The Foreign Car Parking Lot Wrote:... Terrible, terrible place. All of the shitty cars ever made, all in one parking lot.
Terrain
General - Shitty cars in every row, spaced out about three feet from one another. Have fun.
Natural Element Resource - Row after row after row after row of rice burning machines.
Weapons - All of the cars have been left unlocked, some of them have even had the trunk opened, and all of them have their factory standard floor jacks and spare tires.
Bonus Effects - None.
Sabrina vs Bellanox
HoH season 11. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
Much as she would have loved to roar up o her magnificently tuned Ducati 1098S, it simply was not to be. Oh, she rode up on her beloved Ducati alright, but it was far from magnificently tuned. After a year or so in the care of the Devil Child, Faustina Jaeger, the thing ran like st! Rather than the silky purr of a high performance, high powered, high end motorcycle, The thing had developed a slight whine. And there was a distinct knocking sound! What the ****** was that knocking sound?!
"Dewil childt..." She grumbled from behind a neoprene face mask.
This would never do... But it was a problem that would have to be dealt with later. For now, she had an appointment that had to be kept. Having followed the directions she'd received via text, Nox turned her motorbike into the designated area. Through the green tinting of her goggles, she could see used car dealer hell. An ocean of derelict jalopies carefully arraigned in nice neat rows, spread out before her.
"Ugh..." She grunted disdainfully as she continued down the central row. Not a muscle car in the bunch.
Near the center of said row, she slowed, then stopped, long legs straightening so as to hold both she and the bike erect. It would have been at this point that she pulled the helmet free of her head, had she been wearing one. She was not. Nor did she ever. Instead, she lifted the goggles from her eyes and settled them at the top of her head amid a windblown tangle of purple tinted hair. A quick tug yanked the neoprene mask down off her face to hang loosely about her neck, the leather of her chaps and jacket creaking slightly as she took a better look around.
"I likedt the park better..." She muttered softly, her thick Eastern European Earth accent giving her words a rolling lilt.
"Heeeeeey there viewer! Tired of all that searching for an affordable car that meets all your basic needs? Fed up with all those dealerships that pad their prices with unnecessary bells and whistles like air conditioning and hub caps? Ready for a budget-friendly, qualCOUGHHACKCOUGHhrrm vehicle? Then come on down to Bipolar Ed's Automobile Extravaganza!"
A beanpole of a man in an off-white suit, matching ten-gallon cowboy hat, and bolo tie, sporting a mustache that could hide a small child, marched backwards down one of the many rows of cars, slamming a palm down on the hood of each vehicle as he passed it. A weedy teenager with a baseball cap mounted the wrong way on his head followed close behind, eye pressed to a cheap camcorder capturing this . . . spectacle. The man stopped at a car that appeared identical to five more sitting further down and set his palm on its gray exterior, only to pull it back quickly. He glanced at his palm, made a face, and wiped it on his jacket. It left a dusty brown smear on the fabric, while a wooden smile stretched across his features.
"We're murdering prices at the lot! Murdering them! With a fire axe! So --" He stopped abruptly when his cameraman looked up and pointed behind Ed. He turned to look, and both stared, annoyed, at a round young woman who had wandered into the frame just behind the star of their commercial. She was clad in a white short-sleeved dress shirt, dark jeans, and combat boots. That was ordinary enough and could have been worked with, but she also wore kneepads and shin guards with a silver-like gleam to them, as well as what appeared to be metal nightsticks hanging from her hips, and a scimitar strapped across her back. It made her look completely out of place! She was ruining their propag- er, commercial! Quickly, the salesman started waving at her to get out of the way.
Sabrina ignored him, and glanced again at the information scrolling across the tiny screen of her FIGHTER. She was sure she had the address right, but . . . a used car dealership? Really? "Well," she thought with a sigh, "s'just Prelims, I guess." Sabrina started searching for her intended opponent, oblivious to urgent whisperings of "Go! Shoo!" At that moment, a loud sputtering drew her attention, and she spied Bellanox dismounting a bike, a couple rows over. As Sabrina started walking to meet her, a vague memory of someone with dark skin and purple hair dancing and shouting on a dusty, sun-baked rooftop surfaced, along with a label attached to it: cheerleader.
Sabrina's sigh expressed her dissatisfaction a second time. Hopefully, the woman's fighting skills matched her ability to stand on the sidelines and look pretty. Otherwise, at least Sabrina had the pleasant ache of bloodied knuckles to look forward to. After flexing her fingers absentmindedly, she mounted the back of a prime example of terrible Japanese engineering, and clambered on to the roof. As the car shifted under her weight, something under the hood clattered softly as it was knocked loose. "Hey! Missy!" the girl called out, straightening up and drawing stares from various customers wandering the lot. The cheap metal the roof was made of groaned in protest beneath her boots while she glared down condescendingly at her adversary. "How do you wanna do this?!"
Meanwhile, Mr. Mustache and his "film crew" had returned to shooting their ad, now that their obstacle had gone on her way. "I, Ed, am cutting prices by 80 percent this weekend! That's right, you heard me, turn up your televisions and pay attention, all you morons! 80 per-"
"Bob, you SONUVAb***h!!!" Bob and the cameraman turned to look in horror as Ed, owner of this lot, Bob's rival in the Used Car Sales business, and a lumbering hulk of a man, bore down on them like an avalanche in an ill-fitting monkey suit. "I swore I'd kill you if you did this again! I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck!"
Without another word, Bob and company took off sprinting with Ed in hot pursuit, leaving a ten-gallon hat and fake mustache to settle upon the hot concrete, completely forgotten.