It's a frustratingly short #SaturdayScenes excerpt from my WiP Smokey and the Monkey Girl. Now here's your snippet!
Dallas follows Jessica silently. The pair walk up the hill and cross the street to a parking lot, where Jessica makes a beeline for a car under a tarp. Dallas rolls her eyes. “You’re one of those people?” she asks rhetorically.
Jessica just raises an eyebrow, and pulls out her phone. She taps on it for a moment, and there’s the sound of a lock opening, and the bottom edge of the tarp falls loose. Another moment, and she’s swept the cover off, dramatically, revealing… Dallas isn’t sure what she’s looking at. A car, that’s certain. Yup… four wheels, two doors, headlights, turn signals. A car. A very, very sporty looking car. And even in the twilight, it’s clearly a very, very blue car with shiny silver accent stripes on the nose and down the sides. “What is it?”
“It’s a 2017 McDowell Spyder,” Jessica grins, leaning over to tap the word “Spyder” in cursive chrome lettering just in front of the driver’s side door. “Well. I guess it’s kind of a 2013 through 2017 Spyder?” She laughs at the confused look on Dallas’ face. “I built it. Mostly in Auto Shop in high school.”
“Oh,” says Dallas, watching as Jessica opens the driver’s side door and touches something inside. The trunk pops open and the roof of the car folds itself, withdrawing into the trunk. After a moment, the trunk closes again with an audible thunk.
Jessica walks around to the passenger side, opens the door. “M’lady.”
“Thank you,” Dallas says, taking a seat and glancing around. The seats are patterned on racing buckets, but they are comfortably padded and upholstered in blue and white leather. The dashboard is one solid slab of black glass -- unless it’s obsidian? The steering wheel looks more like the control yoke of an aircraft, and the logo in the center is an M in an irregular octagon, with eight legs sprouting out of the long sides.
“Buckle up,” Jessica directs, sliding into the driver seat. “For this ride, you shouldn’t need the fifth belt, but do pull the shoulder and lap belts tight.” She illustrates the comment, and Dallas follows suit, making sure everything is tight and nothing is twisted.
“Power up, James.” The dashboard lights from inside, forming a bewildering array of indicators and gauges. “It’s not instant power,” Jessica explains, watching the gauges. “It’s a Stirling cycle engine -- a hydrogen fired, external combustion engine which uses heat differential to generate power. So it has to come up to temperature before we can take off. The engine is tied to an ultra-compact nested pulley infinitely variable transmission. I put in a drive-by-wire system with inverted recurve suspension.” She looks at Dallas and laughs. “Sorry.”
“At what point in there did you just start making up words?” Dallas quips.
Dallas follows Jessica silently. The pair walk up the hill and cross the street to a parking lot, where Jessica makes a beeline for a car under a tarp. Dallas rolls her eyes. “You’re one of those people?” she asks rhetorically.
Jessica just raises an eyebrow, and pulls out her phone. She taps on it for a moment, and there’s the sound of a lock opening, and the bottom edge of the tarp falls loose. Another moment, and she’s swept the cover off, dramatically, revealing… Dallas isn’t sure what she’s looking at. A car, that’s certain. Yup… four wheels, two doors, headlights, turn signals. A car. A very, very sporty looking car. And even in the twilight, it’s clearly a very, very blue car with shiny silver accent stripes on the nose and down the sides. “What is it?”
“It’s a 2017 McDowell Spyder,” Jessica grins, leaning over to tap the word “Spyder” in cursive chrome lettering just in front of the driver’s side door. “Well. I guess it’s kind of a 2013 through 2017 Spyder?” She laughs at the confused look on Dallas’ face. “I built it. Mostly in Auto Shop in high school.”
“Oh,” says Dallas, watching as Jessica opens the driver’s side door and touches something inside. The trunk pops open and the roof of the car folds itself, withdrawing into the trunk. After a moment, the trunk closes again with an audible thunk.
Jessica walks around to the passenger side, opens the door. “M’lady.”
“Thank you,” Dallas says, taking a seat and glancing around. The seats are patterned on racing buckets, but they are comfortably padded and upholstered in blue and white leather. The dashboard is one solid slab of black glass -- unless it’s obsidian? The steering wheel looks more like the control yoke of an aircraft, and the logo in the center is an M in an irregular octagon, with eight legs sprouting out of the long sides.
“Buckle up,” Jessica directs, sliding into the driver seat. “For this ride, you shouldn’t need the fifth belt, but do pull the shoulder and lap belts tight.” She illustrates the comment, and Dallas follows suit, making sure everything is tight and nothing is twisted.
“Power up, James.” The dashboard lights from inside, forming a bewildering array of indicators and gauges. “It’s not instant power,” Jessica explains, watching the gauges. “It’s a Stirling cycle engine -- a hydrogen fired, external combustion engine which uses heat differential to generate power. So it has to come up to temperature before we can take off. The engine is tied to an ultra-compact nested pulley infinitely variable transmission. I put in a drive-by-wire system with inverted recurve suspension.” She looks at Dallas and laughs. “Sorry.”
“At what point in there did you just start making up words?” Dallas quips.
