The reek of oil and ozone clung to Swansea Hotard like a second skin as he hunched over a sputtering engine, his brow furrowed deeper than a cracked block. His hands, stained with grease, moved with an almost surgical precision, tightening a bolt on the '78 Ford his distraught neighbor, Margaret, had dragged in. "You gonna stand there all day gawking, Margaret, or you gonna fetch that 9/16ths?" he grumbled, not looking up, the gruffness a familiar shield over the quiet satisfaction of a problem he knew he could solve.

(name: Swansea Howard/Hotward. no tulpar au)