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Mal's truck needs some work. Bella can help.
Permalink Mark Unread

It's a quiet June afternoon in Sabillasville, Maryland. The air's so laden with humidity you could swim it it, and the heat radiates in wavering lines off the asphalt. But it's quiet as they get, given the drone of cicadas! And the rattling whir of a shop fan. And the banging of someone pinning some kind of metal part down onto a workbench and having their way with it. And the sound of someone singing enthusiastically, if not very tunefully. And the sound of an engine revving, coughing, and dying. And a bit of swearing.

Perhaps not quite the quietest June afternoon.

A figure emerges from a tiny garage tucked up in one of the cheaper parts of town, grease-stained tank top and jeans and boots that were made for stomping, wiping their face with a rag that looks only clean enough to spread the grease around. They tuck their thumbs into their pockets and lean back against the framing of the garage door, catching their breath and taking a sip of a cold bottle of water. Business is slow today, but that's alright by them - plenty of time then to commune with the project cars.

They're about to step back inside for round 2 with those timing valves when there's the sound of an engine in obvious distress in the distance.

A smile breaks through the grease and ash. New friends for them today after all...

Permalink Mark Unread

"Aww, girl, no..."

Why's she do him like this! She should have been good for another hundred miles at least before that blew, get him out of the middle of nowhere and into the middle of ... somewhere.

Mal lays off the gas and drives his girl as easy as he can manage, until the big red hunk of junk pulls all gentle-like into spittin'-distance of somewhere as claims to be a garage. Then she kicks once and rolls over, and he has to trot on his own two feet for the last block-and-a-half, boots slapping heavy on the asphalt.

Permalink Mark Unread

They can smell burning oil. This one's going to have to stay and get comfortable.

Their eyes roam over the chassis, lingering for a moment on a tarp covering some very exciting looking lumps. "Nice truck you got there."

"Shame about those gaskets - guy like you seems keen on doing your own maintenance, but this one you'd better leave to the pros. Come on, beautiful, let's get you up on a lift."

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"Watch it! You ask before you start sweet-talkin' another guy's girl!"

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"You want her healthy, dontcha? Settle down and help me get her inside."

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"You the boss 'round here?"

He's sizing them up, visibly, taking in calloused hands and sweat-tracks through grease and the muscles it takes to jack up a car or loosen a lug nut.

Permalink Mark Unread

"Yep."

This man's eyes are lingering on their body a bit longer than they're comfortable with.

"Best you knock off the wandering eyes, friend."

Maybe they'll throw them a bone.

"Do yourself a favor and grab me a flashlight from inside, 'k?"

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To (perhaps) his credit, his gaze is sweeping over their hands and their biceps and where they'd carry a concealed gun, not traveling anywhere more intimate.

"Ain't a man got the right to look at what's before him?" he protests, regardless, opening the door and fishing around in the glove compartment for a flashlight.

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If they were looking for armaments on them, then they're not going to find anything. Their shotgun is leaned up against the workbench inside.

"Nope. Pop the hood and hand me a 1/4" socket."

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"You want a lot, y'know that?"

He tosses them the heavy flashlight from a few yards away, with no regard for sanity or safety.

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They ignore his comment and snatch the flashlight from the air effortlessly, tucking it between shoulder and ear as they peer inside the engine cavity. Their nose wrinkles.

"You ever consider not driving her while she's burning oil?"

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"Crossed my mind once or twice."

Wrench.

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Catch.

"This is going to be an ordeal to repair, you know. Gonna have to strip the whole thing down to check her rings and gaskets. Some quality time." (This last part directed fondly at the truck.)

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He puts a hand defensively on the truck, with exactly the attitude of a man shielding the family jewels.

"Serenity don't need all that! Just a quick fix to keep her runnin'."

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"You want Serenity to live a long, happy life. The quick fix here will leave her clogging pipes, and coughing and sputtering until she siezes for good. All in all, a pretty bad way to go. So, instead of being Mr Protective Dad over here hurting those you claim to care bout, you're going to help me clean her properly and repair all that's needful. Y'understand?"

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"Ain't got the wherewithal to cover all that. Not 'til I get where I'm goin'."

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"And where, exactly, is that?" They begin undoing the linkages that hold the gearbox to the main engine body. It's a nasty process, and their hands are covered by oil and soot immediately.

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"A customer. Who ain't gonna be mighty pleased if I'm late."

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"They ain't here. Feel free to use the phone though. Lower that ceiling harness, would you? Crank is on the wall."

They're pretty sure of two things: this guy likes his truck and doesn't actually want to see her hurt by taking her out too early, and that he can probably deal with whatever consequences of being late are. Unless there's a bunch of fish in the truck bed, which they doubt.

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"Yes ma'am."

He goes to the crank.

"What's this fixin' to cost me? I ain't precisely flush at the moment."

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"I'm sure we can work out a payment plan. Perhaps after your customer gets his 'special delivery' you'll be in a better place to pay. In the meantime, you can stick around here and help me and Linaea out. Crank up!"

The belts of the overhead winch are firmly fastened around the engine block, ready to rise assuming that they haven't missed a step.

