Mercedes is sinking like a stone at the (reservoir) wrote in repose,
Re: Sunday Service: Mercy/Shiloh
That was the thing about costumes -- wear them long enough, and they just became regular clothes. Mercy in his coveralls wasn’t preoccupied with his university degree that sat in a drawer in his trailer, or the fact that he turned into a coyote faster than a blink. When he’d come back to Repose after school, he’d only put them on because the garage was the first place he’d spotted a Help Wanted sign in the window. He’d learned a little about cars on the reservation, mostly just general maintenance, how to change a flat, that sort of thing. Super useful when you lived in the middle of nowhere.
It’d helped him talk his way into those coveralls when the shop’s previous owner had been skeptical of a kid without grease under his nails, no blood blisters on his fingers. But after six months of doing paperwork and another six handing the older man his tools when he was head-down under a chassis, the costume stopped being a costume. Mercy had realized that he’d actually retained a lot of the stuff that the guy had tried to teach him, and the owner’d been relieved to find someone he could train up to split the work.
“But they’re super theatrical over there,” he said like it was a legitimate counter in a debate, one eyebrow dropping but the other staying up in an arch. The flick of his cigarette pack ceased as another one made a home at the corner of his mouth, and he tugged a skinny lighter free from cardboard confines. “You really get your money’s worth in production value. Although I’d enjoy it more if everybody got to wear the pretty dresses.” And if his tone wasn’t sardonic enough for the good pastor who wasn’t all that he seemed, just as no one ever was, Mercy sealed the deadpan with a wink. The unspoken joke being that Mercy was secure enough to make the joke, but not enough to ever wear the dresses.
The lighter clicked flame into life and Mercy sucked an inhale, cheeks hollowing in his face as the tip glowed a siren. “I’ll have to remember to visit the scrapyard before you stop by, then.”