jeez, you really are a relic.( he couldn't help himself. )don't think you're a careless person who'd just happen to forget that you threw a candle at your curtains.
( He doesn't bother returning a text. Instead, Jason's wandering in with a half-finished coffee a few minutes later. He looks fine, by the way. Actually a lot better than she'd probably seen him since. Though he still looked shabby in dress.
Jason was just about to take a sip when the car came into view and he damn well near spat it out again. He looked at the car, then her, and a hand came out gesturing to the machine. ) They gave you this?
( He really can't help the chuckle but some part of him is mad about it. Like... they really went there. Whoever they are. The powers that be. He thinks about it for a second and then walks closer, taking a step around the whole thing. ) Dope flames, bro. ( Comes with an amused snort. )
Anyway, yeah it's a Ford Pinto. ( He's investigating. ) Early, maybe first run? Probably not older than 1973. ( A finger dusts over the trunk hood, stepping in front of Claire about a few feet away. Hand dropping. ) It's not a car, Claire. It's a bomb.
[As if that weren't obvious. 1973 is a touch after Claire's time, but the fact that Jason's able to name the make a year impresses her. So, he has interests. Noted.]
What? [She laughs, confused by the last comment.] A bomb? What do you mean?
No? ( Yeah, he figured this wasn't exactly Claire colors or style. ) You got sick racing stripes too, she's gonna go really fast ( a break ) until she fucking explodes.
( Jason managed to sneak out a couple more chuckles before taking a breath and finishing up his coffee. He turns, putting the empty cup on some... thing. Whatever was around and not the car, but maybe a different vehicle. He wasn't really paying attention. ) Ford pushed this out in like half the time it typically took to manufacture a car back then. Cut an assload of corners. It was recalled for a buncha reasons year after year, but the big one-- ( Jason nods for her to come over and squatted down by the rear bumper. A knuckle gently gestures to just underneath. ) is a fuel tank defect. Part of it is the design itself, I mean its just fuckin hanging out there, man. But yeah, the way she is right now, without any serious fixes I think the slowest collision death was something like 25mph. Knock her rear and suddenly you're in a barbeque.
[Explodes? Well, fuck. Claire's eyes widen as she comes to crouch beside him, resting a hand delicately on the bumper. Could have fooled her. She only has a vague idea of where a fuel tank would be on a car, anyway. Frank and Bree were the mechanics in the family.]
Bloody hell. Suppose that's why she was ten tickets.
[She's not terribly heartbroken--not like she has anywhere to drive, and it's not coming back with her to colonial America--but she looks at Jason for a long moment.]
Viktor's been given permission to establish a workshop. How do you fancy a project?
( He shrugs. ) As long as no one rear ends you, you're-- ( wee woo, wee woo, this is your brain alarm going off. He stops mid-sentence. Completely ignoring the whole ten tickets (yeah, that would explain it) or the ask for a project. Since he'd offer anyway. ) How many people know you have a car?
Not knowing could be worse. Just don't let anyone drive it or drive near it, yeah? ( It takes a moment before that sunk. He looked away for a second, a warm and genuine smile filling his lips. ) Don't worry about it, its a pretty easy fix. If that's the only problem that is. But we should probably start with that, anyway.
( There's a moment of silence as Jason's eyes divert to the ground. He is absolutely going to fuck this up, but she doesn't need to know about the Travis thing that's gonna happen since he'll be pretty adamant about not fucking around with it at least. So there is that, but... who knows how else he can make a mess of shit, really. Jason's pretty great at that ruining things, thing. Until then: ) Thanks. ( It's quiet, and he rubs the back of his head a little before letting the arm from his hand around the back of his neck. ) For trusting me with this.
( No, stop. Don't make this more awkward than it already is, Claire. His eyes flicked upward to her when she squeezed his shoulders and all he could feel was this sinking in his stomach--it was nice, a simple gesture that made a lot more than he was willing to admit.
Though Jason was thankful for the topic change. Hands shove themselves into the pockets of his ratty jeans. ) What, don't like orange?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to burn the witch, of course.]
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-> action
Jason was just about to take a sip when the car came into view and he damn well near spat it out again. He looked at the car, then her, and a hand came out gesturing to the machine. ) They gave you this?
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You're familiar?
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Anyway, yeah it's a Ford Pinto. ( He's investigating. ) Early, maybe first run? Probably not older than 1973. ( A finger dusts over the trunk hood, stepping in front of Claire about a few feet away. Hand dropping. ) It's not a car, Claire. It's a bomb.
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[As if that weren't obvious. 1973 is a touch after Claire's time, but the fact that Jason's able to name the make a year impresses her. So, he has interests. Noted.]
What? [She laughs, confused by the last comment.] A bomb? What do you mean?
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( Jason managed to sneak out a couple more chuckles before taking a breath and finishing up his coffee. He turns, putting the empty cup on some... thing. Whatever was around and not the car, but maybe a different vehicle. He wasn't really paying attention. ) Ford pushed this out in like half the time it typically took to manufacture a car back then. Cut an assload of corners. It was recalled for a buncha reasons year after year, but the big one-- ( Jason nods for her to come over and squatted down by the rear bumper. A knuckle gently gestures to just underneath. ) is a fuel tank defect. Part of it is the design itself, I mean its just fuckin hanging out there, man. But yeah, the way she is right now, without any serious fixes I think the slowest collision death was something like 25mph. Knock her rear and suddenly you're in a barbeque.
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Bloody hell. Suppose that's why she was ten tickets.
[She's not terribly heartbroken--not like she has anywhere to drive, and it's not coming back with her to colonial America--but she looks at Jason for a long moment.]
Viktor's been given permission to establish a workshop. How do you fancy a project?
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[It's not a secret, but port was distracting.]
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I don't think anyone outside of you would know anything about a 1970s car.
[And--]
I'm trusting you with a bomb, then.
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[Especially if it helps keep Jason busy.]
I'm sure you're itching for something to pass the time.
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You're welcome, Jason. I'm hoping you'll have a thing or two to teach me.
[She gives his shoulder a brief, light squeeze before stepping away to trail her hand over the orange paint of the car.]
Maybe once all is said and done we can see about a new coat of paint, too.
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Though Jason was thankful for the topic change. Hands shove themselves into the pockets of his ratty jeans. ) What, don't like orange?