Trent:

-First car? Mysteriously found annihilated. Second car? Wrecked. Until he ends up finding a new ride, he's forced to bum one off of others for school or end up borrowing. His dad won't let him touch his, something about not wanting to put his fancy vehicle on the line and risk scratching it, so for now he takes his mother's for a spin. Some classic he's never heard of or cared about, though it is perfectly restored and in mint condition. Admittedly, he's taking it around a bit fast, being late for one of his practices back at school.-

Miles:

*All Miles wanted was some chips.  His parents were still at work, and he didn't feel like waiting around for them to get back to alleviate his hunger.  There's nothing to eat in the kitchen, anyway, so the boy is heading across one of the many lazy, slow intersections on the way to the 7-11.  He doesn't even bother looking both ways - after all, everyone here pays attention when they drive, right?*

Trent:

-Taking a sharp turn, he waits to level off before letting his attentions momentarily wander off to double check some things. His training bag had been tossed to the back, but now he pulls it up to the passenger side seat, where he rummages around looking for his bottle of water. Since he was now traveling along a street renown for being less trafficked, there shouldn't be any worry about other vehicles getting in his way. And besides, people are smart enough to look both ways, right?-

Trent:

-WRONG. Trent lifted his head back up just in time to see some dingdong stepping out front of his car, and with a curse he wrenches the wheel to the side, trying to avoid whoever it is.-

Miles:

*Miles hears the squealing tires before he thinks to look, but when he does hoo boy.  Cars coming at you at any speed are not fun, and Miles practically leaps the hell out of the way, falling to the pavement with an "oomph" and covering his head with his hands.  He doesn't want to die!*

Trent:

-His timing could not have been more perfect even if he tried, the car brushing against Miles and nothing more as it barrels past. Instead, it collides dead on with a nearby lamp post, it cutting easily through the front end of the car. The accident has the football player smacking his head forcefully against the wheel, it smacking it with a harsh snap that leaves him groaning in pain. Where in the hell are the air ba- WHOOMPH. It deploys, albeit delayed.-

Miles:

*Ever seen a rabbit after being scared out of its wits?  Well, Miles kind of has that same look on his face right about now.  Wide eyed, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths - yep, bunny.*  J-Jesus-- You nearly hit me!  *He doesn't care who the fogey with the old car is - only that he is alive but very well could have been dead!*

Trent:

-On the other hand, he is just...dazed, to put it mildly. He hurts everywhere, the seatbelt having dug deep into his shoulder to prevent him from flying through the wind shield and his nose bleeding from smacking up against the wheel, just to name a few reasons as to why. In this state, he doesn't even register someone talking to him, a hand reaching up to feel his face since he can't quite comprehend why he can't feel it.-

Miles:

*Miles pushes himself off the asphalt, wincing a little in pain and stumbling over to the car.*  H-Hey!  You coulda killed me!  *He's about to go on a full rant when he realizes just who had been driving the car - and also the state of said driver.* ...Trent?

Trent:

-Retracting his hand, all he can see is red. He doesn't remember painting something, nor does he remember eating anything, that would have gotten that on his face...wait. As his head begins to clear he hears his name, his head turning towards all the commotion and landing on some chick he faintly remembers that he should remember. In response, he can only seem to produce one.- ...ow.

Miles:

Holy crap, man - are you all right?  *Miles tries to open the door, but no luck.  Damned locks!  He doesn't particularly like the jock looking all dazed and bloody like that.*  Shit, dude.

Trent:

-Blinking once, the action almost listless, he reaches out to try and...oh, right, there's glass. Looking further down he undoes the lock, the thoughts in his head still withholding enough survival instinct to know that getting out might be a good idea. No idea what these old designs will do, could blow up right now or something. With that task down, he goes about the laborious task of undoing his seatbelt.-

Miles:

*He frowns, pulling the door open and moving to help Trent with his seatbelt.*  Christ, Trent, you nearly killed the both of us, you can't just drive as fast as you want whenever you want I mean you'll end up killing someone one of these days and - how many cars does this even make?  What even happened to your hummer?  Seriously, I don't get it.  *...So he might be rambling.  He does that when he's stressed!*

Trent:

