{H}andyman for hire. Inquire inside. [Open]

[Art Doyle]

^{silently reflection turns my world to stone
patiently correction leaves us all alone
and sometimes i'm a travel man
but tonight this engine's failing}

The sound thwack of palm biting into a stubble-landen cheek rang out in the relative quiet of the small, grotty little tavern. Arthur Doyle's head remained rigidly turned to the side, still feeling the sting left by the hand that had slapped him. He blinked a few times to regain his reality, and seemed to regard the action impassively. His mind ticked over, and he returned to normal. At least this time she didn't-- His mental thought was broken off by the splash of cool rot-gut hitting him full on in the face just as he'd turned it back to face her. Always the way. The glass was slammed down and the sultry redhead stormed on out the tavern with a clack of cheap heels. Art's dark eyes shifted to watch her disappear momentarily before he turned back around.

"Always a pleasure, Mabel...."

A hand came out to catch the teatowel tossed in his direction-- usually aimed for his face. The liquor was quickly dabbed away, though still stained his shirt. He'd pull the cloth away to see a cigar held out towards him. The barman seemingly staring at him like a 'disappointed father' to his son. Art snatched it up, a hand going over his heart with an endearing look aimed the man's way.

"Mort, you're a beautiful human being."

There was a hint of humour and sarcasm to his actions, but it was all in good fun.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a real gorram prince. Now what's the verdict on my luh suh generator?" The barman responded with a gruff tone and an unpleasant cough at the beginning.

Arthur cleared his throat. There hadn't really been much wrong with it to begin with, but ol' Mort hadn't really know that. All Art had done was shift a few things around and clean a few things, and badabing, it was magically fixed. Of course, he still needed Mort's good hospitality. So he was stringing along this job a little longer.

"Comin' along nicely. Rest assured, Mort, it will be running smooth before I move on." Art explained with a trustworthy smile, before he quickly turned about to start wiping down tables with the cloth in his hand. He hid an expression of slight relief as he got to work.

Now was just the perfect time for his lucky break to see his sign in the window.. and walk right on in... Go!

[James Clark]

Arlem, January 14th 2521

James Clark had drunk himself stupid the night before and had been nursing a hangover in the cargo bay of his new ship, Trinity. The firefly-class ship was in good state, the only thing it did need was a good mechanic and a first mate to help out. Unfortunately as of yesterday James had neither. His two long time friends had deserted him calling Trinity a lump of junk. James had responded by punching the mechanic, Eric Knowles, in the face and him and his cousin decided to leave. Thus the reason James was sitting on top of some crates in the cargo bay. He had made a lot of bad decisions in his life but buying Trinity was definitely not one of them.

Putting down the bottle of ale he opened the cargodoor and headed into town. James walked around the town of Arlem for a good hour, with no luck before walking into a bar. Watching a young lass slap a gentlemen in the face James chuckled and moved out of her way as she walked off, not wanting to catch a slap himself. He walked over to the bar and ordered a drink, he couldn't help but overhear the following conversation between the bartender and the gentlemen whom had been slapped.

James walked over to him and decided to make light conversation "Looks's like she got you real good" James commented taking a sip of his drink "Say I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the bartender, you fix generators often?" he was curious to know whether or not the man had any experience with ships.

[Art Doyle]

A rather solemn whistle had started up while Art had set himself to work. He was a mechanic, sure, and a good one at that, but he didn't mind the extra work if it meant Mort didn't kick him out anytime soon. He was dressed in a variety of dark greys and blacks, the slightly worn suit trousers scuffed at the knees and cuffs. Despite the minor wear and tear, he looked too well-dressed for dump like this.

The stranger's interjection as Mabel left caused the Handyman to twist in his direction, regarding the doorway briefly.

"Redheads." He'd grin and shrug, as if that was meant to explain it.

Of course, it appeared Arthur's ship had literally come in with the question on whether he fixed generators often. An easy smile came to the man's face. The cloth was tossed over his shoulder as he approached the stranger, the whiff of opportunity in the air.

"I fix a lot of things, sir. Got a generator that needs fixing?"

Mort would pipe up from behind the bar.

"Yer fixin' mine first, ya hun dan!"

Art waved him off flippantly, awaiting the man's response.

[James Clark]

James thought for a moment, this fellow seemed capable enough, He just might have to take a chance on him, hell he had no choice. Wasn't like he had much choice in a dump like this. Grinning at the redhead comment, James knew all too well what it felt like to feel the wrath of this certain type of woman. They were feisty. Back on track, James needed his engine looked at before he attempted to fly Trinity. This was when James decided to pitch his proposition "Here's how it goes. I go meself a might' fine ship, just need a mechanic to get 'er airborne" James took a sip of his drink "You seem, like a capable fellow. I'll even throw in your own bunk" James threw the last part in knowing how much having your own bunk appealed to people these days.

