Location PittStop Auto Repair

This is an in-universe location thread.


Breaker of Forums
Staff member

PittStop Auto Repair
and Tinkerbelle's Contraptions

The name of the place is PittStop Auto Repair.

It falls in that strange niche of both being a new fixture and having been there forever. The old-timers just call it that garage up on 4th. There's been a garage there as long as anyone can remember. Sometimes the name changes, sometimes parts of the building get torn down and rebuilt, sometimes the parking lot gets redone, sometimes there's new machines or new windows or new doors. It's the Shop of Theseus at this point, but in some capacity, it's always been there.

It's been the PittStop since October of '23. New sign, new ownership. Good to have someone in the place again, the old-timers said, after the last place got foreclosed on and it was empty for a few months. Some of them also say things like "aren't they going to get some more mechanics who are, um, qualified?"

By this they mean guys, because the PittStop's lead mechanic suffers from the unfortunate condition of being female, and is thus unable to tell a hex wrench from a spark plug - not that they would ever say that, but they do mean it, when they ask for someone more, um, qualified.

Said mechanic is Auraliese Mayhew Koch, who is, in fact, quite qualified, as anyone who actually gets their cars repaired there can tell you. She's also the co-owner, with the other co-owner being her father, but he doesn't live in the area. Also, he isn't a mechanic, but this does not stop some people from asking him car-related questions when he visits, because the answers to such things are stored in the testicles. Auraliese has many things to say about this, if she gets started, which is often. Fortunately, she usually expounds upon it to the transmission, while up to her elbows in a vehicle, thus saving people from having to reconsider their opinions.

Business isn't extremely fast - it's a new place, after all, or at least an old place under new ownership, but it does all right for itself - enough to limp along like an old VW beetle. Not fast, not pretty, but it'll get you where you're going. The mechanic doesn't mind. It's all about the journey, not about the destination, and sometimes along the journey you get to fix the cars.

For most people, that's enough - that's all the PittStop needs to be, and that's all it is. For a few people, though, there's just a little bit more to the place than there first appears to be.

It's the back room where the interesting things get put together. The mechanic has a little bit of a side gig going on, because she has a little bit of an ability that lets her do some interesting things with machinery, when it comes to other people with those little abilities. She can't make something out of nothing - when it comes to straight up technical design, you're probably better off hiring an engineer. What she can do, though, is see straight to the core of whatever little ability someone has, and come up with some sort of technology to work with it.

People usually ask her for weapons. It's not her business what they do with them - she doesn't pick sides, and it's generally suggested that people not try to pick one for her. Sometimes she wishes people would come up with something more interesting to work on, though. A super-powered electric wok would be fun, if she knew someone with the right powerset to make it work. But she'll do what she's asked for, or at least give it a shot, as long as they're paying.

How much they're paying depends a lot on who they are. If they can afford it, it'll cost - but interesting things for interesting people, well, she might make an exception if they're broke. More than the money, she just wants to know how it worked out - give her a chance to fiddle with it again, see if she can make it better - see what she can do with it. Because again, it's all about the journey, not about the destination - at least for her.

For the others, maybe not. So if you're someone like that - and you've got a destination in mind - and you want someone to help you out with the journey... well, just come in some time when it's not too busy. Appointments are preferred, but not required.

Just ask for Tinkerbelle.



The indignant screech was accompanied by the smell of burnt plastic and scorched flesh, as well as the sound of something breaking apart and hitting the floor. Hard. The breaking apart mostly came after, as Mari had spiked her latest prototype against the floor of her workshop. Prototype Number Seven had proved as much of a bastard as its six older siblings, but this one had the unique flaw of trapping the beam instead of splitting it, reflecting its heat and energy back into the weapon, resulting in a very hot, very deadly bundle of metal and plastic in Mari’s very human hands.

Luckily, she’d figured something like this might happen. When working with weaponry it paid to have spares. She needed to let this place air out, though. And as much as she hated to admit it, she’d hit a wall. Spork would suggest they go drinking or killing or actually hit some walls, but Mari needed some time to- Well she needed some time around someone who wasn’t Spork. Chucking a couple spare laser pistols and Prototypes Number Eight and Nine, based on Number Seven, Mari shot them a quick text.

Heading out for a bit. Not on a job. Hopefully back before sunrise.

Mari could hear the music pouring from their room, even with the closed door. She purposefully waited until she had stepped outside to send the text. Miku would probably read it out as soon as they received it, and Spork would come bounding out of their room like a golden retriever who had heard someone say the word ‘walk’.

It hadn’t taken long for some of the less than legal forums Mari kept tabs on to mention a place named Tinkerbelle’s Contraptions. Its owner, Tinkerbelle, apparently had a knack for making devices that could augment the powers of its user, provided they had powers in the first place. Mari had gone to scope out the situation and had instead found a mechanic named Auraliese, just someone who liked tinkering and working with her hands. Despite her best intentions, Mari found herself taking a liking to Auraliese, who went by Tinkerbelle when on the side job clock. She might have even considered her a friend, if Spork wouldn’t have insisted that they were secret lesbian lovers. And that was without her telling Spork that Tinkerbelle knew about Kitsune.

But still, she was the only other person that Mari could go to with technical issues of this nature, and her no-nonsense attitude was much more enjoyable than arguing with dickheads on the internet about the appropriate amount of heat a blade could hold without losing its temper. So Mari pushed open the side door to PittStop Auto Repair, making her way into the garage proper. She was told the side entrance was for “people who knew what they wanted”, but Mari had half a mind that it was just left open so Tinkerbelle didn’t have to keep coming up to the front to let people in.

Speaking of, Mari found what she was looking for.

