's not okay. And she doesn't know how to answer Lu's question. She doesn't know how she's feeling. Nothing other than: "It hurts." swallowing, she has Harry in the back of her mind — the impending fear of what is left of her leg, the extent of her injuries. She doesn't want cops either — not yet. Not yet. Please. Luis, tell them not yet. Eyes find their way back to her ex (as they often do), and she implies in her quiet tone: "They called you?" a beat, a moment to realise: "And you came."

@axelxreyes

[izaralevine]

LOCATION: Montefiore ER, Bronx. TIME: 10:05 CLOSED FOR: Friends, visitors & hospital staff etc.

It's a groggy awakening, something between the bliss of numbness and a sharp jagged pain that crawled up her body in vicious intervals. There's a constant beeping, and the blurry sight of a white room. Izara's memories sideswipe her and panic begins to take root where the pain is. Eyes look to the blue and white covers over her body, IV wires slap on the metal frame of the bed as jerking movements try to establish what — where exactly she's hurt —

There's a cast tightly wound around one leg, and a string of cuts that look bandaged or taped on her arms. There's voices outside the room — a face or two as she blinks to her senses.

She's not alone, but it feels that way. Just for a moment.

A jug of water is beside the bed, an empty glass next to it. She cannot reach; it's a strain and her throat is dry; hoarse from yelling. She can't call out now, it's a broken quiet sound. "Can you — please, I'm sorry, I just need a minute... a water..." She doesn't need to know what happened, she remembers that part, a pained noise slips from her mouth. And she remembers glimpsing the leftovers of — "Harry?"

[max-millers-deactivated20250119]

Max knees hit the ground so hard he can hear a little crack coming off of them. Shifts as a paramedic have felt different ever since he rose up in ranks, ever since he graduated medical school and started his residency. It doesn't feel wrong. Just maybe, a little out of date.

"I will need you to take deep breaths.", Max says, gloved fingers finding hers to give a confirming squeeze. "Nobody's here. It's just me for now, okay? I'm Max, and I'm your paramedic of service. You get some very fun minutes with me as your dance partner, alright? And then you're going to meet a lot of new people." Surgeons. Anesthesiologists. Police, more paramedics.

"Now follow important questions I will need you to answer.", Max adds, "Do you have any allergies? Important diseases? Any disabilities, like impaired hearing?" Max keeps looking at her, fingers finding the wound as his colleague draws up the pain medication, "I know this is a lot all at once, but I'm going to need you to hold onto my hand tight, okay?", he asks, nodding is his colleague's direction as she moves over to Izara's leg, "Saving your leg is going to hurt like a bitch."

Abdominal cloths are whipped out of a package in a movement little sterile, "On the count of 3, alright?"

[izaralevine]

This looks and sounds familiar; de ja vu. A garage, a blurry distorted voice looming over her. It's hushing her, telling her — it's all flooding her with the reminder that she's been here before. Bleeding out, on the concrete, the same picture of a man on the end of death's scythe, no bullet this time —

It's just me now. It doesn't reassure her, weak arms try to push him, to grab his arm, claw into the green of his outfit until she can feel the tension of muscle.

"N—no." Shaky, but blinking she's not sure what part, if any, she's answering. No. Not just you. No. I'm not allergic. No. I don't know. I don't know — She doesn't reach for his hand, because she's got one clawed into his forearm, trembling.

There's more movement, more pain that flashes up her body — nodding seems like the only response, besides sobbing.

She imagines someone with Harry.

Fear that had long been buried, erupts and has her frozen. Eyes plead with the green-dressed man hovering over her, grasping numb limbs and the gentle creak of a car shifting has her back on alert.

She'd have said okay — but she's waiting for the count.

[elizabeaufort]

⏤ Apparently, the friends she also invited, didn't show up, but still she wants to have a great time. She knew without inquiring much, Levine just needed time for breath, forget about the home issues or whatever issues she might have as well ( or so this is what Liz's thinks ) . And it feels better is only the two of them. The people she invited, and bailed on them are too competitive and frankly, she doesn't want to play serious a game… The reason she was there is more sort of confraternization than actually playing the game seriously.

❛ Yes, unless you have a preference for other drinks. ❜ She waved at the waiter coming to their booth and requested that Cosmo and Iz's drink and he also explained how the brain and teasers work, the other people in their surroundings were starting to play.

