I have had, thus far in my occasionally interesting life, three rides - vehicles that I not only operate, but actually own. Well, more like two-and-a-half. The as-yet-nameless Dodge Charger in the forward cargo bay of the Saint Bernard has yet to make any of this travel under it's own power. But it's still mine.
The first, of course, was and is the Jaime Retief, (named for the diplomat of course). She started life as the possession of a friend of mine, who discovered just before Handwavium hit the collective Fen subconciousness like a very bucket of cold water, that it was not going to be a legal road vehicle as of the next time he took it to get taxed. (It was pretty decrepit even before I and a few others taught him to drive in it). Once I got over the 'My God, this is so damn COOL' reaction, I realised that if I wanted to join in this dash to the stars (or at least to the planets) then I would need: a) Handwavium and b) a vehicle.
I slept on the decision, sent some postage money to a friend of a friend; and then offered to match whatever my friend could get for his car as scrap if he'd sell it to me as was. It took a week for me to arrange for it to be towed out to the street behind my house, and the same day that it arrived, so did my Handwavium. It was clearly an omen and I set to work. Five minutes later I concluded that I had no FUCKING clue what I was doing and used half of my Handwavium to paint the bitch before going inside to get online and figure out what I wanted and what I would thus need.
Let this be a lesson to you. Never. Ever. Leave Handwavium unattended when you're trying to be creative with it. My computers were set up in a room that didn't look out over the car. The first I knew about the results was when I went to the bathroom, which did, and noted that it was rather brighter outside than I'd expect for the time of day. Once the pressure on my bladder had faded slightly, I noticed that the source of the light was down rather than up. Pretty much on the street... just about where...
My bathroom windows are, naturally, not something you can see through, so my first thought was that the car was on fire. Once I yanked the window open, I realised that it was merely, well, glowing. I almost did myself a most embarassing injuring, zipping up as I went down the stairs.
The Jaime was still glowing when I reached her, but the glow faded away the instant I, hesitantly, touched one knuckle against the surface. All the light seemed to drawing away into the point of contact, leaving the car with an oily sheen in which there appeared to be shapes moving... or perhaps not. The seams of the doors had also vanished. Whatever I was going to do for transport was now apparently going to require working with a car that didn't have any doors.
I have never, in my entire life, ever been so tempted to go down to the nearest pub and drink it dry. How the FRAK was I going to do anything with a car that I couldn't get into?
One of the windows slid open.
"Oh you have got to be kidding," I exclaimed.
The window slid closed and then opened again.
She - it had to be a she! - was winking at me.
I took a deep breath and went to get a printout of the advice I'd collected online and the rest of my Handwavium. Evidently this was going to be an all-night job.D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
The first, of course, was and is the Jaime Retief, (named for the diplomat of course). She started life as the possession of a friend of mine, who discovered just before Handwavium hit the collective Fen subconciousness like a very bucket of cold water, that it was not going to be a legal road vehicle as of the next time he took it to get taxed. (It was pretty decrepit even before I and a few others taught him to drive in it). Once I got over the 'My God, this is so damn COOL' reaction, I realised that if I wanted to join in this dash to the stars (or at least to the planets) then I would need: a) Handwavium and b) a vehicle.
I slept on the decision, sent some postage money to a friend of a friend; and then offered to match whatever my friend could get for his car as scrap if he'd sell it to me as was. It took a week for me to arrange for it to be towed out to the street behind my house, and the same day that it arrived, so did my Handwavium. It was clearly an omen and I set to work. Five minutes later I concluded that I had no FUCKING clue what I was doing and used half of my Handwavium to paint the bitch before going inside to get online and figure out what I wanted and what I would thus need.
Let this be a lesson to you. Never. Ever. Leave Handwavium unattended when you're trying to be creative with it. My computers were set up in a room that didn't look out over the car. The first I knew about the results was when I went to the bathroom, which did, and noted that it was rather brighter outside than I'd expect for the time of day. Once the pressure on my bladder had faded slightly, I noticed that the source of the light was down rather than up. Pretty much on the street... just about where...
My bathroom windows are, naturally, not something you can see through, so my first thought was that the car was on fire. Once I yanked the window open, I realised that it was merely, well, glowing. I almost did myself a most embarassing injuring, zipping up as I went down the stairs.
The Jaime was still glowing when I reached her, but the glow faded away the instant I, hesitantly, touched one knuckle against the surface. All the light seemed to drawing away into the point of contact, leaving the car with an oily sheen in which there appeared to be shapes moving... or perhaps not. The seams of the doors had also vanished. Whatever I was going to do for transport was now apparently going to require working with a car that didn't have any doors.
I have never, in my entire life, ever been so tempted to go down to the nearest pub and drink it dry. How the FRAK was I going to do anything with a car that I couldn't get into?
One of the windows slid open.
"Oh you have got to be kidding," I exclaimed.
The window slid closed and then opened again.
She - it had to be a she! - was winking at me.
I took a deep breath and went to get a printout of the advice I'd collected online and the rest of my Handwavium. Evidently this was going to be an all-night job.D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.