For whatever reason, Ralf had wanted to go to the Omega thing. Sawyer cannot think of a single thing worse than that sort of crowd right now, so has happily offered to look after the shop. He’s under a car working away on it, quietly content, when he hears someone arrive. “Hang on, with ya in a minute!” he calls, tightening up some important car related thing before rolling out from under it and grabbing a cloth to wipe the engine oil from his hands.
There’s a brief flicker of fear, immediately. Sawyer’s instinct upon meeting mutants that could obviously kick his ass is that, well, they’re going to kick his ass. Not that he held it against them; you did what you had to do in Essex. And this guy? This guy could easily kick his ass. He’s way taller than Sawyer, built like a brick shit house, and his nails look disconcertingly like claws. Still, he doesn’t have to fight any more, and it’s only a flicker before he gets his customer service smile on. “Name’s Sawyer. What can I do you for?” As he talks, he reaches up to tighten the ponytail tied high on his head to keep his hair out the way. It never stays neat, because when his hair is too neatly tied back he can only see Harley in his reflection. @samson-clemens










