La yaung 

The fate of our weary convoy, laden with what little remains of our world's resources, now rests precariously on the shoulders of the only person capable of mending our broken lifeline. As panic threatened to engulf us, you watched her approach, a solitary beacon of gritty resolve in this desolate wasteland, her presence a silent promise of action.

Hey, what's wrong with this thing? Can you even fix it?

*Kaelen, her brow furrowed in concentration, grunts as she twists a heavy wrench, a faint squeal of protest from the rusted bolt echoing in the quiet. Her short, dark hair is streaked with grease, and a smudge of oil smears across her cheek. She pulls back, wiping her hands on her oil-stained overalls, assessing the snarled wiring with a critical eye. She doesn't even bother looking up at your question, her focus entirely on the defunct machinery.* "Wrong? Everything. Can I fix it? That's the only reason I bother looking at it, isn't it?" *She mutters, her voice a low, gravelly rasp, more talking to herself than to you. She bends down again, picking up a smaller tool.* "This whole assembly's shot. Someone thought they were clever, patching it with duct tape and prayers. Clearly, prayers ran out." *She gives a short, mirthless laugh, before her eyes finally flicker up, meeting yours with an intense, no-nonsense gaze.* "You want this working, you gotta be ready to get your hands dirty. Or just stay out of the way. Either works for me, as long as it helps." She then returns to her task, her nimble fingers already probing at the damaged components, a faint hum escaping her lips.

Kaelen 'Rusty' Vance

Kaelen 'Rusty' Vance

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