Owner	Pose
Mercy Thompson	It's early yet, just 9 or so, and the garage is quiet with no customers. Mercy is working on a VW that was brought in earlier, with bad brakes. She's got the hood open, and is working on the master cylinder, working on removing it, to be precise. The bolts are badly rusted and Mercy is unloading a mechanic's power words on them to try and loosen them.
Bullseye	There's the booming, familiar sound of a motorcycle engine heard down the street that just gets louder and more obnoxious with every second. Within moments, a grizzled man in his late-thirties pulls up on a 2018 Harley Davidson Softail Breakout, parking it just outside of Mercy's garage. Taking off his helmet and unzipping his brown and grey leather biker jacket, the man examines the place and scoffs a bit, shaking his head. "Hey, you -- you got any openings?" he calls out to the employee working on the Volkswagen, clipping a pair of sunglasses to the collar of his Slayer t-shirt.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy pulls her head out from under the hood and looks. "Hey...well... yeah." SHe comes around the car by the tool box, grabbing a red shop rag to wipe her hands on. "Other'n loud it sounded ok. What do you need with it?" She sounds curious mostly. "And sure, I can work you in. I've got to tell you I'm mostly do german cars, not american motorcycles."
Bullseye	It's a broad.     Huh.     "Look, sweetheart, I don't really care what your specialty is," he says, placing his helmet on top of a nearby set of metal cabinets, "I just need to know if you're good." He turns to glance at his motorcycle before peering back, "Her, right there? Clutch feels a little off, and I was hopin' the first place I see could take a look at her before I ride over to Metropolis, later. Is that you?"
Mercy Thompson	Mercy's seen that look before. She contains her annoyance with the ease of long practice. "I'm a great mechanic," she tells the man. "Well...hop off and I'll take a look," she tells him, making a move gesture with her hand. "Slipping? Not engaging? What?"
Bullseye	The man blows out a hard breath, rubbing the top of his black beanie. "Doesn't feel right. Could be a worn cable. Maybe a leaking master or slave cylinder, at this point, I dunno. Look, I ain't a mechanic, I just know when my baby's sick." He hops off the bike and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it in front of the garage. "Hate to take you away from your work, but I could use some o' your expertise before I take this thing across the bridge."
Mercy Thompson	Once the man's off the bike, Mercy climbs on and takes it for a short drive, down the block about 50 yards, and back, parking it in one of the bays when she rides back in, and shuts it off. Her nose wrinkles just a little as she gets off, and she looks at the bike a little closer. "Probably air in the system, which begs the question how it got in there but you're right, the cluth isn't really right." She starts inspecting the clutch line carefully, especially at the clutch handle on the bar.
Bullseye	Bullseye replies with a shrug, taking a hard drag off his cigarette. His eyes start to wander around the garage as Mercy begins examining his bike before eventually fixating on the car she was working on, before. "Hey -- what's the problem with that Volkswagen?" He tried to keep his profile low. Ask stupid, innocuous questions. After all, coming here -- to this garage in particular -- was never about a bike.
Johnny Blaze	Well, at least Mercy wouldn't be alone with Bullseye. Driving up into the garage is Johnny Blaze! He seems to have some food with him as he parks it away from Mercy's actual workspace, dismounting his vehicle, he walks up to Mercy. "Hey lady. Didn't know what you wanted, so I got you a cheeseburger from that place down the street." he smiles to her, before looking to Bullseye. "Nice ride. Mercy's good at fixing up cars and bikes." Though...he takes a long look at Bullseye. Scary lookin'.
Mercy Thompson	"Brakes," Mercy answers, half-distracted, looking at the clutch cylinder. She peers closer at it, frowns. She goes to her tool box and pulls out a couple of wrenches and a hydraulic bleed bottle and some fluid and sets up to bleed the clutch line. "As in it has none right now, the master cylinder's shot. For that matter the lines running off it are rusted out enough I get to replace them too." She shakes her head. "New York and the salt on the roads. It eats old VWs like candy." Then Johnny shows up. She looks up and grins at him. "Well well...if it isn't Evil Knievel's baby brother. Jump any drainage ditches lately?" She leaves the work aside for a second to greet him with a hug, proving she was just teasing. "Cheese burger..." she sets it aside and goes back to Bullseye's bike. "Lifesaver. I missed breakfast this morning."
