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"No, I don't think I need--" He'd started, seeing her hand dart forward and jerking his head back from it. "HEY!" he exclaimed, laughter erupting anew as he tried unsuccessfully to back up away further, thwarted by the stationary hulk of the Dodge.

As she seemed persistent in painting him up with grease, his eyes narrowed, though he still smiled, his tail twitching behind him like a cat's as it contemplated a pounce. "Keep it up, you might end up wearing this Sprite." he warned her.

Her realization didn't even enter into his mind. Ken was not exactly well-versed in why girls in white shirts, generally, wanted to avoid getting said shirt wet.

All HE saw was somebody begging for a soaking.

The few seconds that passed felt like hours, and then his hand clapped firmly over the top of the soda can shaking its contents into a froth before letting them erupt over her, the car's window, and himself in a spray of citrus.

Ken had struck the floor of the garage with an audible whuff as the air momentarily escaped his lungs, making him cough.

And then she was grinning down at him drizzling him with the soda he'd sprayed her with. The legend of a T-shirt he'd seen once came back to haunt him then Somehow I don't think you've thought your cunning plan all the way through.

And it seemed he hadn't. s**t. Now what?

"I have not yet..." he began, straining against her in an effort to flip her off of him even as the bushy, slightly-soaked, black tip of his tail curled up behind her like the world's oddest serpent. "....begun to fight!" it began to wriggle mercilessly at her sides, under her arms, and wherever else he could make it reach.

It was what Raven, when they were younger, had been fond of calling 'a cheap-a** shot', but it had won him countless wrestling matches over the playstation controller.

His tail faltered, frantically seeking a way around her own, even as she grappled hold of his wrists and pinned him to the floor. He was grateful he'd come alone now....because he never would've heard the end of it losing this way.

...and nobody would've believed him if he said her grip was like a vice. Ow...

"All right....All RIGHT...I'm down!" he laughed, likewise breathless. They probably looked like a couple of crazy people, he thought idly. Covered in dirt, grease, and soda and wrestling around on a garage floor.

Any minute now the guys in the white coats would show up with the "I love myself" jackets....

At her words, he fought off a feeling of agitation. It wasn't HER fault he was a noodle-armed geek, after all, it was just embarrassing to lose so badly to someone about his height with a smaller build.

His tail swiffed through the dust on the floor once before he reached up to take the offered hand, venting another chuckle as he heaved himself to his feet. "I don't make a very good canvas." he assured her. That much, at least, was true...her 'handiwork' was no longer intact and instead had run down his face in meaningless smears and grayish drips.

He peeled the rag off of where it had collided with his chest, wiping at his face with it. It didn't entirely remove the grime, but it got rid of the worst of it that looked like he was some sort of histrionic prom queen with her mascara running.

"Wolverine, eh?" he asked, eying the metal under her eye with curiosity. Was that a commentary on her temper, he wondered? Or maybe she had knives that shot out of her hands. ....and if that was the case, what did she use them for? Cutting celery?

She had a point, though...

"Yup." he said, leaning back against the car as he tossed the well-smudged rag onto the roof of it. "It is, indeed, how it is..." And in his case, how it was was being doomed to having his a** kicked by girls and to never see a pair of breasts that didn't end in JPG. Such was life...

He'd been about to answer her, but as he turned to look at her now that she wasn't pinning him to the floor or half-hidden behind the car's raised hood, his words caught in his throat a moment.

....oh. So THAT was why girls in white shirts didn't like getting them wet.

He passed off his momentary choke by pretending to sneeze and then looked away as he wiped at his eyes. Clearly, given his misgivings with life only a moment ago, God had a twisted sense of humor. And those certainly didn't end in JPG.

"Actually..." he started to say, pausing to clear his throat and try again as he lifted his wrist to have a look at his watch, if only to have something else to look at. "Actually, I should probably get going for now. Ray gets really pissy if I leave her hanging for more than twenty minutes or so, especially when its starting to get cold out."

"Well," he said, a little too eager to keep the subject moving as he fumbled out his cel phone to blip through its menus until he had reached his address book. "The easiest way to get her would probably be on her cel. She's at home all morning and goes to work in the early afternoon. Otherwise, she's got the weekends off, like I do..."

Displaying Raven's number on the screen, he hesitated in thought before flicking his eyes up to look at Tourma, keeping them carefully focused above the neckline this time. "You have anything to write with? Or..."