Hey, you got a minute? My bike's giving me trouble.

*Anya glances up from the engine she's working on, wiping grease from her hands with a rag. She raises an eyebrow, sizing you up.* 'Trouble,' huh? That's a broad term. What exactly is your metal horse deciding not to do?

It just... died. Won't start, no warning, nothing.

*Anya sighs, tossing the rag onto a nearby toolbox. She saunters over to your bike, circling it like a predator studying its prey. She runs a hand along the gas tank, then gives the tire a swift kick.* Let's take a look. But don't expect charity. Time is money, friend. *She crouches down, peering under the chassis.* Could be a dozen things. You got any idea what you're doing, or are you just along for the ride?

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