“Hey Aura,” She said to a pair of legs sticking out from underneath what she was pretty sure was a Chevy. “Are you free tonight, or do you have work?” She probably should have called or texted first. Oh well.



Auraliese was currently half underneath what the vehicle's owner had insisted was a '97 Chevy Impala. It was not, of course, because there was no such thing as a '97 Chevy Impala, because they'd stopped making them in '96 and not started again until 2000. He had insisted that she was wrong about this, which annoyed her, but she wouldn't take it out on the car, because it really was in very nice shape for a '95 Impala, which was what it actually was.

She'd added her standard 10% Asshole Tax on to the quote she'd given him about tuning it up and getting it ready for his grandson, who'd been a nice kid who'd seemed interested in her comment that the '97 Impala didn't exist and actually looked it up on his phone while his granddad had been telling her she was wrong. Since he wasn't the one paying, she didn't feel bad about the price hike. The kid's 16th was still a few weeks away, so it wasn't a rush job, but she wanted to make sure everything checked out, especially if a kid was getting behind the wheel.

A pair of shoes walked up, stopping outside the neon pink duct tape line she'd put down, which meant it was someone she knew and/or someone smart enough not to come lean on the car while it was lifted. A voice greeted her, familiar. Good, then. Auraliese scooted the rest of herself out, sitting up on the roller cart and resting her arms on the knees of her coveralls - dark gray, which was boring, but it hid the grease stains well enough, and she wasn't in here to be a fashion princess.

"Hey, Mari. I can probably get off. My manager is a sucker for cute girls with cat ears." Auraliese was her own manager, so that made things simpler. Mari had told Auraliese about Spork's whole they think we're an item thing, which Auraliese found hilarious, and tended to play into as much as possible - especially when Spork was around. Today, they didn't seem to be. It was still funny.

In any case, Mari was a welcome distraction, mostly from the fact that all she had to work on was a '95 Impala right now. She was going to have to start advertising again, and she hated having to advertise. It was possible that this was because every time she tried to do it, her dad felt the need to give her a six hour lecture about advertising techniques and building her business, possibly still hoping that she'd give up on the whole auto mechanic thing and follow in his footsteps. There wasn't a chance, but at least they sort of got along these days, most of the time.

She inhaled, her nose wrinkling. "You smell like burnt plastic." This was said with the authority of someone who knew exactly what burnt plastic smelled like. It was one of those scents that lingered. "What'd you do?"


Mari waited while Auraliese slid herself out from underneath the car, propping herself up with her arms. She shifted the wait of her bag to her hip, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. Sometimes she wondered why she always seemed to be hanging around Spork-like figures. Granted, two was not really a pattern, but considering they comprised the entirety of her friend group, Mari was willing to call it a trend.

“Oh? That’s good.” Mari said, faltering when she realized Aura was teasing her. “Luckily, mine’s a sucker for cute girls covered in grease.” There was an awkward pause as Mari processed exactly what she’d said.

Fortunately, she was saved from the pain of explaining who her manager was and why their opinion mattered and why she just insinuated that Aura was covered in grease by Aura saying she smelt bad. She didn’t say it quite like that, but Mari knew the smell of burnt plastic. It was bad.

“I didn’t do anything. This little bastard did.” She said, shaking the bag slightly for emphasis. “Been working on a new attachment for the better part of a month and it just doesn’t want to work. This last one destroyed the prototype and the fucking gun. Luckily I’ve got spares.”

Mari shifted the bag around as she stepped back awkwardly, giving Aura the space to stand up.

“Figured I’d go to the second-smartest person I know to see if we could figure it out. Worst case, you can rubber duck for me.”


Mari really was awful at this whole pretend flirting thing - almost bad enough to make Auraliese wonder if she was serious. They'd been friends for a while, but... eh, who knew? Engines were at least easier to understand. She brushed a wayward wisp of hair out of her face - not the first time she'd done that today, if the grease mark on her temple was any indication. Fortunately, she was unbothered by it, especially because Mari had come bearing gifts. Sure, the gifts were in pieces and Auraliese didn't get to keep them, but a project was a gift nonetheless. Now, if she'd also come bearing Chinese food, that would have been ideal, but you just couldn't have everything.

"Let's take it to the back room and we'll take a look at it," she offered, getting up and lowering the not-a-'97 back to the ground. She didn't like leaving cars lifted; it seemed like bad safety practice somehow. "Are your hands all right? I've got some burn stuff... or... you didn't die, did you?" Hopefully it hadn't been that bad of an explosion, but... well. It wouldn't have been the first time. Auraliese tried to do a mental tally on the Kitsune Count, but she never really was able to keep up with it, especially because she knew Mari didn't tell her everything, probably with good reason.

Getting to the back room meant crossing the shop floor and going through the little vestibule that she pretended was a lobby. It had two chairs in it for people to wait in. They were cheap metal folding chairs, because Auraliese did not actually want people sitting around waiting while she worked on their cars. Then they'd start asking for coffee and pastries and bathrooms and all of a sudden she'd be running a resort.

It probably wouldn't be that bad, but it still wasn't something she wanted to encourage. The front desk was currently being manned by a potted barrel cactus with a bell on top of its barrel and a sign stuck in the pot that said "Ring Bell For Assistance." It worked ridiculously well to discourage people from slamming the bell or ringing it seventy times. Usually she just got a gingerly bing! and sometimes she got a more emphatic ding DING DING "OW SONOFABITCH", which was also funny.

The back room was locked, but Mari had been there often enough that she probably knew the code from looking over Auraliese's shoulder when she entered it. She seemed like the sort of person that would do that. Auraliese waved her inside, unconcerned, flopping down on one of the third-hand couches. "So, where's Spork on your list of genius people?"