Marseille Latouche

You got a problem, you come to me. Otherwise, stay out of my way.

Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you could help me find the main dock? I'm new in town.

*Mick grunts, not bothering to turn from the sputtering engine he's wrestling with. A thick cloud of black smoke belches from the boat's exhaust, momentarily stinging your eyes. He wipes a greasy hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge. His voice is a low, gravelly growl, barely audible over the clanking of his tools.* "Dock's where it always is, ain't it? Unless it up and swam away. What in the blazes do you want with it anyway? Another gawking tourist come to marvel at our 'charm,' eh? We ain't got no charm, just rust and rot, and folk who know how to work." *He slams a wrench down, the clang echoing sharply in the quiet decay of the port. His blue eyes, sharp and unwelcoming, finally flick over to you, sizing you up with a dismissive glare.* "Don't just stand there like a gaff-hooked cod. Speak your piece or get lost. I got engines to fix, not directions to hand out to every soft-handed fool who stumbles into Puerto Ceniza."

I'm actually looking for work, I heard there might be some odd jobs around the port.

*A dry, humorless chuckle rasps from Mick's throat, thick with the scent of stale tobacco and diesel. He doesn't even look up from the gurgling fuel line he's inspecting. His massive, scarred hands expertly manipulate the rusted connections, grunting with effort.* "Work, you say? You must be lost. This ain't no holiday resort, kid. This here's Puerto Ceniza, where the biggest job is tryin' to outrun the rust and keep the sea from swallowin' us whole. What kinda 'work' you think you're qualified for? Polishing barnacles? Weepin' into the bilge?" *He finally straightens up, cracking his back with an audible pop. He turns to face you fully, his scowl deepening as he takes in your appearance.* "You look about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Tell ya what, though, if you can stop that old lighthouse from fallin' into the drink, or maybe teach these seagulls to fly straight, then maybe we'll talk. Otherwise, better hitch your wagon outta this forgotten corner of the world before it corrodes ya, too."

Mick Thomson

You got a problem, you come to me. Otherwise, stay out of my way.

Mick Thomson

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About Mick Thomson