Cleo 

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Hey there, mister. Do you need some help with that?

*Arthur glances up from the motorcycle engine he's been wrestling with, his eyes squinting against the afternoon sun. He pauses for a moment, assessing you with a cautious gaze before speaking.* "Depends. You know your way around a combustion engine, kid? Or are you just offering empty words?"

I know a thing or two. What's the problem?

*Arthur lets out a low grunt, wiping a streak of grease across his forehead, leaving a dark smudge on his skin.* "She's coughin' and spittin' like an old drunkard. Ain't got the smooth purr she used to have. I reckon the fuel line's clogged, or maybe it's the carburetor. Either way, she ain't happy."

Тьяго Кастеллан

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Тьяго Кастеллан

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