[Misti Manning]

It happened when Misti was on her way home from a tutoring job in Grey Pebble. The Tyre Pressure Warning Light flickered to life on her dashboard, almost unnecessarily; she could feel the car struggling beneath her. Even the rich could have dodgy roads, she supposed, but that didn’t make her any happier about it. She sighed deeply. The front left tyre was deflating at rapid speed but she pushed onwards, determined to get it to the repair shop. The cost of a new tyre would probably be double the price she charged for her lesson that day, but she could worry about that later.

It was a great relief when she reached her destination. The faulty tyre was making that awful, tell-tale grating sound that set her teeth on edge. She parked her silver Toyota Corolla in the front and got out, taking a moment to brush down her silky blouse before she walked inside the shop. It felt weird to be in her work clothes in a public place. She missed the comfort of her mom-jeans and favourite jacket.

It was her usual repair shop; the place she always brought her car when there was an issue or a required check-up. Recently it had been bought and placed under new management, so she wondered if she would see any familiar faces or if they had already been ‘reallocated’ to make room for the new boss’ own employees. She grimaced – a common reaction whenever she realised she might have to talk to someone new. She almost felt like walking straight out again, but that would be ridiculous. She was an adult. She could handle this.

The only worker she could see… didn’t really look like an employee. He looked like a stereotypical biker; tattoos and all, the type of guy Misti usually had very little need nor desire to speak to. At least he seemed like someone who would be knowledgeable about vehicles.

“Excuse me, hi.” Misti smiled apologetically when she had his attention, though she was struggling to prevent her exasperation from leaking through onto her expression. “I know I don’t have an appointment but one of my tyres is flat, do you have time to replace it? Or do I need to come back later?” Regardless, she was not going anywhere in her car. She’d have to get the bus or call a cab to get home, and she’d probably have to pay an additional fee for the repair shop to hold her car for God knows how long before an official appointment could be arranged.



@deacon

[Deleted]

It hasn't been long ever since he arrived in town. The MC made sure to buy the local repairshop to have a little alibi for Deacon, and he welcomes having another excuse to look at bikes and cars all day, as if he needed excuses. They kept most of the staff to avoid suspicion and to keep the repair shop running when someone from the MC wasn't around. Deacon was in charge of overlooking the place and he had given everyone a day off as earlier he ran a check on the shop, had to make sure the place was nice and legit, had everything he needed to work and he didn't want an old guy asking too many questions while he was at it.

After he was done he decided to work on one of the cars. The hood was open and it was practically begging to be repaired, he couldn't help but check what was making the engine cry. At least some mechanic tomorrow is going to be really happy someone did his job for him. It was almost therapeutic to work on a machine again, an hour passed and it felt like five minutes. Little by little he was assembling the pieces of the puzzle, or putting an engine back together after removing some troublesome parts. 

His attention swapped to the car parking on the front. His gaze switching to the woman that owned said car. She was definitely beautiful, well-dressed and had a nice car. It looks like she walked straight from an office or some fancy-pants appointment. The mechanic sighed as he adjusted his hair, placing his golden locks back to look more presentable and hopefully make the interaction with another would be snobby costumer shorter.

He was wearing his usual jeans, leather belt and boots covered in spots of grease, jeans jacket with the sleeves ripped out and sunglasses on his pockets, the jacket was open revealing his strong chest and some of his tattoos. This uniform was basically his second skin. His MC patch on the back of his vest.

Cleaning his hands on a piece of cloth he walked towards the woman as she introduced herself, his expression was neutral so far. "Hi. I'm Deacon." Flat tyre, that's less than half an hour of work. Wouldn't feel right to leave a costumer waiting or having to get a cab when he can do it in a blink of an eye. "You don't need an appointment, its just a flat tyre. I can get it changed in no time at all." He switches his attention off of her for a moment to grab his jack, wrench and a spare tyre, carrying it to the front since it probably would waste no time at all.

"That's a nice ride." He comments trying to keep it polite, sliding the jack under the car and preparing to work his magic. "That will be a hundred. You're just going to pay me for the tyre, feel free to wait around inside, there are chairs, this shouldn't take too long." Deacon definitely didn't need or want the likely snobby costumer breathing down his neck.

Misti Manning

[Misti Manning]

Deacon introduced himself pleasantly enough despite his neutral expression. Misti noted his accent; southern, not from Los Eurosia. Texas, perhaps?

Luckily he didn’t offer her a handshake. She’d spotted the dirt and grease on his hands and felt it would be awkward to refuse without looking snooty. The tension eased from her shoulders as he agreed to change her tyre, glad that he didn’t speak to her as gruffly as she expected and relieved her car would be fixed sooner rather than later. “Thank you. I’m Misti,” she returned the favour of introducing herself on a first name basis. She knew as a customer she didn’t really need to, but it felt polite, and he would likely see her name later on her payment card anyway.

