<div class="floatleft">(http://www.dnamagazine.com.au/media/0/9573/2/jasonchambers4.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Ryan 'Private' Murray (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12379624#msg12379624)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>South Boston / April 2010 / 01:45 AM<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Sephora Grace Blevins (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12438506#msg12438506), Closed<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Some Riding<br/><hr/>Ryan wasn't much of a show-off. Being quiet, being subtle and not attracting attention had been the way that he had been told to live his life, especially once he had graduated from petty criminal to gang member. Gang members had to be quiet. They had to be themselves, individuals and as that, they had to look tough, but they represented more than themselves, especially as a part of the Wildlings. Anyone who wore a Wildling patch represented the rest of the MC, and a nation wide MC at that. The club was his life and while he was a senior member of the MC, he was still a member. Everything that he said or did would reflect on the Wildlings in some way, and thus he had to think every action through with that in mind. He would never, ever ever intentionally do anything that would embarrass the Wildlings.<br/><br/>That said, he was aching to show his new bike off. His old bike had been a present to him from his dad, an old, coughing sputtering FSX Low Rider, and while he loved that old thing from the bottom of his heart, it had died. Things just ran out of mileage sometimes, and they needed to be left to rest. Sure, he still had the old thing in his garage and he promised himself that one day he would bring the old beast to life, but for now... his new Sportser held his attention and his heart. Working on her at the shop had felt like cheating on the FSX at first, but he knew old Gem would understand.<br/><br/>And so much work. He had ridden it, and tested it out and tried it out for months, and now, finally, with a new coat of paint and polish, with the scintillating dark matte finish over the powerhouse that his baby had become... she needed an audience. She needed to show off. It wasn't him, she needed it.<br/><br/>He always smiled when he thought about how idiotic it was to anthropomorphize a motorcycle, but she really was beautiful. He had been showing her off to all of the guys at the MC, but she needed an outside audience. And there was only one person that he wanted to show her off to first. She, an actual person, not the bike, lived out of town. She was in college, still in state but a few hours out of Boston still, so it would give him the opportunity to get used to riding his new baby.<br/><br/>He left in the afternoon, arriving there as the sun was beginning to set. It was a smaller town, pretty much built around the college that Sephie had decided to attend. She was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than he was, and she had had her pick of places to go. He had too, less picks, and more related to his having played some football in highschool, but he had declined. He rode into the small town, making note of a small movie theater, a handful of restaurants and more than a handful of delivery places, as well as a great deal of bars, all centered around the large amount of alumni who either worked there or made use of the establishments. There were more than the usual amount of stares at Ryan, and more importantly, he though to what he rode, with a few of the young men, thinking themselves fans of American motorcycles came in for a closer look when he stopped and a couple of the girls 'woohooing' as he revved the engine as he drove past them.<br/><br/>Finally, he arrived at where he was going. It wasn't a campus apartment, as Sephie had opted for her own place instead of sharing a flat with someone. Having known Sephie for most of his life, he could understand that. She was an oddball, and there was no nicer way to put it. She was distracted, distant for the most part and he had even caught her talking to herself most of the time, even though he always pretended that he hadn't so as not to embarrass her. She was a couple years younger than him, but they had grown up as neighbors, and as her school life began to result in more than the usual amount of bullying and unfriendliness, friends too. He didn't mind odd. It wasn't like his own life was all that normal anyways, and for the most part, folks around where they had grown up had decided that bullying Sephie was a bad idea, and had given up on it once they knew that she was friends with him. For the most part.<br/><br/>Not entirely, though. The thought of that one night where Sephie had come home with a hole in her blood-drenched shirt and yet without any kind of injury was still seared in his memory like it had been done with a welder. And it still caused a violent rise in him, the kind that didn't go away too easily.<br/><br/>He pulled up and parked outside her apartment building, killing the engine and pulling his phone from his pocket, calling Sephie and hoping that she was at home. He realized at that moment that he should have called her before leaving Boston, as he didn't want to get in the way of her studies or social life or anything like that. He had been too excited about showing his new baby off.