11755/Oh Mercy Me!

Oh Mercy Me!
Date of Scene:	10 July 2020
Location:	Mercy's Garage - West Harlem
Synopsis:	Mercy gets a visit from her past who asks questions about her future.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Straw Man

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
The sound of torque wrenches can be heard from the street. Mercy's taking wheels off of an Opel GT that is. It's leaking enough oil to class as its own oil slick and Mercy's got enough rags and sand on the floor to mop it up. If she feels like it, break out the bucket and spade and start building sandcastles, Miss Mercy...

The Opel GT's quit bleeding out as Mercy crawls out from under it tugging the transmission jack. The thunk that's heard is its own reward, the scattering of parts less so. Using the sort of words Mercy saves for afterrmarket, poorly bolted on parts, Mercy's gathering up bits of rebadged Corvette transmission and has a fine task on her hands.

Straw Man has posed:
    A second thunk is heard, one much more like the closing of a car door. Kneading the steering wheel, in the flesh, is Bryan. He looks like he did the last day Mercy saw him, sizing up the dashboard of the Opel like a piece of meat. "Always did like these," he admits. "Lucky customer, whoever this is for. They guzzle gas, only two seats, shit for trunk space, and take up far more space parking than necessary. Expensive. But doesn't everyone still want one?" He only then casts a glance in Mercy's direction. "How's it goin' pup?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"It's got a Buick badge" Mercy offers then turns to see who she is talking to and freezes. No. No way that....no. Her foster father. No way he's here. He died. He drowned himself! Mercy has a wrench in hand as it clatters to the floor. Good thing for those boots, too. Gravity grabs the wrench. Mercy's looking wide eyed and worriedd. She knows where her guns are, and where her pendant is. Maybe she just didn't get enoug sleep and is seeing things? No, no....she had coffee earlier so...

Straw Man has posed:
    If Bryan notices her panic, it isn't very clear. "No good for a pup to let a cat get her tongue," he says, checking to see if the engine will turn over despite the clatter that was heard when she dropped it back down. "So your very own garage, right in the big apple. Never figured you to be a city kid."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"I am not a pup" Mercy growls, "I came here because it was either here or Portland, and there's more oportunity here. I'm only a city girl because I can't find anyone willing to put my garage on a nice bit of land where I can run" she spits out, still uneasy at the sight of her long dead foster father. Then it hits her.

"Why are you here? You died. I grieved for you!" she says. Whoever is playing tricks on her? They are certainly winning. "Were you sent by my father?" she asks, half belieiving this is one of Coyote's tricks. Maybe it is....though she's frozen in place too. Mercy's mind is in freefall thinking back to Montana and the pack, her foster father who is, oh yeah, sitting right there in that Opel GT...

Straw Man has posed:
    "Coyote? You really think I'd do his bidding?" Bryan asks. He leans out the window, arm hanging as if he was driving down the road with his hair in the wind. "I'm dead. How would I do that anyway? Believing in ghosts now?" His argument suggests a counter to his very presence, but still here he is. "You sure do put a lot of stock in Old Joe. Maybe too much. I just came by to give a friendly hello, thought you'd be happier about that. But maybe I should go if it bothers you."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Wouldn't put it past you" Mercy says and looks a little more at ease. "You...you're dead though. How....did you come back from the dead just to poke around the garage and compliment me on paying Harlem rents?" she wonders. "If you want to contribute with that...I'm all ears" Mercy mutters and bends down to grab the wrench off the floor where it fell. "You could have let me know you were dropping by. I'd have baked cookies" Mercy offers with enough sarcasm to drown in.

