goddamngrenades | OPEN POST

Just another identity rewrite. No big. Anonymous emails encrypted (with some pretty good work on the client's part if he did say so himself, he's a little impressed and a lot curious) sent back and forth till they decide on a price, a time, a place. York didn't really know what to expect as he pulls up on his bike, scanning the curb for- well.

Ideally an adult with a lot of money.

In his last email he offered the identifier he'd be wearing, a Bea up leather jacket and a helmet with green trim. The green tracking lights on the bike are kind of extra but hey. Homage to old friends is what one does. Rolling up and seeing no one but a kid? Dude must be late. Fantastic.

She doesn't move at first, watching the biker. Wants to make sure before she ends up on the wrong side of town with the wrong side of guy. But the jacket and the green trim and green trimmed bike, and stopping here? Must be them.

Deep breath, Pidge. Her face is schooled to seriousness, business, as she approaches, determined. "Nice ride." Best way to say hello. She doesn't...know anything about bikes, actually, but she'd be willing to bet it's nice for what it is.

"Thanks, kid." Being polite never hurt anyone. "You waiting for a ride or something?"

Meeting a contact is one thing but- kid. All alone. Weird side of town. Could get hurt! A prickling of concern rears up that 'hey maybe' but nah. Kids don't have their identities rewritten when they run, they aren't smart enough or in deep enough shit to need that.

"Pretty sure you're my ride, Mister beat up leather jacket and green trimmed helmet." Apparently nobody thought they needed a super secret code phrase like spies to identify each other with. True enough she looks young, she can't just use some makeup artistry to hide that, but the guy's a professional, and there's money involved. That should be enough, right?

"...Really?"

Ok. Kid's got skills. Then again so did he when he was small and more nerdy than active so...alright, roll with it. Money is money, he's got a job. After a long moment of staring he unhooks the spare helmet from the side of his bike and offers it over. "Sure, ok. Hop on."

Good, because in that long moment, she realizes she didn't make a contingency plan for if this didn't work. If the contact saw her and just decided to bail. She lets go of the breath she didn't realize she was holding, stuffing the slightly too big helmet on and how do you sit passenger on a bike oh this was also not thought through.

Right, it's--get cozy in the back and--look it's one thing to trust a stranger with her new identity, and it's another to wrap her arms around a stranger, okay? Especially with short arms. So just...cling on, then, yeah. All part of the plan.

He reaches down to pat the kid's wrists, an unspoken promise that it's ok, he's got this, he's got them, before pulling away from the curb carefully. It's not that long of a drive and, yeah, he takes his time now that he's got a literal child on the back behind him.

Last thing he needs is for them to get hurt or pulled over or some shit.

A few turns down other alley's before he pulls into an open garage door, clicking it behind. The set up's simple, sofa, camera, laptop, holoscreen, minifridge. Good thing he's got more than beer in there. He shuts off the bike and pats the kid's hands again. "We're good, hop off."

This is not a good time for the thought of we're going to get caught to rear its head NOW. Guy's a little...patronizing, but whatever. They'll both get over it. Won't be too much longer now.

She pulls off the helmet, eyeing the garage/studio space. Naturally, the laptop and the holoscreen are the most interesting, but it's Rude with a capital R to go messing with other peoples' setups. Someday Hunk would learn. Slides off the bike and isn't sure what to do with herself now that she's here.

"Looks more like a bachelor pad than a workspace."

"Yeah, well, something about building a new identity and going on the run from the authorities is kinda stressful." York swings off the bike, hanging up his helmet with a peg on the wall. "I try to cut down on that. Make the transition as painless as possible."

He saunters over to the minifridge, tugging out canned, iced coffee for himself (he's not having beer in front of a kid). "You want juice or something?"

Like they're not about to rewrite this person's history from the ground up.

She levels him an unimpressed look at the offer of juice. Juice? Just how young does he think she is anyway?

...Wait, hold on--"I'll take an orange soda if you've got it." That's the stuff. She might not get to enjoy one for a while.

