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Hi! I'm Skye.

[ Waving at the camera is Skye, hair pulled into a braid over one of her shoulders, long-sleeved shirt pulled down over her hands. ]

I guess some of you already know that. I mean, not just the people I know, but the people who I don't know I know 'cause I was here before. [ She shakes her head. ] Point being ...

I know we're all dealing with the same thing right now. These powers, manifesting out of nowhere. At first, I thought it was great. You idealize that sort of thing when you don't have it, but ... [ She bites down on her lower lip. ] I've seen some pretty messed up things since then. Not just seen, but felt. What it's like to be missing body parts, to smell my own flesh burning, to kill people. And I don't—

It's not a walk in the park for anyone, okay, I get that. I just want to know if anyone's found a way to, like, control it, or stop it.

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I dunno. I mean, I do potentially quite like you.

Oh potentially quite. Wow. [ smirking around the words. ] Yeah, when you put it like that, sounds dangerous.

Precisely. I'm glad you see the risk. But I think it's a risk worth taking, so long as we're up front and conscious of, you know. The risk, of attraction.

[said very seriously, which contrasts with the brisk cheer that follows quite suddenly:]

Right, so. See you in an hour, then?

[ She laughs, not acknowledging the supposed risk. Which perhaps says it's one she's willing to take too. ]

Sounds good. Where should I find you?

Shuttle bay. That's the biggest space I can think of, anyways, and this motorbike needs her space.

Then, I'll see you there.

[ And true to her word, she arrives readily in the shuttle bay. A direct trip still delays her about twenty minutes due to the sheer size of the ship, but it's obvious by her timeliness that she's committed to this manifested motorbike. ]

[And what a manifested motorbike it is! Although it's worth noting that its make looks old. Too bright and too new to be properly actually vintage, as if it were instead plucked right off a lot circa 1976 and deposited here in the shuttle bay. Which, to be fair, is sort of true.

Sirius is crouched beside it, fiddling with some little bit and looking pretty vintage himself: a rag shoved into his back jeans pocket, his hair long around his ears. When he hears her coming, he glances back over his shoulder, and grins.]

Hiya.

[Pleased to see her, and also proud of his bike. He grabs the rag out of his pocket as he shifts to his feet, wiping at his fingers. His shrug, in the direction of the bike, is sort of artful and casual and cool without trying very hard. Aristocratic advantage.]

So?

That can't be real.

[ Which, okay, it's not, but she knows what she means, and she moves past him to reach one hand out towards the bike like she thinks her hand might phase right through it. She rests her palm on one of the handlebars, and it's steady and solid. Grip firm, she looks back at him, excitement burning a bright light in the back of her eyes. ]

You're telling me this, this is you? You thought it into being real.

But what is real, really.

[Deep question. The way he arches his eyebrows suggests that he doesn't actually mean it, and by the time she looks around at him, he's already grinning. He can easily play cool, he can come across as aloof and aristocratic and fairly above it all--except on a few points. The motorbike just happens to be one of them.]

Absolutely I thought it up--and I s'ppose I've got to thank my thoughts for the fact that it can ride. I always knew I had very strong brains, but this proves it.

[He folds his arms over his chest, expectant.]

You can say it, y'know.

[ "Strong brains" prompts a laugh, and Skye makes no effort to hold it back. She's loving this, jaw hanging open in an awed, jubilant smile, enamored with the novelty of it. For all the drawbacks of these weird powers, this? This is exactly the wonder she's found in superpowers from the get-go. And maybe part of it is other people using them and not her, but a bigger part is that she sees creation in what Sirius has done. She glows. ]

Forget saying it. [ She glances between him and the bike, keeping her hand on it as she asks, ] Can I ride it?

[Well.]

We-ell. [Monosyllabic word drawn out into two, with a small valley of space in between. We, ell. He looks from her excited eager impressed face to her hand, which is still on his motorbike.

His. This is difficult. Good cheer fails him slightly.]

Sharing isn't usually how I handle my motorbike, y'know.

Usually leaves room for exceptions.

[ She bites down on her lip, trying to flag her grin. ]

Look, I'll level with you. [ She takes her hand off the bike, but only so she can twirl over beside him and gesture to it with two open palms. ] You steer. I'll just hold on and try not to think about how anticlimactic it would be to survive a killer spaceship and die on a motorcycle.

[Well, there are no exceptions here, thanks, no matter how cute you are--and Sirius is about to say just that when she makes her alternative suggestion. As luck would have it, this suggestion is far more in line with his usually, and is therefore easy to accept.

He gives her a sidelong glance, first, mouth already tugged up into a half a grin.]

Well, when you put it like that. [No trail off, as he's already basically accepted. He unfolds his arms so he grab hold of the handlebars as he swings himself onto the bike.] Oh, all right, c'mon, then. You're just lucky I'm extremely susceptible.

[A few practiced movements, and then the bike comes to life easily, with a growl of the engine. Sirius' grin takes firmer hold. Merlin, but he loves this bike.]

