Owner	Pose
Mercy Thompson	Mercedes Athena Thompson, mechanic and resident coyote walker, is underneath a Jetta and has been for the past half an hour stripping bolts, transmissions and....other things that decided their job was to fall on the ground. Mercy's doing her thing. Bolts? Gotten rid of.....as she slips her hands in and grunts, holding the transmission in place and slipping the first bolt in. It'll hold, as Mercy rolls out from under the Jetta and wipes her hands. She grabs the bolts and puts them into the tool cabinet and puts the wrench back, grabbing a different one to work on the engine as she pops the hood. Mercy's wearing her coveralls with her name tag on the breast pocket, and her pendant disappears into the coveralls. She's concentrating as her hair's tied back and she's got her barked knuckles deep into the guts of a Jetta engine, coaxing it to life. Sliding back under the car for a moment, Mercy slips the last few bolts in, then returns to the engine as it starts. Mercy slams the hood and kills the engine, then looks very, very satisfied.
Dick Grayson	Outside of Mercy's, a deep, cherry red 1970 Chevelle SS rolls up slowly to a stop, the engine a deep and aggressive rumbling purr, like that of a contented lion. As it comes to a halt, gravel quietly grinding under the wheels, the engine is cut off, coming to a blissful silence. The door swings open, and out steps Grayson himself.     Grayson is a tall man, but somehow still retains this sense of youthfulness about him, even in spite of the dark stubble that's grown out just past a five o'clock shadow along a square jaw. His attire is casual. Black Chucks with white trim. Dark jeans that cling to his legs nicely, but are not quite in the realm of "skinny" jeans. A plain, heathered gray t-shirt, with a faded and distressed Mt. Dew logo from seemingly aeons ago emblazoned across his proud chest. A pair of tinted aviator shades rests on his nose, and as he walks up to the bay door, where he sees Mercy doing her thing on the Jetta, he lifts a hand to wave, and flashes a smile that has graced the covers of celebrity gossip rags the world over.     "I'm guessing you're Mercy," he says, his voice loud enough to carry. Deep, but smooth. Pleasant and friendly.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy hears the Chevelle pull up as she's got the Jetta on the lift and lifted up. It'll stay there as Mercy dusts off her hands and hears Nightwing. "It's open" she calls. The door from the office is, indeed, open as Mercy coming on into the office, planting herself behind the desk. "Come on in" she calls, the bay doors to the garage are open as Mercy's filling in paprwork and looks up.
Dick Grayson	Grayson, accepting the invitation, walks in through the garage bay. He has an easy sort of swagger to his gait, graceful and smooth, but without being affected. Like it just comes naturally. At the door, he stops, leaning his shoulder against the frame while folding his arms across his midsection.     "Hey. My name's Dick Grayson," He starts, letting eyes of Bahama blue look over the greased up woman. Still, his smile never once wavers. If anything, there's a bit of a light that seems to catch in his eyes. "I hear that this is a good place. You do work on customs, muscle and high performance sports cars, right?
Mercy Thompson	Mercy sets down the pen she's using and looks over. "Sure, bring your car into the garage and I'll take a look. Yeah you heard right, but the sign outside's full of German car makes" Mercy says and waves behind her to the door. "Pull it in, I'll take a look. I won't charge you for looking" Mercy adds with a smile then steps back into the garage as she heads back to the garage with a smile as she grabs her wrenches again. Wrench wench indeed, as Mercy waits, though she's made her mind up she'll talk to Mr Grayson about his car. She adores cars....and her old boss knows what makes cars tick better than a team of Detroit engineers, as Mercy brings the Jetta down from the lifter and drives it out into the lot, returning to the garage itself.
