A Ride on the M // WIZARD, W, ALL RIDERS, ASSEMBLE! // HOLODECK MOTORCYCLE COURSE OPEN!

[tanteiotaku]

Shotaro has been quite busy in the holodeck for the last week or two, and he was usually working on something on a PADD (though his typewriter was never far behind it). He had definitely been embracing the Enterprise's tech in a big way, only occasionally needing a bit of help from Philip. But, it was a delicate dance between figuring this system out and not giving Philip enough information for him to guess what was going on. He wanted to surprise him.

Finally, he had a finished product. And what a product it was. No one could ever mistake this for any kind of real place. From the entrance, one could see Fuuto Tower, a gigantic windmill turn in the distance, and the landscape is dotted with other Earth landmarks, as well as some from other worlds and places as found in the Enterprise databases. The lava plains of Vulcan, the Great Domes of Qu'nos, the cliffs of Undalar on Bajor, and dozens of other landscapes and locations from other worlds. Overall, it was quite the undertaking for someone that had never even left his hometown before. But, as fond as he was of his town, he was sure there were others that felt similarly.

However, that didn't yet address what his purpose in all this was. A large motorcycle course, with a few subdivisions for difficulty levels. The highest level course was both long and a little treacherous, with jumps, tight turns, and obstacles that come along with no warning like falling rocks and slick spots. He did leave all the safeguards on, so injury is unlikely. The lowest level course is a short and simple banked oval.

On the day he's ready to debut it, he's posted a couple of signs, in places like the halls of the guest quarters, next to the Ten Forward doors, under the console of the other holodecks. "Motorcycle Races! Holodeck 2! 5 pm!" Short and sweet.

On arrival, people are going to find Shotaro looking quite proud of himself, and a line of motorcycles of various types and sizes and a console set up so if someone doesn't see what they prefer they can generate it. From motocross bikes, to vintage World War 2 models, your classic chopper, and some sport bikes. There was also one or two from oher worlds that sounded cool. Each was poised with helmets and gloves perched on the seats. But off to one side was a particularly interesting matched pair.

Closed to Philip
He tended to drop in on Philip unannounced. He'd even started letting himself in like he lived there. Sorry Clint. "Hey, Partner. Time for you to find out what I've been doing." He was glad he had an opportunity to surprise him. As often as they shared consciousness at home, that would make it pretty difficult. Any secret from Philip had to be a secret from Shotaro too. But since they hadn't been Double in a while, that made it easier.

[OOC: Party post! Come one, come all, even newly apped characters! Because who needs timelines? Bring a friend or harass Shotaro. Put in your subject if you're open to everyone or if you want Shotaro :|b]

Comments

[do_your_duty]

He's still grinning. He is. When she looks over, fixing him with a sharp stare. It isn't a glare, but that would be stupid to call passive or unharmful. For all she knows, maybe that is the reason he is smiling. Aeryn looked back away, at the dashboard. It was a small thing. Rudimentary. But it was not impossible to estimate what most of it was.

The spike shoved down her spine though was reason enough to twist the handles again, and level one calmly impatient look more forward than at John at her side. His hand still on her waist still. Even as the bike made noise and vibrated harder suddenly. "Good to know."

Moving right along. "And the breaks are?" Her voice stayed pointed, trying to work out the archaic tech. Knowing the sooner she had both gas and the breaks, the sooner she could try this, and the sooner she could be done. Or at least the sooner she could be out there. Instead of exactly right here.

[never_felt_better]

"Here," he grins, pointing out each and exactly how to operate them. Nu-uh, nope. You're not gonna rain on his parade, Aeryn. Not this time.

"When you're ready to go, you let up here and here, and tuck your feet back against these stirrups right here. It's important you keep your center, even if it feels like you're about to tip over, because the second you move your leg back out your whole balance will shift. Here, when you're ready just gently twist on the gas again, and I'll walk beside you, okay? Not too fast."

He won't let you fall.

[do_your_duty]

It's patronizing, that smile. Like a lunatic prisoner snapped. She does not think she'll ever get why he's so excited about this ship and it's archaic backwardness. Like why they have an entire room that could be used for so many smarter, sensible things that letting them play with archaic objects such as the one she sat on. Making her humor John Crichton and his deluded excitement.

As much as her own frustration at him, and the place.

His assumption she couldn't master something her prowler would overtake by just starting up.

The was a sore, sharp note that stabbed into her. That still same separation from what she most wanted back close. Keeping her tense as John droned on instructions, causing her to say caustically. "It's a rudimentary machine. Peacekeeper children use things more complicated than this by the time they are walking."

It might have been at least partially true, but it felt good to just snap is at him and his frelling unending smiling.
But she didn't want to think about the why or the how, or anything, so she twisted the the handles less than gently.

[never_felt_better]

He's mid-eye roll, a snarky remark coming off his tongue because it's starting to seem like she doesn't possess the ability to have fun, and that's her problem not his.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Inferior race, Peacekeepers are Number One, you can do this with your eyes closed, I - wait whoa!"

John ends up tripping over his own feet and landing on his face when she takes off. Damn it, Aeryn! He's vaguely aware of a pulled muscle in his shoulder and what feels like a bruised diaphragm, but even as the shock wears off his first thought is on her. He scrabbles back up, ready to give chase, hoping she actually listened to his instructions.

[do_your_duty]

It's a wobbly go. For a microt, when it hits speed enough to send her forward fast, it reminds her barely of flying.

But it's happening at the same time as John yells and then goes tumbling backwards, the impact of him hitting the ground maybe even half imagined compared to the roar of the bike. And she's looking backward, more than she's looking forwards, mentally yelling at him for being a clumsy hooman and herself for suddenly being worried, even as she yells, "John!"

Even though he's on his feet as the bike is swerving and causing her to look forward, but to lose some of her balanced from the several fast back and forth shifts.

[never_felt_better]

"Hey, eyes on the road, Evel Knievel!" he shouts back without the slightest hitch of hesitation. Because her concern is taking a backseat to his right now, some primeval mixture of adrenaline and testosterone convincing his brain he's fine while he knows exactly how precarious her balance is going to be in that position at that speed.

Maybe later tonight when he's all ice packed-up and no longer distracted he'll think back to this moment, and realize she was worried about him. How about that?

For the time being, the only thing he's thinking about is the simulated pavement under his feet until his fingers brush the back of her seat and her thigh, resisting the urge to go for the handlebars. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he yells, more to himself than anything, until he's got her more upright than tilted. And all of a sudden, he just lets out a burst of laughter. Because damn, baby.

"Line your front wheel up with your nose, straight ahead," he exhales, until he knows whether she's going to stop or keep going. "Keep your handlebars straight and your knees tucked in. I've got you."

[do_your_duty]

John is shouting, but it's lost in the roar and the sudden skittering veer the machine under her is taking, before it's suddenly back upright, even with the ground, and John is, just as suddenly, laughing right behind her. Making her twist hard around, feet smacking the ground, and having to at least see it, even when she's still hating herself for it, in the adrenaline spike.

But he is. Standing there. Laughing. Hands on the machine. On her. Laughing. All bright eyes and heavy breaths.

Something tightening sharp in the center of her chest, like maybe she'd hit the ground instead of him. Except that, thankfully, he just keeps talking. Talking, talking, talking. That high ringing note still in his voice, even as he's gone back to instructions and she can turn back, her braid smacking her back, and do what he's saying. Focus. Shove all of this somewhere.

Wheels lines up with the front part. Handles straight from there, too. And John Crichton saying he's got her.

Which only makes that pinching feeling need to be pushed down further. "And then we try again?"