2477/Check Engine Light On

Check Engine Light On
Date of Scene:	16 September 2017
Location:	Mercy's Garage, New York City
Synopsis:	Jean broke Kurt's car. She meets Mercy Thompson to discuss repairing it.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Phoenix

---

Mercy Thompson has posed:
While it's not necessarily closing time, it's close enough that most shops have flipped their signs from open to 'sorry we're closed'. There's only a few shops that are actually still open, with one in particular being the auto-repair shop of Mercy's Garage.

The shop itself is at the end of the street in a corner lot. There are two entrances to the garage itself; the front door, which currently leads into an empty front office, and the side entrance that faces the parking lot. It's the side entrance that seems to have activity at it, as the segmented garage door is up and open, revealing the interior to the world at large. It shows a clean, well-kept work area, with work benches, cabinets and a car lift at a glance. While normally the owner of the garage an be found within, currently she's just outside the side entrance, and in the parking lot. It's easy to see why - a delivery van is idling within the parking lot, as it drops off a large gray shipping crate. Mercy, herself, is already signing the tablet the man holds out to her and with a, "Thanks.", the man is quick to bundle himself back in his truck and drive away.

Clearly, everyone is ready for the end of the day to be here.

It's only after the truck barrels out of the parking lot that Mercy turns to that crate and tests the weight. It's heavy enough to cause the woman to grunt and quietly mutter to herself, "Should have had him drop it inside."

'Phoenix has posed:
The truck's disappearance reveals a red-haired young woman wearing a Chance the Mutant x Kenny Rogers tour shirt, blue denim, and a patina of sweat across her face. Arriving via rideshare while Mercy handled the delivery, she silently watches the mechanic fights with the crate before taking in a breath, lifting a hand, and giving a broad - if stiff - wave.

"Hey!" she calls while closing in on Mercy. "You guys are open, right? Please tell me you're open-- I've got a hell of a job that needs doing, and everyone else is knocking off early. I was checking you guys out on the way, and the reviews looked great, so..." The index and middle fingers of her upraised hand visibly cross.

"You guys do do hybrids, right? I know you specialize; in Vee-Dubs, but my friend didn't have the decency to have a brand new one of those for me to wreck."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Oh yeah, the crate is heavy, but that doesn't seem to stop Mercy Thompson from lifting it up. She's just going to start to waddle-walk it inside into the actual garage, but before she can take more than one or two steps a greeting is called out.

That's enough to cause the coyote to pause and turn her head in a slightly sharp manner. Normally, her senses give her the edge and alert her to another's presence, but today with the rumble of the truck and the smell of exhaust, Mercy is caught quite unaware.

Thankfully, Jean Grey presents a seemingly unaggressive picture to the mechanic and so, some of that surprised tension eases. "Afternoon - and yes, I am." Is Mercy's quick response to Jean's greeting and initial question, "Come on in." And just like that Mercy invites Jean inside the actual garage port of her business.

The large box she carries is staggered over to a work bench, before it's set down with a heavy *thud*. Once the weight is off of Mercy's arms, the coyote will turn back around to Jean. Moving toward the woman, Mercy offers a hand, "Mercy Thompson, at your service." She begins, "And yes, I handle hybrids." And then, "And some friend." Jokes Mercy good-naturedly, "Not having the decency to break something in my speciality."

Phoenix has posed:
After the first couple of steps, the crate grows markedly - miraculously - lighter in Mercy's grip. Upon turning, she'll find the redhead right where she left her with a small and sheepish smile upon her lips and a slow, steady rhythm to her breathing.

"I think it might be a good idea if you saw what we're dealing with, before inviting me in," she murmurs while taking the merchanic's hand in a firm grip and not quite meeting her gaze. "Like, it may turn out to be super relevant, my friend's total lack of regard for your particular set of skills, because-- well, I mean-- nnh."

Green eyes briskly roll upwards as he draws her hand back to nudge hair behind an ear. Following a sigh, she finally makes eye contact.

"Just-- look up. You'll see what I mean."

And indeed, should Mercy comply, she'll find a '26 Ford Fusion capsized ten feet or so above their heads as psychic interference recedes and the redhead exhales. There are no windows, and there is no windshield; this is partly because every inch of glass installed in the once pristine vehicle was shattered, but also because the roof seems to have been violently compressed. This is the worst of the obvious damage, by far: the rest of the chassis has seen better days, but the lionshare of its damage clearly stems from the fact that the stranger decided to take her friend's car out for an auto-acrobatics workshop and failed. Or, perhaps, was parked beneath a falling safe.

Or got caught in the middle of a super-fight.

Regardless: the redhead continues, "My name's Jean, and I was really hoping there was some way this," upraised index finger, "is salvageable? Somehow? I dunno cars-- I mean, I'm guessing this is a long-shot, but. Least I could do."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The crate growing lighter does earn a second look from the coyote, but for now she doesn't question. Not when customers are here.

Mercy's own handshake is quite firm as well, though hardly knuckle breaking. The coyote doesn't play games like that.

The explanation of just what sort of job it might possibly be, along with her friend's lack of regard to mechanics everywhere, earns a curious look from the mechanic. That curiosity is enough to bring the coyote back outside and when Jean states to look up, Mercy does so. This is where whatever else Mercy was about to say stops. Surprise now flares across her features, as she takes in that floating car above their heads. "Uhhh." Is about all Mercy will say for a long moment, as she turns her gaze from the car to the red-head and then back to the car.