And I've never once crashed, by the way.

Edited (important edits for proper punctuation) 2015-08-14 15:47 (UTC)

[ Any attempts to quash her joy fly, fittingly enough, right out the window and into the suffocating void of space. With a broad grin, Skye climbs onto the bike behind him and slips her arms seamlessly around his waist, resting her chin atop his shoulder. ]

If you had, I wasn't expecting you'd tell me about it. [ She teases, clearly amused by his play at responsibility. ] Come on, susceptible. Show me what this thing can do.

Yeah, yeah, yeah--

[It comes out grumbled, purposefully left too loud to be properly under his breath. That's because he's not actually upset, at all.

He shifts the bike's weight onto its tyres. The movement changes the pitch of the idling engine. So does switching it into first gear--louder, and louder still when he raises himself up off the bike a little and kicks it to a proper start. A few cursory revs of the engine and--without warning--he kicks off. The bike jumps forward with a growl; the tyres squeak against the floor, and then they're off, streaking down the length of the shuttlebay.

If you didn't know the motorbike was invented, fixed into being by Sirius' mind alone--well, then, you wouldn't know that the motorbike is sheer invention. It's very real, to all actual intents and purposes--including its speed. Not as fast as a more modern bike, but fast when you've not been on anything quicker than a hovercart in months and months, and Sirius laughs, delighted. The sound is mostly lost under the engine.]

[ Jubilant, Skye squeals as the bike peals down the shuttle bay, gazing around at it with further wonder, as if the speed shifts her perspective of all of it. As if she feels just a bit less trapped within it when she's going at a reasonable speed, comparatively. It's nice, to reach back to the normalcy, even if it's been more recent that she's had that feeling than Sirius has.

With the engine as loud as it is, she doesn't try to chat him up over it, instead focusing on enjoying the moment, pressed snugly to his back, faint breeze formed by their speed whipping her long curls over her shoulder. ]

[The length of the shuttlebay is enough to simulate tearing out onto open road, to kick up to a speed high enough to lift at something in Sirius' chest. Not enough to get up to flying speed--and this is purely a speed restriction, nothing to do with confidence in his ability to believe in flight. If belief is all it takes, Sirius has belief enough to fly a fleet of motorbikes. But he's moored by technicalities, scuttled by the knowledge that he needs more distance with which to fly.

Still, this is pretty good. Better than, actually: this is great. Riding his motorbike; riding his motorbike with a fit girl. Top of his his of favourite things. They've zoomed down to the other end of the shuttlebay in no time at all, racing right up like they're going to hit the wall. But of course they don't. Sirius pulls up, short, rips the front of the bike around parallel with that wall. The back wheel skids, and gravity leans the bike, hard, toward the floor--but not so hard that it overturns, not so hard that they fall. Heels braced, gear switched, the bike's motor quiets to a happy rumble, and Sirius--his hair wind-tossed, his grin huge--turns around to look at her.]

Good?

That was amazing!

[ Not because she's never been on a motorcycle before—of course she has. But she's certainly never been on an imagined motorcycle, riding through the shuttle bay of a spaceship. There's novelty in the fact that this moment could only be produced by the effects of their otherwise dubious superpowers.

She lets go of him once they've slid to a stop, a stark contrast with the way she'd squeezed her arms around him while they'd skidded towards the wall. Sitting back, she looks back the way they'd come to see how far they'd gone, grinning wildly. ]

If we can make something like that, just imagine what else we can do. This is incredible. We might even be able to find ourselves a way out of here.

Ought to see it when it flies.

[The motorbike, that is. He remains as proud of it as ever, imagined or real or whatever. Fondly, he rubs the heel of his hand against the body of it, as the bike rumbles under them.

More generally, less inwardly focused on his own greatness and the greatness of his conjured motorbike:]

Dunno about a way out of here, though. Then again, people have been thinking up all sorts of things. Maybe they've just not sat down and thought hard about vague concepts and requirements that we haven't any clue about. Repaired jump drives. If that's it.

[Held up against the inability to leave the TQ, a motorbike seems a little pale. Sirius grips at one handlebar, reassuring both himself and the bike: still cool.]

If? [ That's curious. Up until now, people have made it seem quite like a guarantee. Busted jump drive, ship that may or may not be possessed, et cetera. She spots the pat of his hand and arches an eyebrow, sidetracked effectively enough to ask instead — ] Do you two need a minute alone?

Nah, we're perfectly all right with carrying on in front of you. If you don't mind, that is.

[Coolly taking her remark into stride, even if his grin is a little sheepish. All right, so he's incredibly fond of his motorbike. Surprise, surprise. One final pat before he rests his forearms on the handlebars instead.]

And yeah. If. 'Cos we don't actually know anything that's going on around here, do we? Not properly. We just do a load of guessing and hope for the best. What even is a jump drive, f' instance.

[Pointedly, he shrugs.]

Philosophical, innit.

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