Beach, Thursday

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John's out on his bike, racing it up the beach by the Causeway, on the Causeway, and back along the beach, as if making sure things would be ready for a trip. The bike looks slightly different, more streamlined.

[come pester John on his bike!]

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"Meet me on the beach, he said. I have a surprise, Skinnybutt, he said." Anemone looked down at Gulliver in annoyance. "Men."

Rather than defend his gender, Gulliver opted to explore the shoreline. It was safer than arguing with Anemone.

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And that would be said men, coming down the beach on a motorcycle with sidecar. Motorcycle went vroom like a happy thing. He pulled up to her. "Hey there. Need a ride?" he said with a smirk, flipping up his helmet visor.

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"Maybe. I was told to never get in cars with strange men. Luckily, this is a motorcycle." Anemone grinned, the bad mood evaporating. "Gulliver! C'mere."

She knelt down to clip her dorm key to his collar. "Gullivers don't ride on motorcycles. Go play with Bart or River or Faile or someone, okay?"

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"D'you want in the sidecar or on the back?" he said, reaching down to grab the helmet out of the sidecar, waiting to pull the sidecar pin.

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"Back." Anemone held her hands out for the second helmet. "Gimmie."

No, she's not bouncing. It's your imagination.

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"Helmet." He handed it to her. "Ever ridden one before?" he asked as he pulled the pin. With a whoosh-viiip sound, the sidecar was now a trailer.

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Anemone quickly took a rubber band out of her pants pocket and pulled her hair back. "Only in the sidecar. 'Riding behind someone is too dangerous, Anemone.' Whatever. Riding shotgun is for, well, when you need someone with a shotgun next to you."

Helmet on an snuggly secured, she grinned at him. "Permission to board?"

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"Remind me to take you out sometime when I have that rigged up as a turret," he said, jerking his hand at the sidecar-trailer. "It's badass. Permission granted. All aboard." While his chin and mouthy region was obscured by the helmet, his smile came through in his voice.

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Anemone swung up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist tightly. "You're the best. You know that, right?"

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"I'm not the best," he said. "I'm just good at what I do. Properly secured? Don't wanna lose any precious cargo," he asked, flipping his visor down, gunning it a bit.

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The muffled shriek of sheer glee was the only answer as she tightened her grip on him. Wheeeee!

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And off they went as John cycled the gears, getting up to 3rd as he banked around the corners, catching air on the hills and bumps before slowing down, stopping. "You had enough or you want more?" he asked, turning around to make sure his barnacle of a passenger was all right.

[death-of-hope.livejournal.com]

As they stopped, she flipped up her own visor to peer at him. "That? Was AWESOME! Again!" If it was possible to bounce while being seated behind someone on a motorcycle, Anemone was probably doing it.

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It was possible, as evidenced by the motorcycle bouncing like a bouncy thing. "You suuuuure?" he asked, his own visor flipped up, revving the engine a few times.

[death-of-hope.livejournal.com]

The best part about riding behind the driver? Easy access to the ribs and kidneys. She poked lightly since he was driving. Tickling the driver? BAD. "Yes. How can I appreciate all the fine work you've done on the motorcycle if you don't show me what she's got?"

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"You asked for it," he said with a smirk as he closed his visor. And bopped hers closed too, for passenger safety.

And then popped a wheelie when he took off that time. Just a leeeetle one, really. Vrrrrroooom!

[death-of-hope.livejournal.com]

Anemone barely had time to resettle her arms around his waist when he popped the wheelie. She laughed as she clung to his back. "I have got to ask for one of these for Christmas? Or is that one Easter? I get them confused."

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"Christmas!" he called back. "I might get you one if you can feed it and take it for walkies!" Zoom. Vroom. Zoomityvrroom bouncebounceAIRBORNbounce vrooom. With a side of wheeeee!

He stopped again, at the other side of the beach. "Don't tell me you want to go for more," he teased.

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"I could make a dirty joke about your fast motorcycle always leaving a girl wanting more, but then I run the risk of you tossing me in the ocean," she teased back. "I'm not feeling the urge to wind up cold and wet again."

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"Nah, I'm not risking getting my helmet wet," he teased. "You wanna learn how to drive one-a these things?"

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"Ohwowareyouserious? YES!!!" Anemone hugged John tightly. "Best surprise ever! Is today Christmas? I thought Christmas had snow."

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"Christmas isn't until end of next semester. And yes, snow. Unless there's something wonky with the weather or you move further South."

"Here, move up front so I can tell you how this thing works," he said, patting her legs.

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Anemone took a moment to silently thank every single god she could think of that she had worn pants today. This would be impossible in a dress.

Well, impossible to do with any semblance of modesty anyway. Not that that would have stopped her.

Slipping around front, she settled herself in front of John. "So, I'm guessing speedometer, throttle, fuel gage, and shifter. Which brake is which?"

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"Okay, here's the deal," he said, handwaving it cuz the mun's never ridden one o' them fancy mechanized motor-sickles. "Front brake, rear brake, clutch, shifter. This is the throttle. Don't go too fast, because this thing's heavy, and I don't want to have to pick it up if we fall, and I don't wanna be holding my legs out and catch on something if we go too fast. So. Keep it in first. And go slow."

[death-of-hope.livejournal.com]

"Go slow...yes dear." Anemone patted his leg reassuringly as she went over everything he had pointed at. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. It doesn't feel too different from the basic LFO controls."

Anemone carefully started forward, keeping the bike at a nice steady (sloooooooow) 5mph as she got used to the bike. See? Careful.