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"Awful generous," Mal says, suspiciously, beginning to crank.

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They consider for a second whether the man plans to pay them after he's able to drive away, then shrug.

"Me? Not at all. I've got quite a bit of heavy lifting to do around here; I can use the help. And there's isn't a tow service for miles 'sides me, so I don't rightly figure you've got a choice. No use grinding the boot in when a man's already down."

They wince when they see the oil dripping from the underside of the great heavy heart of Mal's truck.

"Besides, it'll be nice to get some steady income for a change."

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"Well, can't say but that's a bargain as a man can live with, an' I rightly appreciate it. You just point me in the direction of your liftin'."

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"For now you can start by hauling this hunk o' junk," their thumb jabbing sharply in the direction of a beat-up looking V6 on a metal counter, "out back. Looks like I'll need the work space if we want you in and out in a reasonable fashion. It ever occur to you not to drive 'er while her blood drips onto the pavement? If not, better consider it, worried it's more than head gaskets the trouble with her. When you get back you and me are gonna go treasure hunting to see if we can find you a new set of gaskets anyhow."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Weren't a good time to take a rest break."

He hefts the V6, balancing it on his shoulder.

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"Less a rest break, more an ER visit."

They begin wiping at the greasy underside of the engine, hoping that they won't find that the damn thing's rusted through.

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Mal reappears shortly, engine-less and wiping his hands on his pants.

"If'n we'd stopped just then, she'd not be the one having the ER visit."

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"You must lead an interesting life, Mister... didn't catch your name?" They toss him a socket wrench and point to a bolt on the other side of the bloc.

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"Mal. An' you?"

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"Bel Forth - you can call me Bel." They stick out a greasy hand, made greasier from absently wiping it on the same rag they'd been using to clean the bottom of the engine block.

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He has a firm handshake, but isn't trying to cause them injury with it.

"What brings a girl like you to live in a place like this?"

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"Not a girl."

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"Huh?"

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"Think of me as more of an experience."

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"I know a guy as calls himself Mister Universe," Mal muses.

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"I'm the person who's gonna nurse your girl to health, let's leave it at that. As to why I'm here, well, I like the quiet. Ain't a bad place to set up shop, not many folks pass through here but the ones that do tend to have the most interesting problems. Had a fella in last week who'd been breathing antifreeze for a week, busted line. Surprised he was at my place and not a hospital."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Sound of it, you get your fair share of adventure."

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"We manage. How about you, stranger? Mysterious packages for mysterious customers sounds like quite the exciting life."

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"More'n is rightly healthy."

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They nod. "You gonna put that wrench to use?"

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"Wouldn't wish to interfere with a lady's profession."

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"I already told you, not a lady. Now help me strip this block or I'll be here all day." They turn back to the engine and take their own socket to the other side of the shaft.

Permalink Mark Unread

He will assist in rendering the block nude, under their capable instruction.

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They lean under the block squinting with the flashlight for any sign of leakage. Finding none, they nod with satisfaction and start walking out back, thumbs hooked in their belt loops. "Coming with?"

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"Sure. Where we off to?"

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"My backyard, aka the junkyard. You better hope we find a compatible engine we can strip for timing belts, or I'll need to improvise."

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"An' wouldn't that be novel."

He follows.

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"Less than I'd hope."

Their backyard is filled with the chassis of several automobiles in varying states of disrepair. Most are up on blocks, and several have the hoods popped open, displaying insides that are refreshingly straightforward for anyone who's had to deal with modern cars. Surrounding them is a ring composed of various engine blocks, driveshafts, body panels and stacks of tires. There's even a stripped down tractor. Clearly, they've been collecting for quite a while.

Bel walks over to the first of the open hoods with a tape measure and begins fiddling with the belts.

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"Ooh."

He sets about circling the yard, vulture-like, peeking under hoods and poking at things.

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They're not having much luck - understandable, given the age of the truck involved. They move over to a larger vehicle, some kind of pickup that has a grille up to their shoulders and hop up on the bumper to twang the timing belt. They contemplate it for a moment before discarding it as well. They're having a wonderful time.

"See anything you like back here?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"Might do," he says, with the noncommittal air of someone who doesn't want to sacrifice his haggling high ground with premature excitement.

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"Spill." They're arms deep in yet another hulk, oil streaking their arms.

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"This an' that. You got some parts in there a far sight better'n spit an' baling wire. Find myself with a recollection of what it was like to see a fully functionin' window regulator."

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"Might have to charge you extra for that, but I reckon I could get you all straightened out if you'd like."

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"... You gonna stare all day? Hand em over."

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They grab him by the lapels. Never opposed to an opportunity for a little roughhousing.

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"Hey! I ain't so irresistible as all that!" he protests, attempting to escape their grip.

Things fall out of the pockets of his oversized brown coat, as he squirms -- a bobble-headed geisha doll, a couple of spark plugs, a live white mouse.

Permalink Mark Unread

"Well, none of those look quite like what I'm looking for, Mr Dollar Store."

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"Electra!"

He is now attempting to recapture his mouse.

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"Why does it have a name." He's certainly not bringing it in their house.