Divine Celebrity 73 (Patreon)

The answer, coming with a gruff voice, was enough to put a big frown on my face, especially since I had wasted two hours of my time coming here. Though, the horrible crackling of the speaker prevented me from guessing anything about the owner, the amount of cynicism packed there reminded me of Coach Bill. 

“I’m here about a car,” I said, hoping that it was not a joke from Megan. 

“Not interested in buying or selling, this is a private garage,” the voice answered, getting tighter. 

“I’m a friend of Megan, and she must have some arrangements for me.” 

No answer came for almost half a minute, making me wonder whether it was really a trick from Megan to waste some of my time. I wouldn’t be too shocked if that was the case. 

Then, before I could turn and leave, a buzzing sound reached my ears and the door opened. The voice said nothing. With a sigh, I walked forward. 

I stepped in, and after going through a small corridor, I found myself in a large garage — surprisingly large considering the unassuming entrance. It could easily fit more than two dozen of cars, and most of the area was already filled. 

More importantly, I could see an elevator at the corner, showing that it wasn’t at the full capacity of the garage. 

For a mechanics garage of that size, I expected at least a dozen mechanics bustling around, serving the cars. Yet, other than a figure at the other end of the garage — who I guessed was the owner of the voice, the garage was empty. 

And, it was certainly not because no one was working there. Instead, almost all free space was occupied by cars, some looking pristine — at least outwardly — while the others were literally in pieces, even the engine block separated. 

If the garage had been in a less affluent part of the town, I would have assumed the place was in the last throes of death. 

That, and if the cars that filled the place hadn’t been extremely expensive. The cars I managed to recognize, both the classic ones and the modern ones, were ludicrously expensive. It easily into a six-figure kind of expensive, and not all of them were on the lower end of that range. 

“Hello,” I said, hoping to sound pleasant enough. Normally, I didn’t bother to look likable, but considering I would be spending a considerable amount of time in his garage as I tried to repair whatever car Megan arranged for me, acting my usual charming self might not be the solution. 

“Wait,” the answer came, sharp and gruff, but still clear enough to correct one of my assumptions. 

The owner was a woman. 

“Lucky,” I murmured as I waited for her to leave, happily didn’t try to talk with her. 

I had to wait a minute for her to appear, and when she did, I repeated the word lucky mentally, and this time, it was not about the blunder I managed to avoid, but the view that appeared in front of me. 

I didn’t know what I had expected from a mechanic, but certainly, it wasn’t that. She was a beautiful brunette in her early thirties, her hair tied into a ponytail, but that hardly took anything from her allure, especially since she was only wearing a short overall that didn’t hide most of her impressively thick legs, and a white t-shirt that stuck to her body significantly thanks to the sweat.  

She was clearly wearing a bra underneath, but that bra was fighting a hopeless battle trying to contain those great expanses. 

Yet, I recognized the sharp expression on her face, waiting for the slightest mistake to pounce on. 

“So, you’re my guest for the week,” she said, her voice even gruffer as she closed in, like speaking a great chore.  

“That’s right,” I answered. 

“Follow me,” she said as she moved forward, her steps aggressive and steady, a pace that fit well with the boots she was wearing. Though it certainly wasted the potential of her amazing hips. 

I did so, following her through the mess of half-assembled cars, having enough presence of mind not to mention my rating about how her walk would rate on a podium. 

Then, she stood in front of a pile of rust, or what I thought to be a pile of rust, before she pointed down. “A Mustang, 1960, in poor condition, just as requested,” she said before pointing to a large bag of tools. “And this is the equipment left by the last moron that I had to fire,” she said as she took a step forward. 

Which managed to give a sense of intimidation despite the amazing sight it created with her sweaty white t-shirt. 

“Touch any of my tools without permission, and I’ll cut your tool in return,” she said before walking away. 

“Charming,” I whispered, but only after making sure she was sufficiently away. No need to anger my new landlady — at least not before I could get a better sense of her attitude.

Then, I turned my attention to the pile of rotten metal she claimed to be a car. “Megan,” I chuckled, finally finding her real payback. Apparently, she used my vague direction to the extreme limit, beautifully turning it into revenge. 

Too bad for her that it actually worked better for my benefit. 

For a while, I said nothing as I walked around the car, taking a stock of the situation. The body was a mess, almost no paint remained, replaced by a thick layer of rust. The windows — at least the ones that were still in place — were cracked badly enough to the point of uselessness, making it necessary to change. 

Of course, that was hardly the limit of the damage. The headlamps were broken, the radiator grill was exposed, and the seat leather was ruined.

While I walked around the car, the woman whose name I was yet to learn — who was probably the owner of the place — had already returned to her job, and hidden under one of the raised cars. 

I turned my attention back to the car, and pulled open the rusty hood, and the view inside didn’t give me any kind of happiness. The softer parts, like wires and hoses, were almost completely gone, or corroded enough to be useless. 

The engine block looked just as horrible, covered with an even thicker layer of rust, but that didn’t annoy me as much as I feared, because I grabbed a little hammer and hit it with it, the interior felt solid enough to suggest that the rust was limited to the top layer. 

That didn’t mean that the engine was definitely working, of course, as there were hundreds of other problems that might prevent it, but still, it was not as bad as he feared. 

It seemed that Megan still had a hint of mercy, arranging a merely very difficult car for him to repair, rather than an impossible one. 

Hunting for a brand new engine for a classical was far above my current means. 

With a sigh, I loaded the car on the vehicle lift before pressing the button, raising it enough to allow me to slide down and examine the tires, axle, and other features. The tires were completely useless, but luckily, the axle looked solid enough to avoid replacement. 

“Not a bad start,” I murmured, happy with the result. A lot of work, but technically fixable, especially if I could manage to earn a few Traits in the process. 

But, to do so, I first needed to set up an appropriate structure. 

I was not an expert when it came to setting up a camera, but the photoshoot with Megan and Kim taught me the basics about light and camera, at least the importance of the angle. 

More importantly, it taught me about the importance of giving the necessary visual stimulation, I thought as I removed my shirt, revealing a tight white shirt underneath, tight enough to reveal most of my muscles. 

I picked white, because it would get dirtier as I worked, enhancing the impression of repair further. 

And, hopefully, give me the trait I was hoping for. 

Then, I started the lifestream, and turned to the camera, unable to resist the temptation of being a bit naughty. “Hello, everyone. Since the team decided that they can play without me for a week without being humiliated, I had some time to kill, and I thought it was a good time to give you a different aspect of mine…” 

The taunt was turning out to be a surprisingly useful Trait.