Elizabeth never played this game nor did she know how this works. It seems today she is about to find out how is it. ❛ And a forewarning that I'm not competitive like our mates, so you can chill. And it seems they bailed on us, but I must confess I'm relieved they did it. ❜ The last thing she wanted is to get stressed about the time that she was supposed to have fun. Liz also thinks, that Iz also would like the same.

[izaralevine]

Another tragic ideation in Izara's mind, is that with the absence of other people. She cannot slip away, or excuse herself early. She's in it for the long haul — and guilt eats away at her with every new thought she has about escaping.

It's not about Eliza, it's about how entirely unprepared, and forgetful she'd been about the games day.

"Cosmos work," Iz winks — jumping back into pleasantries to wipe away her betraying thoughts. She's trying to absorb all the information about the puzzle game being explained, and Levine's a little more invested in the idea that at least there's something between them other than the inattentive attitude Izara's slipping in and out of.

Kit's competitive in the right setting. She's happy to take a backseat on the scale of intensity, right alongside Lux.

"I think I'll be happy just to get through the game once," Iz jokes, looking over the puzzle game once more, recalling the instructions. She's picking up pieces, running fingers over creative artwork. "Cool concept, no idea what the fuck we're doing, but I guess that's the fun of it..."

Drinks couldn't come soon enough.

[josiahmaxwell]

Poetry — like he's actually read any, or had any appreciation for such things. It sounded like something Max would like; his eyes suddenly looking in thought, his mind pushing the image of him as soon, as it appeared. A shake of his head followed, and he readjusted the smile on his face — invisible strings pulling the ends of his lips upwards, just so she wouldn't ask any questions. Luis imagined how that would go — What are you thinking of she'd ask, and he'd have to lie and say something ridiculous like — definitelly not Max Millers.

He switched positions swiftly, avoiding certain death by snapping his neck, and sitting upright to take a look at his own masterpiece. Luis hummed, "Careful, she might stab you — " it wasn't far from the truth, he'd seen her pissed, and he'd seen her protecting her friends — fuck, if he ever wanted to mess with Iz when she wasn't her usual bubbly self.

"It's something about the eyes, that scream — crazy!" he laughed. It was probably the fact that one was bigger than the other.

He took a photo of the two canvases, for shits and giggles of course, he wouldn't dare post this online. "If the originals ever burn down in a house fire — " a wink flew in her direction.

"Come one, let's go out — It's too fucking hot in here."

[izaralevine]

Izara wiggles her brows at the remark; a curve to her smile that suggests she might agree with his statement. Only on really bad days, she would think. But — crazy?

"Oh you know it, baby." The picture's only the icing on the cake.

The flash of a camera goes off. She shaked her head when she props the canvas to one side. Iz continues to tease as she clambers to her feet: "You getting hot and bothered by crazy eyes, and fantasies of French girls?" She pokes him, and pulls on her shirt to flap some cool air; it is hot in the apartment.

"Yeah, let me shower first." she's already moving to the other room, clothes tossed at her feet, "Hey, maybe the pictures can hang in the bathroom; watch you all googly eyed whilst you —"

And then her voice muffles from inside the bathroom.

[izaralevine]

LOCATION: Gaskit & Wheels, Bronx. TIME: 12:13 CLOSED FOR: @max-millers

There's sirens in the distance — a squeal that's ear-piercing.

Izara's looking at the paling colour of her thighs as she steals glances at the weight of metal pinning her down, one leg more than the other. There's a thousand fears in her mind — will I lose my legs? WIll I die here? Can I ever work again?

Do I want to survive this?

Shock lasts a little while, fear and adrenaline wear off even more rapidly. She's out of her depth — in the way of a car, of all things.

It's laughable.

But she's not laughing.

Footsteps padding aren't the saving grace she imagines them to be. He's come back to finish the job, she thinks. As she continues to lay trapped where she's not sure what's come of Harry — if he's... still there, if he did more than call an ambulance.

If the unnamed monster crushed him too, or if the sounds of earlier had been a far more disgusting than she could ever imagine —

A blurry face obscures her vision; it's not him. They're green, with a slow mouth moving — talking, she's sure of it. But she's got no strength left, the pulsating in her legs as blood pumps outside her body, second by second. Rasping, she manages to ask:

"I — wh-where is he?"

[intxication]

It wasn't his finest work by any means, just something quick and easy. He wasn't planning on staying around much longer but the commotion caught the attention of someone else in the shop. Mathias planned on only killing one person, but he couldn't leave any witnesses.

What he couldn't do to Izara, Mathias did to the other worker. No amount of begging for mercy could still his hand. It would be a slow death that was came after painful torture. He painted the ground red, mixing blood with spilled oil and transmission fluid.

The screams were loud the blood was warm. Mathias was brutal. What was left when help arrived was a gore filled scene. The worker, Harry by what his name tag said, was tied down to the hood of the car that Mathias had dropped. Every and any sharp tool that he could get his hands on were stabbed into the body. His eyes were gone, leaving bloody sockets, and his tongue was cut out and left next to him.

His guts were left hanging out of his body, and his throat was slit so deep that his windpipe had been severed. It was a picture of rage, and yet Mathias didn't have an ounce of it in his body. If Izara lived, if she was able to crawl out from under the car, then he hoped the sight she'd be greeted with would haunt her forever. Mathias wanted her to never feel safe for the remainder or her life.

[izaralevine]

Whilst death appears to Izara in the shroud of vignetting darkness. A bloody, painful thing that's got her muscles quaking. It's the unquiet that terrifies her.

Eyes find the sounds of screaming, crying — pleading —

Harry.

She cannot move, only listen. Whimper when her imagination puts the grisly tearing sounds to a variety of different outcomes. A choked cry is stifled with a cough, and a moan almost like it's been torn out of —

Izara feels sick, her stomach curling as she gags. What use was trying to stem her own sounds of despair if he already knows where she is? And listening to the slap of something hitting the metal of a car, sloshing to the hard concrete; a wet smack that Izara prompts to look back to her own terrible demise.

Her left legs becoming numb — less pain, less feeling. It's not a relief, as much as she wants it to be.

Eventually, the sounds stop; retreating. Footsteps fade, she's holding her breath, swallowing the bile, and blood that's bitter iron in her mouth.

Then, it's gone. It's her, and the silence. Kit's arms give out from being propped on her elbows, she falls back. Shallow pants are the only company she has when the monster vanishes, and the shadow of death lingers over her.

[intxication]

Mathias had to be careful now. React too quickly, and she could panic. React too slow, and she could get away again. There was an art to what he did, and was more than just senseless killing. Even when he was at his most impulsive, he still made sure not to make any big mistake.

He had somewhat of a plan after walking around the shop, seeing what he could use and how fast he could get to tools. He even found the mechanic that kept the car elevated off the ground.

Now he needed to wait.

Mathias didn't move as she slid out from underneath the car. He didn't hide his face either. Death had a face, and in this moment it was his. Fingers that once curled around a trigger now held a paper cup with steaming coffee in it. That same off putting smile that Mathias could never seem to move past. "Long time no see" He greeted.

Then a button was pressed and the car came crashing down.

[izaralevine]

Faster — faster, she couldn't be caught here. Not by him; the nightmare man, who she'd been warned about as a child. Monsters and demons were not fictional, they were real. They took the shape of people and she'd stared this one in the eye twice now. Death appears terrifying; an impish, awful revelation that cuts a person into pieces, slowly.

A knowledge that everything goes dark. Pitch black.

And then, nothingness.

Scrambling, Izara's kicking the concrete, clawing the stone of her garage floor to get out from beneath the car she's usually so comfortable laying under.

There's a crash —

— a scream.

And Izara's hands fly up to slam against the side of the car that's just fallen on her legs, diagonal — at an angle, her knee cracked as it slammed against the floor. She felt that, the heavy metal of pipes that dig into her flesh, the hot scalds of an engine that's been running for tests — calling out, hopeless:

"No — please —"

She cannot reach her phone easily, but she's frenzied looking for someone to help. Where's Harry? Har? She can hear yelling — maybe an ambulance, a lot of curses, names; a fight perhaps. Harry, run... but she feels warmth pooling at her legs, shock comes in forms of screams and shaking — she cannot see the phantom of her nightmares here when her back is splayed to him.

Fingers trembling, she cannot move, pulling out from the low-set car has her feeling the tearing of her own skin. She coughs — stupidly attempting to lift the car she's pinned under, upwards from the trim.

But she's lost him — the evil incarnate —

And she feels the darkness threaten to take her.

[thebenrousseau]

"I am the cook, but I am not the painter. Or am I?" Ben gets lost in a carrousel of confusing thoughts, head spinning. "To paint or to cook, that is the question." Ben keeps dragging, and the next painting throws him off guard - it's beautiful flowers drawn all over the canvas, in all kinds of pastel colors. "This one reminds me of Veronica.", Ben admits, and wow, has he jumped into a topic.

"Veronica.", he repeats, "She recently came to my restaurant, and she said she had missed me." Which wasn't the full extent of their meeting, like, not at all, but Ben was getting dizzy, staring at the flowers, so he took a moment to take a few deep breaths.

"She also is a mother. Not as in like, she's so mother, but as in like, she is a mother." And, the worst - "It's obviously not mine. It's that damn guy's she left me for. Who she is not seeing anymore, apparently. Well, she kind of has to be seeing him, given they have a child together." And it's a boy. Just like Ben had always wanted.

There's the next painting, showing the dreariness of a landscape, and Ben hates it; "Let's go back to the egg."

[izaralevine]

"—You are...?" Izara poses it as a question, eyes wide, searching the man for an answer that she does not know herself. "Is to cook, to paint — if ingredients are considered the colours, the medium or —?" She's lost herself, him, and her compass of direction.

Veronica. Is that a painting? Kit's twirling around, looking for a placard labelling an artwork that. There's only the flowers Ben's staring at — no talking at, shit. Izara blinks, wily grin pulls up in the corners of her lips.

"Is she a flower — the ex flower? Deflowered?" Missed him? "Everyone misses you, you're greeeeat." She slaps his arm, before hooking her arm into his. Mostly, for stability. The room's spinning a little on its axis, sideways.

She's not sure anymore which painting is her favourite.

"Oh fuck." She exasperates, listening to Ben's rambles of Veronica, and mothers — and shoves aside the topic of mothers entirely, to consider that hers is dead to her. (forever, eternally, never to be addressed again.) "That's pretty shit, man."

What can she say besides that? "You'll find other flowers, you're easy on the eyes, chef Benji." And to make her point, she wiggles her brows, and eyes to her friend in encouragement.

The egg.

"You just said you hated eggs, no?"

[elizabeaufort]

⏤ It was a hell of days, with one twin getting sick and then his illness passing to the other, and when one of them recovered the other got sick again, it was driving her nuts, especially because this time her father wasn't around to help her. ⏤ Luckily, they were getting better, and it was what she wanted for them.

Although now they're better, she wasn't feeling great lately, but she was ignoring her discomfort. ❛ I agree. ❜ She smirks when the other agrees that alcohol is the solution. ⏤ She winks playfully when Iz blows her a kiss and gets inside right after her. The place was full of life. Everybody seemed so excited.

Once she sees one of the staff members, going in their direction. ❛ Elizabeth Beaufort. ❜ She quickly responded, as they checked her name on the list of reservations, once found, then guided them to their respective table. Liz sits in her reserved booth, and she puts her purse in the space aside, near her. ❛ What do you say we start with a drink?❜

[izaralevine]

One thing they'll always appear to be on the same page for is that alcohol really is the cure all.

Lux sorts the reservation, and Iz is glancing to see if they're the late ones (if they were, it's because of her.) and whether their friends were already waiting on them. Somewhere, Izara's almost hoping (in that horrible part of herself) that they were first to arrive — or bailing, and that it would considerable shorten this entire day.

If only because the garage is waiting. And red dollar signs were going down the drain like an arcade game every time Izara looks somewhere that cost her another hour she could be welding.

Levine follows Eliza to their booth, slides in — and keeps that smile plastered in place. If Lux could do this sick, then Izara could cost herself a day of work. She'll figure it out. "God, yes." A drink; another wave of dollar signs that she's justifying as a necessity.

It is. "Cosmos, then?"

[yeniens]

"Just watch out for the carpet floors.", Yenna hums, "It would cost an awful lot to get stains out of them."

Absentminded moments pass, which the chef spends tracing over the lines in the bright tablecloth. Then Yenna finds her way back into reality. "I love that you always find something enlightening to say." Maybe that's a weird thing to point out. But. "It's nice to have you around." And maybe, nice is a boring word.