Dick Grayson	Grayson peeks back over his shoulder, as if he might be able to see the sign outside, though he can't. He had noted it as he pulled in, but he has an affable, if lopsided grin plastered onto his face as he turns his attention back on to Mercy.     "I saw that. I'm running a McLaren three-point-eight liter engine, and I figured... McLaren worked with Mercedes on the SLR, so it's basically German, right?"     The impish light in his eyes and the mischievous twist of his smile indicates that he just might be playing around a bit with that comment. But, as Mercy volunteers to take a look at it, Grayson hoists his shoulder off of the doorframe and lets her pass by him so that she might take care of that Jetta.     "I've got a Jetta, too. R Line model. I love it. Smooth ride. Great em-pee-gee. Could use a little more get up and go from a stop, but can't complain too much," Grayson says, as he follows the Wrench Wench through the garage, and then as she starts to lower the Jetta, he moves back to his Chevelle, and starts her up. That distinctive rumble of the engine is loud, at first, but quickly becomes silky smooth. Just from the sound, it doesn't seem like there would be anything wrong with the car, at all. In fact, it sounds immaculate.     As she pulls the Jetta out, Grayson pulls the Chevelle in, squarely into the operational position for the bay without any of the seeming awkwardness and need for readjustment that most people might have when doing the same.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy nods to Nightwing. "Yep they worked on the SLR, but they teamed up with BMW on the F1" she adds and seems to pounce on the Chevelle and op ps the hood. "Okay, what do you need?" she asks and whirls around grabbing several tools, then returns back to the Chevy again. She's checking it over with a whistle. "Nice" she says and laughs, looking over it with a nod as she gently fastions the hood again and looks to Nightwing over it. "Yu got a Jetta huh?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. "The R Line model is good. I have a Vanagon and a Rabbit around the back, but I never even got my hands on the R line" she admits and shakes her head again, putting her wrenches away. "So, what brings you to my door?" she adds and leans against the tool chest. "I had a 959 in here the other day before it got shipped to Germany" Mercy adds and smiles. "I make my living on old German cars" she says as she heads out around the back and drives an Open Kadett in and parks it on the car lifter. "Now if you'd quit leaking?" she admonishes the German car....which has left trail of oil all the way in, that Meercy's busy sanding as she speaks, glancing back to Nightwing again. "I've a few orders to work on, if you'd like to help around here, I can't pay you without hiring you" Mercy adds. She may well pay a little more tax, drive the speed limit and keep her cars insured....but she's never willingly hired somebody who can't appear on her payroll. Mercy leaves the offer of volunteer work in the air as she sneaks a look at the Chevy. It's beautiful, but....her heart's with German engineering really. Give her a Porsche or Opel or BMW or Vee Dub any day. Or any of the German makes.
Dick Grayson	As she takes to the car, Grayson hops out and leans against it. She'll pop the hood and open it to reveal a heavily modified beast. A 1970 Chevelle was certainly not designed for the layout of the sleek McLaren M838T engine, and so he's done a lot of work just to make it fit. The inside of the body actually looks a bit unusual. Something that she might be able to pinpoint upon closer examination.     "Well, I'm looking to get specialty parts for the engine. Right now I'm looking for the Weistec W-three turbo upgrade kit, and installing that on here. The factory turbo kit is nice, but it starts to peak around six thousand rpms, which causes the power to drop as the revs increase towards eight k," he says, answering the question of why he's here. In truth, he could probably do every bit of this on his own, but none of his compatriots are as into this as he is, and working alone in his underground garage? That gets real sad and lonely, real quick. He could use the socialization, and can easily offer up the excuse that he doesn't know how or where to get the parts he's looking for.     