10836/Cat-a-tonic

Cat-a-tonic
Date of Scene:	22 January 2020
Location:	Mercy's Garage - West Harlem
Synopsis:	Cheetah drops in on Mercy's garage. Words are had.
Cast of Characters:	Cheetah, Mercy Thompson

---

Cheetah has posed:
A cold rain beats down on the grimy windows of Mercy's garage. It's nearing 7 o'clock at night, the sun has set, and there isn't much going on. Or is there? A wet, miserable hand raps hopefully on the garage's service entrance. Who the devil is out at this hour?

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Yeah?" Mercy asks jogging to the entrance and opening it. "You need anything?" she adds with a look out the door. It is miserable out there, and, yes, she's got her space heater on in the garage to keep the place warm. If anything, it's Mercy's place, she'll keep it warm!

Cheetah has posed:
Standing in the wet air is Frank. Frank is a semi-regular at Mercy's garage. He works as a fleet driver for DiMarco's - a nearby limo company - and is usually the guy designated to drop problem rigs into Mercy's tender care. He's never shown up this late before.

Frank is wearing what used to a be a ship-shape, old school chauffer's uniform (DiMarco's trademark attire) that has been reduced to something less than ship-shape by the rain. Idling behind Frank and just off from the curb is a black, Lincoln Town Car stretch limo. Its engine doesn't sound particularly healthy. Frank speaks with a hometown, New Yawk accent, "Mercy, am I glad to see you! I need a favor." He gestures to the car behind him, "My ride is busted and," he lowers his voice as though afraid of being overhead, "I have a client in the back." There is a certain tinge of fear in Frank's brown eyes. "Do you mind? I was in the neighborhood and I thought..."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Hey Frank, bring it in" she offers as Mercy waves him into garage itself. "C'mon in" she says looking. worried, then over to the rain outside. "It's nasty out there, I got a nice, warm garage in here" she adds watching the rain fall as Mercy heads back into her garage again, getting things ready for Frank's car.

Cheetah has posed:
A short time later, the limo, with Frank behind the wheel, rattles into the main bay of the garage with all the elegance of an asthmatic whale. Frank kills the engine and hops out. "Mercy you're a life saver -- a real life saver! Anything I can do you for you just say the word. Swear to god! Until the day I die." A white, relatively dry, handkerchief is produced from his pocket and sets to work drying the moisture from Frank's clean-shaven head. In the right light he might be mistaken for Lex Luthor.

Frank steps gingerly away from the limo and toward Mercy, "So, about the uh..." He gestures discreetly toward the tinted windows of the limo. As if on cue, one darkened window, the one immediately adjacent to the back passenger-seat, slides down and a crisp, British voice can be heard to demand, "How long will this take?" The speaker is, as yet, hidden from view.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy looks to Frank then the limo. "I'm not sure. I need to look at the car first and find what's wrong with it" she starts. "What happened to that thing exactly?" she adds, closing the bay doors once the car's in and cranking up the space heater. "C'mon out of the car. I can get you a hot drink if you like or some snacks?" Mercy adds and looks over the limo...yet again.

She steps closerr, examining the limo then back to Frank, then the speaker. "Okay, so, your car's in trouble" Mercy offers to the mysterious woman in the back.

Cheetah has posed:
The back-passenger door of the limo slams shut almost before anyone has noticed it was open. The lone occupant, now unleashed, stands haughtily next to the vehicle. "Hardly /my/ car." The speaker is a tall, Caucasian woman with a long mane of blood-red hair. She is expensively dressed and, despite the darkness outside, is wearing sunglasses. Her all-consuming gaze takes in every corner of the garage and the pained expression on her face returns a rather unflattering verdict. It seems impossible that she could have missed Mercy's offer of snacks or a drink; however, she does not deign to respond. Contempt is best served in near silence after all.

