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It's three takes before she can be certain she sees him right, through the haze of the hot-tar heat outside the garage. She's gotta drag the back of her hand over her brow to get the sweat off. Even then she blinks a few times, and there he is, glintin' like the first swipe of cloth through caked-on wax.
Sure, some around these parts might murmur about the stature of the man, tall and towering in the foreign cut of his clothes. Or his skin, milky white in the harsh sun, or his iron frown, or his hair, whiter 'en old lady Ezma's, white like clouds and candy floss. He ain't from round here, that's for sure.
Cindy? Cindy sees the only thing that matters.
She calls out before her brain can get the better of her.
"Hey! Nice arm! Mind if ah take a look, hon?"
The man turns, face impassive, though Cindy senses some surprise. There's a phone in his hand. He's clearly waiting on someone. If he'd been a local he'd've known to go over to Takka's, as near nobody 'round here's known for their punctuality.
When he sees who's talking, a bit of caution comes into his gaze — but the kind of caution that says he's curious.
"That," Cindy says, tryin' not to be flustered. She points her wrench.
The man looks down, then raises his arm questioningly. The metal limb dang near shines, lit up like crystal as it moves.
"Mah gods, that is gorgeous," Cindy blurts, coming closer and lifting her cap. "Think you could...? Just a finger?" He obliges by flexing the second finger, crook of it slow to show the movement. She feels her breath quickening. "Right, two now." He repeats it, two fingers — "Sweet Astrals. Do it again?"
"You stand closer than might be wise," the man says, warning in his tone, but Cindy knows the sort who think they're tough, and this one, he only thinks he's tough.
Cindy breathes, "That is one true work 'o art."
There's a pause, like the man isn't sure what to make of it. "Thank you," he finally says awkwardly. "And you." His eyes skim over her apprehensively, trying to return the compliment. "You. Those are some............................... nice.... breasts. Yourself."
Well, he knows what he's about. She beams. "Thanks sweetheart! Only thing ah'm proud a' that ah didn't make mahself."
Silence.
"Ah'm a mechanic," she clarifies. "Ah haven't mechanized these girls. Ain't anything wrong with those who might. Like that arm you got there. That is one beautiful piece of machinery. I would love to take you apart."
He's getting mighty dizzy lookin', eyes gone narrow in a way Cindy mighta laughed at if she ain't been the reason for it. As it is, she feels a little bad. She ain't aimin' to make him uncomfortable, and maybe that coulda been construed as a little forward.
"Oh, my! Sorry. Did that come out wrong? Didn't mean to sound like ah got a disrespectful thing for the cyborg kind." She laughs sheepishly, scratches her ear, tucks a curl behind. "Just that — not many people come by 'round here, that got the resources for a prosthetic like that there. Pawpaw would be right blown over to see this, if he weren't busy out with the rebuildin' right now." She sighs, fond. "Always said we're the original machines, and tinkerin' with ourselves weren't nothing to be ashamed of, yunno? It's what the gods made us to do. Flesh an' gear alike. An' when the light hits the skin and the that warm metal gets movin', you feel like everything's right in th' world... oh, dear."
The man's lookin' at her eyes big, like maybe she do got a disrespectful thing for the cyborg kind. She can't rightly blame him; that didn't help at all.
"This is not a toy," the man says slowly, though he ain't all hurt by the sound of it — more like he's never thought anybody would need that clarifying.
"Oh, I didn't think it..." she trails off. "Ah... ah am sorry, sug. Pawpaw says sometimes mah brakes need adjustin' when it comes to people." She's feeling ashamed now, and it serves her right. She steps back, adjusts her cap on her head, makes to retreat to the garage. "You want a tune-up I'm happy to do it, but you ain't obliged."
That didn't go the way she wanted, and it's only her to blame. Wouldn't be the first time, either, she thinks with a wince.
She's halfway scampered back to the shadows to nurse her pride when the man speaks up again, voice uncomfortable but pitched to carry.
"To be honest," he calls, "I am — unsure of the extent of its uses."
Cindy halts and glances back.
The man's got a flush to his cheeks now, and it don't look like it's just from the sun. Hope blooms in her chest when she sees he's got a foot in front of the other, like he's meaning to follow her in, and just needs a reason to do it.
"Well, ah'm sure we can find that out for you," she says, careful swallow.
The hope turns into something hungry when he raises up his arm again, between them, like an offering. He makes a fist, opens it again, flexes each finger separately. The joints don't make a sound, flashing like liquid. Her breath's comin' short again. He's looking at it now, too, like he might never've seen it before. Like nobody's ever looked at it this way before.
The man's stopped just short of her now, standing in the sun like he's afraid to step into the shade with her. What's he so scared of, she don't know — but nothing that's broke comes into the shop and leaves again without being better for it, and that's a truth she'll swear by.
Cindy's a straightforward girl, and she ain't gonna change that up now, though her heart's hammerin' in her throat.
She reaches out for the arm, slow so as not to scare, and drags one slow finger down the hot metal. She tilts her head.
"Now," she says, savoring the spark in his eye. She rubs the pad of her thumb lightly into his palm, up, down. He's fixed on her now, and she presses down a grin. "Y'sure it ain't a toy?"
It's a gamble that's worth it, she decides, when she's spread on the hood of some poor automobile waiting for its owner to return, his mouth sealed over her left breast, his hand buried in her left butt cheek and his warm metal fingers massaging spots she didn't even know existed.
She wonders if that electric snap he showed her could be put to any use.
If not, well, give her a couple 'a days. She's sure they can make somethin' of it.