Owner	Pose
Mercy Thompson	It's afternoon. The time of afternoon where most businesses are starting to wind down. The sun is just beginning to set and the sky is a burnished blue in color. The flow of traffic is at times both heavy or light and the pedestrian traffic echoes along very similar lines. At this moment both street and sidewalk traffic can be found to be quite heavy; as the honking of horns, the shouting of people can easily be heard above the typical din of the city. Even as other shops close, one particular place of business can still be found to be open. It's an auto repair garage boasting the name of 'Mercy's Garage'. It sits near other one-storied businesses and when one nears the garage they'll easily see a sign upon the front door that proclaims in bold-face print: WE'RE OPEN. When a person steps into the garage they'll find themselves in a very generic and bright white front office. This particular front office is very low-key, with a few plastic chairs for customers to sit upon, a high plastic-formica countertop that's severely dated and a desk behind said countertop. Behind the desk sits another door which leads into the garage proper. That specific door is currently propped open with a very large and very heavy wrench. A peek through that open doorway will reveal a car upon a car lift, and a woman in heavy coveralls beneath it. Should no one be in the front office customers will find a small silver bell atop that counter, waiting to be wrong.
Paisley	As generic as the garage itself might be the girl who enters through the door and into that gleaming, sterile place is not. Paisley looks like trouble. it isn't just her appearance, which would be enough to make many a conservative parent go into fits upon seeing her, but also the wayshe walks. There's a frenetic energy there, the girls form almost visibly vibrating with tension that is held back and conserved within a slender frame. Paisley feels like she should be tall. She's not, only 5'3", 5'1" without the assistance of her leather boots, but she carries herself like someone three sizes larger than she appears to be. She's wearing a black denim jacket, torn in a couple places to reveal white threads. A black punk mini skirt, denim with gleaming steel chain zippers and stud buttons as well as straps that actually serve a purpose when she hangs a pouch or a figure from them. It's just a size too tight and show off her lean frame and slender hips without being truly revealing. A t-shirt that is actually dark gray, the most unfitting piece of the ensemble as the band immortalized here is 'Tegan and Sara', not 'The Misfits' or 'Nine Inch Nails. The girl stalks toward the counter, boots clicking quietly against the floor, her blue eyes almost too bright to be real as they regard the room. Intense. Penetrating. Hands clad in fingerless gloves withdraw from the young woman's pocket as she reaches toward the button while still approaching the counter but she pauses to look around instead. Deep blue hair, as bright as her eyes, hangs across her shoulders before turning into a splay of long blue dreadlocks down the girl's back. She even has a couple piercings. A chrome ring under the lip, her left ear. Her tongue. Any tattoos are hidden by the jacket save for a glimpse of a red rose through a tear on her left arm. "Hello?" Paisley calls in a rough mezzo soprano voice as she looks around. "Oh, whatever." She slams the button.
Mercy Thompson	While Mercy Thompson is knee deep in replacing the tie rod for the car that's upon her lift, her sensitive ears still bring the sounds of the city to her. As such, that hearing of hers easily alerts her to someone opening the door, walking inside and then approaching the front desk. Upon hearing that, the coyote will bring her hands down and slide the tool she was using into one of the various pockets that dot her mechanic coveralls. With that's done, the dark brown-haired woman will reach for a hand-towel that's half hanging out from another pocket to wipe her hands free of oil, dirt and other car fluids. That roughly called out greeting is heard and is the slam of the bell, and with the last echoes of the high-pitched *DING* Mercy (might suddenly seem to) appears. Stepping through the door and into the front office the woman will have a polite enough smile upon her face, as she says, "Welcome to Mercy's garage. I'm Mercy - what can I help you with?" While others might offer an immediate sense of judgement when they first see Paisley, Mercy doesn't. Instead she'll give the young woman a once over before that look turns a little unfocused, as Mercy's magical sense suddenly lights up.
Paisley	"Yeah, um..." There's a beat as Paisley looks Mercy over quietly before glancing back toward the door. "Honestly, my bike broke down just a little ways from here. I think she's probably laughing at me, to be honest. Probably..." She squints slightly, blue brows furrowing as she considers Mercyfor a second. "Have we met or... Something?" A faint frown works its way across red lips. Paisley is aactually a pretty girl; pale without being wraith-like despite her accoutrement being almost entirely black. Full lips. Serious, vivid eyes. She takes a deep breath. "Sorry, I... Don't think that's it. But anyway, I would really appreciate some help. I can pay. I just don't have a full toolkit in my saddlebag." She takes a deep beath and then slowly exhales, wiggling her fingers slightly as she does. The girl is pretty magical. She is pretty much suffused with iit, enough that the objects hanging on her clothes are magical too. If they weren't intended to be. Pais takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. "This is a nice, uh, place you have by the way. Very... White."