Frank issues a jittery cough and tries to fill the silence, "Geez, Mercy, I'm not sure. We were goin' along just fine and then it starts makin' this god-awful noise." He seems incapable of offering anything more useful than that but casts a hopeful glance at the hood.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Let's see" Mercy offers, "It just started clattering while driving? Okay. This is gonna take a long while" Mercy offers looking to Frank and the woman. "So who is this woman, your passenger or?" she asks. "You know about those people who book limos just to get down and dirty. Please tell me that's not the case?" Mercy asks carefully. Hey. She didn't flat out say the woman /was/ doing that. Just,merely implied it. It's not a stretch, either. Unlike the car. Mercy heads for the hood and looks to it for a moment, then nods to Frank and the woman. "Pop the hood, and you take a seat" she says to Frank and the woman respectively. "There's coffee on, and there's snacks if you want any"

Cheetah has posed:
As it happens, the mysterious woman -- one, Barbara-Ann Minerva -- is precisely one of those people who book limos to get down and dirty. Usually with someone else's husband. Just not on this particular occasion. On this occasion she was trying to get back to her hotel after attending a gala. Don't ask her who's gala it was; the point of her attending was to see and be seen.

Minerva fishes a phone out of her handbag and mutters to herself, "Of course I'm the passenger, you imbecile." Her thumbs start working away at the phone. Normally, she wouldn't be caught dead in an Uber but the times being what they are...

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Oh I thought you were driving from the back seat. Or. No" Mercy shrugs, ""No no, you wouldn't suit Frank's clothes" she asides,looking amused at Minerva then shakes her head looking to the limo then Minerva and Frank. Shaking her head, Mercy's unsure on the car, though she's watching Minerva out the corner of her eye. Something is bothering Mercy though and she's pacing. Not a good idea.

Cheetah has posed:
The nerve! Minerva can make any outfit look good. Even Frank's. The corners of Barbara-Ann's mouth tighten and her singular focus to secure an Uber for herself and escape this working-class hovel momentarily stumbles. Mercy's pacing back and forth doesn't help. Barbara-Ann looks up from her screen and casts a demonic stare at Frank, "Shouldn't she be doing something under the hood?" Minerva points an accusatory finger at Mercy. Step one of demeaning another human being is to talk about them as though they are not present.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy should...but....but....she's totally not. Because Barb's, well, barbs, are drawing her ire. "How about you pick up a wrench and help me. Or are you too afraid of breaking a nail to help out?" she snarks. She can totally see Barbara, in her mind's eye, calling 9-1-1 for breaking a nail, demanding world class surgeons to reattach the nail and being treated like a princess.

Mercy's cynical and sassy like /that/

She does though grab a wrench and look to the car, opening up the hood and staring at the engine for a moment.

Cheetah has posed:
Minerva draws herself up to her full, commanding height. Instinctively, Frank takes a step back so as not to be found standing between the two women. Barbara-Ann's emerald eyes practically glow like ingots of radium. Unseen is the red veil that starts to fall over her seething mind. "I shall have you know that---" Barbara abruptly stops speaking and tilts her head to one side. She peers at Mercy as though seeing her -- actually seeing her -- for the first time. There's something about that mechanic, but what? Barbara can't put her finger on it.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy's just as puzzled, what's the deal with that woman, anyway. "You'll have me know I'm right?" Mercy asks, pushing more buttons. hey, she grew up with werewolves and Mercy's not entirely afraid of Babs. Not as afraid as she maybe should be, but...but....she's trying to work out what's so odd about that woman. Then it hits her. Magic. Magic, that's it!

Mercy drops the wrench in shock and snatches it back up off the floor. "I know you're not normal" she says to Babs...totally ignoring Frank.

Cheetah has posed:
Barbara-Ann frowns darkly, "Of course I'm not normal, you twit. I'm rich." Mentally casting Mercy away with the rest of the flotsam being washed away by the rain, Minerva returns to her phone and her desperate cry for an Uber. As her fingers angrily pound away at the screen a disturbing thought intrudes. Magic. That's the X-factor here. Is this uppity little mechanic one and the same with Minerva? What a thoroughly disgusting thought. Barbara-Ann tries to discreetly peer up from her screen to get a better look at Mercy.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy's just the daughter of Coyote. That alone makes her different, and yet...she's got gifts. Watching her, Mercy gives her apuzled look. "I showered this morning, and the other smells are all automotive" she says and steps to the side for a moment, as a thunk is heard. "That'd be the oil pan" Mercy sighs. It's....yeah, the oil pan and tearing at the underside of the engine, too. "Great " Mercy grouses. "You're gonna need that fixing..." she sasy trailing off. This woman isn't normal. She's magic....more than that. Mercy actually sniffs as if taking the smell of the car. Great. Magic, just...ah great. Seriously? A magic woman bitching about her car? Why can't Mercy avoid trouble?

