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After the battle with his shade, the black, monstrous machine that Realgar had built from pieces in a storage locker had required... not an inconsiderable amount of repair, including new tires, and he hadn't yet reached a point where he was comfortable taking it back out without checking things over and tinkering... like now, crouched at the side of the road and glaring, uniforms gloves off and hands smudged with grease as he eyed connections and wires. Things he would have been considerably more confident in if he had not, largely, built the entire machine from the frame up, with a bastardization of spare parts.

It was fast, but the speed was also something that made him cautious. The increased strength, speed and healing of his powered form were a considerable advantage in racing, but by the same token...

While wiping out on a bike was nigh on inevitable... he didn't plan on encouraging it with any fault in the machine, and it was while doing this that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as another Chaos signature approached.

"Sorry, you're going to have to call a taxi, I'm working." He called out, half joking. It wasn't a weak, low level signature, so he would have been surprised if they actually needed a lift instead of teleporting.

"See that's actually where I'm a little jealous. I can sorta cook, but nothing... OW! Nothing fancy." He growled at the bike, withdrawing his hand from checking wires and stuck his thumb in his mouth ruefully, nursing a bleeding jab from something inside. He was pretty sure it was a part that had bitten him before, and earned the bike nicknames like "Blood Drinker" and "Vampire"

"And if you cook you don't get that whole 'this guy can fix my car and understands it in ways I don't therefore he is cheating me' thing. That's fun, let me tell you."

He rocked back on his heels and glanced over at the other man, wiping his hands on his pant legs, which was only marginally effective, given that his uniform was Racing Leathers.

"What do you cook?"

He wasn't sure why he was asking, he didn't figure he'd have the time or inclination to get to know other agents. He had other things to do.

"This is going to sound really... really stupid." He asked, taking a more comfortable seat on the curb so he could glare at the bike. It seemed to be alright, but it was just... his gut told him something was gong to cause a problem if he didn't keep looking.

"...How. In the name of god... do you stuff french toast?"

He'd never even tried making french toast that he could remember, let alone a stuffed variety, but it sounded sort of crazy intriguing. Maybe something to try at least once.

"And ha, uh, no. I've made a few really horrible ones about Hot Rods... but I haven't even tried in... damn I've got no idea. Been too damn busy. I feel like I'm lucky to find time to sleep, let alone have a social life."

Realgar did not normally find himself enjoying the company of his fellow agents these days, but Mariposite's truly horrible attempt at a gear-head pick up line evoked a chuckle even from the bitter, angry Captain.

"Oh my god, stick to Pastry. Please. God. Stick to pastry." He chuckled. "I am sure there is someone out there who is so much of a gear head that 'Check the dipstick' sounds like innuendo, but damn, even they would be hard pressed on that line. That french toast sounds like it would get you some chance of someone staying for breakfast though."

He ran his fingers through his hair and reached for his gloves with a chuckle, though what he had to say was more... insubordinate than funny.

"Yeah like the brass has room to b***h. Zink spends all his time sealed in his 'war' room with his little harem, and I haven't heard a word from Howl since I signed to Spec. Maybe she joined Zinks set and they're all 'strategizing' together." He snorted, adding air quotes to the dripping sarcasm.

He only added an apology a moment later, and it was a crisp, insincere one.

"Sorry, I'm sure they're doing... stuff. But in the mean time the rest of us drift around on vague orders with no clear end cap... might as well have some fun while we put in our hours right?"

He didn't want to get in trouble, especially now, and he's promised Zee he's try and keep a low profile...

"Well what would you call it when he can't be assed to invest any time in anyone but a select few agents?" Relgar grumbled, though he shook his head and gave the other agent a wry smile at the mention of his goal at joining. "Well at least that's easily achieved. Mine's a little harder I guess. Zinkenite caught me at a shitty time in my life, he offered me power, and the ability to change the world. I figured it would make me feel better. I guess technically I've got the power, but so far I'm not sure I can say the rest has followed."

"It was... it is...I guess, a good place to be angry at the world." He admitted. "...I dunno. So far that feel like most of what I've been getting. Unless you count a bunch of pins and ribbons. I'm SpecOps but don't feel much like part of a team, though Zink would probably tell me that's my own fault. Otherwise... I dunno. Guess he feels entitled to pick and choose after getting shoved in a locker in civ life." He flashed the other agent an absolutely wicked grin at that little tidbit.

"He did, all the freaking time." Realgar noted solemnly. "He's a bit of a shrimp right? Well he is no matter if he's powered or not... but he couldn't exactly power up in the middle of a school hall and take out his bullies.... so he was always getting shoved in lockers and locked in and s**t. Don't know what he does now days, don't think he was a rich kid, but who knows."

"God though, what a fine state we're in if any of us don't even remember we're on a team. You think they remember this is supposed to be a military force and not a goddamn social club?"