* BRENNAN BLACK .
he’d been working on his bike for hours, hands stained black with grease and motor oil as beads of sweat rolled down his face. his engine had begun making a particularly concerning clicking noise, and he wasn’t about to stop working on it until the problem was solved. his concentration left him in a rather vulnerable state, and the smallest noise caused him to jolt upward and smack his head right against the cool metal. “ah, ya motha’s ass crack!” he cried out, rubbing his head as he rolled out from underneath his motorcycle. “can i fuckin’ help you?”
HARDLY THE MOST VERBOSE excuse of a human being ; language is conveyed through GANGLY LIMBS , rather . it’s all in the roll of bemused optics , slightest of crescent smirks that dance unto otherwise blank features . ‘ watch that fuckin’ mouth . ’ meg’s been PERCHED on hood of what one assumes to be a questionable vehicle / not decent enough to be a CAR , not wrecked enough to be nothing more than a hunk of scrap metal . ‘ y’know how to fix shit , yeah ? ’















