||WIRES||

- 9096 - TRW - STARVUS - TZAR CAPITAL -

Sivvy rubs her sleeve over her forehead. The air is humid in the cramped space, and it makes her feel strangely as if she's suffocating.

It's late in the afternoon at The Rolling Wheel, the setting orange sun is seeping in through the overhead windows, and nearly everybody is putting together their supplies and equipment, getting ready to turn in for the day.

Sivvy finds this is often the best time to get things done.

Chroma and Jime are both at work, probably serving edible heartburn to willing customers, which leaves Sivvy here by herself.

She enjoys the company of her friends, but every now and then it's never a bad idea to get some time alone between her, her tools, and the aircraft she can't seem to get working.

Sivvy thinks over giving it a test run, but something tells her it's nowhere near stable enough for that yet.

She puts down her wrench, letting it hit the ground with a loud clank, and hops. She grabs the handle of the top door and pulls herself up, opening it and dropping down into the cockpit.

It's been around a month since the last time she'd seen the inside of the ship. Tools and other items she'd thought she'd lost are scattered across the floor, and the control panel is a mess of buttons and levers, some of which she's not even sure are entirely functional.

Fixing ships and hoverbikes and other flying machines was never a task too daunting for Sivvy, but building one from scratch has proven to be an entirely new beast to tackle.

She picks up some of the discarded items off the floor and pushes them into a pile against a wall of the ship. Her eyes trail over the collection and she picks out some of the more useful tools before getting to work.

Sivvy starts off by unscrewing the four corner bolts underneath the control panel and sliding the metal slab aside. She takes a look at her previous wire work and shakes her head. It would take forever for her to decipher. If only she'd logged a manuel somewhere.

There's a knocking on the outside of the aircraft. It creates an echo in the sphere shaped bubble. Sivvy's head pops up. She stands and pulls down the foldable wooden ladder before climbing out the top.

She looks around, and her eye catches a man with his arms tightly crossed giving her a knowing smile while he scratches the scruff of his white beard.

"Harley. What are you doing here?"

The old man pulls on his red suspenders and surveys the rugged looking machine.

"I've heard talk of your project and I came to take a look." He says, in an ancient but untired voice.

Sivvy slides down and lands on her feet in front of him. "Do you like what you see?" she says with a laugh.

"It's not much to look at, but "can it fly?" is the question I should be asking."

Sivvy tilts her head to the side, "To be honest, I don't really know."

Harley looks around, "I see your friends aren't here today to help you."

Sivvy crouches down to get a view of the aircraft at a different angle. "I thought it would be best if I had some alone time with the thing for a while." she chuckles, "Don't get me wrong, I always appreciate the help..." pause, "But If i'm ever gonna get this finished, i'm gonna have to work on it a little harder. That requires a bit of one on one, I guess."

Harley puts his hands on his hips as he examines the aircraft, "Yeah, well. I'm sure that's the least of your worries."

Sivvy stands up and looks over at him, "I'm not sure what you mean."

The old man gives her and easy smile. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a colored sheet of crumpled paper, unfolding it and sharing it's contents.

It's one of the ads that Chroma had made to be put up around the city. It reads like any cheap cash grab ad would... words typed out in all caps, prices and details written across, quick and effective, with copies of an address and phone number stapled to the bottom.

Sivvy takes the flyer from his hand. "So you heard?"

Harley rubs the back of his head, "I was making my rounds around my block when I saw one of these taped to the side of a building." There's a touch of amusement in his voice, "So this is really where you ended up, huh? Mrs. Tripe fire you or somethin?"

Sivvy wads up the paper and throws it behind her, "Actually I quit. Turns out putting books on shelves isn't really my calling. What's it to you? This is a private ordeal anyway."

Harley puts his hands in the air, "No,no. I'm happy to invite any kind of income to this building. At least you're doing something worth using up resources."

"I always am."

Harley nods once, "On the contrary," his hands fall back to his side. "I'd much rather you spend your time reeling in paying customers rather than..." he takes a look at the expression on Sivvy's face, and decides he'd rather not finish that sentence.

"Thanks for the support." she says coldly, "But I think i'm gonna get back to working on my ship, please."

Harley pauses. He lets out an ingenuine laugh and tips his head.

She says nothing in response.

Harley turns on his heel and walks off in the other direction. "Place closes in five minutes."

Sivvy's eyes widen at the remark, "But it's only-"

"Zebel has an event later this night, if you haven't heard."

Sivvy throws her hands up, "Nobody told me about any event. What kind of event would hold up the entire place five hours before closing time!?"

"Five. Minutes. Siv." He opens the door and closes it shut behind him.