"Not nice," she corrects herself -- "It's not exhausting, being around you. Which I know, sounds weird. But I mean it." It doesn't compare to business meetings, or family dinners, it's a gentle crash of worlds, and Yenna loves it. Yenna loves Iza's world more than she loves her own.

"Do you want more wine?", is her way out of the friendly confession, before the moment gets too sweet, or too nice. Before there's too much closure, this precious, precious thing she can never afford. Then she does slip back into it -- "Please do come around more often. I like cooking for you."

[izaralevine]

That, Izara believes wholeheartedly. The carpet probably cost more than her annual income. She's freakishly aware that a spillage could very well cost her a lifetime of debt.

She's extra careful of the carpets, since the tablecloth is a lost cause already.

Iz's eyes flicker back up to Yenna as she speaks. There's every possibly that she's translating the words to a compliment, and every possibility that she's witnessing her own casual impotence.

"I wouldn't say I have many enlightening things to say, but I'm glad you think I do." she remarks, quietly chuckling as she delves in and destroys the creation Yenna has supplied her with. Beautiful things didn't stay that way forever. Izara recognises that too; everywhere in life; applied to every little thing, if one looked close enough.

But more wine — ?

"If you're offering." Clearly, Yenna is. But, politeness exists somewhere in the crevasses of the mechanic. Staunching the moment of pause; of warmth that fills Izara's chest when she shares the moment with Yenna. As if it's obvious — Izara's silent plea, and desire for this; Yenna; the food; the ambiance; something unlike her realm of oil, and aluminium — of engine fumes, and spray paint. It's a world she visits, and it's always only fleeting. "You don't have to tell me twice, Yen. Fu—Hell yes I'll come as often as you'll have me."

It might have been Yenna's politeness, or kindness that drove her to say it. But Izara will cling onto that, until she's told otherwise.

"—And for the record, you're more than nice company." It's a play, of course. And Levine is pointing the spoon at Yenna — not in threat, but playfully. Not forgetting the earlier remarks that had brushed over them. Izara finds no foul ball in asking, (she's swallowed the dessert quickly) with a smile: "Am I going to see you outside the restaurant sometime too?"

[josiahmaxwell]

If there was anyone that was one hundred percent with him on all his shananigans, it was Izara. He could call her at two in the morning with the most wild plan, and she'd be more than happy to jump into a pair of jeans and join him on a drunk adventure. He would do the same, of course — that's why he was up, dressed in denim overalls, armed with a pack of beers and already on his way to spend a day passing her wrenches and pilers.

A damn good friend he was, if anyone asked him. Especially, if the afternoon in question could've been spent sunbathing somewhere.

"We could've been in Cabo." on a yacht, with a couple of hot babes, and many, many margaritas. A dramatic sigh followed.

One hand extended with a cup of coffee, as the other placed the beers on the ground. "Coffee is for your head, and the beers are for my sanity." Luis chuckled; dark gaze snapping to the actual work she had to get done.

"Is this what we're dealing with, boss?"

He had his hands on each side of the hood now, studying what was in front of him, like he actually had any idea what was wrong with this car, like he had any idea what was wrong with any messed up car — whenever his own was acting up, he tossed the keys at whoever knew how to fix it.

[izaralevine]

"We could've." She agrees, snagging the coffee when it's offered with a wink. "But I have to pay to get there somehow."

There's a laugh — the exchange is honest. And Luis knows that. So the joking keeps rolling: "Besides, it'll do you some good to be a grease monkey for a day. Good for your insta clout."

Iz unzips the kit at her waist as she walks around to Luis' oogling of the car hood. She's slipping out an oily, well used rag to wipe... oily, well used hands absently. Eyebrow lifting, she's amused — of course, the card shark's looking at a busted carburetor.

"Atop the engine, underneath the air filter, babe." It's directions; simplified. Nodding to the part she's got to work on. "You'll be at the wheel arch's," she teases, tugging out a piece of sandpaper from another zipper of her kit, offering it to him. "Wet it a little, it'll stop the rust flaking on your hands."

If he wants to help, otherwise. She'll stay grateful for the coffee, and the company.

[intxication]

Despite the body count Mathias had, there had been some who were lucky enough escape with their life. Whether it was because of inexperience on his end, like this one, or because the person who paid him didn't want death. Either way they were all walking around, escapees of death waiting for the end he'd bring them.

