Grease monkey, ex-junky, winner of the fight

[Moonhunter]

With the exception of the solar panels, Moonhunter preferred to keep his truck as low-tech as possible. Certainly, he could be darting around in something that hovered or even flew, but such technology was not available across the globe. This truck wasn't just his means of pursuing fugitives, it was also his home, containing (aside from a few emergency stashes hidden away in safe houses across the globe) all his earthly possessions. And a few unearthly. Moonhunter wasn't one for sentimental collecting. He had outlived too many and too much. But he liked having his stuff close at hand. Abandoning it where it broke down and traveling far to find a replacement flux capacitor simply would not do.

So he kept things simple, because even in a metropolis as advanced as Wayward City, it was not at the forefront of cutting edge science. Which meant he was due for annual maintenance. And, since the last garage he had been a regular customer at had finally shut down due to the owner's death of old age, Moonhunter would have to throw the dice on another garage and hope the mechanic was halfway confident. And so, he pulled up to one recommended to him by a few locals, and gave his horn a quick honk.

[Conor]

It had been a mainly uneventful day. Conor had been under one of the more sophisticated hover vehicles, taking an hour or so to get himself accustomed to the hydraulics that were clearly past their prime. He had then started to swap seals and check motivators, and it all had taken some time until finally, a loud honk drove him out from under the car. sliding back on his back, he almost hit his head ont he open door, his hand having gone down to the empty holster at his hip. No gun. Guns were bad. This was civilisation. People didn't want to kill him. At least, not the ones that honked.

he slid out fully, getting up, clad in his usual leather, and moved to the entrance of the garage, his eyebrows raised. You didn't see wolf people, or vehicles this old this often. It must have been ancient. He had seen more old cars in the desert, oil was sometimes the only fuel to come by and transport over long distances but here in the city, he had not seen many.

he looked at the car for a moment, and then back at the wolf, pressing his fist on his heart in a greeting. "Peace be with you" he said slowly, but then realized that the people in this place perhaps found it too formal, and waved with a greasy paw. "hey."

"Can I help you with anything?"

[Moonhunter]

Moonhunter also wore a leather jacket, a long one with a build hanging back over his shoulders. And while, in his line of work, he knew better than to get attached to clothes, leather coats were not cheap to replace and he tried not to damage them. Automotive repair was messy work no matter how advanced the tech, and it didn't make much sense to him to put a leather jacket through so much punishment.

"Need a tune-up," he said, ignoring the formal greeting. "You came recommended." The way folks had talked about this mechanic, Moonhunter had expected a dwarf, not a gnoll. He knew there were some tribes out there that had taken to technology, but most still eschewed it. But this gnoll clearly wasn't the bone-through-the-nose barbarian type.

[Conor]

Conor looked for a long while at the vehicle. His brow furrowed, and he stepped up to it, running a paw over the metal. "A tune-up, huh." he said, much more quietly now. "Don't see cars like this around a lot." his paw rested on the metal, then his face snapped back up and he nodded.

"I can do this. Change lubricant, clear out filters, possibly replace them if I can find the parts. Get everything running back to specification. Should be doeable" he shrugged. "They aren't particularely complicated."

His paw dropped again to his side and he started walking around the car, gently resting his paw on every tyre, sliding his fingers into the grooves of the tread. Once he had his back turned to Moonhunter, the wolf-man would be able to see a massive burn scar down his lower back, just exposed by the leather crop-top, and slightly smeared with oil from the maintenace floor of the garage.

"Your tyres are still okay." he said. "Sourcing parts for something this old can be extremely difficult."

[Moonhunter]

OOC: For the record his truck looks something like this.

Moonhunter's keen eye noticed the scar. Clearly from battle, and not from a workplace injury. But then it didn't surprise him either. Moonhunter didn't think he had ever seen an adult gnoll without at least a few scars. For a culture that reveled in battle, this was to be expected. The repair guy carried himself like someone used to fighting, as well--attention divided between the truck and Moonhunter himself, an obviously dangerous person himself. He briefly considered informing this repair guy of just who he was, just in case he got any funny ideas of ripping off the truck. But it seemed unnecessary; stealing from customers didn't ensure repeat business, even in a city known for its crime. There was no reason this couldn't be an amiable business exchange without resorting to dick-measuring.

"If you need any parts, there's a few dwarven forges that already have my truck's blueprints on file," Moonhunter commented. He wasn't particularly fond of this city, but it was one of the largest on this side of the continent, for better or worse. He always had to come back here, for some business or another. And while he disdained the idea of having roots in any one place, it had made sense to maintain a few connections. He even had a safe house in the slums, though he was currently allowing a family of kobolds staying there, so the place was probably a wreck by now.

