Primal Crusade #1 - The Garage

The garage was huge and well stocked with all sorts of automotive tools and parts. Oil stained the concrete and the smell of steel, gasoline and grease permeated the air. When it came to fixing or modifying a vehicle, you name it, this garage was likely to have it. Or at least something that would do in a pinch.

E.Z. Morgan cracked his knuckles loudly and scratched his chin, spreading even more grease into his thick beard than was already there. He'd already stripped off his shirt due to overheating. And when you're packing as much body hair as he did, it was a frequent occurrence. The coveralls he'd started with were also stripped down to his waist, leaving his chest bared and splattered with grease as well. He didn't seem to care however. It was common actually. He stared for several long moments at his newest pet project. An old tow-truck, one of those industrial ones that tow the big, heavy vehicles when necessary. He'd already gotten rid of the tow cable and was working on modifying the tow-arm into something more... interesting. He'd hit a snag though. Namely, he didn't know what something more interesting was gonna be. He knit his brow in thought and took a seat on the small stool near him. It groaned in protest, but again, he didn't seem to notice. On the A-Team they would have mounted a gun turret or something equally as nasty on the old tow-arm. But this wasn't the A-Team. Driving down the highway with a mounted gun on the back of your truck was asking for trouble no matter how cool it would be. No, something more practical, and legal, needed to be done with it. But what? He'd been pondering that for the last hour but everything he came up with was either useless or the aforementioned illegal. At least he'd gotten the thing running again. Reinforced the body, upgraded the engine. Sure, it would be a fuel pig, but that's part of the reason he added a secondary fuel tank. If he could just figure out what to do with that blasted tow-arm, he'd be set.

A knock - if you could call it that - resounded on the heavy pull door of the garage. The sort of sound a wrench makes when pounded on metal. There was a split-moment's silence... not really long enough for anyone to actually answer the door, when a voice called out.

"Eh! Open it up in there, man, this thing's fuckin' heavy, a'right?"

Seth's knees were braced, and his wiry, ropey muscle was taught with strain, but there wasn't much longer he could hold it. It, of course, being an engine out of a truck he'd picked up a couple weeks back from a salvage. There's been a request put in for an engine of this description back at Mickey's shop, and Seth hadn't any specific plans for it, so he thought why not - haul it on over. After all, he'd heard a rumour in the underground - in the 'thrope circles, if you will - that this guy was a Were. Accounts conflicted - but he was supposed to be something big. Seth nearly grinned just thinking about it. He liked the bigger ones, they were more straight forward, more honest (usually), and easier to read. Which made Seth's side of things that much easier. He hated having to deal with tricksy, little, shit-disturbers. After all, he had to live with himself everyday, and mama always said: variety is the spice o' life.

E.Z.'s brow furled as he turned his head, slowly, to the door of his shop. He wasn't exactly expecting visitors, and the shop was in a fairly remote area. Most of the surrounding businesses were vacant or locked up tight this time of the evening. Locals didn't like to be out when the sun started to set. It didn't bother Morgan though. He could handle any two bit punk who tried anything. Heck, he could probably handle a gang of two bits punks by himself, though he didn't have any desire to try anytime soon. Still, the punks didn't knock, nor did they announce themselves. This had a more businessy sound to it.

Grabbing his twenty pound sledge, just in case, he shouldered it one-handed with ease. A small smirk played across his face recalling caving in the skull of a Demon with this particular hammer. That was the most satisfying crunch he'd ever heard. The smirk evaporated as he reached the door and pulled it open with his free hand. He glared at the man on the other side of the door through narrowed eyes, evaluating him and his apparent intentions.

"Yeah?" he droned in a low, lazy bass tone. He could sense that the other was a Were, but that didn't mean anything. Judging by the engine in his hands and the look on his face however, Morgan didn't see any viable threat. He slipped the sledge off his shoulder and leaned it beside the door. "Selling, trading or need repairing?" he asked simply, nodding to the engine the visitor was straining to hold aloft.

"Deliverin'." Seth replied, shuffling forward to get over the threshold and looked around the expansive garage with appreciative eyes. "Where d'you want it?" Seth shrugged his shoulders, his knuckles white with the weight of the thing. "It's the LQ9 you ordered."