He watches her as she goes about her routine, and even waits patiently as she brings in another car. Striding over to her as she cleans up the trail of oil, Grayson says, "Old German cars are pretty sweet. Dependable. High quality. Elegant. I enjoy them quite a bit," he says. "But I think my first love will always be classic American muscle. And follow that up with my love of superbikes."     The offer to help out actually has Grayson taken aback a bit. He hadn't expected that. His head turns to the side, as he stares out of the corner of his eyes at her for a moment, as if asking if she's putting him on. Finally, he says, "It could be fun to help out, sure. I don't need pay. Call it community service. I've got more money than I know what to do with already, and I don't need the obligation of showing up on any sort of required schedule."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy nods at Nightwing and looks over with a smile. "So" she says with a nod. "You want the Weistech W3 turbo kit" Mercy offers, "I have one in storage. It's mounted, if you can believe it, on a Wasserboxer engine. I don't know eithr" Mercy says and nodds to Nightwing. "So, you're Dick, Dick Grayson huh?" Mercy asks and motions for him to stay put. She comes back wheeling a Wasserboxer engine with the Weistech turbo on it, as Mercy looks to it. "You want to pull this one off and mount it, then calibrate the turbo yourself?" she asks as she laughs. "So tell me about yourself, and grab a wrench" she nods Disappearing back with the cart she's put the Wasserboxer engine on a workbench and clamped it firlmy in place. There's a huge crack in the block as Mercy's well aware the engine's a lost hope, but she's scavenged all the parts from it....it's just the block and turbo left. Mostly since Mercy's been using the turbo to keep the block steady when removing bits of the engine as she eyes the Kadett...which has only quit leaking since there's nothing left to leak. "Well that's a problem" Mercy asides, "Kadette's doing its best sieve impression, and there's a 4 cylinder with a cracked block. Ah well" Mercy says with a shrug. If Nightwing wants to help; here, he can. Mercy just won't pay him...but then again he doesn't want payment.
Dick Grayson	When she admits to having one just in storage, Grayson noticeably blinks. When she further explains what it's mounted on, he looks... perplexed. Thankfully she clarifies that she has no idea what was going on there. "Likely a lot of drugs..."     "Right," He says, when she tells him to grab a wrench and start talking. He does so, and gets to work, muttering to himself "How the hell..." as he begins trying to dismantle the thing from an engine it had no part being attached to. This is a real, honest to goodness mystery.     "Not much to tell, really. I always feel put on the spot when people ask that, you know? Like... what level of sharing is appropriate," he comments as he works, scowling as he stares at the cracked engine block. "Like do I just give a brief synopsis of my life like the back of a novel? Do I just go the dating game route and list a few pertinent interests and goals? All like "I'm Dick Grayson, and my hobbies include parting, long moonlit walks on the beach, and my dream is to marry an independently wealthy woman with a nice bubble butt, who wants to take me on a trip around the world in a hot air balloon" or something like that? I really don't know."     He looks up and over at her, and the Opal Kadett, offering a small frown. "Anyway... Bullet points, I guess. Circus kid. Parents were murdered when I was young. Adopted by an eccentric billionaire and given a life free of want. Had a time where I was one of those silly celebudantes that were all the rage on TMZ. Did a bit of modeling. Now I'm a cop, living in a one bedroom apartment in Bludhaven."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy shakes her head at Nightwing, "Well just bullet points works" she admits with a a nod. "I've no idea what was going on with that thing" she says, meaning the Wasserboxer engine block as Mercy looks just as confused. Still, she nods to Nightwing, "You need anything, put it back when you're done. You want anything to eat while you're in here?" Mercy asks, thinking of grabbing food that's in the fridge. Mercy stands by Nightwing and starts to go through the parts she's taken out of the Wasserboxer engine. There's.....nothing worth saving, though as she decides to give Nightwing the CliffsNotes version of her life. "Let's see....my mom was flaky and a rodeo groupie. She liked a bull rider from Montana. Liked