She followed Deacon outside and absently thanked him again when he complimented her ride. It hadn’t been her first choice. The Corolla wasn’t the most expensive car on the market but it cost her more than she’d wanted to spend on a vehicle. She’d been content to buy a second-hand one from an elderly attendant at her dad’s church, simply needing it to reach the neighbourhoods that didn’t have public transport. Then a friend of a friend declared Misti couldn’t exactly market herself to rich people as a trustworthy professional if she had a shoddy, generations-old car.

Upon Deacon’s suggestion for her to sit inside, she bit her lip, glancing back at the repair shop door. She wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing if she waited in there, and the weather was mild enough that she felt comfortable standing in the parking lot. She might have been tempted if it were raining, yet even then she would have ultimately stayed outside to hold an umbrella up for him. It would have been cruel to make him work in the rain while she stayed cosy and dry. “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t mind hanging around. You might need me to pass things to you.” He probably wouldn’t.

It suddenly registered that he said she’d only have to pay for the tyre. That didn’t sound right. Her gaze returned to him. “I should pay you for your time as well,” she frowned. “Even if you can do it quickly, that’s still a skill I don’t have. I’m not going to take advantage of you.” It didn’t sit right with her that she could be getting free manual labour. It was possible he had an hourly wage from the repair shop, but she didn’t know that for certain and he’d been happy to help her despite her lack of appointment – were these even his working hours?

She resisted the urge to shuffle her feet, and instead glanced around at the other cars. She hated small-talk with strangers almost as much as she hated deep conversations with, well, anyone, but it would be weird if she stood there in silence while he worked. “Sounds like you’re far from home. What brings you all the way to California?”



@deacon

[Deleted]

His accent was definitely from Texas, it wasn't 'full texan' as he was still a city boy, but even someone that knows next to nothing about accents would pick it up.

Nodded as she returned her name, he expected costumers to be more formal-like but he couldn't complain. Deacon mostly throws his first name out there as he doesn't care for formalities, if a costumer wanted to stick on a last name basis then so be it, if they wanted to stay at first names then its all the better.

But she really had to stay around? Now he bets she is going to make small talk or worse, be on his ass every 5 seconds asking if the job is done. Deacon preferred the costumers that stayed nice and quiet inside. Well, at least she is nice to look at and isn't one of the middle aged dads with the same "my life sucks" talk. Despite this he wouldn't show his displeasure, he'd try to focus on the job to get it done as soon as possible. "I won't need the help, I have everything I need here." 

He really didn't care about tossing his manual labor on the house, after all he runs the place and this is a menial task. Any other costumer would see this as an opportunity and stay out of his hair. He sighs as he was on his knee, loosening the bolts to remove the tyre. "I appreciate the thought but there is no need. You're probably on your way back from your shift when your tyre popped and now the last thing you need is someone to charge a liver for a new tyre and kneeling for five minutes to change it. If you really want to pay me back then come to my shop next time your engine fails our you need an oil change."

She had to make small-talk, and to ask him where he came from. Typical for small talk, but still annoying. He preferred when people didn't ask questions, but still, a costumer is a costumer. "Friend of mine bought the place. Wanted to expand on business. I used to work for him back on Texas and he asked if I could run the place for him. Pay is good and he is a good friend too, so here I am." A portion of it was true, he was doing a favor for a couple of friends but running the place isn't the only favor.

"Its a nice place. It has some good roads to ride my bike and the business is steady. What about you? Live here long?" 


Misti Manning

[Misti Manning]

Despite the concern Misti expressed, Deacon seemed determined to work for free. She folded her arms, ready to argue, then realised any attempt to dissuade him would probably be useless. He hadn’t casually brushed her off with a ‘ah no, it’s fine’ like someone might do out of politeness; he had given a full explanation and a suggestion of how she could pay him back. Clearly his decision had been made, and she didn’t really want to make the situation any more awkward by fighting it. “Thank you, I will,” she conceded. Just don’t be surprised when you get an extra tip.

He explained that his friend now owned the repair shop and had given it to him to run. Again, she felt she had misjudged him. It took a responsible person to run a business; if he were a stereotypical fickle biker like she’d assumed, he probably would have already run the place into the ground. “Wow, you must be close to move across states for him. How long have you been doing this sort of work?” She tried to imagine moving halfway across the country and found herself unable to. She couldn’t do it. Her father was in Los Eurosia – as were the few friends she had. While the idea of completely starting over where no one knew who they were might appeal to some people, Misti couldn’t think of anything worse. Having to build up her business and new relationships from scratch sounded scary.

She nodded when Deacon asked if she had lived in Los Eurosia for long. “Born and raised. I’ve never been very interested in going anywhere else. Everything I could want is here, you know?” Her lips twitched and her tone turned slightly teasing. “Well, I suppose you don’t know.” Obviously, he was more into travelling than her. He probably wasn’t the type of person who wanted to settle anywhere for too long.

