[D3, EA] Under the Hammer (Jon's Auto Repair)

[Jonathan Whitford]

The steel began to clang and he went back to work, learning all sort of new features of the cars. Used to have to spend hours looking at things and guessing. Now you can plug something in and it'll tell you where something is wrong. It's been sort of crazy the amount of advances made with this. Thankfully, in the end, the only thing that didn't change was the labor needed to move it.



So here he was, with a engine lifted up, attempting to fix another timing belt. He had originally closed the shop, but with his head all...in and out, maybe some work would do him good before he had to deal with the Apple King's terms.

[Amber]

A young woman continued to stroll the streets of Minuit, aimed at ingratiating herself in the town. Strolling with the music playing in the headphones over her ears she looked up at the sky, a slight frown at it's lacking conditions. Still, she'd heard of a auto-repair shop in the area and maybe?

Well, if this was going to be a place to live... she'd have to be able to get around more casually, under the radar.

Standing outside the establishment she squinted a bit at the sign that held over the building, pausing to smile up at the sky. Hands thrust firmly in her pockets. Seeing the proprietor she had to laugh to herself.

However, as Jon would soon learn, the woman that soon found him was not of the mundane world. No, she burned with an eternal fire that seemed to alight the surrounding area but caused no lasting damage. For she was in control of her element, and as long as she wished it so she would not burn.

"You Jon?" she asked with an accent not wholly unfamiliar to him, perhaps. Though it'd elevated some with the times.

[Jonathan Whitford]

The tall pale being stared at the flaming woman and nodded his head. "What my mother called me, at least." His accent was for sure not from this area; seemed a bit more northern.

"What can I do for you, miss?" He placed down his tools and walked to her presence. "Oil change? Tire rotation?"

[Amber]

"Looking for a bike," she tilted her head back and forth, "maybe. Depends on how long I intend to stay, really."

Amber's voice made her seem like a girl from the city, some base in New York, but from some years ago. She'd a cadence to her voice that lent itself to her well, a slyness to it that befit her in a most charming manner. Though, from there her voice was shifted distinctly metropolitan, she'd not seemed to take to any particular area.

"A motorcycle, anything like that you know of around here?"

[Jonathan Whitford]

"Well, I mean, I suppose there might some around here we're working on, but I'm not normally in the business of selling automobiles and the like."

His shrug widens and he gives a look over at her. Given the nature of what she was, it would be prudent to assume she was unfamiliar with things as he was once. Or maybe she just thought this was a used car shop as well, who knows.

Either way, she did need some help. "How about you step into my office and we can discuss what it is I can help you with."

[Amber]

"Lead the way, Mr. Jon," she smiled, the flames extended more from within as she did so.

"You must think it awfully strange," she said, as she followed up by his side, "to come here of all places, but so you know, I have my reasons. It did, after all, bring me across another who, well, understands. All this has been quite worth the inquiry already, wouldn't you say?"

[Jonathan Whitford]

"Well, if one thing I understand, it's understand folk such as yourself."

The flames did lead to something worth looking at, beyond the form which she displayed. Not something he would pursue, though, obvious flame puns aside.

"So," he closed his office door so he could have some privacy. "What can this humble Domovoi do for you, for real this time? Not unless you would want me to make you a bike legitimately."

It was not outside the realm of possibility for him, after all.

[Amber]

"Domovoi?" she cocked her head to the side as she questioned him. Deciding the asking made her a might bit uncomfortable, noticed in her dimmed flames, and thus she walked about his office looking at what lay about. "I am not familiar with the term, exactly."

[Jonathan Whitford]

"Wow, how new are you, miss?" His head looked around to her, ever curious. The office space was lined with random trinkets from by bygone era, a few records of old jazz musicians and Frank Sinatra, as well as a honest to goodness record player, though clearly modern in it's design. Many of the things showning signs of refurnishing and repair.

"The Wizened, miss. Us tinkerers and workers go by that nickname."

[Amber]

"Not terribly," she said, thumbing through the records of Sinatra. As she thumbed through them her flame seemed to return to it's natural state, even expand a little. Though nothing appeared to be adversely affected by it. Amber's seemingly incorporeal form posing no challenge when manipulating fine objects, giving credence to the semblance that there was a core defined 'body' to her.

"Maybe I've just been spared the phrase," she paused on a particular album, casting a glance away, her fire dimming. "I have spent an awfully long time traveling, considering it."