[Conor]

Conor had halted his inspection of the vehicle and quickly inspected the occupant. Big wolf-man. Possibly dangerous. But it didn't matter. he wasn't out to get him, he hoped, and he assumed that none of his old aquaintances from out in the desert knew he was here, or would bother with sending an assassin.

"Forges, huh?" he said and shrugged slightly. "That makes things easier, if more expensive. If I have to get any parts made, you'd have to pay in advance for them tho. Can't front that sort of money." he looked around and then motioned at the free berth in the garage, inbetween the more sophisticated hover vehicle and the gnoll's own car, the powerful shape of the ancient vehicle halfway covered in a sand-coloured tarpaulin.

"Park her up. I'm sure I can get this done. How quickly do you need her back again? I can't offer any rentals, I'm afraid."

[Moonhunter]

At the mention of money, Moonhunter just shrugged. Just because he left blueprints with a few dwarves, didn't necessarily mean he was friends with any of them or that any of them owed him favors. There had been a few in the past, but they were all dead now. Moonhunter had settled down in Wayward City a few times to fight the various gangs and mafias, but it was like playing whack-a-mole. They always sprung back up, and Moonhunter knew his limitations. It wasn't his job to fix society. He just made it a little less shitty around the corners.

As for money... he knew of a few highly dangerous (for mortals) jobs that paid well, if it came down to it. He could make enough money here to pay for a whole new truck in less than a month. Less than a day, if he stole it from the mobs. That was how he had bought the truck in the first place. He got back on board the truck and drove it into the bay the gnoll had directed him to, then hopped back out.

"The faster you can work on it, the better," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow morning and we can discuss price and a timetable for repairs." He thought he was being generous, not rushing the gnoll. But Moonhunter needed a new regular repair guy, and best to stay on good terms with him.

[Conor]

Conor rubbed his chin, wiping his paws on the leather jacket beforehand as to not smear anything on his snout that might potentially harmful. His fingers were still discoloured by hydraulic fluid. He watched the wolf-man park up his car in the remaining bay. His small workshop was now filled. If he was lucky, he could make some relatively easy money with the wolf-man's car. It was technology he knew. Nothing super sophisticated. More like a relaxing job. except he didn't relax, of course.

He watched the man get out and looked at him, before shrugging and nodding. "Won't be able to start today anyway." he said quietly. "What's your name? So I can note you down on my ledger."

Everyone in Wayward kept records of everything. Death, birth, payments, favours, everything was on record, somewhere. Where he came from, the sand had defaced any sort of recording of civilisation. You survived on what was in your head, not on computers in your pocket. But he had adapted. Bought a computer system, started making notes. Built himself a small existance here. Left a paper trail, too, but he preferred not to think about this. Leaving was always an option.

Not now, though. Wasn't time to run yet.

He looked up at the wolf-man and flashed him a quick smile.

[Moonhunter]

Moonhunter thought of the saying "Never trust a smiling gnoll." Stereotypical and speciesist as shit, but... he could see why the flash of those fangs would seem unsettling to other species. And Moonhunter mistrusted everyone, anyway. Oh, certainly, he knew the gnoll would get his vehicle fixed. It would be bad for business not to.

His coat flourished as he swept it back and placed his hands on hips hips, and in so doing allowed the mechanic a glimpse at the guns on his thighs. He wasn't looking for a fight, but a subtle display of how dangerous he was seemed sensible. His eyes settled on the sight of his parked vehicle. He didn't like leaving it behind for someone to fiddle with, as necessary as it might be.

A name, huh? Moonhunter didn't have a secret identity. But he also didn't care for advertising his presence when he came into town. The occasional bar performance aside, he preferred his name to be spoken in hushed whispers by the underworld than broadcasted for all to hear. "Just put me down as Joe," he answered.

[Conor]

As the wolf-man swept back his coat, Conor's dark eyes slid over the guns holstered. His smile froze, turning into a scowl as he was acutely reminded of the fact that he himself was not armed. His weapon was hidden, and he'd only need to take two steps and a jump to get at it, but at the same time the man was dangerous, or at least acted like he was, and it was sending the gnoll's frayed nerves into upheaval.

Hardness had crept into those dark eyes, and the lids had fallen over them, drooping slightly, hooding his gaze as he sized up the wolfman.

"Joe, huh" he said, his voice slower, flatter, less emotional. "I'll put you in my ledger, and we meet again tomorrow.."