<div class="floatright">(http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/jotunusmc/36827_421832359861_518524861_4822950_3819136_n.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Taras Ivan Markovski (Pronunciation: Ta-<em>rr</em>oss Ee-von Mar-Kovf-skee)<br/><strong>Title:</strong>Co-Leader / The Muscle<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Heading upstairs to the Loft from the Garage<br/><strong>Tags:</strong>None<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Metal clinked loudly and Taras tossed the three-quarter-inch wrench he had been using into one of the many tool drawers that held wrenches of similar size and brand. He reached back to grab the slightly-used red shop rag he had tucked halfway in the back pocket of his jeans. With the cleaner side, he wiped the thick beads of sweat from his forehead before trying to wipe the thick grease spots off of his rough and abused hands and knuckles. Once finished, he tossed the rag into the dirty rag bin that they shipped off to recycle every month. The tall man then carefully closed the hood of his bright orange 69' Firebird and made his way over to the oil-stained garage sink and flipped on the cold water. Before wetting his hands he pumped a few squirts of Lava pumice-soap into his palms and rubbed them together thoroughly; the movement formed a thick coat of brown-white foam as the powerful orange chemical ground the oil and grease from the pours of his hands.<br/>      He then rinsed them off completely before splashing a little water on his face. He had lost track of time working on his classic ride - getting it ready for the big race this weekend. The older muscle cars tended to be much more temperamental then the newer import cars, probably because it had a lot of modern components under it's hood and the two didn't like each other much. Taras was a big fan of classic style, but he also saw the value of modern machining and had his old v8 re-bored to increase the power ratio. Modern headers, gaskets, and coolant systems made it possible to pump a potent mixture of air and gasoline into  even an older engine block - if it was properly prepared. He'd probably never have had the knowledge to add the modern boost to his ride if it weren't for Nick (Nicholas Trent). <br/>     While there were several other very good mechanics in the shop - including Taras himself - Nick had the sharp engineering mind. He was the one guy in the shop that had the knowledge required to calculate the dimensions and run the machinery that could alter an older engine and re-machine it for modern cams and pistons at a higher combustion ratio without weakening its integrity. Nick was a whiz and had helped Taras make the major modifications back when he was a sophmore in college. The guy had graduated since then, and had been working at the shop as an official employee for a couple years now - despite knowing a couple members of the crew for much longer than that. The shop only had a handful of workers - since the crew had to be extremely careful who they let get close to their cars. They couldn't risk a car failing on them in a race or on a 'run' (a common word they used when referring to a drug-trafficking shipment).<br/>     The shop was mostly quiet now though. Most everyone else had already left to go home and shower before the big Bar-B-Que tonight. It was only July 4th once a year - after all... and despite the fact that the majority of the crew had mixed nationalities, they all took great pride in celebrating the holiday. America gave most of them a shot at a better life, where they normally wouldn't have had one. Taras glanced over at the clock and cursed under his breath, <strong>"Blyat'!"</strong> It was already have past two. The morning had flown by, most of the crew had been trying to finish customer work on Monday and Tuesday and were finishing up the rest this morning so that they could use the last two days of the week to work on their own rides before Saturday night's big race.<br/>     This weekend's July 4th race was traditionally what kicked off all the other big street races that took place during the summer. There had already been some races going on here and there, but they were smaller and Taras hadn't participated in any of those - he had just been watching. As one of the veteran members of the crew, he often just observed most of the smaller races - either watching some of their younger crew members compete, or taking mental notes on other drivers that they were bound to see at the bigger events. Taras had already established his name and reputation. While his own crew had several different names they called him, the majority of the underground street racing scene new him as "T.I.". Those were his first two initials, and most called him that because they couldn't quite pronouce his first name correctly, even though it was just a simple roll of the 'r'. The Hispanic drivers called him by name, but the rest just used the initial nickname.