him wel enough to get pregnant with me, that is" Mercy says as she's inspecting parts. "Problem" Mercy points out. "Wel aside from the fact everything I pulled from the block you're working on is junk....is" Mercy sighs and shakes her head, "That my mother was unwed and young. It's easy to imagine her running off to get involved with a bulrider" Mercy points out with a nod. "Though, the fact she's the prisdent of her local PTA is far more surprising. My foster parents on the other hand....I grew up in a small town in Montana" Mercy carries on while stripping parts and junking just about everything, "Taught me everything" she says, hesitant to admit to strangers she was raised by wolves. "Left there, went to school, came East, bought this place, and...here I am" Mercy nods. The short version of her life. Skipping neatly around the 'raised by werewolves' part or the 'I can see ghosts' part. Or the 'I am the daughter of Coyote' bit, too. Still, Mercy's keeping bits to herself as she clears her throat. "You mounnting the weistech on the Chevy or the Jetta?" she asks, "You may need a better transmission, I've a few part suppliers in Connecticut I go to for that sort of thing, they take old racing transmissions and rebuild them for road use. It's a little pricey but they are bulletproof" she observes. "But once they go, you are screwed. You just leave the lever where it is and hope to God you make it somewhere. if you try to get out of gear the broken bits will shred the rest of the gears. I've heard it happen. It's.....not the nicest sound" Mercy admits slowly, having taken in Dick's story. Shes thinking she has the more normal life. Aside from the being a walkr and demigod, that is....a
Dick Grayson	"Whatcha got?" Dick asks as a reply to getting something to eat, as he grumps and leans in, over the workbench, getting up underneath of the mostly hollowed out engine block to work at a bolt fastened on the inside. It's at this point that Mercy just might notice the only thing that is more famous about Dick Grayson than his smile, and the denim he's wearing only seems to enhance that notoriously perfect feature. Quietly, he curses to himself, "Dammit." before he's pulling out an exceptionally long bolt, freeing the first of the two pieces of the turbo upgrade.     He rises back up, listening to her give her abbreviated life story. He can tell that there's stuff that she's leaving out. The almost clipped nature of events. Her body language.     "Sounds like we have a lot in common," He says, as he leans his rear against the workbench, folding his now grease stained hands across his chest. His smile is soft. Warm. Almost irresistibly inviting. As if he were instantly her very best friend in the world. "Both the kids of a traveling show. Both adopted by others and given a new family. One that taught us everything we know. And now, out here, living our lives without a net. Making our own way."     A pause.     "I'm pretty sure you've got about as many secrets as I do, too."     But, he shrugs his shoulders. He's not here to press her for information. He's here to... well, work, apparently. "Ha! Well, I've got an SSG Dual Clutch transmission on there. with the Pre-Cog paddles going on. It's about as high peak performance as it gets. If you want, you can slide up on under there, and check her out. I'd like to say that she's all original, and everything, but she's not. She's more of a chameleon, if anything. Looks like a Chevelle, and races like a bat out of hell."     He holds up the first of the twin turbo pieces that he's unmounted sort of pointing it at the Chevelle and answers, "These are going on her."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy looks amused. "Well there's breakfast sanwiches, there's candy, there's some pop, there's pastries in the fridge if you want any of it" Mercy says as she looks to the turbo. "That thing's going in the Chevy. "You're gonna mount it atop the engine?" she asks then smiles. "Oh, I got some left over pasta too" she offers and smiles widely, ducking off to get herself a sandwich as she disappears to her living space....though she's still listening. Once in her living space, Mercy grabs a bowl and spoons spaghetti into it. Somebody's going to eat it.....and it /will/ get eaten. Coming back, Mercy's set the spaghetti aside, and is willing to get Dick some food. "I'd rather not slide under there thanks. I don't want to mess anything up" she explains and nods wisely.