He had a chance to eye the guy over, and Were or no, he was already big. Seth felt pretty tiny in comparison to the guy. He noticed the sledge by the door; he pictured it swung in those hands and found himself grinning. He began to wonder off-handedly if he ever fought Demons with a thing like that. If he did, Ed and Dari would be pleased to know of it.

Morgan looked at Seth with a peculiar gaze as the smaller man walked past him into the garage and still struggling with the engine. He had indeed put feelers out for an engine like that, but hadn't heard anything yet. Now some Were just shows up at his door claiming to be delivering one. It was convenient to say the least. And usually that's what Morgan did. Say the least.

"On the table." he retorted, pointing past Seth to a large, slightly cluttered steel work table. He made no effort to help Seth. Not that he doubted him or didn't like the look of him, but out of sheer curiosity whether he could hoist the heavy chunk of mechanics up onto the table. It was kind of perverse to get any sort of entertainment from it, but he made his peace with that quickly. Maybe next time some advanced notice would be reciprocated with a helping hand. If there was a next time.

"Hope it isn't stolen." he stated, knowing already that is wasn't. This guy seemed familiar somehow. Like a few guys he'd heard about around town. Though he didn't know who and he didn't know any of them were Weres. He didn't really run in Were circles, so his contacts were almost exclusively mundane. "And thanks. I am looking for a LQ9. How much?"

Seth shuffled over to table and with a grunt. The hair and claws shifted out of his hands and the strength that came with it hauled the engine up onto the table quite neatly, without too much of a heavy clang.

Once it was safely resting on steel, Seth stepped back, letting the fur shift back to skin and shook his arms out. He gave a rakish grin and stuffed his hands into his pockets and openly surveyed the place. "Nice digs. Is this your place?" he asked, taking a few steps forward in horridly scuffed steel-toed boots and grease-stained coveralls tied about the waist. He looked less small and less skinny without the giant truck engine in his arms, his personality and personal magnetism giving him a bigger-than-life aura.

"As for price, since the truck was mine for parts, we can negotiate what you want. One of the pipes is a bit dinged up, but I tuned the thing, and it runs great still. I'd let it go for $600 or so... Unless you wanna trade it for pieces instead? I'm easy-going." He stood there grinning about for a moment or two, then stepped forward, swinging out a rigid hand for a shake to the other man. "Seth McGrath, man. Good to meet you."

Morgan looked at Seth's outstretched hand for a moment, then took a hold of it with a firm, non-crushing handshake. He still didn't quite know what to make of Seth, but that was alright. He'd heard of this dude. Supposedly he was good with vehicle graphics, which didn't really appeal to Morgan, and motorcycles. The latter of which was something Morgan hadn't had much luck with. Though, he always wanted a chopper solid enough to carry his bulk.

"Six hundred?" he repeated with a furled brow. The price was good, but he was a little strapped for cash at the moment. "I've got a bunch of spare parts out back, you're free to root through ‘em. If you find anything, we can work something out."

The sort of grin that Seth gave the other man was one that might've given one pause. It seemed to say: Aaah, precisely what I was hoping you'd say...

Seth didn't need to be asked twice and just started stalking to the back of the garage, rubbing his hands together and putting on an ostentatious chortle as he went. "Oh ho! Parts for Sethums, yes yes, parts for meee!"

He literally kicked open the back door with the toe of his boot and stepped out into the yard with wide spread arms. "Ba-boom baby! Come to ol' Seth with your glorious potential!"

Morgan followed along behind Seth, intrigued and kind of confused at the other mans actions. He grabbed a plastic milk crate that was near the door and pushes it into Seth's hands. "Grab whatever you want. Most of it out here has no project use to me at the moment."

The area behind the shop was covered, but without any walls per say. The buildings around it sort of formed all the walls needed. Plus, few would screw with Morgan's stuff. There were piles of scrap metal, auto parts, and what have you everywhere. It wasn't so much organized, but departmentalised to a degree. He really did need to sort it out someday, but he knew where everything was, and that's what really mattered.

"Yeah, it is my place." he responded to the earlier question. "I've heard of you." Morgan let a smile spread across his square jaw and scratched his beard. "Not all of it bad."

