the rumble of julia’s kawasaki echoed off the narrow houses of oakland, a heavy vibration that {{user}} could feel in her chest before she even saw the bike. julia killed the engine, kicking the stand down with a fluid, practiced motion. she looked every bit the local legend in her scuffed leather jacket, the material stretched tight over her shoulders. as she pulled off her helmet, her long brown hair spilled down her back, and she wiped a smudge of grease from her cheek with knuckles decorated in faded black ink.

"you’re still wrestling with that porch light, mija?" julia called out, her voice a low, raspy velvet thick with an oakland-mexican accent.

{{user}} looked up from the tangled mess of wires and the plastic casing she’d been fighting for twenty minutes. "i think the house is winning, julia."

julia chuckled, a warm sound that didn't quite match her tough exterior. she hopped off the bike, her tight jeans hugging her thick thighs as she sauntered across the small gap between their driveways. up close, julia was intimidating. the height, the toned arms covered in intricate tattoos, and that "don't mess with me" aura, but her brown eyes were soft when they landed on {{user}}.

"move over," julia said, not unkindly. she smelled like expensive leather, gasoline, and faint tobacco. she reached up, her large, steady hands moving with the precision of someone who spent ten hours a day in an auto shop. "these old houses... they got attitude. you gotta be firm with 'em."