Dick Grayson	"Pasta and pastries and sandwhiches..." Dick says, his voice laden with playful apprehension as he places a hand on his flat stomach. "You're trying to kill me with all those carbs. I'm going to have to make today a cheat day. Pasta seems like the right choice here."     As Mercy slips out, Dick begins working on removing the other piece of the turbo upgrade, leaning back over the workbench and broken engine block to fit the socket over the bolts. While Mercy slips off to get the pasta, he calls back out. "Yeah. Basically just swapping out the turbo that comes with the engine with this. It's not too difficult, really."     Just a pain in the ass to get to. Because engineers.     When his gracious hostess returns, Grayson rises back up and turns his back to the workbench, leaning against it. Reaching down, he grabs a work rag, and tries wiping his black stained hands, as if anything short of lava soap is going to make a difference. "Hey, if you don't want to look under there, no worries. I thought you might like seeing what's going on with it. It's not often I get to hang around with people who have the same kind of love for engines as I do. I come from a tech minded family... the adopted one... but not a single gearhead among them. Just me."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy shakes her head "So you don't want anything to eat?" she asks and sets back to work on the Opel, coaxing a few bits out of the engine. "How....how exactly did the rod decide to break apart/" she asks and has her hands and up to her elbows in the Kadett's engine. "See, it's nice, hanging out like this" Mercy says and fishes out a whole piston. "Now that's not supposd to be floating in radiator fluid" she muses then looks to Dick. "You've got an interesting car there. With an even more interesting engine. So what's your plan for the old turbo, keep it too or throw it on something else?" Mercy asks with a smile.
Dick Grayson	"Oh no. I'm going to eat all the pasta. And then have to run twelve miles tonight so that it doesn't go straight to my stomach," He replies to the question of food. He shamelessly goes to that bowl of spaghetti and picks it up, starting to eat as she wanders over to the Opel Kadett. As she mutters to herself about the sorry state of the car, Grayson wanders over nearby, bowl in hand.     "Well, if you can find a use for it, you're more than welcome to keep it. It's a factory McLaren turbo, so, you probably won't be able to Frankenstein it onto something else like... like that W3 was. Which also shouldn't have been attached to anything other than a McLaren, but... hey," He says with a broad grin, before taking another bite of pasta. After chewing a few seconds so that he's able to talk around the mouthful of food without being completely gross, he adds, "I figure it's the least I can do, giving me the part, letting me use your tools, keeping me company... all that."
Mercy Thompson	"You'd be amazed what people wedge turbos onto. I saw a Vanagon hthat had a V10 in it from an F1 car. Rear seats were out, that thing screamed like a banshee and it went like hell in the night" Mercy says. "Couldn't get within 50 feet of it since it was so loud, even earplugs didn't help. Then I find out it blew up and tore the whole back off the van" she adds and nods. "You're welcome, sorry it's cold pasta but...." Mercy says and looks thoughtful for a second. "I could tell you where a good takeout is in the area."l
Dick Grayson	If Grayson has any qualms about eating cold pasta, it doesn't show. He is pretty quickly shoveling mouthfuls in and chewing it over as if its the first meal he's had in days. The look on his face is absolute ecstasy. When she speaks about the Vanagon with an F1 engine, Dick's blue-green eyes widen to the size of silver dollars, his brows hiking up high. His mouth is too full to speak, so he just shakes his head in disbelief.     Bowl set aside on a standing toolbox, Grayson swallows the mouthful of food that has his cheeks puffed out, and remarks, "I found a good takeout place, apparently. Mercy's Garage and Pasta. I'll be a regular."     He flashes a bright grin at her, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe, as he looks curious. "So what else are you into, Mercy? Other than old German cars."
Mercy Thompson	"That's store bought pasta left in a fridge. hey, you start coming here for food and people will get talking" she jokes and looks to the empty pasta bowl. "Ah not a lot. I work out, I run, I take she shi kai kan classes at the dojo, I'm a simple woman really" Mercy points out with a nod. "Though, if you're gonna drop by for food....yeah, bring your own recipes" admits. She's not wanting the local gossip mongers to talk. Yet still....she takes the pasta bowl back into her living space to wash it out, leaving Dick several minutes to do his car thing, while Mercy does dishes.
