#thr0ttle.

[cruisecontrl]

with: tania taviani-hardja @thr0ttle

location: body.

victoria has dragged tania to body with a promise to buy them drinks all night and, really, that meant that they won't even have to spend a dime throughout the night, even if they wanted something... extra. she needs a getaway, still reeling from, well, everything that happened on valentine's day. (she won't talk about it, she'll take it to her grave if she has to, but she needs her friend even if they don't know why.) "i feel like i haven't seen you in a while," she takes a sip of her drink and grimaces. too strong. "one of these days you're gonna let me drive you around for once, right?" she asks, though she's incredibly intimidated by driving around an actual racer — chalk it up to being slightly tipsy. "you can give me pointers."

[cruisecontrl]

i don’t know how to help you. ( for santiago, probably from jaeha )

"and that's okay!" santiago enthusiastically reassures jaeha, waving his arms around in a way that maybe could cause bodily harm if he isn't careful. not everyone can help, especially when santiago is on. hell, sometimes he just needs someone to be there, and this time it's jaeha. sometimes, that helps — a presence to keep him grounded. then he purses his lips, remembering how to be a normal person in society. with that, he puts down the tools he'd been working with and smiles at jaeha. "you know what'd help? food. wanna grab something at the diner with me?"

[cruisecontrl]

“i think i did a lot of damage.” for elias ( from my muse of your choosing, but probably jaeha )

“you… think you did a lot of damage?” his voice is steady, but there’s an underlying annoyance and a slight hint of anger at jaeha’s comment. elias looks from jaeha’s face, to jaeha’s shirt then to his pants and then to the dashboard of his car. “you think you did a lot of damage?” he repeats with a lot more bite to it. this is what happens when elias is nice — he treats jaeha to a burger, fries and milkshake and now all of that is all over what seems like every crevice inside his car. the dashboard, the seat, the floor — fuck, how the hell was there milkshake on the damned ceiling? “i didn’t brake that hard,” he shakes his head, “so how the hell did you manage to spill everything?”