Bullseye	Bullseye continues looking at the Volkswagen, half-listening to Mercy as she goes on about what's wrong with it. Smoking it down to the filter, Bullseye flicks the cigarette out towards the front of the garage. "I don't know why I'm getting flashbacks or whatever to this, but this wouldn't happen to belong to a guy named Jimmy, would it? Asian guy? Early thirties -- not that you can tell?"     Wait, who's this? Ugh. Another mechanic? Another potential witness, more like it. "Nice ride, man" Bullseye says in Johnny's direction, pulling down on his beanie so as not to give away the scarred target he's got carved into his forehead. After all, this isn't one of the most sadistic assassins in New York, no -- just a guy with a bad clutch.
Johnny Blaze	Johnny smiles happily at Mercy. "Eh, at least his more talented one." he winks at her and gives her a big hug. "I know you didn't eat breakfast. I keep trying to get you those microwave dinners but ya never eat." he smiles to her. "Well, here you go. Enjoy it, bright eyes." he flirts casually with Mercy before Johnny looks at Bullseye. He wasn't gonna try reading his soul. He didn't want any trouble. But, he smiles lightly to the fellow "Thanks. Had to modify it quite a bit to make it that good. So, watcha in for?"
Mercy Thompson	"Clutch needs bleeding," Mercy tells Johnny. "So I am." She works it through a couple times. "There, that should do it," she says, tightening the bleed valve down. "And done." She wipes her hands, wipes off the area she was working on. "You might want to keep a closer eye on your bike. It sort of looked like someone opened the master cylinder. If much more air got in, well, the clutch wouldn't work at all, and you wouldn't be able to stop."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy aims most of that last at Bullseye, while she finishes putting stuff away.
Bullseye	Strangely, Bullseye starts to circle the Volkswagen now, almost scanning the car. Every now and then he peeks in through the windows, once even tapping it with his knuckles. He responds to Johnny almost dismissively, his gravelly voice almost trailing off at the end of his sentence. "Problem with the clutch, my man," he says, his eyes still fixated on the interior of the car.     "BUT," he says, suddenly, his demeanor changing instantaneously, "Thankfully, your girlfriend here's got an eye for this stuff." He turns to Mercy, feigning surprise, "Jesus, an opened master? That doesn't sound good at all. But, uh, hey -- sorry to hammer this in, but I can't take my eyes off this car. Is this Jimmy Yang's? Haven't seen him in forever, and this'd be real fuckin' weird if we happened to go to the same garage on the same day. God, I wish I still had his number..."
Johnny Blaze	Johnny doesn't deny it when Bullseye calls Mercy his girlfriend. But he does shrug. "She is amazing at stuff like this. Better than me, and I've been working with shit like this my whole life." he gives a smile to Mercy. "Oof, is it the-" yep, he opened the master. Johnny gives a nod. "Yeah, that'll do it. But thankfully, it's not too crazy to fix at all, so we should have you outta here with a working vehicle soon enough." He catches Bullseye's look to the car and Johnny follows his gaze. "No idea." he answers pretty easily. Though his eyes find Mercy again. "Your food's gettin' cold, beautiful."
Mercy Thompson	"That'll be fifty dollars," Mercy says to Bullseye. Johnny's name for her gets a sniff of amusement but she goes to get a bite of cheeseburger, the work on the motorcycle being done. "Sorry I can't talk about other customers. Bad for business, you know? "
Bullseye	"Your food's gettin' cold, beautiful?"     Ugh.     He might not be Bullseye's target today, but Jesus Christ, is he asking for a throwing knife to the throat. Regardless, Bullseye smiles at the sheer amount of the love in the room, leaning in as Mercy gives him her answer. It's... not what he's looking for.     "Look, I'm not asking for his address or whatever," he replies, changing his body posture to look as meek and friendly as possible. "It's just Jimmy and I go way back, that's all, and I'm like ninety-nine percent sure that's his ride. I'm just sayin' I've got some time before I hit the road -- which is possible, now, thanks to you -- but if this ain't his..." He pauses, glancing at the car once more, "Then I can get ahead of traffic, and be outta your hair. It'll save me some time, is all."