Mercy Thompson	It's the young woman's voice that pulls Mercy back to the present; it's been a minute since her magical senses have been swamped by so much magical energy, but that 'yeah um' helps to reassert Mercy's focus upon the now. She'll let Paisley describe her problem and while others might find it odd to refer to a bike as 'she', Mercy doesn't. Most of her cars earned nicknames of some sort, along with being assigned a sex. Sometimes it would be a boy car, other times a girl. It all depended on how the car felt to Mercy. "No." Begins Mercy, when Paisley asks if they've met, "I don't think so." Because Mercy would SURELY have remembered the amount of magic the girl gives off. That's for certain. "And yes, I can help." States the coyote, as she flashes a smile to Paisley. "Let me grab my toolbox." And just like that Mercy steps through the door again and rustles within her garage for a few minutes. When she reappears Paisley will see a black toolbox held within one hand, and a small messenger style bag hanging diagonally from one shoulder to opposite hip. "How far is she down the road?" Asks Mercy as she comes around the counter and then moves to the door, "And what should I call you? I could go with ma'am, but I find most people under a certain age dislikes that." When Paisley describes her front office Mercy will offer a laugh, "It is. One day I'll get around to painting it something less stark, but for now -" She offers a shrug, that movement of her shoulders holding a touch of amusement to them.
Paisley	"It's just a block or so," Paisley responds, tilting her head slightly to he left as she looks between Mercy and the road behind her. She shrugs her shoulders slightly and then takes a deep breath. The smile isn't returned but there's no malice in Paisley. She still hasthat raw intensity. Like she'sworried about something or expecting trouble. So far, it's just the motorcycle. "Uh. Paisley. Pais is fine. Just like the terrible color pattern." Paisley offers a flicker of a smile as well then and follows after Mercy toward the door, taking a deep breath as she goes. "Just to the left a little ways," the young woman starts as they exit int othe cool evening. She walks with long, purposeful strides that almost offset her lack of size. "And away we go. thanks again," the girl continues. The bike turns out to be a well cared for and much-loved black Street 750. That is also magical, as it turns out. Someone put some kind of spells on it, which might beg the question of why it broke down. It is, as it turns out, going to be a very easy fix once Mercy has checked her inner workings out, with Paisley somewhat pensively standing off to the side. Pacing slightly.
Mercy Thompson	"Nice to meet you, Paisley." Mercy says in that friendly way of hers and before the two step completely outside, Mercy will flit the OPEN sign to one that reads: Be Back In 15 Minutes. Then the door will be locked with a vague jangle of keys, as the coyote steps onto the sidewalk. At the indicated direction Mercy will strike it down that way. Being a bit taller than Paisley, Mercy finds it somewhat easier to keep up with the high-energy strides of the shorter woman. Even before they see the bike Mercy's magical senses are already stirring. When the two come upon the bike there's no surprise in Mercy's gaze when she sees the magical aura around it. Instead, she'll glance at Paisley and then the bike, before she offers a faint whistle. "That's a lovely bike." Her head will tilt slightly as she approaches closer to the bike, "Looks in pretty good shape too, what happened? She just stall out?" Are the two questions to Paisley as Mercy neatly crouches near the bike, her toolbox being set upon the sidewalk near her. However, before she pulls any tools out, Mercy will do a visual check of the bike for a few minutes. When nothing strikes her as off, or out of place with the bike, she'll start a more thorough check.
Paisley	"Stalled out and wouldn't start again for some reason," Paisley responds sourly, shaking her head. She perches her hands o nher hips and nods as the bike is complimented, busy staring at it intensely. She shifts her weight a bit and takes a deep breath and starting to tap her foot against the ground in front of her. Well, there are a couple small things wrong. Really. Namely that the bike had decided it didn't want to start before now. It still isn't clear why after a check and Paisley is visibly gritting her teeth in frustration. Finally she scowls and stalks over to the machine in question. "Right. I probably wasted your time dragging you over here then..." For some reason Pais is glaring directly at her machine as she speaks. "Shall we try getting her started?" Mercy is probably still in the midst of her more thorough checks. Let it not be said that Paisley is the paragon of patience.
Mercy Thompson	"Hmm." Says the mechanic as she goes down the line, looking for anything that might have caused the bike to stall. After a few more seconds the coyote will say, "Not seeing too much right now." But she'll continue to check, even as she glances over her shoulder toward the young woman. "I take it you're late for something?" She asks in a curious tone, even as her attention goes back to the bike at hand. "Sure, let's try getting it started again. Perhaps it was just a quirk or a hiccup. Hiccups happen." Agrees Mercy as she rises to her feet now. She'll even take a step back away from the bike, so that Paisley has an easier time getting to it. Then Mercy will simply wait for the other woman to try starting the bike; as she waits the coyote will narrow her eyes as she considers the magic spells that enshroud the vehicle. While she's not a wizard, witch or magician, she does have some familiarity with spells and their functions.