1 ||SCRAPS||

- 9096 - TRW - STARVUS - TZAR CAPITAL -

Sivvy holds out a gloved hand from underneath the bottom of the ship. "E Generizer Drill." she says, her voice muffled from the black gas mask strapped to her face.

Jime is slouching in his chair next to the machine. There is a transparent rectangular disk in his hand with a video of a small animal running across somebody's backyard.

Sivvy kicks his leg.

Jime jumps, startled. "What?" he says as he glares at her lower body, which is the only part of her he can currently see.

Sivvy's hand reaches back out, "E. Generizer. Drill." She puncuates every word.

Jime pauses, he rubs his leg and scans over the table of tools laid out beside him before quickly handing her the drill. Her hand disappears underneath the small one manned aircraft, and a mechanical whirr followed by a fluorescent blue light can be seen and heard below his feet.

"You know," Sivvy says, "If you really want to help, i'd suggest you get off your transmitter and pay attention. This was your idea anyway."

Jime leans back, "Well, how was I supposed to know you were gonna be such a nancy about it?"

"Really? I ask you to do the bare minimum and you complain. And you seriously think I'M the nancy? You're joking right?"

Jime rolls his eyes and scratches the back of his head, ruffling his blond hair. It's paled over the years. So much so that it seems more white than blond. His mother tells him he's far too young for his hair to be whitening, and that it's likely that he got it from his uncle, if not from the stress of his constant workload. He's barely around the house, and he doesn't bother to visit over the holidays. Typical empty nest syndrome, Jime supposes.

The clank of metal against the concrete floor takes him out of his thoughts, and he watches as Sivvy rolls out on her plastic creeper seat, carrying the hood of the aircrafts underside. She tosses it recklessly aside, and holds up her pulled back curly brown hair before rolling back out of sight in order to prevent it from getting caught in the wheels.

An automatic door slides open, and a girl wearing mismatched patterned socks enters carrying a cardboard box of spare parts.

"Chroma? Is that you?" Sivvy says. She slides back out and sits up, pulling down a latch on the side of her mask. It unfolds into a small black disk and falls into her hand. "Jesus, finally."

Chroma smiles and places the box (which looks far too heavy for someone her size) down onto the table. She exhales heavily, "Hey, guys."

Sivvy gets up from the creeper seat and walks over to the box, taking her hair out of his ponytail and quickly retying it.

"I got as much as I could carry from the storage" says Chroma, looking around for a place to sit. She pulls out a chair from up against the wall.

Sivvy rummages through the box, making a mental archive of all the things she has to work with. Some of the stuff, she notices, has been rusted down over time. Regardless, it's all certainly good enough to use.

"Yeah, I don't think Harley is gonna like you using up all his spare parts so quickly." Jime helpfully points out.

Sivvy picks up the box. She underestimated how heavy it is, and instantly feels it's weight pulling her down."It'd be a shame to let it all go to waste, though. Don't you think?" she says as she lugs the box back to the aircraft. "And there isn't many people here today anyway. Nobody's gonna miss em."

That was a blatant lie. The Rolling Wheel was always full of people and always overly crowded. Today is no exception. People roam and rush through the open building, taking up as much of the scarce inventory of materials as they can. It's the cheapest place in Stavus to get some mechanical work done, or to find a proper mechanic to get some work done for you.

Evidently enough, it was a popular hotspot for hobbyists and aspiring professionals alike to find work, or to simply learn the craft.

Because of this, the place has been thriving for about fifty years now, and is currently owned by a man named Harley Zlang, an old rich fellow, profiting off the bottom feeding mechanics of Tzar's Capital City.

He's rolling in dough, that much is obvious, but you wouldn't know it at first glance. For one thing, the place hasn't been renovated since it's opening in 9046, and the man himself looks like he bathes in grease every morning as an alternative to water.

Chroma twiddles her thumbs anxiously, "Jime has a point, Siv. You could get us kicked out again if you aren't careful."

"And this time it'll be permanent." Jime adds.

"Chill out, guys. It's just a bunch of scraps." She tosses up a screwdriver and catches it before sitting back down on her creeper seat, "The man himself advertises them as the extra free stuff that comes with the membership."

"Something you aren't gonna have for much longer."

The three of them turn to see Zebel standing there, using a dirty towel to rub a smudge off of a piece of metal. He's wearing a white jumper, one with way too many pockets, and a hard hat. A slab of plexiglass is hanging down the front of it. "If you keep bringing junk like this into the TRW..." he nods at the car sized aircraft, "Harley's gonna have a fit about you wasting his supplies."

Jime takes a glance at the ship. It's an orb shaped thing. Small, which makes it practical, especially for common use, and the surface around it is made up of different colored metal sheets, varying in size and shape. It looks a bit like a primary school art project. A second year students newspaper collage they'd miserably flunked on.

It's rough around the edges, but Jime knows Sivvy well enough to know that, pretty or not, it would fly, and it would fly well.

Sivvy gives Zebel and amused look. She twirls the screwdriver around in her hand, "Is there a reason you're over here?"

Zebel scoffs, "I'm just taking a look at your progress. Is that a crime?"

"Okay. Well, if you're done, i'd like to get back to work." She gestures to the box of tools next to her.

Zebel's pupils dilate slightly at the sight of it. He grins and whistles, "You're using all that for this thing?" he says, "C'mon, if it hit it hard enough it'll probably fall apart." Zebel's eyes shift, "How bout you let somebody a little more qualified use the pieces? I've got a project that could benefit from it. And lemme just say," he laughs, "It'll be a much better use of materials."

"No." Sivvy says, plainly enough.

Jime snorts.

The grin on Zebel's face wavers a bit. He lifts up the slab of plexiglass covering his face, and rubs the towel over his forehead, wiping away nonexistent sweat. "Is there any reason why not?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"I'm using them. I got them first. It's a simple concept."

"Right." He says, now trying more carefully to pick out his words, "But I just think it's only fair that someone with more experience gets first dibs on supplies."

"Jesus christ, learn to read social cues." Jime urges, "She said the stuff is hers. Why are you still here?"

Zebel cuts him a cold glare before taking in the collective expression of irritation across their faces. He releases a sigh and turns around, giving up on the endeavor and walking away.

Sivvy shakes her head, "What a tool."

"No pun intended." Jime quickly takes the opportunity to add.