I can do it, I can do it... -Mumbles as he spots the other trying to remove the seat belt for him, but even as he continues to protest his hands cease their fiddling, allowing Miles to get in there and undo it for him. Everything the other says goes right over his head, it a bit beyond his capabilities at the moment.-

Miles:

*He may be oblivious to the fact that he's talking a little fast right now, actually.  It's not every day a fellow student nearly makes you a part of Red Asphalt.*  C'mon, man, pull yourself together.  Did you break your nose?  *Crap, he better not have broken his nose.*

Trent:

My nose? Broken? -Pushing the belt out of the way since it's just being a nuisance now, and reaches up for it again.- OW! My nose...my nose... -He doesn't sound all that pained, though, more pissed off than anything.- Broken...not my face...

Miles:

...Oh, come on dude.  You nearly hit me and all you can think of to complain about is your face?  *Sounding exasperated now, as opposed to freaked out, Miles takes a few steps back and crosses his arms.*  You're lucky you don't have to worry about hiding my body, or something.

Trent:

-For now, the lesser pain his body seems to be feeling recedes, save for his poor, defenseless, little nose, which continues to throb and gush blood everywhere.- Hit you? But I hit...MY MOM'S CAR. -Yep, seems Trent is returning to his usual self and to his regular amount of senses. He scrambles out of the vehicle, hands clutching his head in despair.-

Miles:

*Sighing, the blonde looks over the damage done to Trent, not digging all that blood.*  Dude, you're going to die of blood loss like this, here.  *He pulls off his overshirt, some crappy button-down, and nearly throws it at Trent.*  Stop freaking out, it's just a car.

Trent:

-Catches the gaudy thing out of instinct more than the desire to touch the godawful thing. He eyes it distastefully and ignores putting it anywhere near his wound, instead glaring at his damaged vehicle.- The thing isn't even mine, man! My mom is going to royally rip me a new one when she finds out! -Transfers his glare over to Miles, looking borderline murderous now.- This is all your fault.

Miles:

My fault?  You're the one who nearly ran me over!  Pedestrians have the right of way, asshole!  *Even as he's saying all this, he's still moving up to the Jock, grabbing his shirt away and rolling it into a ball.*  Would you seriously stop bleeding everywhere?  It's really distracting.  *Here, he shoves the bundled up shirt against Trent's face.  Either he'll hold it there or you will, buddy.*

Trent:

Yeah, your fault! Didn't you ever learn as a little shithead to look both ways before crossing the street? I mean come on, for a nerd like you it should be common se-mmph! -His entire sense of vision and smell is clouded as the other's shirt is rammed into his face, the smell of wet dog and some kind of girly shampoo smothering him. Growling, he grabs Miles by the wrist and pulls him away.- Stop being such a pansy! It's only a little blood.

Miles:

Yeah, only a little blood now, but do you want to get all pale and faint?  *He grumbles a little and tries to force his shirt back under Trent's nose.*  Besides, your getting your stupid shirt all bloody and I bet it cost more than ten bucks.  Stop being such a baby.

Trent:

Yeah, right, like this would have me keeling over. -Scoffs, eyeing his shirt since he doesn't believe him. His favorite top is bloody, though, covered in odd shaped splotches that have leaked out everywhere. And stop that, I don't want your crap touching me. -Shoving Miles away, again, he reaches down to remove his own garment since it's positively unrecoverable by now and uses it as a temporary 'bandage'.- What were you doing out here, anyway? Don't you have some dorky stuff to be doing elsewhere?

Miles:

I was going to - uh, buy chips.  At 7-11.  *He takes his shirt back and shoots the other a glare, averting his eyes from Trent to the car as the other boy goes about pulling off his shirt.*  Jerk.

Trent:

I heard that. -Though, it may be even harder for Trent himself to be understood, his already nasally voice muffled by his shirt.-

Miles:

Well, you are!  *He snaps at Trent, crossing his arms and glaring at the boy who looks absolutely ridiculous with his face stuffed in a shirt.*  It's not my fault you don't know how to drive.

Trent:

-Sputters slightly.- And it's not my fault you're too stupid to know how to even get across the road! And how would you know about driving, anyway?! You've never had a car, I bet you don't even have your license!

