I do not own Biker Mice from Mars, no matter how much I want to.
The songs used in this chapter are "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood, "Rock of Ages" by Def Leopard, "Jeepers Creepers" by various artists, "I Want To Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles, "Eleanor Rigby" by the Beatles, "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie, and "The Bad Touch" by the Bloodhound Gang.
-x-
Charley looked up as she heard two voices shouting outside, one British, one faintly southern. She walked over to the window and looked out, spotting Macca and her familiar Harley Fatboy, quickly followed by a black FX. Macca's bike was indeed held together with duct tape; the license plate had been reattached, the exhaust pipe was steadily parting with the piece of tape holding it to the frame, the whitewall tires had been patched with it.
"Hey!" the British one shouted, speeding out of the way as Macca swerved dangerously.
"Whoa," she shouted, stamping one foot on the ground as the Fatboy threatened to fall. They steadily made their way up the driveway, where Macca's bike sputtered, belched a large amount of black smoke from the engine, and died. It remained there, panting like a half-dead animal. She smacked the handlebars a few times and let out a long, loud string of curses.
"Time of death 12:39 pm," the British woman said as Charley slipped through the trap door. "Ooh, how ironic."
"What?" Macca asked, taking off her helmet. Her scar seemed more black than purple. She stared into the tinted visor of her companion for an answer.
"Well, you see, 'L' is the twelveth letter of the alphabet, right? And '39' is--" She was cut off by an angry scowl from Macca.
"Anyway," Macca said. "Helpa me, wouldja? And call me old-fashioned, but I'm keeping the whitewalls. So I'm-a gonna borrow that truck o' yours. Alright?"
"Oh, your very mean, Mac," the British woman declared, clearing her throat.
"Yeah. Sure. Roadie here'll help. I'll be back in a bit." Macca accepted the keys from Charley and backed the truck out of the garage.
-x-
"Hello," the brunette woman greeted, watching the mice out of the corner of her eye. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, calmly polishing the chrome on a motorcycle. Which seemed like it would take a long time, seeing as all the paint, save for something written across the fuel tank, had been stripped off and the metal underneath polished several times over.
"Hi," Throttle replied cautiously. At this point, Macca marched into the garage carrying a whitewall tire under each arm.
"Gangway," she said, dropping the tires near the bike and beginning the task of putting them on the bike. "For the record," she continued, looking up at the mice. The radio in the corner blared out 'Helter Skelter'. "Wrong kinda record, Jude." The music stopped. "They call the brit Roadface, for obvious reasons."
"Yes, of course," Roadface said, turning to reveal a scar like a tire tread on the right side of her face. She flashed a brief smile. "How do you do?" She pointed at the radio in the corner. "That's Jude, Mac's turtle. Do not try to have a serious conversation in a room with a radio with him there."
--The head nurse spoke up
And she said leave this one alone
She could tell right away
That I was bad to the bone--
"Jude, find someone else to parody," Macca said, moving to the other tire.
--Burn it up let's go for broke
Watch the night go up in smoke
Rock on (rock on)
Drive me crazier, no serenade
No fire brigade, just pyromania, c'mon--
"What did I ever do to you?" Roadface asked, looking at the turtle critically.
--Jeepers, creepers...where'd ya get them peepers
Jeepers, creepers... where'd you get them eyes
Gosh oh, git up...how'd they get so lit up
Gosh oh, gee oh... how'd they get that size--
"Do you realize how rude that is?" Macca questioned, giving Throttle a quick glance.
--Now let me hold your hand,
I want to hold your hand.
And when I touch you I feel happy inside
It's such a feeling that my love
I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide--
"You have no manners," Roadface said, shaking her head and casting Modo an apologetic look.
--Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the rice in a church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?--
"Jude, seriously, that's very insulting," Macca sighed, looking at Vinnie in exasperation.
--Sailors
Fighting in the dance hall
Oh man look at those cave men go
It's the freakiest show
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy
Oh man wonder if he'll ever know
He's in the best-selling show
Is there life on Mars?--
"Really?" Roadface asked, looking at Macca.
"He may be insanely rude, but he's always right."
"Cool," she said simply, returning to the task of polishing the chrome. "All the world's questions about aliens have been solved."
"Yeah, well, outta my way," Macca said, throwing a leg over her bike. It gave one loud, sputtering protest and roared to life. She revved the engine a few times and frowned as it backfired several times. "C'mon, c'mon, babe," she coaxed as the engine began to die and finally whittled down into silence. "Dang. That certainly didn't work." The radio began to play a soft sad tune.
"Jude, be serious, have a little sympathy for the Machine, eh?" Roadface proposed, throwing an arm around Macca's shoulder and looking at the mice. "Be nice chaps and go find Charley." The two women watched them leave.
"Why'd you say that?" Macca asked, shoving her companion's arm off.
"What? The Machine?" Roadface scoffed lightly. "Like they're gonna know whether I'm talking about you or the bike. Besides, if it's written on the side there, who's gonna know?"
"Honestly? You, me, and Charley."
"Lighten up, yankee!" she said cheerfully. "If it comes down to it, we brain them with something or get them drunk or high--"
"And terribly suggestible," Macca said, giving a sly grin.
"You pervert."
"You're one to judge?"
--Do it now
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals
So let's do it like they do on the discovery channel
Do it again now--
"Jude, stoppa that," Macca said, giving him a 'stern mother' look.
"What's going on?" Charley asked.
"The Machine's being a pain," Roadface supplied, crossing her arms.
"Which one?" Charley questioned with a smile.
"Both of them."
"Hey!" Macca shouted dignantly, lightly punching Roadface's shoulder.