Eventually and perhaps far quicker than most, Mercy shakes herself out of her stupor and actually focuses upon the car itself. Her brows knit at all of the damage that can be seen and the coyote paces around in a slow circle as she looks at it from all angles. When her gaze returns to Jean there's a definite frown upon her features, which is a likely indicator of what Mercy's next words might be. "So, another person might tell you differently, but I'm going to be honest I have my /doubts/ this can be fixed. My initial reaction is to call it a total loss and claim it on your insurance -" And then a thought occurs to the coyote, "- please tell me you have insurance?"

Phoenix has posed:
WESTCHESTER
XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUTH
VICE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

The bottom drawer of the great, wooden desk dominating the back half of the room sits slightly ajar.

Within, a stuffed folder with 'MISC. FORMS(!DEATH)' sits, unattended in the months since it was originally constructed.

MERCY'S GARAGE

"Whaaaaat iiiiif," Jean murmurs, eyes sliding farther and farther from Mercy's as a hand finds its way to the back of her neck, "that-- wasn't-- an option?" In a matter of moments, the woman's cheeks have grown nearly as red as her hair.

"Look, the thing is, my friend," she lowly continues while staring at pavement, "he worked really hard, saved for a long time to be able to buy this car. On a teacher's salary! And then I borrowed it to go do some errands, and-- this happened. Not my fault-- I didn't flip it, or anything! But it happened. And my insurance situation is-- complicated. So... what would your second reaction be?""

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Not an option. Complicated.

Those words cause the dark-haired woman to almost rub her face in dismay.

She's had other customers say similar things and those jobs never /ever/ went smooth. Still, the coyote can't help but give Jean a sympathetic look. Then her gaze turns back to the car again and once more the woman paces a slow circle around it. Her mind is working furiously as she catalogs what she can see and then the rest of her thoughts whirl around what she most likely will find once she opens the car up.

"Okay -" Begins the woman as she returns from her very brief walkabout around the perimeter of the floating car, "Let's say I try to fix it for you, it's not going to be cheap. The amount of bodywork alone and then there's likely wiring and electrical parts that'll need replaced. It's going to be a lot." And here's where the woman's tone gentles a bit, "I'm going to assume your money situation is a touch complicated too?"

Phoenix has posed:
"I may or may not have come with some barter-centric hopes after researching this place," the telepath quietly admits without looking up. "I have some money, but - probably - not enough. So a payment plan, or-- I dunno, some other kind of arrangement would be ideal."

The car slowly descends as Mercy orbits it, affording her a closer look at the damage. An upward swipe removes some of the sweat from her brow and sweeps more hair back before she lifts her eyes to the coyote's again.

"I mean." She approaches the mechanic, drawing close enough to drop her voice to a whisper. "Not to tie too big a ribbon on it, but I did kinda tow this thing here from upstate. I dunno if, maybe, you ever need help with manual labor, say, but..."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy automatically nods at the mention of barter and/or payment plans. Yes, she does do that for other customers and that thought is enough to cause Mercy to motion towards the interior of the garage. "Alright, we can figure something out as we go along." The mechanic says, offering a faint smile to the other woman, "Why don't you slide her on in and tomorrow I'll start to tear her down."

And as Mercy speaks she'll point towards the empty expanse of cement that's smack-dab in the middle of the floor. That's where the majority of her repairs sit, where it's close enough to the lift when needed, but far enough away from the work benches that nothing will hinder her as she works.

It's only when the woman steps closer to offer those softly spoken words that Mercy pauses to listen. A corner of her mouth lifts upward now in a half grin, as she states, "Yeah, I kind of noticed. Well, I should say I kind of figured you were the one causing it to float." And while there's curiousness there, Mercy doesn't ask for specifics. So, either she's quite relaxed, or she's dealt with powered individuals before. "Come on inside." She says again, and this time she'll wait for Jean to follow, before she moves. "And I might take you up on the offer of labor. It might go faster with someone who can potentially tear off chunks, versus cutting through."

"When were you hoping to have this rebuild done by?"

Phoenix has posed:
Jean and the car enter the garage with a relieved sigh from the former and a low-pitched, metal-on-metal groan from the latter. The Fusion spins end over end as it bobs along above her, and once a place is indicated, it carefully settles into position, creaking as its shocks are made to bear weight once again.

"I can offer you an extra set of hands, too-- on weekends, especially," she notes after exhaling, despite her cargnorance. "Thank you so much-- I don't have a firm deadline, exactly, since I realize this is a big job. Just-- 'as soon as possible', so my friend's not stuck with a rental forever."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The monstrosity of the re-build before her just sits there now and Mercy can't quite stop the vague stare she gives it.

Almost a thousand yard stare, but quickly enough the coyote shakes herself out of that stupor.

Turning back to Jean, Mercy grins, "Oh, you bet I'm going to be calling you. Two sets of hands are always better than one." And with that mention of 'calling' Mercy reaches into the pocket of her coveralls and pulls forth a small white card. It holds the essentials; phone, cellphone, web address and e-mail address. "By end of day tomorrow I should know how long it'll take. Or, at the very least, have a good guess as to how long."

Then, "And thanks for helping with the box earlier." The crate Mercy means, as the mechanic puts two and two together, "Pretty sure that would have caused me to pull a muscle if you hadn't helped out."

As to that box, it still sits there upon the work bench, but now a heaviness might be felt around it. Not psychic per se, but an echo of something. A person, or people; a shadow of imprinted minds upon the books that reside within.

Phoenix has posed:
From the moment her eyes are first drawn to it, Jean does not stop staring at the box until Mercy mentions it-- at which point she gasps slightly while snapping her focus to the mechanic and flashing a smile in turn.

"No problem!" she replies while taking and pocketing the card. Rather than receiving one in turn, Mercy will abruptly find that she-- just-- knows-- Jean's-- number.

"'til tomorrow," she says with a wave and a step backwards. "If you don't call me, I'll definitely be calling you, so-- sorry in advance!"