#o: l.carrasco

[izaralevine]

LOCATION: Kit's Garage: Gaskit & Wheels, Bronx. TIME: 10:34 CLOSED FOR: @lluiscarrasco

Izara, text: Happy cheese ball day ☀️ is your hangover as shit as mine?

Terrible decisions, follow more terrible decisions. How the previous night ended is still foggy, but Iz knows she’s got a list at least twelve things long — across a trio of cars sitting in the garage as she sluggishly drags herself out in overalls to begin backing her first job of the day into the shop. Hangover or not — she’s got clients.

The guy who’d come by early to pick up yesterday’s mods had been the inspiration — or reminder — of National Cheese Ball Day. Dumping an industrial sized bag on her lap, as a way of stiffing the tip. So she’s got cheese balls, and just as many jobs to do.

Luis, text: Want me to bring coffee for the head?

Lifesaver, always. She places down a wrench on the workbench, and zips up the kit strapped to her waist. Izara presses the release on the hydraulic lift. It brings the car down on the empty space now she’s backed up the other one from storage. The hood of the car is first to open, eyes scan the engine bay to check the diagnostics aren’t any worse than the last time she looked at the heap.

It’s fucked. As they always are. But sometimes, she’d like to be treated to an easy, five minute fix.

She snaps into the working mindset easily; like a machine processing the workings of an issue, before reprogramming it to be more productive. Kit’s doing much the same, but with a screwdriver, oil, and she’s likely to need to weld at some point today.

Luis and his eagerness to help is ever an endearing quality about him. And she trusts him with about as much as sandpaper, and the wheel arch. He’s welcome to that part of the surface rust. She’ll get him his overalls too.

Drying mouth, that coffee can't come fast enough.

[emiliocarrasco]

❛ the person you once knew me as, died. ❜ ( Luis )

"Why do you have to be so dramatic, Luis?" Albeit, the words stung. Thinking he didn't know his eldest child hurt in a way that's more than just harshly struck words. "You're still my hijo." It's a fact, and whether Luis wishes to change it, he couldn't.

Emilio would never want to.

He recalls the small boy taking his first steps — he was there for those, even if he missed his first crawl. It's things that Luis never remembers; too young, too wide-eyed to know anything then. Emilio remembers his first words being mama, and how long after it had been when papa left his mouth. Too long, because he'd made milestones between the two.

He understands Luis' upset. He can not repair what Emilio has broken; he cannot be present, in a memory of absence.

But Emilio wants to know his son; in every changing year. He doesn't miss an entire one; he gets the pieces. And never gets to know the rest of it. Half a jigsaw, or less — when Emilio only wants to sit down and finish the whole thing.

Sighing, Carrasco admits a silent defeat, he's trying, as ever:

"— so let me know you then."

[izaralevine]

Ask ; answered MUSE :  for one muse to model for the other’s art project. Continued from: HERE

It isn't her usual medium. Lacking distance, compressed air, and paint. She's never quite going to master Luis' position in under ten minutes — somehow, the pressure of cop's being around the corner, isn't quite here — so she's doing her best to not cartoon-ise him as a muse, and call it a win.

Laughing — Iz tilts her head as she draws, earning his ire. She isn't used to a moving subject either. She's usually got stencils, and still walls to serve as her substance.

"Fuck no, wait, but —" Levine's shaking her head, because she's given him stubble that's halfway across his cheeks, a nose that's a bit crooked — but his eyes; she's pretty confident in the eyes, maybe spent too many of the short minutes on getting the colour, and the spark right. That she'd completely forgotten to give him eyebrows.

— she quickly scratches two curved lines onto the canvas.

Maybe she's underselling it. It's not that bad.

(It's definitely not good)

"If I put a mask on you," She's trying to tilt the canvas at an angle — as if it might improve it... "—and cut off the bottom portion of your face — it's not too bad," they're both chuckling, and she exasperates, picking up her drink beside her as they sit on the carpet, Izara likes to point out: "but I'd have this down if the challenge was like, I don't know, ten minutes more."

Humbling an artist, is easy when out of their element.

@lluiscarrasco

[izaralevine]

LOCATION: The Cloisters TIME: Mid Evening. CLOSED FOR: @lluiscarrasco

"Please save me from pitching a side, I came for the booze — and still, the vibes are a three." Izara's been half-cut since walking through the door. She's calling it masterful acting, more realistically, it's strategically entering in with a sober crowd.

Slips right under the radar.

"Aesthetics though, solid nine." Because everywhere she looks, it's art. And she's gawking when she imagines what a little bit of colour, and metalwork could do to the place. Smiling — a hand reaches out to move Luis aside like they're in the way of someone's path. Straightening herself, and careful not to spill the wine, she wavers to the party: "You can't tell me you're enjoying this — really? Have you ever even voted before?"