He looked around the shop a bit, taking in his surroundings. It wasn't the best place for this, but he'd make do. It could be worse. He went over to the coffee pot and made himself a cup. The woman under the car was a very lucky one. Mathias had only really seen her face on a file he was given, and from a distance through a sight. Up close now, he could see the life in her eyes and the blood pumping through her body.

Blood to be spilled.

"Thanks! Sorry I'll be honest I'm not very knowledgeable in cars. I usually leave it to my dads to deal with".

[izaralevine]

Crank, crank — Iz is trying to speed up her movements beneath the car in order to give attention to her customer. Her back's firm against the wheelboard that has he easily rolling along the ground to replace the exhaust. She hadn't heard a car pull up, so the guy's probably just a walk-in with questions about something; potential client. Nobody was due to collect a vehicle today.

Kit can hear the coffee being poured. Good. Patient man.

That's something. And eventually, she kicks her foot along, gripping the wrench in her hand to peek her head out from under the car. She wants to be less rude and put a face to the voice.

"That's okay, you got one to bring in, what's —?" But Iz's words stammer off, her eyes capturing the man's features; his stature from the upside-down, sideways angle she's laying down to capture him with. She suddenly cannot breathe, her chest shallowing, fingers whitening around the wrench in her hand.

No, no — flashes of that day; a gunman, walking in and opening fire — just like this...

He's drinking her coffee.

And she's terrified. Panic floods her; a monster that's got its claws, and teeth buried inside her that has her freezing; hesitating. It's all the nightmares that her parents tormented her with. The spot on her shoulder; the rounded, jagged scar bleeds pain and anguish. Fuck, no, please. Her legs are numb, and her lip trembles. Desperately, she's scrambling to get out from under the car; it's clumsy movements — despite doing this a thousand times, she doesn't rush. Now, she has to — Away, away, get away, please God, get me away —

[lararivkin]

She can tell she's lost the mechanic - that's fine. It was a rambling mess, and she was simply thinking out loud - rather than an actual conversation. "Authoritarianism was just me being.." She lifts her fingers and crooks them in faux quotes. "Politically correct. People don't like hearing the big 'F' or 'N' in everyday life."

But she doesn't push, instead leaning over with a brighter smile. "Sorry, love, I've had more than a few philosophical conversations over the last few days. Rotting my brain out."

She takes the invoice, folds it and tucks it into her purse. "You know I have absolutely no idea what work you did for them, or what car." Lara laughs humorlessly. "If you explained, I'd probably just get the same look that's on your face right now." Teasing, but relenting that she's been.. a bit too much.

[izaralevine]

"Ah." Izara lets the word drop out in a way that compiles all of moments she's been completely and utterly wayward. Politically correct. Of course, PC is everything now. The laugh that follows, is one of nerves — and screams fake — because it's very much: okay then. Cool, cool, cool. "You know your stuff."

Compliment, Iz thinks.

She'll never make the mistake of putting an question in amongst the prophets or the priests, again.

At least, the air softens in its discomfort when Izara manages to find a reason to make her smile genuine. They won't explain to each other the intricacies of... their specialities? It would save them both the headache. "Well, if they have any questions, my numbers on the invoice too." She clarifies, absently adding on in simple terms; for a simple thing: "If you could remind them to get their car checked a bit more often; the oil levels were dangerous, checked in any later, it might have been a fucking nightmare of an engine fail."

[josiahmaxwell]

Luis wasn't even close to being a perfect model — restless, couldn't sit still for longer than seven seconds, couldn't shut his mouth for even less, always perched somewhere. The longer she stared at him with her serious face on and her eyes giving him that I'm trying to concentrade asshat look, the wider his grin became, stretching almost out of proportion.

Ten minutes was plenty — ten minutes was what Michelangelo probably had to draw a masterpiece, and although they were no Leonardo, this was supposed to be fun and not gallery worthy. Luis didn't even bother to look at the mess he's made — no artist could capture the way her curls framed her face or how bright her smile really was, and if he had to get deep about it he could list endless bits about her person that only a close friend would know, only a close friend wouldn't miss.

"Dude, come on — " he was ready to snatch the canvas right out of her hands.

How bad could it be? Brown eyes flickered to his own canvas, where a lopsided, crosseyed Izara stared at him.

