GREASE MONKEY

"what'd you do - eat a horse?"

The man sure had a lot of little tools, Roy had a far less extensive kit of his own but nothing like that— probably what made the difference between a hobbyist and a professional. Iggy was clearly a professional. Roy quietly watches, it’s probably the most quiet he’s been in awhile, when it’s not forced onto him he likes to lean though, they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but he’s learned several just by shutting up on occasion.

 ❝Why, do you wanna play me?❞ Roy lets his words poke back, a playful tone as he continues. “I mean I don’t like to let folks in on my world class secrets but it looks like ya’ found me out. If ya’ don’t tell nobody maybe I’ll go easy on ya’.” Roy is of course joking because he genuinely was just average at best at the game, but that didn't stop him from playing it though. Roy offers a faint smile back, it’s more wolf than dog.

It wasn’t often he was told he was a pleasure to meet, but he’d take it, the notion makes the faint smile grow. The Courier tries to swallow it back down feeling somewhat diffident. 

He continues to watch the other man, his own habit of giving a sideways glance to check his peripherals getting the better of him now and again. He noticed a lack of it from Iggy as he worked. That was fine by Roy though, at least while he was here he wouldn’t let anything get to the man helping him he thinks. 

 ❝Well I’d hoped ya’ were Iggy otherwise that’d make things reallll confusin'.❞ It would also make things more complicated because that would mean the real Iggy was dead, buried somewhere out in the desert out back or locked in a boom closet or something. 

Brown eyes flicker back to reality, back to Iggy as he mutters to himself, Roy looks amused, quirking a brow up.  ❝Guy wasn’t clever, that much I can tell ya’, so m’ gussin’ he didn’t pull off shit.❞ Roy liked to talk to himself a lot (or stick his tongue just barely out and biting on it) when he was really involved or invested in what he was doing— which was usually nothing good. It was just funny to see that on the other side of things.

A grin splits his face, and he puts the gun down on the side for a moment, wiping his hands on the front of his trousers. "I ain't too lucky myself, so I ain't ever taken the time to learn caravan proper." He explains, as he rummages for bits and pieces that he might need to rig the gun right. "My big sister and my ma' loved it though. The pair of them would play for hours when I was younger."

There's a flicker of emotion in his eyes, but the grin doesn't drop, not does he comment any further on it. Instead, placing down everything he'll need to finish the job. "I never say no to some good company, and way I see it you're the nicest fella I've had to deal with in a lon' ol' while." Iggy seems to genuinely mean it too, the way he looks Roy right in the eye as he says it before letting himself get wrapped up in his work again. "Right then, less see what I can do with this."

Fingers move quickly as he deftly picks up tools and begins tweaking and attaching metal to different areas of the weapon. Just like that, the man is gone again, fixated on sorting out the gun for his new-found friend. While he's mostly silent, he does hum a soft song every now and again, stopping briefly to tap his feet.

"Right... Well, I certainly see that." He replies as he watches her sink to the ground. Following her lead, he too finds his pistol and checking the clip. Iggy does notice the redness and for a moment his lips part as if to question it but stops himself. He'll ask later. Now is not the time.

"While I'm sure they deserved it, dontcha think you bit off a lil' more than you can chew? Especially this far out. Do I even want to know why you're this far out?" The tinkerer questions, finally letting her out of his sight to peek out of the gap in the curtains.

His attention shifts from the fight up ahead to the woman who had called for him. His posture growing tight and anxious when he sees the gun against her chest. Though it eases ever so slightly when he realizes that she is, in fact, trying to help him. "Thank ya kindly!" Iggy calls back, shuffling from his hidey hole.

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“Hope they don’t bother ya’ too much out this way–” It’s sort of an open ended question, one he genuinely hoped there was a happier answer for. He didn’t like people being hassled by raiders, grifters, any sort of ill-mannered folks. Granted he was usually pretty ill-mannered but not like the way those types were, you know?

Roy was ill-mannered in the way that a dog at a dinner table was, first of all why is the dog at the table, and if the answer is because he likes to feel tall, well maybe someone else should make decisions.

Secondly and truthfully, it’s in the dogs nature to not be polite at the table, it’s ridiculous to think otherwise, doesn’t make it a bad dog, just a bad situation. Raiders and their kin alike however? That was like inviting wolves into the hen house. Sure it’s just instinct and survival what they do, but they also didn’t know when to not bite, when to lay down and appreciate the company of man, instead of mauling them. 

“I’d appreciate it. Both the fixin’ and the making sure my fingers stay intact. Got all ten of em’ it’s a rarity.” Roy watches the way the man looks for a split second, before he leaves him alone again, watches him come back even quicker it seems. “I can do that.” Roy replies back coolly, pulling his backpack off his back and slinging it in front of him, digging around for a brief moment before pulling out the gun in question. It’s some strange jury rigged pipe-pistol. Roy places it where the other man had asked him to. 

Setting the tool kit down next to the pistol, he begins unpacking little brushes, funny ended screwdrivers and whatever else he might need for the job. "Alrigh' then. Now, let's have a look at it" He murmurs, picking the weapon up and deftly emptying it so he can work on it safely.

When he speaks again, the words are light-hearted, a gentle jest towards the other. "Don't know if youse should be tellin' folk that you're bad at caravan, though. Betcha' people will try takin' advantage of that. Unless that's part of ya' masterful ruse? Gettin' them to let their guard down?" He raises a brow and his lip twitches, that faint smile threatening to appear again.

"Pleasure to meetcha' Roy." He replies without even looking up. It's like a switch has been flicked in the man, and he's in work mode, too busy for eye the pleasantries of eye contact, instead focused on fiddling with gun parts. Not thinking to spare even a glance. It's a wonder he had lasted this long, an ambush while he was working would easily catch him off guard. "Iggy. Though I guess if ya' were lookin' for me, ya probably already know that."

"Oh, I betcha thought you were real clever when you did this, eh?" Iggy seems to mutter himself, his inside thoughts overflowing to the outside world. "But, you'd have to be daft as a post to think you could pull it off with this kinda material. I mean, I have to give 'em credit. The idea ain't bad...the application, on the other hand?..." The words fade away, and he begins scraping at parts of the weapon, ad-hoc parts being removed with care.

Miles Teller as Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw