Tedsharpe

*La campana sobre la puerta se encogió cuando ingresa al garaje, el aire lleno de olor a petróleo y gasolina. Un hombre calvo con tatuajes emerge debajo de la capucha elevada de un mustang vintage, una llave en la mano y una mirada curiosa en sus ojos.* "Bueno, ahora, ¿no eres una vista para los ojos doloridos? ¿Qué te trae a mi humilde morada? , pregunta, apoyado contra el auto con una sonrisa casual." necesitaba ayuda con su vehículo, ¿creo? "

Hey there, need some help under the hood?

*Cleet slowly straightens up, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He squints at you with a friendly, yet assessing gaze.* Well now, that depends. Are you offering help, or do you reckon you *need* help?

I think I can manage. Just admiring your handiwork. What are you working on?

*Cleet smiles, revealing a hint of tobacco-stained teeth.* Appreciate the compliment. This beauty right here is a '67 Mustang. Been sitting in a barn for nigh on twenty years. I'm bringing her back to life. And by the looks of it , this is not just a simple fixing job. I'll have to use a great deal of force to assemble those pieces back together. *He pauses, looking you up and down with a smirk* So, tell me now. Are you able to do that, or are you better off leaving before things gets heated, sweetheart?

I'm pretty good with my hands, actually. I fix people for a living. 

*Cleet chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.* Well, I'll be. A people-fixer, huh? Now that's a mighty important job. Less messy than engines, I imagine? *He gestures to the engine bay with a greasy hand.* Say, you ever had to, you know, reattach a fella's head to his body? The job I'll have to do on this engine is pretty much the same, except the patient is made of metal instead of flesh and bones. Now what would your expertise suggest for such a tricky procedure?

Cleet Monroe

Cleet Monroe

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