Skav was halfway to The Grotto when he heard the familiar roar of a motorcycle. Their first thought was
’How the hell can those dinky old things be louder than my music’ and the second was
’Bomber!’. The mask hid the road behind them snuffed it in the darkness of latex and feathers, and they didn’t feel gutsy enough to whip around and stare due to the slow-driving Jeep who’s ass they were currently riding. They had no wish to deal with any new lawsuits, not yet. So Skav leaned back into the leather seat, feeling the material warm them to the core, and they waited for whatever stupid mask was threatening to pull up beside them.
When they turned to cock their head quizzically at what they assumed to be a Bomber beside them, a familiar mask met their gaze instead. Blue was whooping along to the roar of their combined engines, zipping passed cars on their dinky motorbike. Skav really couldn't consider the Interceptor decent mode of transportation, not compared to their Qrow, but they couldn't help but feel impressed by its flexibility.
Senseless silence would drive the whole world mad, so Skav allowed their speed to linger and turned their full attention to Blue.
“Hey, snake eyes!” Skav hissed over the pounding New Wave and growl of the engine,
“What brings you up this way?”“Oh, nothing much. Was just heading to The Grotto for a little pick-me-up. You know how it is, hm?” Blue replies airily, swerving dangerously close to the Qrow, though he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the road for even a second. More than anything, the question was rhetorical. He knew that the topic of drugs - even a mere insinuation - had always been a sensitive one for Skav, and he’s pretty sure he teases them about it far too much to be healthy. Why they chose such a profession despite their aversion to all things
‘sinful’, however, was a mystery to Blue, and would most likely remain so for the foreseeable future.
The combined roar of the Qrow and the Interceptor, plus the agitated, choppy licks of an electric guitar that blasted from the speakers were almost deafening, and for more reasons than one, he was thankful for the muffling effect the mask had on his hearing. He held little doubt that the commuters he’d so swiftly cut off would be none too pleased about the whole affair. “I could say the same to you, Birdbrain. Don’t you have more important,
holier things to do on the Lord’s Sunday?”
“Pick me up, huh?” Skav’s shoulders were tense, only for a mere moment, as the memory swam through their head. Green liquid, needle, smile, smile, smile, darkness. They shuddered subconsciously at the ghost pain of being pricked slipped under their skin, and then all at once they were loose and relaxed again. The memory was shoved away in favor of feeling nothing and being nothing. Absolutely Skav-ish, and nothing more. He swerved precariously around a slow driver and then pushed back up against Blue, the mask’s glass eyes twinkling in the sunlight.
“I just got out of Mass, so my holy Sunday is basically over.”Skav could hear the smile in their own voice, replacing the usual apathy. The lilt was enough to make their southern drawl slightly more pronounced, chopping off the endings of most words as they continued on,
“It's too hot to stay holy today, ya know? I'm itchin’ for a bit of sinning.” Skav threw their head back, dramatic and ironic. A complete jest of their usual demeanor. The engine revved again as Skav shifted gears and pressed down on the gas, speeding up their little conversation (literally).
Blue lets loose a harsh bark of laughter, shoulders shaking as he does so. With how Skav dresses, every last inch of their being shrouded in one manner of fabric or another, it’s almost a miracle they haven’t yet collapsed from heatstroke. Even as Blue sped along, sharp gusts of wind biting into his exposed skin, beads of sweat continued to roll down his temple and down his neck. The air was starting to get uncomfortably humid; and though he thought he’d never see the day, in weather like this, the air-conditioned interior of The Grotto sounded like a little piece of heaven.
