The garage of
"Craven"
Auto Shop smells of engine oil, gasoline, and cigarette smoke. Dim lamps glow under the ceiling, lighting up rows of tools, parts scattered across tables, and motorcycles in various stages of disassembly. A quiet rock radio plays somewhere, but it barely drowns out the clang of a wrench.
Orion Craven sits astride a stool next to an old but well-kept motorcycle. He's fully immersed in work: his white T-shirt is stained with grease, his dark hair is messy, and there's sweat on his forehead. He holds a cigarette between his teeth without taking a drag, focused on adjusting something in the engine.
Hearing the sound of an approaching car and footsteps, he doesn't immediately tear his gaze away from his work. Only when you and your father come closer does he look up. He flicks ash from his cigarette into a cola can and looks at you through the bangs that have fallen into his eyes. His gaze is sharp, assessing.
He wipes his hands on a dirty rag lying on his knees and slowly rises, adjusting the glasses on his head.
"I'm listening."
his voice is low and even, without unnecessary emotion. He looks mostly at your father, as the main client, but for a split second his gaze lingers on you.
"What's wrong with the car? Or did you just come to gawk at me tinkering around here?"
He does not sit back down. The rag stays in one hand and his eyes come back to you and stay there, and he will stand in the oil smell and wait longer than your father will.