[Art Doyle]

Both those dark eyebrows rose in interest as the man pitched his offer Art's way. It truly was a day of good fortune. Or it was turning into one. Seeing as previously he'd been slapped in the face and covered in malt liquor. Maybe that was a sign his sentance on Whitefall was done. Time to get the gui off this stinking little rock. Because the offer was just what Art was looking for. A ship. Working on a ship. It had been his dream as a kid-- most kids these days, too. And now? Well, he wasn't about to pass this little nugget of a miracle up, was he?

Arthur straightened up, and tugged at his waistcoat, clearing his throat.

"Well, sir. I might just have to take you up on this very fine offer. I used to work out of a garage on the ships and transports that came in and I'm more than capable of keepin' one in the air if I do say so myself." He'd pause to grin wth surprisingly white teeth. "I think we have ourselves a deal. I'd be a madman not to--"

There was another pause, his gaze flitting back towards the bar and the hard-of-hearing owner. Art lifted a finger towards James.

"Excuse me one moment." Another slight smile before he moved over to Mort.

"Your generator's workin' fine and I don't think it'll break anytime soon. I think I found somethin' better than wiping tables and-- Oh. I quit, Mort. Thanks for the cigar."

Mort stared a moment, mouth open as Art seemed to talk a little too fast. It sank in as he was walking back towards his new employer.

"Sonovabitch.." Was all he heard as he stood before James once more.

A hand came out in his direction, awaiting a shake.

"Art Doyle. I look forward to seein' the ship."

Another easy-going smile graced his lips.

[James Clark]

James was glad that he was accepting, hopefully together they could get Trinity airborne. As he waited for Doyle to come back he couldn't help but feel a kind of charisma about the guy. James just liked him and knew, well he had no choice, he could trust him. Taking a sip of his drink he turned around to here the bartender mutter sonabitch. Shaking hands with Art Doyle he returned the pleasantries "James Clark" he responded releasing his hand from Art's "Well Art wanna' see the ship?" he asked with a smile.

[Art Doyle]

So the man had a name. His "saviour" from this rotten little place, so to speak. Art left somewhat like he was dreaming-- dreaming up this little conversation and he was about to wake up in his grotty little room with the leaky roof and windows that rattled in the wind. But apparently, for now, it seemed real enough. James was pleased enough to have the man on his ship to keep it flying, so why refuse?

His face brightened just that little bit more when Captain Clark made the point of asking if he wanted to see the ship.

The mechanic gave a slight chuckle.

"Well, I would like to get acquainted with the girl before I start messin' around with her. What's she called, anyway?" Because every ship had one.

[James Clark]

James smiled as he told Art the name of the ship "Trinity" James replied, it was a name that had struck him. He had named the old girl after his first love. She was a real beauty and was the kindest person James had ever known, it was always thought that never forgetting your first love was a load of cow crap. But it applied to James and even the name comforted him somewhat, Trinity Rodgers was out there in the 'Verse somewhere and James aimed to find her.

[Art Doyle]

A small smile came easily to the mechanic's mouth, stretching into a grin as he took in the very fine name of the new ship he'd be living on. Without much thought, the mechanic moved away from the bar, motioning to his new Captain to hurry up and lead the way. There was a twinkle of excitement in his eyes, but not much else to show it other than the rather pleased expression.

"Well, I think I should be meetin' this Miss Trinity, then." He'd say with a chuckle. He'd missed working on ships.

Not so much the other work he'd been doing as well as the maintenance. It had become a norm, though, at one point. A series of habits that were still to this day hard to shake.

"I'll grab what I have to my name and we can be off." Art announced, before quickly disappearing out the back door.

The hollow sound of boots on wooden stairs could be heard in the bar itself, and it didn't even seem to take him that long. What clothes he had were in need of an update, and the most important thing was strapped to his thigh. A jacket was lifted up and around, arms sliding smoothly into the sleeves as he pulled the old suit jacket on. The lapels were tugged firmly, and he'd roll his shoulders. Art grabbed his bag like it had never been unpacked-- never much point, and hardly worth it if he was looking to "jump ship" so to speak at a moment's notice.

He'd meet James by the door, all set in a matter of moments. A flippant wave offered to Mort as he motioned once more to James.

"Shall we...Captain?"