“Looks like I’m headin’ your way, though.” Skav’s head turned forward, fingers unfurling and curling over the warm steering wheel,
“Thank goodness, I was hopin’ someone fun would be there so I'm not just stuck drinkin’ with a bunch of drama queens.”“Why, Skav. I didn’t know you thought of me that way. I’m worthy of having a drink with you? Fetch me my vapours, I’m swooning.” If there wasn’t a rubber mask hiding his features, Blue would’ve bat his eyelashes coyly at Skav, if only just to see what kind of reaction he could get out of them. Even if he couldn’t see the other’s face, their body language was usually enough for him to draw up some semblance of a conclusion. That was the thing about these masks, he supposed - they helped trim away all the unnecessary bullshit.
“Don't get cheeky with me, snake.” Skav hissed, apathy returning, and the silence that set in was only eaten away by the combined cries of both vehicles.
As they get closer to The Grotto, traffic begins to grow sparse, though it isn’t to anyone’s surprise. The Grotto was in the bad part of town, with most law-abiding citizens of San Marzano not seeing the need to venture out of their tightly woven webs in the heart of the city, putting their lives and belongings in danger. Not like they were to blame; even in broad daylight, the dank alleyways, abandoned buildings, and leering gang members lent the district an undeniable atmosphere of danger. Most folk would be afraid of getting mugged, or
worse, having a knife slipped between their ribs, but Blue - along with the rest of the area’s inhabitants - have long since gotten past it.
Skav checked the sky above, squinting through the darkness their mask offered, and then made a show of pulling over onto a particular empty curb. They beckoned all the way over, hoping to attract Blue to stop as well as the ideas swam around his head desperately. They were a mere eight blocks from the Grotto, far enough away to make a race seem justified. The car rumbled under them, even when parked, itching to gain momentum. Itching to ride as far and as fast as Skav could push it.
They didn’t want to leave the poor girl waiting. The crow mask twisted around as Skav pushed himself out of the window, balancing precariously as he said,
”Wanna race the rest of the way? I wanna see how fast that dinky bike of yours can go again.”Dinky? Blue scoffs, but fails to see the point in protesting. Compared to the Qrow, it really
was a piece of work, the smell of charred grease filling his nostrils whenever he went pushed the Interceptor to go beyond its capabilities.
Pausing, he takes a short moment to consider the other’s offer. He wasn’t as skillful as Skav at maneuvering. Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Skav was born at the helm of a car - burning rubber even before they learnt how to walk. Despite the bulk of the Qrow, there’s something strangely natural about the way Skav handles it, like it was an extension of their own being.
Still, Blue muses, pointedly ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in his legs and neck, perhaps a race was just what he needed to take his mind off things. With a nod, he agrees to Skav’s proposition, tightening his grip on the handle of the bike, and against his better judgement, decides to make a bet.
“Loser buys drinks?” Blue questions with a tilt of the head, a roguish smirk hidden under that scaled, hissing facade. After all, his pocket is heavy with dirty money, and what better thing to spend it on than glorious, glorious debauchery?
“Deal. See you at the Grotto, Bluesy.” Skav’s mask tilted, allowing the crow’s eyes to burn with a fire previously hidden by the layers of feathers. The faintest impression of a chuckle escaped them, a soft, breathy noise that was easily lost to the rumble of both vehicles. And then the mask was gone, pressed back inside the interior of the Camaro as they shifted gears and revved the engine. The clock that was their heart ticked down minutes, beating loudly in Skav’s ears. A mile a minute churned through their body, ticking down, and after a good long while they shifted gears and peeled away from the curb.
Skav stayed at a steady speed in the beginning, using their movement as an indication for the start of the race, but once Blue was up and moving behind them Skav cut down on the gas and shifted forward.
Street racing was a pastime for most gang members throughout the city. Most saw it as a fun way to gain some attention from the pigs, others actually bet money and lives into the practice. Skav liked the rush they felt when they were settled behind the wheel and breaking every law in the book. It was a sin worth being addicted to. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline was intoxicating; a high without actually having to rely on the nasty effects of drugs, and Skav clung to it hungrily.