Cheetah has posed:
Barbara-Ann's frown settles in for the winter. Nothing Mercy has said about the limo makes any sense to her. Minerva is more hung up on the fact that she might have something in common with this overall wearing, non-sequitur speaking, working class nobody. Minerva is still new to this 'world'. Is there something magic people are supposed to do when they meet? Is there a handshake?

Frank steps forward, the moment of peril apparently passed, "Aw, no. Is there anything you can do, Merz?" Apparently, an oil pan tearing at the underside of an engine is bad. Minerva makes a mental note.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy nods to Frank, "Tore out the crankshaft and cracked the flywheel. I can fix it but it'll take about an hour or two" she explains. "I can pull parts from my donor cars to make this work. So short version. It's fixable. It's just meaning you'rr limo is stuck here for a while" she nods and looks to Chee with a raised eyebrow. "Don't be so hasty to run off" she says. "You need to fill out paperwork"

True. And she wants to figure out the mystery with Cheetah. She sensed magic...and is both curious, and a little worried. Instead she eyes Chee with that 'I know what you are' look.

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah gives Mercy a 'I know what you are' look, too: Poor! You're poor is what you are. And something else. Maybe. The threat of bureaucracy brings her mind back to more practical things, "Why should I be the one to fill out paperwork?!" She throws out a hand to indicate the busted limo, "It's not my bloody car, is it." Minerva stares daggers at Mercy.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy matches Chee's look. Try 'daughter of Coyote', she's thinking hard. She sighs and her phone rings. "hey, Gary. You're psychic. I'm....needing your help. I got a woman in my shop that's giving me evil looks. I....did you just..." Mercy asks. "Look, Gary. Gary. Gary. When I heard you grunting and telling somebody to settle down, sweetheart, I thought I'd interrupted you. Then I remembered you're out in the wilds of Montana and horses are your best friends. So go on. How do I deal....here's the kicker. She's reminding me of my pack. You heard right. What do you want me to do, howl at her and show her a picture of the full moon? I was going to invite you for New Year's. Stay in Montana, Gary. I'll fly out to see you. My almost half brother" she says. There's a squeak that's loud enough to be heard in the garage as Mercy hangs up with a shit eating grin. "That went better than expected" she says and eyes Cheetah again. Definitley were-something. So she rummages around in the tool cabinet and looks to Frank. "paperwork's in the office if yu wanna fill it out" she offers. That'll also get her and Chee to talk alone. Good old Laughingdog....useful as ever

Cheetah has posed:
Frank's mother didn't raise a fool: "Okay-not-problem-I'll-get-right-on-that-you-two-ladies-just-stay-right-here." And with that, Frank 'the Flash' DeVecchio is gone. It's just were-people now.

Barbara's look drifts away from mere 'evil' and into the demonic. It's bad enough Mercy is using this occasion to indulge in personal conversation let alone taking the opportunity to bad-mouth Barbara while she's standing right there. And to a 'Gary' no less. How gauche. Luckily, Barbara's mother didn't raise a fool either. A few keystrokes later and an Uber is winging its way to her. It's just a waiting game now.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy narrows her eyes. "So" she says to Minerva. "Just who are you. And what are you?" she adds carefully, watching Chee silently. "You're in here, giving me evil looks. So. Spill" she says with a watching look. Shaking her head, Mercy is all but willing Minerva to open up to why she's so set against the coyote mechanic...though given how well dressed she is, Mercy has her hunches

Cheetah has posed:
"None of your business. And, a paying customer." Minerva's tone is no-nonsense as she points imperiously at the ruined engine under the hood. Chop, chop 'yote. It's pretty clear Mercy will get no straight answers from this one.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy grits her teeth. "I don't take orders from werewolves" she hisses right back, but gets a wrench. If she's going to fix the car or pound Minerva's skull....anyone's guess. But she steps toward the limo. Mystery solved.d for now. Shaking her head, Mercy spins on a heel. "What about coyotes?" she asks suddenly, fixing Cheetah with a percing gaze. It's as if Mercy's asking tough questions.

