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[ visual ] dick should not make up threats

Nowhere in the Book Of Rules does it say that Dick does not like bragging. He does not, as a rule, of course, especially not in regards to his own merits or accomplishments (such as they may be), but this is different. This is for his little brother, and he has unconsciously but exactingly calculated that a little showing off is acceptable. So, this is a publicly viewable transmission. Dick is wearing a dark gray t-shirt that doesn't quite hide the engine oil and other assorted stains associated with taking apart and putting back together a motorcycle.

Smiling at the tablet, he then points it at the revamped motorcycle, which is a very fetching and sleek shade of red.

"Hey, guess whose this is." Dick says playfully, voice warm and just. Happy. If he had a tail, he'd be wagging it. "Warning: if you guess wrong, I have to track you down, cover you in honey, and — stay with me here — roll you down a hill."

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First of all, the tablet activates in voice mode, although this isn't particularly spectacular since it essentially treats Dick to several long seconds of dead air. On the notable side is the weight of that silence, but it loses something without the expression to back it up and add valuable context. Is Tim silent with shock? Terror? Awe? Some other emotion the American government hasn't used in a propaganda leaflet?

Helpfully, he turns the video mode on after a moment, so Dick can bask in the full glory of his slightly bemused expression. As it turns out, he's a mix of apprehensively happy, curious, and just plain what are you doing. "You're never allowed to make threats again, that was awful. Creative, but awful. Is there an ants' nest at the bottom of the hill?"

... Priorities.

"It would be awful," Dick says proudly, replacing the bike in the tablet's viewpoint with his much less rideable (SSHHH) form. "Maybe it is an anthill. A giant anthill. To go with the giant hamsters. You didn't guess."

Priorities.

"It would require a lot of showering afterward. Is that your secret plan here?" Oh god, don't mention the giant hamsters. He's still trying to convince himself they were a hallucination or something. "I'm slightly afraid to guess, but on the other hand I'd almost like to see you try and cover me in honey and make me roll down a hill." Shh.

Alright, more seriously - and a little disbelieving still. "It's not for me, is it?"

Given that she hasn't spoken to him in a long while, Dick's voice over her tablet is enough to get her wandering back to it to smile and give him a hey-hello. Friendly is friendly, right? She wipes dirty hands off on an even dirtier rag, and pulls the tablet closer.

"Will you be rollin' down the hill with me?" Oh, but there's a plus side to this conversation. Man's covered in grease, which is a nice thing on its own, but behind him...

Well, the motorcycle's the real seller here, ain't it.

Already pleased with himself, Kaylee's question further confirms for Dick that this was a good idea. He grins at her in greeting, and says very sincerely, "Hmm, well, I don't know if that'll encourage or discourage the kind of behavior I'm looking for."

"All depends on what kinda behavior you're lookin' for, I'd guess."

She's taking her time looking that motorcycle over. "Just gonna taunt me with her, or do I get specifics as to what's runnin' her? Tablet ain't got the best quality to it."

"Honey." If it is one thing Mabel has found she likes, it's trolling handsome young men for the hell of it.

"Why honey, of all things?"

"No ulterior motives," Dick promises, beaming at Mabel in a way that may not be entirely convincing. "Beyond stickiness, of course."

Mabel holds a straight face for approximately two and a half seconds before she laughs, shaking her head.

"With such an innocent face like that, how can I not believe you?"

"That," Nazca comments with amusement, "is quite an elaborate threat." Her tone might suggest she approves. "What, may I ask, is the device for?" She apparently means the motorcycle.

Though nothing about her syntax was overtly anachronistic to Dick, something about her manner (and what he caught of her earlier transmission) prepares him for the question. He smiles at Nazca, pleased to explain.

"Personal transportation," he answers, patting the motorcycle's seat fondly. "Faster and more stylish than the trams. Which is not to say the trams aren't stylish," Dick adds, in case the hamsters are watching. And they probably are, aren't they, little voyeur bastards. "But you can't beat a motorcycle for getting around quickly."

She nods, thoughtfully. "And it would be convenient, I imagine, to choose one's own route from time to time." She is still adjusting to a city with almost no visible waterways, and having to walk everywhere is slightly annoying. "Did it come with you, or did you purchase it here?" Her tone is almost formal, businesslike, but she does smile a little. She can, it must be said, be friendly considering she knows no one here.

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