Dick Grayson	As Mercy talks, Grayson listens. He's attentive, his focus fixed solely on her, his eyes never wandering elsewhere or growing dull. He just watches, with a small smile that flirts with the corners of his lips. Only when she takes the bowl and slips back into her living area does Grayson break eye contact, and gets to work.     Sadly, properly removing a factory turbo and replacing it is something that will take literally hours to complete. He'll need an entire day. So, for now, he's just going to leave it be, put the parts in the passenger seat of his ride, wash his hands in the shop sink, and then join Mercy inside.     "So, you run a lot? I know a few good trails outside of the cities. A bit upstate, in the mountains. I could show you sometime. I'd bring the food. If you're into nature and all that. I do a lot of running. Acrobatics, too."     A pause.     "And martial arts. A lot of them."     Lots of overlapping interests there. He's almost worried that he's going to come off as sounding like he's faking it to have more in common with her. But, he just shrugs his shoulders as he leans against the doorframe to the living area, and slides his hands into his pockets.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy nods and looks amused. "Catskills, Adirondacks?" she asks and looks impressed. "You know what she shi kai kan is?" she asks and slips into her living area, carrying on a discussion through the closed door. "I'm impressed" she adds then falls silent. There's a rustling sound, then scratching as Mercy's working the door open with her paws, it clicks open and Mercy pokes her head out. She's a large, brindle brown coyote with pointy ears, and she's watching Dick...then she steps out fully nudging the door closed with a hind paw. It's like she's done this before. She went and shifted in her living space.
Dick Grayson	"Catskills," Grayson replies, looking up and leaning his back and head against the doorframe. "She shi kai kan is an Okinawana martial art. It actually resembles Sabaki quite a bit. Hard hitting, lots of linear movement and power striking. It looks to batter and break, rather than subdue or restrain. I haven't studied it. Just how to defend against it. I practice... well a hodgepodge of styles, really. Taijutsu, Capoeira, Hapkido, Baijiquan... a lot of stuff."     When the door opens, Grayson looks to the side, expecting to see her coming out, but finds nothing there in the doorway but open air. Looking down, he then sees the coyote. He's intelligent enough to recognize the coyote as it is, and not a dog. "Hey there, buddy."     "You have a pet coyote?" He calls back into the living area, even as he squats down to face her. His face lights up with a smile, and he reaches out to let her sniff his palm, before going in for an ear scritch. "I'm Dick. You're probably smelling that spaghetti on me, aren't ya? Sorry, bud. It's all gone."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy wags her tail and pats a paw on the ground before loping over by the space heater and relaxing. Settling back she flicks an ear, then watches Dick more with her tongue wagging. She's found a nice spot to lay down...though she's waiting for Dick to put two and two together. Even so she trots back into her living space and comes back as herself. "Hey" she says with a smile. "You been standing there all along?" she laughs.
Dick Grayson	When the coyote trots off, Dick raises back up to his full height. He's not one to try to give chase, generally speaking. If someone is more concerned with getting warm and laying down than in socializing with him, he's willing to accept that. He just smiles, and waits. And waits. Rocking back and forth on his heels. Looking around sort of awkwardly. Sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Whistling.     And the coyote trots back inside. As it passes by Dick waves, and says, "Take it easy, buddy."     He'll peek inside before the door presumably closes to see if he might get a peek of the elusive and now quiet Mercy, but it's to no avail. At least not until she comes walking back out.     "Hey. I was starting to think maybe you ran off somewhere and left me with the coyote. She's cute, by the way. Is she a rescue, or just a stray? I've got a cat. Gabriel. Big white fluffy thing. He hangs out on my fire escape and I feed him tuna and give him pets. We both agree that it is a good arrangement, as I need not change any litter boxes and he needs not... well... submit to a human."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy laughs, "Smart idea, feed a cat without changing up your whole routine. Hey, what coyote?" Mercy asks innocently and smiles. "I didn't rescue any coyote" she says. True. She didn't rescue any. Still she laughs, the cat story is cute. "Aw but he should come inside really. Cats need a nice warm bed" Mercy points out with a shrug. "C'mon, if you had slept on a fire escape and din't go into a nice warm house?" Mercy asks.