It was interesting to watch him skilfully remove the tyre from her car. He made it look easy. Maybe she could learn too, in case she got a puncture again. Though she supposed knowing how to change a tyre would be useless if she didn’t have a spare on hand, and she wasn’t sure if it was worth keeping an extra one if it meant continually weighing her car down.

“What kind of things are you into? As a native, maybe I could point you in the direction of a few hidden spots,” she suggested. Someone might assume that because of their differences, Misti wouldn’t know of any stores or places Deacon would be interested in. But having lived there all her life, it was impossible not to know Los Eurosia like the back of her hand. Whenever a new business popped up or an old one crumbled, she was sure to know about it; if not by witnessing it herself, then by hearing it from her gossipy neighbour.


@deacon

[Deleted]

He was thankful she didn't press the topic of compensation. Clients could get really annoying with the back and fourth. Maybe he has misjudged her, at first he thought she was a run of the mill stuck up client that can't help but complain at every turn, the kind of person that probably works in a shitty office and takes their frustation on the first person they interact with. Or just a rich girl that thinks they're the number one priority on the world and fuck everyone else. Or just a bad client, having car problem usually leaves people with a foul mood. At least she was being polite so far.

"We are close, went to his wedding and everything." He didn't need to disclosure anything else, it wasn't wise to speak of members of the MC to a "civilian", he doubts she is undercover or something like that, just someone striking small chat. It was the truth though, they are pretty close and being vague is Deacon's way of lying without overcomplicating himself. After all he didn't need to give her his whole life story as he fixed her wheel.

"At least ten years. Was young, needed some cash to buy some wheels and the town's mechanic was basically my uncle. A friend of my dad's, but he basically grew up with him. He taught me how to fix cars, I made some money and he had a brand new helper on his shop. Sweet deal if you ask me." This is how most stories go, being a mechanic is something that is mostly a family trade or something that you pick up from a friend or a friend of a friend. Deacon was just fortunate enough to have someone to teach him, he definitely can't learn shit from textbooks.

Changing a tyre was easy for Deacon. He had done it easily over a thousand times by now. He can do it even with his eyes closed. The only thing that is time consuming is loosening up the screws. If it was easy and fast then the road would be filled with loose tyres rolling about. He worked very quickly with both hands, as if he was a well oiled machine himself.

"I wouldn't know. Never spent too long in one spot. I go where the wind takes me. This time I might stay around longer, have to watch over the business for my friend and from the looks of it a lot happens on this town. Won't grow bored so soon." Los Eurosia really is a wild place, he has been a short time and hasn't had the time to look around as much, but from what he heard about the city its at least more lively than the boring town he crawled out in Texas. Too bad the others in the MC weren't here to spice things up.

"I have my basics covered for now. But I can do with learning where the best bar is and where I can get a new guitar. That bad boy over there is getting a little rusty." He points to a brown guitar with dark edges that is sitting inside of the shop on a chair, despite being old its well kept. Deacon doesn't feel the need to ask more questions, they probably have nothing in common. 


Misti Manning

[Misti Manning]

Misti only hummed in acknowledgement. She didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary in his story – there was nothing to suggest criminal activity but, really, he’d be a terrible crook if he revealed himself after one question. She was beginning to think she could have sat inside the repair shop and stayed out of the way after all. Yet a small, paranoid part of her still insisted he was a dodgy-looking stranger who could tamper with her car to make her return and spend more money. 

“You go where the wind takes you,” she repeated, a little dryly but without malice. “Isn’t that a bit cliché?” She could imagine him using it as a line, playing the mysterious traveller angle to reel in girls. Before she could tell him this and potentially tease him for it, he pointed out a guitar sitting just inside the shop. Misti straightened.

“You play?” she blurted, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She shook herself and swiftly continued before he could answer. “Um, Pat’s Bar is considered one of the best. Simple but effective, and it draws in a range of different crowds. There’s also Johnny’s, which is less well-known and more –” she failed to find the right word for it – “your type of place, I’d guess. They’re on separate ends of the same street.” Johnny’s was the type of place where there was always a row of motorcycles lined up outside. Stepping into it always felt like entering an old western movie with its wooden floorboards, round dimly lit tables, and the fact smoking was allowed inside. The few arcade machines and pool tables made it a bit more modern, and most of the patrons were over thirty and had tattoo sleeves. Not a place Misti liked, but Deacon might.

“And you play guitar,” she mused. “I can’t say I expected that, but that’s great! Learning an instrument takes real dedication, most people don’t understand how many hours it takes to play – and how many hours it takes to play well.” She cleared her throat, stopping herself before she could get too impassioned and go on a tangent. He might not be as serious about music as she was, and she never liked the thought of coming across as too intense. “Anyway, there’s plenty of music stores downtown and you can easily spot them by their terrible names. All of them are puns. 'Lord of the Strings' has the best quality instruments, or if you decide not to buy a new one, you can go to 'No Strings Attached' and ask for Steve. He can refurbish it for you for a pretty low price.” She shot him an appraising look. “How long have you been playing?”


@deacon