Soft Hearts Hold Secrets

A Different Kind Of Stranger

"No."

It was the third time he had to say it that day. Every time the word would leave his lips, it was firmer, more drawn out. Never did it have any impact, of course. Inanna was a stubborn girl -- she knew how much begging and whining she had to draw out to get her way. Muriel knew that. Muriel knew she knew that, too. But there was nothing he could do about it.

And it got him every time.

"No, Inanna, I'm busy," he grumbled for the fourth time from beneath the car he'd been tucked under.

It was a beat up 2001 Honda Civic that had most certainly seen better days. The AC unit was blown and the speakers were busted and the dents around its tarnished silver frame were nearly painful to look at -- but he wasn't being paid to fix any of that. The man simply called for a tow, told him the car wouldn't run, and left with a friend after ordering for Muriel to have it fixed by four that afternoon.

Muriel still hadn't found the problem with it and it was nearing three-fifteen, the hot, midday sun already starting to bake his shop. Sweat was starting to gather up on his brow, prickling in whatever sublime gust of air he'd get from his wobbly, wire fenced fan that barely did anything to air out the room. It was the time of the season where everything seemed hot and breathless -- where the air was like a solid fug of humidity that you could drown in if you weren't careful. It was both the worst and best season for a car mechanic such as Muriel. The heat was tough on cars which meant good business, but Muriel still didn't have the money to fix his shop's air conditioning unit -- which meant cheap wire fans and lots of water bottles.

Just as he thought he might have been on to something with the car, he felt a nose prod against his boot, and heard another low, pouty whine from Inanna. There was a soft snuffling as she tried to stick her head beneath the car -- but the lift Muriel had it on barely made enough room for him, let alone the head of a full grown wolf dog. He pushed her back with his elbow, his hands covered in car grease, and told her to back up. An awkward shimmying-scoot later, and Muriel was sitting up, breathing in a deep breath of air that hadn't been completely laced with the smell of car exhaust and oil. He patted the ground for the tattered, grease spotted rag on the floor, and wiped off his hands, glaring at the smug looking Inanna as he did so.

"Fine," he muttered. "Fine. We'll take a drive. But not a long one, okay? I... I have to finish this." He lifted a dismal hand and gestured the Honda, shaking his head a little. "We need that money."

She gave a low huff, but leapt up to her feet anyways, bounding up to Muriel and sniffing eagerly at his ankles when he had pushed himself up to a stand.

Muriel stepped over to the table, hand crafted from pieces of plywood Muriel had found for cheap at the junkyard near the edge of town, and took a long swig of his lukewarm water before pouring some on his hands. They were stained black from the work -- the grease had sunken into his coarse fingertips and was stuck in his nails -- but they were always like that, really. He just shrugged and wiped off his face with his forearm before reaching up to undo his hair. He slipped the band over his wrist as his hair fell down from its ponytail, sticking to the back of his neck and curtaining his face with its choppy length. He only put it up for working. He thought it looked stupid anywhere else.

Inanna yipped at him, growing impatient. Muriel grumbled something in return, and started out towards the open garage door, squinting at the bright light of the sun as he stepped out onto the cracked pavement of the shops parking lot. There was only one car there, parked by his little corner mechanic shop, and it was his. A tarnished, hunter green, two door pick-up truck that could have easily been older than him. Equipped with scratches, dents, and AC problems that would put the old Honda Civic to shame. Muriel started towards it, letting the excited Inanna run towards it and hop by the passenger door, waiting for her daily ride around town.