Seth took the milk crate and swung it about in his hands, grinning around at the pile of possibility before him. He nearly leapt to the first pile of scraps, crouching down in a squat as he rooted through bits of mangled metal, raw frame parts, detached lights and fenders, wheel spokes and pistons. He chatted easily over his shoulder as he inspected pieces - peering down their length through one squinted eye, or tinging their resonance with a grubby thumbnail, tossing this one back into the pile or hauling this one out and stacking it carefully into the milk crate.

"Oh-ho, heard o' me, eh? Not all bad, you say? That means you musta talked to any number of my ex's..." Seth grinned wolfishly over his shoulder, the canine mannerisms of his were-self showing through a tad in his enthusiasm. "If it had been all-bad, you'd've talk to m'ma." He tsked under his breath and shook his head, absorbed in inspecting a fuel-injector. Into the crate. "But yeah, 'm about a'right. Work over at Mickey's, y'know, and got a small shop o’ m’own, too. Over'n all that... I'm like you, so, word of our types tends to spin through the ranks purdy quick." Seth grinned up at him again, scratching at his messy blond faux-hawk with greasy hands.

"So, how come I never see you run with us? You with a different Crew?" He sniffed unconsciously then, trying to pick up any trace of another Were on him.

Seth couldn't pick up any significant trace of another Were on Morgan, simply because he didn't socialize with others of their kind very often. He'd crossed paths with them, like he did now with Seth, but he didn't openly associate with many. He'd met a big bruiser of a gorilla when he first came to town. Ed, or something like that. The guy talked about the war against Demons and more gave Morgan the impression of an army drill sergeant than a recruiter. Morgan opted to not join the fight. A decision that hadn't gone over well. If he recalled, there was talk about how he'd regret the decision and when the Demons came for him, he was as good as dead without allies to back him up. Morgan wasn't scared by the speech. He'd taken care of himself thus far without dying. Besides, just because he didn't run with a Crew, didn't mean he didn't have allies.

"No Crew. Just me." He responded plainly as he began to half-heartedly poke around the parts piles himself. The truck needed more. It needed something. Even if he had no idea what to do with the tow arm, it still needed a few touches to make it look more apocalyptic. That's what the client wanted. Heavy, post apocalyptic type vehicle, no weapons. And it had to be street legal. Apart from that, they had given Morgan carte blanche.

"You a fighter?" he asked over his thickly muscled shoulder. "Heard you were just a good mechanic." Morgan had heard a damn sight more than that, but Seth didn't seem the type that needed his impressive talents reaffirmed.

Seth slid a sly, jackal-like grin over at Morgan and leered at him. "No Crew? At all? Not many ‘round these parts who say that so lightly. So, what's your beef? You a quitter? Or you had some dame break your heart? Or...you like Demons, all cuddly like?" Seth sat back on his haunches, idly flipping a flat washer over the backs of his knuckles.

"I mean no disrespect man, but it ain't all bad, y'know. Take me, for e'zample." Seth prodded a few more grease spots on his grubby wife beater. "I'm a fighter a'right, sure. I'm gritty and dirty and not as noble as some in a fray. But sometimes that's what it takes." He sniffed and rubbed at the ring in his septum. "And sometimes it takes big, burly, sledge-hammer wielding...whate'r y'are." He gestured vaguely at the massive bulk that was Morgan and shrugged, raising eyebrows before quickly grinning again. "It's not like a girl guide camp, y'know. Dorian's not got us making anti-demon wallets and singing koombaya. I come and go as I please...but in a scrape I know someone's got my back." He paused and then leapt on a carburetor and hauled it excitedly from the rubble before finding fault with the mounts and tossing it back down again.

"Hey, we could even get crazy and say, you might even get attached to one of them out there like you - y'know, a Were friend is a nice thing to have. And Hell knows, you'd be a mighty comforting guy to have watching over one's shoulder in a dark alley."

Morgan glared at Seth when he joked about liking Demons. If looks could kill, well, let’s just say bits of Seth would be raining down over the area. Of course he didn't like Demons. He didn't like anyone who discriminated against him for just being who he was, let alone anyone who tried to kill him for it. From his experience, Demons didn't differentiate between the Weres that fought back and those who just tried to avoid it all. They were equal opportunity killers. He guessed that's why they were Demons.

"Bison." he informed, standing fully upright and cracking his neck. Morgan might not have been super tall, but he was still over six feet in height and damn near the same in shoulder width. Barrel-chested with thick, powerful muscle he could be imposing if he chose to. Most of the time he didn't choose to, however. So when he turned to face Seth full on, he kept a more passive posture. "Friends huh? I have friends who watch my back. They ain't our kind, but compared to the bootcamp asshole who tried to recruit me to the cause, I'd take them anytime."

He glared at Seth again and walked back to the door he'd let the other man in through. Picking up the twenty pound sledge again, he stomped back into the back scrap yard, straight towards Seth. Pausing before him, he stared long and hard. His lip started to curl, then his expression cracked into a smile. "But you seem okay. Call me if you need a hand." And he turned and went back into the shop leaving Seth alone and likely unsure if he meant if he needed a hand with the parts or in the future. A few moment later, the sound of the sledge hammering dense metal rang out. Morgan got back to work.

"Bison?" Seth just grinned. It never ceased to amuse him how Weres could interact - predator and prey - as if they weren't enemies in the wild. But the nasty look he'd gotten didn't go away. Seth remembered it and marked off a little check point in his mental tally. Not a guy to fuck around with, that was for sure. Hrm. Re-evaluate.

Then the big man came out with his big ol' sledge and Seth bristled, hackles literally rose from the back of his neck before the other man grinned. When he offered help, Seth gave a sort of wheezy laugh and nodded, a terse smile in place. He didn't like that kind of jest. Served him right, really. After all, mouthy usually met fisty if it didn't know when to quit.

He finished up rooting through the piles for parts, ending up kicking out an old barrel he found in the yard and transferring his loot into it. After all, you couldn't really stuff 600 bucks worth o' scraps into a milk carton - not from this pile, at any rate. He hoisted the barrel up in his arms and shuffled back into the Garage.

"Oi, Bison, you want to inventory this lot, or what?" He plopped the barrel down with a healthy ka-chunk and stood up, stretching out. He retied his coverall sleeves around his waist and scratched at his ear.

Morgan looked up from what he was doing, which apparently involved hitting metal with a sledgehammer until it behaved the way he wanted it. Beads of sweat tumbled from his forehead and lodged themselves in his beard and chest hair. Already the air was permeated with a musky scent. He shouldered the hammer again and tugged off the glove from his other hand.

"No need to inventory." he retorted, eyeing the barrel. "You got an honest face." He again cracked a smile. "Are we square?"

"An...honest face?" Seth spluttered incredulously. "Okay, that does it!" he stepped around the barrel and came striding forward, reaching into his pocket and swinging his arm up to stop with hand extended inches from Morgan's face.

In his fingers, a business card was clutched,

Mickey's Automotive.
Your Needs, With speed.

Seth McGrath ... 604-742-3049

"You seriously need to get out more. Beer sometime? Some Pool?" He grinned then, a quirky, half-arched thing that caused his eyes to squint, making him look every part a coyote.

Morgan didn't flinch, blink or otherwise react to Seth's rather odd physical manoeuvrings. If the coyote intended to strike him, the hammer would have struck back a hell of a lot harder. But he could sense no hostility, so it was a moot point anyways. Instead Morgan just looked at Seth's crooked grin, then the card and finally took it from the rather odd man. Even though Seth was way more boisterous than Morgan ever cared to be, they had things in common. So why not try and be friends. At the very least, they could collaborate on something in the future. From what he'd heard, Seth was a whiz with the fiddly little detail crap the Morgan always came up short on.

"Yeah. Maybe." He said with a nod of his large cranium. "Got a sec?" He didn't really wait for a response before motioning for Seth to follow him. He walked to the other end of the shop where 'The Beast' was sitting. That's what he'd nicknamed the truck he'd been working on before Seth's arrival. The thing was huge, so the name fit.

"Been working on this." He said, pointing like he needed to clarify what he was talking about, even though it was obvious. "Having a problem with the tow arm. Not sure what to do with it. Supposed to look post-apocalyptic except street legal and unarmed. Any suggestions?"

‘Maybe.’ Seth cackled and shook his head. That's about as good an answer as he was likely to get now or ever. He perked up though, when Morgan asked him if he had a moment. He scampered along behind the bigger guy, catching sight of the Beast and looking it over as they neared.