Cheetah has posed:
Cheetah's icy demeanor cracks wide open as a melodic laugh breaks through. It's uncharacteristically pleasant. "Werewolf?!? Did you just refer to me as a werewolf?" A gob smacked grin turns her frown upside down, "Are you mental?" Minerva logic: Werecats are perfectly plausible; Any talk of werewolves is batty. Before Minerva can ruminate on the wisdom of allowing a crazy person to work on her limo, her mind manages to claw its way back toward the frontline of the conversation, "Coyotes? Those stray dogs in New Zealand?" Close enough...She never was that great at geography. Or Zoology. None of the 'olo-gies' really.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Try everywhere" Mercy says and smirks. "I didn't. My half brother did. Take it up with him, jeez. I dont think you're a werewolf now I think on it. Maybe a were-cat? I mean, you got the catty bitchy side of you down, you're angry and moody. So what, are you an overgrown were-house cat?" Mercy asks. She's goading Minerva and not entirely afraid. She's got the abilityt o shift into a coyote and find new and inventive places to hide. Plus she's genuinely....genuinely wanting to know...

Cheetah has posed:
Gasp! Mercy has said the 'W' word. The correct one this time. Minerva allows her mocking smile to sink back into her face as naturally as possible. This is perhaps the most controlled crash landing since Captain Sullivan had to ditch his Airbus into the Hudson River. Be cool: Mercy is probably too dumb to realize what she's hit upon. "Werecat. Ridiculous! Is that even a thing? And color me surprised: you have a *half*-brother." She's probably making some semi-veiled dig at Mercy's mother, there. Best not to dwell on it. Barbara-Ann peers at her phone. Where the devil is that Uber??

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Oh no, Mercy's not too dumb at all. She looks to Minerva. Oh how she'd love to tweak wrenches....and things and, yeah, noses, too...

"So if you're a were-cat" Mercy says. "Do you like balls of yarn, and chasing litttle dots on the floor?" she asks. Straight face, Mercy's not even betraying her emotions. "How about this. You be brutally honest with me. And I'll tell you about myself" Mercy says with a shrug

Cheetah has posed:
"Were-Cat!" Minerva pours as much (genuine) vitriol over the term as inhumanly possibly. "Nonsense. Do I look like the sort of person who goes about baying at the moon?" Again, she's not great at zoology. Cheetah pauses to look at her phone again before taking a commanding step toward Mercy. This line of questioning clearly hasn't cowed her. "Here's some brutal honesty, luv, you're a nutter." In times of great frustration, Barbara-Ann's 'native' tongue occasionally makes a low-bred appearance.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"I'm not a bitch with a stick up her ass" Mercy counters. "I may be nuts, but I know who and what I am. You think were-cats howl at the moon. No, that's wolves. Did you pay to skip biology class and have somebody write your papers for you?" Mercy asks.....and rolls under the limo to start working...

Cheetah has posed:
Actually, Minerva DID pay someone to write papers for her. It's called being efficient. Barbara-Ann continues to dismiss Mercy's rather sound conclusions, "You're out of your mind." She shakes her head with as much overt unconcern as she can muster. Just then the shop is bathed by a pair of headlights pulling into the parking lot. Saved by the Uber.

Minerva smiles wolfishly. The Universe has always been kind to her. Except for the whole 'were-cat' thing. "Ah, my ride's here. As much as I've enjoyed this preposterous banter, I really must be going." She speaks in a pleasant sing-song manner, which is clearly a put-on. Her voice drops an octave, "Tell your friend", she bobs her head toward the office where Frank is taking his sweet time filling out that paperwork, "he's not getting a tip." With that, walks purposefully toward the exit. Another time, puppy. Another time.