<br/>     Probably his favorite young racer to watch from the crew was Allison. He had developed a very close relationship with the younger girl, having been there for her through a couple traumatic events in her young life. She had taken to him immediately, and he didn't mind. He thought of her almost as a baby sister, and was definitely protective over her as if she really was one - though he was rather protective of everyone in the crew to some extent. He had really been rooting for her when she got accepted into the Asian Formula 3 circuit and raced in Malaysia, but life events had pulled her away from that and now she was back here. Allison shared his instinctual style of driving - but unlike Taras, she was very technical behind the wheel and had several practiced techniques and skills that escalated her above much of the competition. Taras usually won his races on sheer fearlessness and bold, decisive maneuvers that most professional drivers wouldn't try either out of the risk involved or by the percentage of how unlikely it was to actually work. Maybe he was just lucky or something.<br/>    The 6'4" Ukrainian national picked up the tank top he had tossed on the roof of his car and headed to the back of the garage where the stairs that led up to the loft were, his body glistening with sweat the sheen of which was slightly dampened by dirt and dust that had stuck to his skin. His upper torso was practically covered in tattoos, which he frequently seemed to be adding to every year. As he neared the strong steel door that led upstairs he quickly punched in the keycode that unlocked the thick barrier. Components inside the door clicked loudly as the door latch snapped free, and he opened it and headed inside and up the tall flight of stairs.</div><br/><hr/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">The cold water felt refreshing after a hard morning of work in the sweltering garage downstairs - their AC unit had gone down at the end of last week and they all had been too busy to try and take a look at it and see what needed to be fixed. It wasn't a complete sauna downstairs, but it was pretty warm. Taras had already finished showering, but he stood for a couple more minutes in the chilly water to cool down as much as possible. He was the one who was going to be manning the grill for the holiday meal, so he wanted to enjoy the cold while he could. Knowing he had to get the grill heated up and started soon though, he shut off the water and stepped out of the roughly tiled shower, grabbing a large white towel to dry himself off.<br/>     He was in one of the upstairs bathrooms of the multi-floor loft. It was a shared bathroom between his own bedroom and one of the guest bedrooms, having a door on both ends. Christian's master bedroom was the only one that had its own private bathroom, but there were three total - which was plenty enough for even the whole crew to share on the not-so-rare nights that nearly everyone bunked over. Many of them probably would tonight, since it was the holiday and most everyone would be drinking heavily. Even those who weren't big drinkers would probably want an early start on gearing up and tweaking their rides. They only had two days left... well... three if you include Saturday - since their illegal races always took place well after midnight.<br/>     Taras headed into his room and put on a clean pair of tattered jeans and a thin white t-shirt that barely seemed to be large enough for his massive frame. He usually didn't even bother with a shirt, but he figured he should look slightly more presentable. He wasn't sure who all exactly was coming - not that he cared beyond being suspicious of outsiders. He typically shied away from large crowds, and didn't like a lot of attention - even though it sometimes looked like he did. That was one of the reasons he had decided to volunteer for cooking the meat on the grill - it was a role that required much less talking and socializing, and it also gave him some busy-work. <br/>     He didn't like to sit still often. When Taras was quiet, that was usually a good thing - his outbursts usually involved equal doses of anger and violence... but that didn't mean that he didn't stay active. If you caught the man in a pensive state that usually meant he was thinking hard - and deep thoughts only produced two results, concern and admiration... or suspicion and confrontation. He wasn't a big fan of showing either extreme of emotions, but he also didn't hide his true feelings. He was rather straight-forward, which bothered some while only a few others actually appreciated it.<br/>     Taras was the first to enter the large semi-outdoor dining room (picture above, the largest picture), and he wasted no time pouring coals into the big grill on the far-side of the room opposite the office windows that looked out on the common area. He doused the coals in a generous amount of lighting fluid and then sparked a match and tossed it onto the soaked briquettes. They instantly flared up into an excessive blast of flame that nearly singed his face an arm-hairs. He just chuckled to himself lightly, a slight show of emotion he thought he could sneak out before the place began to fill up with intruding eyes - particularly Piper's. Taras got along extremely well with pretty much everyone in the crew... but Piper knew far too much for his liking. Sometimes he felt like she knew more about him than he did. If it wasn't for that fact that he purposely avoided her, they would probably butt head far more often than they already did.</div>