Really fucking bad.

"Bullshit, that's a lie." he chuckled along. She wouldn't be able to fix this, even if she had eternity to do so. Luis picked up her drawing, yanked it right off her hand in one swift motion. A series of chuckle erupted from his throat, as he studied what looked like a South Park version of Luis.

He silenced himself with a drink; nearly chocking on the damn thing.

"The eyebrows are so me, Iz. You've done a beautiful job. You should do more — maybe draw me like Rose, draped on the couch — " Luis hopped onto the couch next, head hanging from the edge, "— just a few like that, and you'll be ready for your first solo gig — name it — " a beat. " — Beautiful and Misunderstood."

[izaralevine]

Izara's waving the canvas just out of Luis' grip whilst she mentally assess and criticises the fun piece; she's picking it apart, like she would any project she puts work into. They're still laughing, and it's endearing when she eventually concedes to turn the paper around so Lu can see: "I think we did great."

When she stares at her crosseyes, and her straggly lines of hair. There's a ache in her chest from where she's laughing harder; pee threatens to slip as she buckles forward on the floor, holding her stomach. "Oh my god," she's released the picture to Luis so now she's got two hands free to stop her laughter.

The eyebrows. His were bushy.

Her version of his were singular lines she drew on in forgetfulness.

"You're full of shit, Lu." She accuses, as she admires him taking up a new position, upside down, across the sofa with his reversed smile. Calming down the moment of immediate amusement, Izara gathers her breath back, stretching out on the carpet: "With all that blood rushing to your head, those French girls had their work cut out."

Luis couldn't stay still to save his life.

"Beautifully misunderstood, you mean." she teases, "Artists name their shit with shameless poetry." Or at least, some do; perception is everything, with art. Iz can't say more, without Luis learning she's a vandal. "What do we name yours?" she asks, plucking the picture up again, to see the little details Luis attempts to capture; it's sweet, really. Kit winks when she offers one: "Tried and tested?"

[thebenrousseau]

@izaralevine | Setting: An art gallery | Local Time: 18:57

Ben blinks once. Twice. The painting he's staring at blinks back, and Ben raises his eyebrows in confusion. "Woah. Can you see that?" Taking a step closer to make sure he's not hallucinating, the man pushes his hands into his hips and just stares. The painting stares back, no more blinks, and it becomes an endless staring contest, until Ben gets bored and his eyes burn, so he turns back to follow Izara to the next painting. (Completely disregarding the elderly couple that has been staring at him weird for about thirty minutes.)

Which is a line. And an egg. "I think what the artist wanted to say with this, is that he really likes eggs. Or they're a cook, and can't help but hate eggs. It's understandable. I hate eggs, too." Ben stares at the merely painted canvas and raises his eyebrows once again, to be able to read out it's title; "Jeopardy. What the fuck. That makes no sense."

This painting is left behind, too, when Ben's attention is caught by the next room the gallery offers; projecting moving art onto the wall, featured by various artists. "No way. Iz. Izzie. You gotta come see this." Ben tugs on her arm, pulling her with; "That's crazy cool."

[izaralevine]

Izara's waving a finger through the air, as if she was tracing the endless lines of paint across the cavases; she's not close to the works, but her head is cocked, and she's invisible spray painting in the middle of the gallery hall. Ben's whispery, ghost-like voice is beside her, talking to the aether. She's humming, grinning.

When she can eventually twist her head to see the chicken stance that Ben's propped himself into, she chuckles. "I see it."

Izara hasn't noticed anyone else, really. Just her and Ben, and Jimmy in the painting who had been giving Benny some stink eye. She isn't sure who's won yet.

"You're the cook. If you say it's eggs, it must be. That's how it works." Definitely. "No use crying over dropped eggs, ain't that — it's that, hm? I like eggs, wait, you hate eggs." She's shaking her head, and the room is spinning. "Chefs eat everything; that's the law of chefs."

Her mouth opens, to continue, but —

They're onto the next one. Izara's hopping forward to catch up with him, Iz. Izzie. She's coming, she's coming. "Oh shit," she gasps, blinking as she stares at the cosmonaut of white on the canvas. Kit's in awe, gasping as she frantically grips Ben's top and pulls him closer; desperate and eager: "It's the most beautiful cheese I've ever seen."