Texture 1/6 - Satin
by K. Stonham
first released 15th May 2008

"Here you go, rookie," Stan told Jason, dropping the keys into his hand. "Old Faithful is all yours," he said, gesturing expansively at the old Crown Victoria, its police colors muted by a fine layer of dust and covered with splatters of mud, crud, and what Jason could only hope wasn't blood.

He arched an eyebrow. "'Old Faithful'?" he inquired sardonically.

"She's been with the department for upwards of twenty years now... nearly as old as you are," Stan said expansively. "All the rookies get her. She may look like crap, but she's kind of a lucky charm." He quirked half a smile. "You'll find out."

"Right."

He got a clap on the back for his drawled response. "You'll see, rookie," Stan told him. "Now get her cleaned up and she's all yours for patrol tomorrow."

"You, my friend, are a mess," Jason told the car, having rolled up his shirt sleeves and tipped his shades down to perch on the very end of his nose. "If you're so lucky, they could at least clean you once in a while!" Still, the dust hosed off and the mud-and-not-blood gradually absorbed the water too and became more friable as he scrubbed at the rest of the bodywork. He didn't even want to think of what it was going to take to make the inside decent--it reeked of old doughnuts and the ghosts of stale coffees spilled long ago. But for now the doors and windows were shut as he tackled the outside underneath the August sun.

The wheels were encrusted and it was a miracle they even turned. The grill bars were vile. And, really, it was his opinion that touching a spoiler shouldn't leave one's hand sticky. Jason merely rolled his eyes and continued scrubbing.

Gradually the filth became better and his mood lightened a bit, even catching himself whistling snippets of Disney songs. By the time the vehicle was clean (many gallons and buckets of soapy water later), he was even feeling right pleased with himself. He toweled the car dry, then smiled wickedly and got out the wax.

The car gleamed under the streetlight, its finish like satin. Tired and sore in places he didn't know he was still able to be sore, Jason smiled cockily at his cruiser. "You are a thing of beauty, and a bitch to clean, and your ass is mine," he told the car cockily. "You and I have a date tomorrow, beautiful." And with that he strode off to reclaim his own car--a cherry red roadster that had never given him as many problems to clean, but also never given him quite the sense of satisfaction as this afternoon's long work had done.

He didn't even realize he was humming.