"Street legal, mn?" Seth wandered around it, looking at the modifications that had already been done. He could tell there was some money going into this project. Street racers? Film company? Industrial instalment? Hrm, hrm...

He stepped back and framed his hands around it, measuring by sight the proportions and lengths he had to work with. "What if..." He reached into his baggy pockets and drew out a small dog-eared sketch pad and a stub of a pencil. "What if... you built up armoured plexy-glass around the cab here, angle it up to a sort of hexagonal dome, right... Then here..." scribble, sketch, sketch. Seth's lines were jagged and heavy, but he drew with clean, almost tribal lines. "Then, if you lift the tow-arm up, right, and mount it on a swivel-bed, like they use on portable cranes, you can have a ball-and-chain gag going. The sort of, swing it into battle to clear a path, move. Kinda Thunderdome, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows up at the other, curious for his reaction.

Morgan's brow knit as he envisioned Seth's idea. The sketch was rough, but it gave him the idea well enough. He weighed it against what the production company had asked for but wasn't sure. He'd fulfilled all of what they'd asked for thus far. Big, heavy, armoured, street legal and well-worn looking. Check, check, check, check and check. He was given free reign beyond that as long as it didn't get turned into something war-oriented. They didn't want spikes or guns or a ram prow. They said it was supposed to be a transport mainly.

"Don't know. That might work." He squinted at the vehicle and rubbed his beard. "Not supposed to be a war wagon though. More transport." He started to walk around the vehicle again, as he had many times before. He took in all the angles, and in his peripheral vision he took in the parts lining the walls and piled in the corners of the room.

"Maybe." he started, moving to a hunk of metal that was once a fork lift. "If I rig the forks and lift assembly to the tow arm..."

Seth blinked at his sketch and then at the truck. "Oh, well, then that's right out. Transport, hrm..." He thought about it, and then flipped a page in his sketchbook and began scribbling anew. He began talking again as he drew, half-mumbling to himself. "What if you mounted something - like a car, or something more mobile than this big lug - something fast... to a bracket, and had the tow arm unfold, rotating the smaller vehicle to touch ground so that...while in high speeds, the pilot of the smaller vehicle could rev and hit the road with wheels spinning... leaving both to function simultaneously?" He threw a final harsh line under the scribble to signify road and flipped the book around for Morgan to see. This sketch - if possible - was even rougher than the previous, but it showed the tow arm unfolding, the mechanics of the mounting rotating the vehicle from up-side-down to upright and touching down on asphalt. "Too much?" Seth asked, thinking of the sort of money that kind of hydraulics and electronic control would cost.

Morgan looked at Seth, momentarily pulled from his own idea by Seth’s. "You don't watch much TV, do you?" He asked shaking his head. Seth's plan was just like something you'd see in the movies. Dynamic, spectacular and just plain cool. The problem was, it wasn't real. "That show, Mythbusters, proved you can't hit the ground running. Even with a vehicle." He didn't want to throw cold water on Seth's imagination, but functional was the plan even if it was for a movie shoot.

"It's not all bad though." Morgan glanced at the new sketch with a critical eye. "Too complex. I have an idea. Can I borrow your pad?" He asked, reaching with one beefy hand.

Seth actually stuck out his tongue at that. "What, no special effects at all? What lunatic wants to actually drive this thing around the streets? The cops won't like that, even if it is street legal." He waved his hands as if dismissing the whole thing, shoved his sketchbook back into his pocket, and left his hands in his coveralls, standing there, looking up at the big machine. "I don't fuckin' know. I build choppers, man. You're the one with the anti-sci-fi apocalypse lug."

Morgan creased his brow and retracted his hand. Seth was pouting apparently. Interesting. Stalking over to a battered steel desk in the corner, he yanked a drawer open with a metallic squeal and withdrew an oil stained notebook, dog-eared and torn. He kept digging and came up with a black sharpie. "Don't pout." He commented, returning to the other Were.

"Just ‘cuz we can't hit the ground running. Doesn't mean it won't work." He scribbled a few heavy lines, art was never a strong point for him. "And they're trying do everything as real as possible. The actors are even doing their own stunts. No special effects if they can help it."

