"Get on outta' here!" The tubby nako tender yelled as he clapped a hand to the man's back, giving him a rough shove out the door. Not rough enough to set him off balance, but enough to remove him effectively. Emerald eyes widened in shock as he juggled with the items in his arms. Pieces of discarded mythril, and a heap of junked circuit boards and appliance parts, it took all of his focus to keep his balance as well as his hold on the items he had been hoarding.

"An here's your wages!" The tender's fist unfurled, a few pieces of low currency falling into the street with tinkling clangs until they too fell silent. With flattened feline ears, the tender slammed the tavern door with such a ferocity that the thunderous clap echoed across the near-empty streets, drawing the attention of a few other's in the area. It was late, very late. Middle of the night late, and Space had worked long and hard to earn his tiny wages this evening. Still, there were more spoils to be had than money because it seems there was some good in working for the fat tavern-owner. There were always people bartering at the bar, always there with their new technologies they found in the market district. Most of them were happy to get their broken or obsolete items off their own hand for no charge much less what Spencer offered for them.

Tonight he had scored some prizes. Mythril was terribly hard to get when he, himself, wasn't allowed to venture into the market district, and it just so happened one of the patrons had some scrap armor they were selling for cheap. Most of Space's wages went to acquiring these worthless pieces, but he lived comfortably, or at least he thought so.

It wasn't a long walk to his home, a comfortable one room-type shack just a bit aways from the edge of the working district. Pushing the door open, he piled his night's spoils on his work desk. Most of his home was crammed full of parts, boxes of parts, crates of pieces and parts. Parts upon pieces upon shards, upon anything mechanical he could get his hands on. Because what he did for a living was repair. He wasn't the best in Nyxia, but damned near close to it. He had yet to be unable to repair any technologies that came his way, including armor and weapons. He had even done repairs for wealthy folk in the market district. And for people who were poor, he repaired especially cheap, money wasn't too much of an issue for him, except when it came to taxes.

With tax day coming, money was a bit tight. Work had to be done, several orders needed to be ready by the end of the day tomorrow. It looked like another all-nighted as Spencer sat down at his desk, pulling a few tools from a drawer and setting to work on his evening's endeavors.

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New Orleans Will Rise Again!