Post by Fey Varangr on Aug 26, 2022 23:48:50 GMT -5
"I'm keeping my head down."
That's what she'd told the old man. Fey had honestly tried to stick to that. After her last run-in with the court, she was on thin ice. Scratch that: the ice had broken beneath her feet, and she was balanced precariously over a pitfall on a tight rope. The government had her name, number, and power level. Signing the Central City Accords had been one of the terms of her probation.
But tracking down part numbers and incessantly calling customers to make sure they paid their bills didn't, well, pay her bills. She'd be short on rent this month, unless she came up with a... less than legal way to earn some cash.
Fey sat in a small dingy room her employer called an office. It wasn't much more than a few dry-fit walls shambled together, with a splintered desk and a dented file cabinet shoved in it. Her chair was something usually found at a dining table. Gordon had really spared no expense when he'd decided that, hey, maybe the woman running the phone in an automotive shop needed a little bit of quiet to actually hear said phone.
Someone knocked on the door frame- she didn't have an actual door, just a sheet covering the entrance. An aging man, a little on the portly side, stuck his grease marked head past the flap. Gordon.
"Fey, I'm taking off for the night. I left a note on the boss' desk, letting him know how many hours I spent on that old car today."
"Got it." She'd have to get up and grab that, in order to fill out the bill. Fey didn't understand why he hadn't just brought it to her.
"You'll close up tonight?"
"Sure. I'll only be another half an hour, or so."
"Thanks Fey. Night."
Gordon's head retreated, and Fey was left alone in her poor excuse of an office once more. She finished what she was working on: the bill for some woman's motorcycle that had needed a new muffler, and stood to go and grab the note Gordon had left in Clay's office. She walked out of her dingy, doorless, room and into the garage proper. It was a tall building, effectively two storey in size without the second floor, with three separate bays and roll-up doors. All in all, a small automotive shop.
Two vehicles sat in the garage: the aformentioned motorcycle, and a classic lowrider with a rusting paintjob. The second one would have been what Gordon was working on. With a frown, Fey noticed that Gordon had left one of the roll-up doors open. She'd agreed to lock up, sure, but he should have rolled that back down and left through the side door. What if someone had walked into the building, and stolen something while she was in her office?
That's what she'd told the old man. Fey had honestly tried to stick to that. After her last run-in with the court, she was on thin ice. Scratch that: the ice had broken beneath her feet, and she was balanced precariously over a pitfall on a tight rope. The government had her name, number, and power level. Signing the Central City Accords had been one of the terms of her probation.
But tracking down part numbers and incessantly calling customers to make sure they paid their bills didn't, well, pay her bills. She'd be short on rent this month, unless she came up with a... less than legal way to earn some cash.
Fey sat in a small dingy room her employer called an office. It wasn't much more than a few dry-fit walls shambled together, with a splintered desk and a dented file cabinet shoved in it. Her chair was something usually found at a dining table. Gordon had really spared no expense when he'd decided that, hey, maybe the woman running the phone in an automotive shop needed a little bit of quiet to actually hear said phone.
Someone knocked on the door frame- she didn't have an actual door, just a sheet covering the entrance. An aging man, a little on the portly side, stuck his grease marked head past the flap. Gordon.
"Fey, I'm taking off for the night. I left a note on the boss' desk, letting him know how many hours I spent on that old car today."
"Got it." She'd have to get up and grab that, in order to fill out the bill. Fey didn't understand why he hadn't just brought it to her.
"You'll close up tonight?"
"Sure. I'll only be another half an hour, or so."
"Thanks Fey. Night."
Gordon's head retreated, and Fey was left alone in her poor excuse of an office once more. She finished what she was working on: the bill for some woman's motorcycle that had needed a new muffler, and stood to go and grab the note Gordon had left in Clay's office. She walked out of her dingy, doorless, room and into the garage proper. It was a tall building, effectively two storey in size without the second floor, with three separate bays and roll-up doors. All in all, a small automotive shop.
Two vehicles sat in the garage: the aformentioned motorcycle, and a classic lowrider with a rusting paintjob. The second one would have been what Gordon was working on. With a frown, Fey noticed that Gordon had left one of the roll-up doors open. She'd agreed to lock up, sure, but he should have rolled that back down and left through the side door. What if someone had walked into the building, and stolen something while she was in her office?
PL: 8,000 (x1) | KP: 6/6 (+0) | MP: 0/6 (+0) | DMG: 0%/250% (+0%)
WC: 475
TWC: 475
WC: 475
TWC: 475