After a moment of scribbling, he turned the page to face Seth. "If the secondary vehicle hit the ground in neutral, the driver can drop into gear and punch the accelerator with forward momentum." He smiled for a moment, then returned to neutrality. "Instead of flipping the vehicle around though, we can simplify the separation mechanic. Wanna help?"

Seth kind of looked over at him, but appeared to be sucking at his teeth. "I'm not really so great with stuff like that... I build choppers - I do sleek, pretty paint-jobs, standard construction, just....twisted a bit." He scratched at his faux-hawk and then shoved his hands back into his pocket. Man, a smoke would be good...

"If you got some welding or paint jobs you need, then I could help, sure, but you gotta explain the vision in detail or I might run off and turn the front end of your truck into a nice bike." He squinted up at the big lug of a machine and chortled under his breath. "It suits you, y'know."

Morgan nodded as he looked at the beast of the motor vehicle. It wasn't pretty, it was large, strong and heavy. It did kind of suit him. Although, he'd never drive anything that massive on a regular basis. He'd pulled his time behind the wheel of the big machines on a construction site. He didn't miss it. Heck, it was fixing those same machines that got him here. And he preferred here. "True."

He tossed the notebook onto the steel desk and pulled a grease stained towel from a hook on the wall. "Okay... fuck this." He turned to Seth and thumbed at the beast of a truck. "I'm starving. Wanna get a beer and some grub?" He wiped his greasy hands on the towel, and tossed it back onto the hook.

That wolfish grin again. Seth thumbed his pockets and rocked on his heels. "Now yer talking! I'm in the mood for Meat. Big ol' Ribs. Or a bison burger." He paused, eying the other. "You ain't a vegetarian or sommat are ya?" He started snort-chortling under his breath again, finding the whole contrast hilarious. "Funny thing, nature, y'know? making some big ol' lug like you nibbling away on grass in the corner, and giving some scrawny fuck like me the task of trying to take you down. What the fuck, eh?" He shook his head and stepped towards the door he'd come in by. "How are we heading? Separate vehicles or you wanna drive? My ride ain't exactly gonna hold ya."

Morgan actually let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Bison burger?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow. "I'm never telling you to bite me." He made his way into a small bathroom attached to the shop and ran water, cleaning up a bit before heading out. "There's a pub near here, they have decent food and beer. The waitress is one of 'us' as well."

He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on, exiting the bathroom and pulling his coverall's back into place. "I can drive. My truck is outside."

"Is my Gunner going to be safe just out there? Or have you got a place I can park it for a bit? She's uh...well, she's the one lady who never leaves me. I'd kinda like to make sure she's safe out here, y'know?" He watched the other get cleaned up and looked down at himself. With a wry grin he shook his head. "Aw, I came straight from the shop, I ain't exactly dolled up, man. You don't mind having an ugly date, do ya?"

Morgan looked Seth up and down, not finding anything wrong with the way he was dressed. He'd been cleaner than Morgan, so it didn't really strike him as out of the ordinary until it was brought up. "Out of the two of us, I hold the patent on ugly." He added with a simple grin. "You look fine, you girl. And just pull the bike in here. No one with screw with it."

Morgan grabbed his keys and hit the button to open the bay door so Seth could bring his bike in. "Just find a scrap of space and park it. I'll set the alarm." It was true no one would screw with the shop. The last guys ended up in intensive care. And one didn't make it out. "I want a bike someday. Something that'll hold me."

As the door opened up, Seth's "Gunner" came into view. It was long and sleek, a thing gleaming in burnished dark steel. The wheels were on long suspension, the engine full of chrome and raw pistons. The gas tank was done up in swirling dark colours and polished lines. Seth went to it and lifting it easily off the kickstand rolled it forward. "Oh, Gunner here is good to 1000 pounds, easy. It's more the torque you'd get - or not get - with a guy your size. I've built stuff for people as big as you - but I dunno if they were up to your weight. You look like a dense mother. Still. I could do it."

The Gunner in place, he gave the leather seat a loving pat and then stepped back outside again. "Shall we, darling?" He asked, offering a crooked arm to the bigger man and a saucy wink. He was going to get punched in the sternum sooner or later. There was a twinge in his tendons waiting for it, almost.

Morgan just looked at Seth with that 'you are a strange little man' expression then hit the button to close the door. As it started to descend, he shoved Seth out the opening. "After you, dear."