Even if they didn’t win, the adrenaline bore from the speed and the sounds was enough to keep Skav in a cheery mood for the rest of the day. Skav tilted their head out of the window as they rushed through the almost-empty streets, calling out a soundless insult while wind whistled through the latex and cooled their burning face. More laughter, louder and breathier than before, formed as Skav just barely winded around a corner and avoided a telephone pole. Seven blocks to go.
Through intense concentration, Blue is able to keep up, though he lags a few feet behind the competition. His fingers are closed so tightly around the handlebar that his knuckles turn white - the only sign of trepidation visible to the naked eye. Once or twice, he narrowly avoids crashing into the Qrow at a turn, swerving out of the way with inches to spare. His heart pounds in his chest, pumping jolts upon jolts of adrenaline through his chest, burning a toxic trail through his bloodstream. The hangover from that morning is almost forgotten, having been reduced to a muted thrum on the left side of his brain. He’s pretty sure it hasn’t got any better, just that the chemical cocktail running through his veins is doing its job taking his mind off it.
Setting his jaw, Blue waits for a stretch of straight road, and squeezes the throttle.
The Interceptor lurches forward with a snarling roar, with Blue having to hunker down just to keep his balance. He could feel the vibration of tyres against asphalt, a low, near-imperceptible hum permeating his bones. As the wind picks up speed, so does he, and really, why didn’t he do this more often? He wants to go faster, faster, faster, the jet-black chassis of the Qrow becoming an amorphous blur next to him when he all but drills his eyes onto the road.
They pass a liquor store, then a block of shitty apartment buildings, the brick stained with chipping, white paint, and Blue realises that they’re getting close to the Grotto. He knew the neighbourhood like the back of his hand, perhaps even better than that, though he quickly quashes the thought, instead turning his full attention on making a sharp turn to the right.
There’s a brief moment of alarm - when his centre of gravity shifts a tad too far to the left, and he thinks he’s going to fall off the bike - but on sheer reflex, Blue leans in the opposite direction, steadying himself once again. A shuddering sigh of relief escapes from him, though he knows as well as Skav that it was not yet time to relax.
Of course, in Blue’s moment of panic Skav zoomed forward to meet him. Years of watching and waiting and planning made him a natural of realizing the mistakes of others. Blue made the turn too quick, too sharp, the classic mistake of every single racer on the road. Skav’s hand fell down three shifts automatically to take advantage of this opening. The wheel vibrated and was thrust from their fingers, but they twisted their wrists and quickly found control as they rounded the corner and rushed passed Blue.
Their hollering was lost to the screech of the Qrow. Fishtailing the back, Skav thrust their head out the window again to watch Blue’s reaction. Laughter and adrenaline choked in their throat, and they barely had enough time to cut the wheel around the next corner as they fell back in front of the windshield.
Blue dares to steal a glance when Skav shoots past him, turning just in time to see that feathery mess of a mask disappear back into the car. It’s easy enough for him to deduce what they’d been up to, phantom soundwaves of a sharp, breathy laugh filling his ears. With that last turn, he was surely teetering on the edge of disaster, muscles turning stiff as a board as he heaved the Interceptor back upright. But as the rumble of engines rattles his eardrums, the world starts narrowing down to the race and the race alone, the wild pounding of his heart slowly resuming its natural rhythm.
Three blocks to go. Skav took their new found lead with a grain of salt and kept up the speed. Above them the morning sun was beginning to hide behind churning clouds, and the humidity was enough for Skav to wrench the gloves from their hands and throw them in the passenger seat. They spared a single glance at their tanned, bruised hands. The knuckles were black with scabs and still sore from connecting with teeth. Their fingers tightened around the wheel, burning the injuries, and this feeling grounded them.
Here. I am here. I am no where else but here, in this moment, in this time.Memories of fire and needles faded as Skav cut around another corner. Two blocks to go.
