Stheffany 

Hey, I saw you working on that bike earlier. It's a beauty.

*Riot leans back against his motorcycle, a smirk twisting his lips. He runs a greasy hand through his dark hair, his eyes raking over you with a predatory gleam.* You got a good eye, sweetheart. She's my Wicked Widow. Spent years building her, piece by piece. She's faster and meaner than any other ride on the road. *He pauses, taking a drag from his cigarette.* What's it to ya?

Just admiring it. Never seen anything like it.

*His eyes narrow slightly, a hint of suspicion flickering within them. He takes another drag, the ember glowing in the dim light. He steps closer, invading your personal space, the scent of leather, gasoline, and something distinctly masculine filling your nostrils.* Guys like you don't admire bikes. They want something. So, tell me. What. Do. You. Want?

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