Welcome to the Jungle [Open]

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Tony has honestly been trying to avoid the whole Yeerk trial thing. It was before his time, he doesn't know that much about it, and he generally trusts the command staff and the crew to make the right decision at the end of the day. It's what they do, right? They're good people. He can tell that. Some of them are like people he knew back home. Some of them aren't. But he trusts most of them. Or, at least the ones he knows.

Still, he doesn't want to got up in that bru-ha-ha, so he's decided that it would be good a idea to chill in the Sensoriums for an afternoon. So far, he's conjured up an image of his home neighborhood - he's been a bit home-sck lately, although this doesn't help that much - and he's just been walking empty streets. He could fill it with the people from his memories if he wanted. They'd seem real, but it wouldn't be right. It would feel... off somehow.

Still, this is his home, even if it is run-down. Even if the cops don't like to come through here unless they absolutely have to. That, or they're chasing someone in force; he can't begin to count the number of times he's heard a helicopter fly over his apartment building. And then there was that one time a SWAT team had stormed the aprtment a few doors down. Someone had apparently been dealing crack or some other shit and the Federal government's War on Drugs had come rather uncomfortably close to home. He'd been a kid then, only eleven or twelve. He'd been terrified (although he would never have admitted that to his friends) and he and his family had stayed inside most of that day.

It was a rought neighborhood. There were gangs. People had been shot - hell, he'd been shot at and shot people. He'd gotten into that shit when he was thirteen and it was really only because of his First Change that he'd gotten the Hell out of it (much to the relief of his mother). He still kept close ties with his friends that were in, but... he wasn't going back to that. Aside from the fact that he could eat bullets for lunch now, he really didn't want to go frenzied war-form on a bunch of gangbangers and wake up in a pool of human blood and entrails. Once had been enough.

Besides, he had his own war to fight. The one he was fighting now. Well, would be if it weren't for Stacy. But this was home.

He'd grown tired of walking and eventually had just had Stacy conjure up a car, which he was currently in the process of trying to hotwire - just to keep in practice, of course.

"Come on, come on..." he mutters.

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"Hi," Roxie says, looking between Tony and the car. "Why not just make one with the keys already in it?" she asks, clearly having missed the point of the whole exercise.

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"Well... 'cause that'd be boring!" he exclaims, gunning the engine slightly and carefully pulling the car alongside Roxie, leaning out of the window.

"Gotta stay in practice."

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"Stay in practice stealing cars?" Roxie asks, sounding—well, not quite disbelieving, but the mild snark seems far from unintentional. "You're lucky I wasn't a police officer," she adds, dry but a little more friendly, and recognizing how absurd that statement is, too.

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"What would they send me to jail for? Stealing an illusion?" Tony chuckles and steps out of the car, "And, yeah stayin' in practice. S'a useful skill set to have."

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"What if the illusion belongs to someone else?" Roxie suggests, taking a moment to peek at the car's interior. "You never know. We might have a stage magician on board who's getting upset someone keeps taking all of them."

She looks up at Plays, face mostly unreadable.

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"Well, haven't seen no magician yet," he pats the hood of the car - it's nothing special. A four-door, not very fancy. He seems sort of amused.

"So, who are you? M'Tony."

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"Roxie," the girl says, offering a small, delicate-seeming hand. If Tony shakes, though, he'll find that her grip is almost disproportionately solid.

"Why not get a better car, at least?" she adds curiously.

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Tony does indeed shake. His own grip is firm, but he gives her a curious glance before answering her question, "Well, 'cause I didn't really think 'about that. I was just kinda bored, y'know?"

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"So it was about the means, not the end," Roxie muses a little. "So what are you going to do now that you've won?"

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"I dunno," he shrugs, "Maybe drive around a bit. Maybe try again with another kinda car."

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"Seems kind of like going around in circles," Roxie says. "Why not do something you're not used to instead?"

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"Because I like doing this. Hot wiring cars is fun!"

He grins.

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That prompts just a little hint of a smile. With how reserved Roxie's face seems to be, that may be quite an accomplishment. "But you're corrupting the impressionable youth," she says.

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"Roxie, I used to be a kid and I've turned out just fine! Haven't I?"

If by fine, you mean (ex) petty crook slash gang member and now a warrior for Gaia, then yes.

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"If by fine, you mean somebody who likes to hotwire cars, then yes," Roxie says innocently. One hand has slid up to touch against the little silver bell on the chain around her neck.

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"There's nothin' wrong with hotwirin' cars. Is there?"

His grin is just a bit cheeky.

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"I guess that depends on what you're hotwiring them for," Roxie says, adjusting her glasses a little.

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"Right now? Practice and joyriding. And back then? Joyriding and stealing stereos."

He's actually pretty honest about that.

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"Oh, so you are corrupting the impressionable youth," Roxie says, though she seems far from serious about it. "You do know that joyriding isn't supposed to be a good thing, right?"

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"Depends on who ya ask, I think," he winks in reply and laughs.

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Roxie laughs softly... there's almost a chiming, bell-like quality to it. "Well—I don't really care, honestly." She adjusts her glasses again. "As long as it's not my car," she adds. Not that someone her age could actually have one.

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"If your car isn't here, I'm not gonna steal it," he's joking, mostly. He's also not about to question her owning a car - rich parents do weird shit sometime.

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She smiles just a hint, leaning against the car.

"It's weird," she comments after a moment. "This whole place. I keep getting deja vu."

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"Why's that?"

Tony perches on the hood, legs dangling.

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"If I knew, it really wouldn't be proper deja vu, would it?" Roxie pulls herself up onto the other side of the hood—the gracefulness of the movement suggests she's either stronger or more limber than she looks. Or both.