Meanwhile, she'll get herself cozy on the couch. Her feet don't quite sit flat on the floor. Wants to ask--wants to point out that he hasn't asked yet. But that would then invite asking, and she doesn't actually want that. Maybe she's just curious if he's going to try talking her out of it. He hasn't done that yet, either.

But from here, she gets a thoughtful look directed at him. A squint through glasses at his face, now that she can see his face. Something something seems to ring familiar...somehow...

"So." Orange soda in hand he plunks it down on the coffee table, dragging the laptop over to start up the process. Credits have been exchanged. It's not his place to give life advice- just to make sure this goes through smooth. "You got a name in mind for your brand new life?"

That's the best, and hardest, place to start usually. Names are such weighty things after all.

"Pidge Gunderson." It comes so easily and so practiced that the question is barely out of his mouth before her answer comes. The confidence of it, and the cracking open of the soda, temporarily distracts her from whatever about his face is niggling in the back of her head. (Have to search the mental database, could take some time.)

"Solid last name." He'll start there because, well. It could be? Depending on where the kid wants to be from. "But Pidge isn't a first name. It's a nickname. You got something longer for the official documents?"

He doesn't even know where he'd start to get 'pidge' as a nickname but. Baby steps.

"I've seen stranger official first names. You don't see me making fun of yours." Nooot that she knows it. Short answer is no, Pidge was going to be it. It's got to be something...hm, does it have to be manly? The P sound starts popping off her lips while she starts running through a list of emergency names. "Pluto, Pascal, Ping," didn't say they were good names, just emergency off the top of the head names, "Price, Peter, Pietro, Pierce, Pippin--you're sure you can't swing for the fences with Pidge?"

"You don't know mine." Pidge is not going on the official record, kiddo. Homie don't play that. A kid getting new documents is going to pull enough attention as it is, he doesn't need to court disaster by being less than 100% solid on the rest of it. "What kind of parents would name their kid 'Pidge'? What kind of cruel joke would that be, huh? Trust me. You wanna get by? Having a better name for the legal documents will be your best bet. Go by Pidge informally, I don't care."

"Kaidan?" She'd been avoiding K's, just in case. "...Keith?" She definitely doesn't look like a Takashi, and the last thing she would ever go with is a Sam or a Matt. "What kind of name do I look like?"

"Brian." Without missing a beat. "or a Kevin."

Easy, whitebread, grew up in the suburbs and had a good family kinda names.

There's the tiniest moment of triumph when he goes for masculine names. "Brian Gunderson," she tries out. Well, that'll take some getting used to, but whatever, she'll mostly be introducing herself as Pidge anyway.

"Ok, Brian Gunderson, Where are you from and- ok this is where I ask 'what do you do' but you're obviously a student but that kinda throws a wrench in the works. If you're a student you should be enrolled in classes and while I will fake some academic extracurriculars I tend to draw the line at pulling up a GPA out of whole cloth." Oh, scruples. He has a few.

Pidge adjusts her glasses and tries to look very Smart and Adult. "I graduated early after being moved up a couple grades. Maybe I'm an exchange student? Or I've taken a year to travel abroad?"

"Bullshit, spin something else." It's not angry just. Pointing shit out. "If you were like six inches taller and more than ninety pounds soaking wet, I might buy that. You look twelve."

"I'm not twelve!" ...Maybe that sounds petulant. Even if it's true. "Maybe I'm...homeschooled? That still happens, right?"

"Fourteen at the most." And that's stretching it a bit. "No family that has a home schooled kid would ship them off without a lot of connections. I can forge them but the more you have the more curious people are gonna be. What's your endgame, here?"

"Sixteen." No, she's fourteen, but she wants Brian Gunderson to be sixteen! He can make that happen, right?

She sits back, considering the question...but then realizes that this is a tricky game here. "...Do you mean my new identity's endgame or my actual endgame?"

"What is your goal with this? I know what you wanna do, where you wanna go? It makes building a believable background easier." Tailor made lives in the blink of an eye, that's the tagline to this business.

Well.

Not really they don't use taglines but if he had one that'd be it.

"And no way you're sixteen unless your parents are tiny. Which I can swing but- damn."

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