Miles:

Maybe I don't, but at least I know not to hit people with my boatcar!  My mom's boatcar.  *Old cars are tanks, after all.  It's only fair to call it a boat.*

Trent:

I WASN'T EVEN TRYING TO HIT YOU, NOT THAT IT MATTERS, SINCE YOU MADE IT SO FUCKING EASY. -Is, quite obviously, trying to shout at the other. An arm waves around wildly in his anger.- And don't you dare call my mom's ride a boat! It's a classic, you can't just diss the oldies!

Miles:

IT'S JUST A STUPID CAR!  *He can shout better and louder and a little bit higher-pitched than you, Trent!*  And maybe if you had paid attention to the road you wouldn't have almost hit me!

Trent:

-Yeah, well, who wants to be shrill like some whore, anyway? You can have your screechier voice, see if Trent cares.- WELL YOU'RE STUPID. Do you know how much trouble I'm gonna be in because of you?! Man, and here I actually wanted to avoid running you over! All dorks like you do is cause me trouble.

Miles:

*He is not a whore!  He is a virgin - not that he'd ever tell Trent that.*  Yeah, really great comeback, dude.  You're such an asshole!  Your mom is gonna lock you in the closet for, like, a week longer than normal, isn't she?  *>\*

Miles:

*And he looks back at the car.*  Do you, like, just not know how to drive or something?  This is, like, your third car isn't it?  I mean, jeeze, dude.  I'm never gonna crash cars when I get my license.

Trent:

.....do you ever shut up? -Groans, getting frustrated and continually more tempted to see if he can get back in the car and see if he can run his fellow student over with it.-

Miles:

No, not after I just nearly got killed by some dumb jock in his mom's car!  Seriously, dude, what the hell.  Why were you even driving like that?!  Don't you know that speed kills?!  *Don't run him over, he's just a poor defenseless kid!*

Trent:

-Normally he wouldn't be handling all of this very well. Trent doesn't have a tolerance for fast talkers, and when the person who is doing it is someone so below him on the high school social class? Even less. But this isn't normal for him. He's feeling rather light headed now, so he just lets Miles speak on and on and on while he collapses into a sitting position right where he stands.-

Miles:

*Miles blathers on for a few more seconds about driver's education and pedestrian rights before he realizes Trent's dropped to the ground.  He huffs, crossing his arms to play off his sudden nervousness.  Trent, the mighty jock hero, drop down and sit on the dirty street?*  It isn't that big a deal - it's just a car.  Stop being so melodramatic.

Trent:

My mom loves that car. -He replies distantly, his hand loosening its hold over his shirt as it grows heavier by the minute. Maybe shock is finally setting in or he really has lost a bit too much blood, he doesn't really know.-

Miles:

Yeah, but she probably loves you more.  At least you're not going to prison for manslaughter or something.  *He moves a bit closer to Trent and then sighs, kneeling down next to him.*  Are you all right, dude?

Trent:

Yeah...just fine. -Still not sounding quite all there.- Gotta get me cell... -In his head all his words and actions make sense. For example, the phone. He is hurt. Thus someone needs to be contacted to help him get un-hurt. Perfect!-

Miles:

*If only Miles could decipher all of that from those two sentences.  He gets the general idea, though, at least - Trent needs his phone, most probably for either his mom or 911.*  Where's your phone, and who do you wanna call?

Trent:

...gym bag. -Pauses, a snort posing as some garbled laughter leaving him.- Ghost Busters...

Miles:

*...Okay, he's cracking jokes at Miles.  Not good.*  That's "gonna," not "wanna."  And give me a second, I'll grab it for you.  *He pushes up to his feet, leaning down into the car and reaching over, fumbling through the gym bag for the said technological device.*  Who do you want me to call for you?  Your mom?  911?

Trent:

Same dif... -Pauses, considering.- Mom ain't safe...better call a doctor. Or maybe mom first...if she kills me, no worries.

Miles:

*He finally finds the thing and steps back out - but not before hitting the hazard lights button on the dash.  Better safe than sorry.*  Or you can go to the hospital and your mom will be so worried about you she won't even care about the car.  *Either way, he's about to dial 911.  All that blood can't be good.*

Trent:

My mom loves that car... -Has deteriorated down to autopilot, it would seem.- And my beautiful face...

Miles:

Your face will still be beautiful when I call an ambulance.  Stop being such a baby.  *Still, his hands are shaking a bit as he dials 911, looking up at the street signs as he goes to kneel next to Trent.*  You should lay down, or something.