Straw Man has posed:
    "Cookies would be nice," he admits. "But really, I think the question of why I am here has more to do with why you brought me here than someone else. You put a lot on Old Joe Coyote, you're his daughter perhaps more than you like to admit." He opens the door, casually exiting the vehicle and closing it behind him. "I taught you guns and self-defense. I gave you tools, but you want to pretend that you're fit for a mundane life. Working on cars. It's not what you were made for, though, is it? You keep finding yourself in most interesting situations. Far more than most people. Ever wonder why that is?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"I put those tools to use breaking up an animal smuggling ring" Mercy says defensively. See, he's right. Mercy has tools. Mercy also walks a line between mundane and supernatural too. "You weren't the only one to give me tools" she points out, closing the distance betweeen them. "How about those cookies?" Mercy adds. Maybe she can kill him with sugar overload? That'd be twice he's dead now? Mercy's torn. On the one hand...she's unnerved to see him. On the other? She's treating him like a ghost.

"So, what tools?" she asks and watches him carefullly. She'll get to the Joe Old Coyote bit once she's had time to think on that one.

Straw Man has posed:
    "Vigilante, superhero, whatever the title you like. You are stronger than most. You have divine blood, but you go around acting like a hero for hire. They all die. It's really quite noble of you. A demi-god that looks out for the little guy." He seems to be considering something. "Does it give you the completion you are looking for?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy's quiet, thinking on this for a moment. "You gave me tools. Yoou and Joe Old Coyote did not give me guidance or strict rules on what to use them for" Mercy begins. "As for the bull rider from Browning, Montana..." Mercy says with a quiet look in her eyes. "I put stock in those I trust. You for example" Mercy says. "You call it noble. I call it extra income because Harlem rents are not cheap, but not as bad as Manhattan prices" Mercy admits.

She moves to the tool chest and puts the wrench away. Well that's one less thing to beat the car with. "Does runnning around give me satisfaction? No. I miss Montana. I miss the wide open spaces. I want to be able to run, chase small little fuzzy things, not be trapped in a city"

There it is. Mercy's opening up

Straw Man has posed:
    "But..." Bryan says, following Mercy as she puts away the wrench and leaning against the metal storage unit. "You don't go back there." He pushes off again. "A spot like this would sell well, get you back to Oregon, get you a nice piece of land where you can chase squirrels and rabbits to your heart's content. But you stay."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Because" Mercy adds folding her arms. "What's there in Oregon or Washington or even Montana?" Mercy asks folding her arms. If he's going to challenge her thinking...she'll give it right back. "So let's say I pack up, sell this building then what, I go on the road, end up in Oregon or Idaho or somewhere..." Mercy says. "How soon before I get bored and need something to do besides chase rabbits and mice and work on cars?"

Mercy's got a point. She'd just get bored. "Okay fine, less Oregon, more upstate New York, more near the Adirondacks and Catskills, right? You don't think I should be in the city?" Mercy adds, nudging the door to her living area open as she retrieves cookies. "Why?I can look out for the little guy easier in a city"

With that said she chews on a cookie and is deep im thought

Straw Man has posed:
    Bryan shrugs, "Hey, do what you want," he says. "I'm just not sure what that is. How long until you get bored looking out for the little guy?" He wanders to the work bench, idly picking up a pair of needle nose pliers, opening them, and then dancing them across the surface of the bench. "You're the one who called me here, or haven't you quite realized that yet? I'm just here as a sort of guide." He smiles suddenly. "Like a life coach. Are you getting what you really want out of your life?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That is a hard question for Mercy to answer, really. She's torn on what she wants...Mercy pauses and chews on a cookie more. Then she snorts at the life coach bit just about spitting her cookie out laughing. "Don't you come in here with a stopwatch in hand, one of those sweat bands and yoga pants" Mercy adds looking just a little worried.

"I.....don't know what I want for my life" she admits, though the phone in her office rings. Glancing to it, Mercy's already moving as she finishes her cookie.

"Bryan" Mercy says. "When did you get a life coach job? I am in the wrong career..." she sighs. "But I need to see who is calling my shop"

Straw Man has posed:
    There's a knowing smile. "Well, you think about it," he suggests. "I'll touch base with you later." He steps aside, motioning in the direction of the office phone as if some sort of professional valet. Of course, when she passes, that's the last he is seen. The shop is empty, the pliers are right where Mercy left them, and things are normal once again. Like it never happened.