Dick Grayson	"Oh, he comes in. He just goes back out. It's all on his own time. I just exist in his world. Basically, he comes and chills on the fire escape outside my window until I notice him. Then I open the window and we sit together in the window sill, as he eats tuna out of the can in my lap. Sometimes, he'll come inside and insist on sitting on my stomach while I watch tv on the couch. Staring at me. Constantly. But then, when he's had his fill of the scritches and pets, he goes back to the window and waits to be let out."     The question of the coyote just has Dick raising his eyebrow, and cocking his thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him. "The coyote that came sauntering out of your pad, and then went back in right before you came out. You putting me on right now?"
Mercy Thompson	"Oh that one. Well" Mercy shrugs and looks amused. "I am Native American, ya know. The coyotes are my brothers" she nods and looks amused, hoping it'll click as she grins and sets to work again on the Kadett. "Yeah, I can change into a coyote" Mercy says.
Dick Grayson	Dick stands silent for a few very long moments after she confesses that she can change into a coyote. He's not used to that kind of openness. He's not sure how to feel about it.     In the end, he shrugs his shoulders, and says, "I've dated aliens."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy smiles and looks amsed at Dick's silence. "So" Mercy points out. "Spoiler. I'm the daughter of Coyote" Mercy points out and grins. "Yeah, you can pick your jaw off the ground now, or are you trying to fit a whole bowl of pasta in it?" she asks sounding entertained.
Dick Grayson	"It's not a big deal," Dick says with a shrug. "Like I said, I've dated aliens. I've had sleepovers with mutants and metahumans. One of my friends is a green dude who can turn into any animal."     Perhaps not the kind of surprise she was looking for out of the young police officer. But he does run in some pretty strange social circles. "So you're some kind of godling or demigod, then?"
Mercy Thompson	Mercy laughs. "So we move in weird circles. Got it. You sure you want to hang around here?" she jokes and looks thoughtful, then at the Chevy then Opel as she leans against the doorframe, looking impressed.
Dick Grayson	"Why ya ask?" Grayson inquires, his head leaning to one side as he turns aquamarine eyes on to her with a sharp, appraising look. Slowly, he steps forward, coming closer to her with that easy sort of grace and swagger that he possesses just naturally. Stopping just in front of her, he lifts one thin, dark brow high, and looks her in the eyes with a lopsided, and wolfish grin. "You trouble?"
Mercy Thompson	Mercy watches him for a moment, her brown eyes sparkle for a moment....as she grabs for Dick and throws him, planting her feet with a bend of her knees. The problem....is Mercy's lips brush against Dicks as she throws him. She bites to his lip....hard, and remembers to let go, rather than tear his lip off. As she throws him, she speaks. "Trouble" she nods with a dangerous smile.
Dick Grayson	When Mercy grabs hold of him, it looks, for a moment, as if he couldn't be more pleased with the situation. She nimbly tosses him, capturing his lips in the process, only to find them pliant and receptive to her attentions. Even that nipping bite. And, as he's flung past, breaking the contact, Dick's limbs tuck in tight and straight, his heels rising over his head in a languid seeming flip where his body twists and spirals a few full rotations before he lands on his feet. He did tell her he was both a martial artist and an acrobat.     "Oh yeah. Definitely trouble," he mutters almost under his breath, before spinning on his heels and facing her. Without a moment's hesitation, he shift steps, sliding his foot deep to the inside as he lurches forward, and then back out, as if drawing a large half circle. This is to place his foot behind hers so that he can lean his body into hers forcefully, with the intention of knocking her off balance, only to catch her in a low dip. Like they just finished a dance. "Is this the way you flirt with all the guys you're interested in, or am I special?"     His lips, still flush from her bite, hover dangerously close to hers, as if he might move in for another kiss while he stares into her eyes.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy braces herself with a silent look...then she just.....steps into being a coyote, and drags her coveralls through his legs. Fortunately she's got her head poking out of her cveralls...and she's going flat out, 60 miles an hour and circling around, and back into her living space again. It's one thing to see a woman suddeenly change into a coyote. It's another for the coyote to go faster than higwya traffic, while dragging her coveralls....