Trent:

Not tired. -Except that he totally is.- I've faced tough linebackers than...than that... -Flippantly waves his free hand towards the pole sticking out of the car.- Hell, I could get up and do it all again. Right now. -Oh, hey, when did the sky get in front of him?-

Miles:

*He winces when Trent falls backward, pushing send and looking away from the jock as he gets a hold of an operator.  He gives them all the required information before ending the call, turning back to Trent and sitting down beside the other.*  They're sending an ambulance, they'll be here soon, okay?

Trent:

-Nodding his head slightly, trusting the random, disembodied voice to tell and show him all. Was the sky always that...swirly? Funny, he didn't think the weather report said anything about clouds moving. Was supposed to be a nice, sunny day...-

Miles:

*He's not exactly sure what else to do, so he pulls the shirt off of Trent's face to look at the damage.  ...Eugh.  Just put that right back there, then.*  You kind of need to stay focused, here, Trent.  You're not calling me names, it's kind of weirding me out.

Trent:

-Goes cross-eyed for a minute, wondering what had Miles so grossed out, but the shirt is covering his nose again so he never does figure it out. Probably for the best, considering his delicate state of nature and not in the right set of mind to handle the implications of not looking his best, especially in front of a nobody. He always has to look intimidating and a step up, ya know?- I'm always focused! Gotta...gotta keep my eye on the goal...don't wanna lose, not an option.

Miles:

Exactly, dude.  Eye on the goal.  The goal here is to not go into shock and die, all right?  I think it's a pretty easy goal, really, since, y'know, living is kind of awesome and stuff.  *Yeah, he cuts himself off before that gets too far - does he hear sirens in the distance?  Maybe not, it might be too soon.  He's not sure, really.*

Trent:

-That's a pretty easy concept for his mind to follow. He's pulled all nighters before. Never to study or anything, but he's covered three parties in one night or had insane movie marathons. So this should be a cake walk...- I could go for some dessert right now.

Miles:

...Dessert.  *Deadpans*  Right.  *He sighs and leaps on the subject - anything is better than rambling.*  What kind of dessert?

Trent:

Brownies. But uh...none of those weak brownies. -Continues drowsily, his words starting to slur and come out far more slowly than before.- The kind with frosting. Chocolate on chocolate, just like grandma used to make...

Miles:

Nuts or no nuts?  *Yeah, he can definitely hear the sirens now.  Good thing, too, he's almost starting to get hungry.*

Trent:

-Closes his eyes, all the sunlight starting to hurt. His mind registers the sirens, but he shows no indication of recognizing them. It would just mean more bright, flashing colors to him.- None. Duh.

Miles:

You don't like nuts?  That's lame, man.  Nuts are awesome.  *Actually, he doesn't really care one way or another - but it's an argument, for until the ambulance arrives.  Which sounds like very, very soon.  Actually, he can see it coming towards them now.*  They're nearly here.  They'll take care of everything, okay?

Trent:

You're...crazy. No one likes nuts but...nuts! Like you. -Shifts uncomfortably, a loud ringing filling his ears and all the bruises he's sure to have tomorrow acting up already and damn, is practice ever going to suck later because of this.- Whatever.

Miles:

I'm not crazy.  *The ambulance is pulling up to them now, shutting off the sirens but not the lights, and it's accompanied by a police car.  Great.  The paramedics hop out and split up - one coming to them and the other going around back for a stretcher.  Hope you like being tied down to a plastic gurney, Trent.*

Trent:

Are too. -Continues lamely, tensing as he feels someone touching. At first he squints over at Miles, but no, it's on the wrong side... Then he's being moved, lifted up and carried. Everything is going so fast suddenly, and blindly he reaches out. Luckily, he grabs Miles on the first try, making a fist in his shirt.- You better not be thinking that I'll let you off for this...all your fault...and no leaving either. Not some chicken, are ya?

Miles:

*He yelps a bit and struggles up onto his feet, going with the gurney as it's rolled to the back of the ambulance.*  I wasn't planning on it!  Let go before you get this shirt all bloodied up too!  *Still, he follows the paramedics and they let him climb in the ambulance, beside the other.*  Jerk.  *So much for chips.*