Marcus doesn't really do vehicle maintenance, or certainly not on this scale. His truck has worked thus far out of a mix of luck and improvised patch-fixes. But he knows enough about the innards of the thing to be able to do as Joan tells him, however sniffy he gets about taking orders, and the collar works wonders when it comes to getting the best deals. He's not really supposed to wear it anymore. He doesn't like wearing it, it's stiff and uncomfortable and he sweats beneath it. Needs must, though. It's not long before Judith Frankenchevy is ready to go, looking distinctly more patchwork but also distinctly more road-worthy.
Joan's giving him a good deal. He insists on buying her a burger once the truck's fixed, partly to prove he can and partly because he's guilty about lying to her.
*
"Jesus," Marcus says, sounding a bit horrified but also a bit delighted. He's laughing as he decelerates, coming down off a long, relatively empty straight: big, chest-heaving laughs, not quite hysterical but definitely a little manic. He has to shout over the music, deep soul roaring over the noise of the engine. "Was this what you meant? About it being fun to watch me drive this? Because it's way more fun to actually drive it. And no, you ain't taking over. Jesus Christ, kid."
i can't fucken drive so you could say absolutely whatever tbh
Marcus doesn't really do vehicle maintenance, or certainly not on this scale. His truck has worked thus far out of a mix of luck and improvised patch-fixes. But he knows enough about the innards of the thing to be able to do as Joan tells him, however sniffy he gets about taking orders, and the collar works wonders when it comes to getting the best deals. He's not really supposed to wear it anymore. He doesn't like wearing it, it's stiff and uncomfortable and he sweats beneath it. Needs must, though. It's not long before Judith Frankenchevy is ready to go, looking distinctly more patchwork but also distinctly more road-worthy.
Joan's giving him a good deal. He insists on buying her a burger once the truck's fixed, partly to prove he can and partly because he's guilty about lying to her.
"Jesus," Marcus says, sounding a bit horrified but also a bit delighted. He's laughing as he decelerates, coming down off a long, relatively empty straight: big, chest-heaving laughs, not quite hysterical but definitely a little manic. He has to shout over the music, deep soul roaring over the noise of the engine. "Was this what you meant? About it being fun to watch me drive this? Because it's way more fun to actually drive it. And no, you ain't taking over. Jesus Christ, kid."