When the sun disappears behind it’s wispy, white canopy, Blue makes to swerve into the opposite lane. The eye-stinging glare previously cast by the Qrow had subsided, leaving a window of opportunity for him to push forward. Already, the Interceptor was falling behind, tyres screeching against the tar-laden road as he weaves in and out between oncoming cars, but he accelerates anyway. There was only a short distance left before they reached the Grotto, and despite his earlier nonchalance, nascent seeds of hope germinated into something more. Maybe he could actually win; all he needed to do was close the gap between them.
If Skav had the advantage of experience, the maneuverability of the Interceptor was what evened the playing field. Eyes darting here and there, Blue soon finds himself an opening, bursting from the pack like a bullet. He hears some sort of commotion behind him - likely some particularly disgruntled drivers cussing him out - though it’s swiftly drowned out by a loud rumble of the engine as he rushes forward to meet the Qrow.
He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the road, not even when he speeds past the other, eyes trained on the stretch of road before him. There’s only one more block to go before they reached their destination, and the last thing Blue needed was to let his carelessness do him in.
Skav watched Blue pull ahead wordlessly, fingers shifting over the wheel to find a better grip. The Qrow was coughing now, hitching after every growl and every rumble. It wasn’t fast enough.
Skav wasn’t fast enough. Loss threatened to swerve their concentration, to kill the pump of blood in their ears and stifle their adrenaline. Skav felt disinterest swell, but they snuffed it in favor of jamming their foot down onto the gas pedal. PLastic hit carpet, creaking as Skav put all their weight into the gas, and with a startling loud
clank the Camaro rushed forward. The gap between the bike and car was devoured, eaten whole in an instant as Skav blasted passed Blue and rounded the last bend.
Skav drove like they were outrunning the Devil himself, or as if they were actively trying to wrap the Qrow around a telephone pole. They cut the wheel so quickly Skav felt the car jerk, skid, and then fishtail around the corner and against the curb. The Grotto passed first, a swirl of familiar bricks and color, and then the world zoomed passed and the sky threatened to burst overhead and Skav swore they heard something pop or sizzle behind them. Clammy palms reminded them of their will to live, and Skav pressed back into the seat as they quickly released the gas and reached for the gear shift. A few stomps on the break actually slowed the car down, and Skav soon found himself very much passed the Grotto and breathless.
They won.
Skav ripped the keys from the ignition as parking and crawled out of the car, glancing back at the street with an impassive stance. Adrenaline made them shake and twist their fingers together, hoping to quell the tremors with pressure. Dust and smoke settled against the ratty street, and Skav watched quietly, breathing heavily, waiting. Waiting.
Barely a second later, Blue rounds the corner, slowing to a stop right behind the Qrow. Of course, there’s some disgruntlement at having lost to Skav, but the promise of an ice-cold drink smooths over most of the irritation. Deftly, he dismounts the Interceptor, heavy boots landing on the asphalt with a muffled thump. Skav is already there - he notices - waiting, watching, inscrutable as always. If it weren’t for the slight, near-imperceptible movement of their shoulders, Blue wouldn’t even have noticed how heavily they were breathing.
“Well, you got me.” He shrugs, though he doesn’t sound too disappointed, a huff of exasperated laughter escaping him as he strides closer. For a long moment, however, he doesn’t say anything else, a wordless silence hanging in the air. He squints through the eyeholes of his mask, gaze boring into the feathery visage of Skav’s own, though it isn’t long before he gives up the endeavour. Whatever he’d been searching for, he doesn’t find it, and this, too, seems to satisfy him in some strange way. The stillness is easily broken when he lands a chummy slap on Skav’s arm, brushing past them without a second glance.
“Deal’s a deal. Now, c’mon - let’s get inside. I’m sweating my ass off out here.”Skav’s shoulders fell, even for the slightest second, feeling at peace for once over shared nonconsensual touching. Time stood still, dust and smoke settled, and Skav breathed out a soft sigh. Then they turned on their heels and followed Blue into the club.
