He had been out of New Orleans for long enough that Thierry's thick accent took a few minutes to adjust to. The first part of their garage time had been spent with Leon switching to French, which was just easier to understand when Thierry spoke it to him, being almost the same kind of French that Leon spoke. But by now, Leon was comfortably used to Thierry's Cajun drawl. It was kind of nice, he would admit. Like having a blast from the past. He wondered how the people he knew in Louisiana were doing, wondered if he should try to reconnect with them. The Houngan didn't say anything about Leon staying out of the bayou.
Crouching down to watch Thierry roll under the carriage of the car, he gave a dubious look at the lift that held the heavy car suspended. Sure, weres and vampires had a quick healing aspect to their supernatural abilities, but it would not be pleasant to have a car dropped on top of them.
The words the werewolf used to explain what they would be doing might as well be another language to Leon, but he nodded anyway. "Right, transmission. Manual. Car thinking for you." He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned down enough to see the bottom of the car. It looked like a nest of pipes and complicated things. The bottom of the engine, where Thierry was working, looked even more complex.
Leon tapped the wrench against his palm, remaining on the outside of the car. "I did. It was, gosh..." he thought a moment, "ten years ago? I was eight years old when my father took me to Haiti. After that, we visited New Orleans once or twice a year, helping the other Priests."