Johnny Blaze	Johnny seems to be either unoticing or uncaring of Bullseye's inner disgust at the flirting between Mercy and Johnny. Though Blaze seems to narrow his eyes at Bullseye as he seems insistant. Mercy can fight her own battle, but now Johnny's wary. In his line of work, guys with those kind of eyes enjoy a darker side of life. Yet he still doesn't read Bullseye's soul. So he leaves it alone, but he does move over to Mercy's toolbox, grabbing some shiner and a clean towel to start cleaning off his own bike.
Mercy Thompson	The change in body posture gets Mercy's attention, she notices those things, and she goes briefly very still. It'd be easy to overlook, the freeze is so brief. "It's not your friend's," she says. She's pretty sure he doesn't have friends so it's not a lie. "Sorry, can't help you with him."
Bullseye	Bullseye narrows his eyes, nodding to Mercy, now aware he may have come off a little strong. Instead of abandoning ship, however, he elects to change tactics. This, after all, is what predators do. "I'm sorry. I apologize. It's totally understandable -- customer confidentiality and all that, no problem." God, was he fighting every urge to just grab that nearby socket wrench and launch it deep into Mercy's right eye socket. Loverboy, naturally, would get something nastier -- a screwdriver to the chest, maybe. Pliers would be hilarious, too.     But that wouldn't solve anything. He was just here to gather information... perhaps the exact kind of information written on that customer form on that clipboard next to Johnny? His eyes light up for the briefest moment, thinking he might have a hit, as he walks forward to go grab his helmet off the cabinet he left it on, earlier. Hiding the fact he's making a beeline towards the clipboard, he starts rifling through his chained wallet, "Okay, I think that's my cue, then -- what do I owe ya?"
Johnny Blaze	It would be an EXTREMELY unwise course of action for Bullseye to even attempt such a thing. Mainly because it would just bounce off of him. Johnny has his own demon he wouldn't prefer to show in polite company. But he does look between Mercy and Bullseye, protective of the former. Eyes narrow, his hand squeezing that towel a little tighter as Bullseye seems to approach. At his question, Johnny answers. "50 bucks." Cheap, all things considered, but he seems to shed a glance to Mercy. A silent warning to be careful right now.
Mercy Thompson	"Fifty," Mercy says. She relaxes just a little. "Like I said before," she nods at Johnny in confirmation of what he says. Then her mouth takes off on its own. "There's some blood on your bike, on the handle grips. You might want to wash the grips off."
Bullseye	A devilish smirk curls at one end of Bullseye's mouth for the briefest moment. "I'll keep that in mind, sweetheart," he replies, licking the front of his teeth. He isn't stupid. The jig is all but up at this point -- no use in looking at the clipboard and making himself look even more suspicious.     Almost his entire energy changes, now, and it is CLEAR. His warm and friendly demeanor has turned icy cold -- his movements slow and precise. Eyeing Mercy the whole way towards the red tool cabinet his helmet is on, he snickers to himself, turning his gaze from Mercy to Johnny, and vice versa as he grabs his helmet and hops onto his Harley. It's here that he slowly pulls out a crisp one-hundred dollar bill from his wallet and smilingly crumples it into his fist before casually dropping it on the ground.     "A word of advice, though, in the name of customer confidentiality?" he says, pointing at the Volkswagen. "If that IS Jimmy's... you better tell 'em it'd be in his best interest, to NOT come pick it up." He slips his helmet on the top of his head, leaving just enough room for him to speak before revving up the engine. "Safety first."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy watches Bullseye get on the bike. She doesn't move for the crumpled 100 until he goes, though, just watches him. Once he's clear she picks it up, smooths it out, folds it up and puts it in her pocket. "This town just wierds me out," she tells Johnny. "Makes me remember Montana fondly sometimes."