Dick Grayson	Dick settles eyes the color of the Caribbean ocean on Mercy's own, with a look that is intense and soul piercing. As if he can pierce right through her and see the spirit held within. His lips curl up at one corner, as he holds her there in that backwards dip, and he starts to say something to prod her to answer. Perhaps tease.     And then she shifts into her coyote form.     Grayson lets slip a surprised burst of laughter, as he feels her slip out of his grasp and begin to scramble between his legs. But before she can quite bolt off at her breakneck speeds, the catlike reflexes of the agile crimefighter kick in. He stomps his foot down. It doesn't stop Mercy from making her daring escape. No. It just stops her from dragging the coveralls, as he's stepping on the empty leg of them with all of his weight, leaving her to run right out of them.
Mercy Thompson	Which Mercy does, she's in her living space and still on four paws as she steps back into two legs and slides on another set of coveralls, though she's staying put. Her door to her living area's locked. Mercy's settled in on her couch, staying quiet. She's amused by it. Being a walker has its perks, really as Mercy is as quiet as....well......a coyote.
Dick Grayson	Grayson tries the door after she's sequestered her way inside, but finds it locked. One brow ticks upwards, and he stands there for a moment, pondering what he should do. The playful part of him wants to just sneak inside. After all, when it comes to getting into locked places, there are very, very few people on earth who are more skilled then any among those who live in the shadow of the Bat.     The other part, though? Well, that's the part that realizes that that breaking into a woman's apartment unprovoked is not just a crime, but also a bit on the creeper side. Maybe she got uncomfortable with their little flirtation, and has decided to retreat.     "Alright. I guess I'll catch you later. Thanks for the parts!" He calls through the door, giving one knock before turning and heading back towards his car.
Mercy Thompson	Mercy does come to the door and looks to Dick. "You done?" Mercy asks and looks over to him again. "So" she says "Is that how you flirt with all the women?" she adds and tilts her head at him.
Dick Grayson	Grayson stops, his car door open and one foot inside. Resting his arm across the top of the open car door, he turns his attention on to her, lifting one eyebrow and adopting a lopsided grin, though there's a look of bemusement on his face.     "I guess it's only how I flirt with the ones who run off and lock the doors behind them," He retorts. He gestures with a finger at the door to her living area, and says, "Flirting and playing is fun, but we don't know each other well enough for me to presume anything, and we really don't know each other well enough for me to risk bypassing a lock to enter a woman's home and risk potentially being considered a home intruder with intent to commit sexual assault or something."
Mercy Thompson	Mercy looks over with a sigh. "Well if you stick around here" Mercy says, "Help out, you can get to know me a litle better. See, I'm not really this homicidal woman who can go coyote. But" she says. "You try to break into my place, I got a .44 rifle and I've been taught how to use it" she adds and looks to the Chevy. "You sure you wanna get going huh?" she adds, "I can always find your place and arrange takeout pasta with my name on it" she adds with a smile. "Or, just point you to the nearest pizza place" she shrugs with a knowing smirk.
Dick Grayson	"No one said anything about homicidal," Grayson says, lifting a hand and chuckling as he speaks, shaking his head. "Weird flex about the rifle thing, but okay. You really don't have anything to worry about. I think that maybe it might just be best if I go ahead and take off. I'll catch you around, Mercy Thompson."     With that, Dick Grayson slides into the cherry red '70 Chevelle SS, starts the engine with a loud roar that dulls to a rumbling purr, and then backs out of the garage.