Choppers and the like were for tough and guys who liked to wear leather jackets and hang out with other tough guys enjoying the company of their other tough guy male companions. Makorai's bike was a different machine from the fashion over function variety you'd see on the street. It was a dual-sport, an off-road bike with tires to handle the hot pavement, and the grassy hills the sniper favoured when he was out of the city. Complete with enough trappings to make it street legal. 

Not that it was street legal of course, he hadn't paid for it to be licensed in quite some years. 

Makorai had torn out of the gate, his body was the balance, the ballast, thrown to the opposite side of the bike, white knuckling the handlebars as he threw the thing to the ground, forcing the bike left while hitting speeds that threatened critical injuries if he lost control. 

He brought the machine back up, and accelerated, raking his along its frame as he bobbed and weaved through the vehicles heading toward the disaster. Luckily, but predictably, most of the traffic was heading away from the Jotun. Not towards it.

His hand felt into his jacket, and he withdrew his cell phone, he dialed without looking. 

The conversation was brief. A friend of his said she, and the other masons were okay. Jotun had left, gone down Highlands Boulevard from what she had heard.

Rather than indicate he was turning left, he just increased spead and swung over into the other lane. That's when he saw her. Like an earth-borne comet he saw a streak of familiar color rush over his head, and into the general vicinity that he was traveling in.

Spirits, if she could do that..

Makorai's bike slowed to a cruising speed as he rounded off onto one of the poorer districts of the city. Minus the wanton destruction he expected, it was near impossible to gauge where the Jotun was exactly. Eye witness had placed the Jotun here but...

[color=darkgoldenrod]"HEY"[/color] He yelled.He was at below cruising speed now, yelling amidst the sirens. 

[color=darkgoldenrod]"I don't know what the hell you want!, But I'll give it to you if you come out! Let's fucking talk! Have a drink! I know you Jotun can talk!"[/color]

His vocal chords strained as he raised his pitch above the background noise. 

He steadied the bike with one hand, and retrieved his bottle from the folds of his jacket. He uncorked it, and took a generous gulp. [color=darkgoldenrod]"OR ARE CIVILIANS EASIER PREY FOR A COWARDLY GIANT?!"[/color]

He parked for a moment, and discharged his weapon into the air, it wasn't a rifle round, so there was neither stench nor sound of gunpowder. It was a flare round, sailing high into the sky, and exploding into a cascade of red.