Jon had arrived at his garage earlier than he normally did; probably because he just didn't want to sulk at home anymore. It had still been pretty dark when he'd started up his old beat up pick-up and drove to his home away from home. He hadn't bothered playing any CDs on his way to work either like he normally did, he just felt it wouldn't liven him like it normally did.

Immediately Jon started work on his mini-project as there weren't many cars in for repair right now. No, instead he started working away on his little Ferrari, with the chipped paint and beaten up parts. Though as he started, he felt the garage seemed a little stuffy and creepy to an extent with just him by himself working this early. So casually he opened one of the big garage doors so a little air could come into the building and so he could hear the distant sounds of cars moving about early in the morning.

On his way back to his project, he flicked on some music from the rather beaten up CD player. Jon made a mental note to replace it soon as he'd done almost everyday for the past two years. Grabbing one of Lance's burnt CDs, he flicked into the player and turned it on so it was loud enough to hear over his work, but not too loud either. As the first song started, Jon heard the loud beats and strong lyrics. One of Lance's favourites, Time of Dying by Three Days Grace; the boy loved that band. Jon already knew he was in for a lot of Three Days Grace as he'd memorized all of the songs that played on the CDs.

Picking up some tools, Jon opened the hood of the beaten up car and started examining some of the motor; might as well get that done. The lyrics of the song ran through his head as the lead singer began to sing (or yell, actually) the familiar words.

"On the ground I lay, motionless in pain. I can see my life, flashing before my eyes. Did I fall asleep, is this all a dream? Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare!

"I will not die. (I will not die) I will survive! I will not die, out waiting for you. I feel alive, when you're beside me. I will not die, out waiting for you, in my time of dying."

He hummed the tune of the song quietly to himself, Jon knew the sun would be rising soon and he'd have to start opening shop. He'd wait for everyone to arrive first, though, he'd rather have some time to think before talking to customers.

As he reached over to grab something on the small worktable by the car, he accidentally sliced the palm of his hand on... well he wasn't actually sure yet. Just something sharp and rusty, which could be anything on this car. "Shit!" He cursed as he placed his undamaged hand on the side of the car, but he accidentally misjudged his own strength and his hand sunk into the metal with a loud creak or protest.

"Oh shit!" He squealed in horror as he pulled his hand swiftly away, looking at the obvious hand print on the side of the car. He couldn't blame that on vandals. Quickly he swung his head from side to side to make sure no one had seen him do it, but heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't see anyone, but he didn't check very thoroughly. Figuring the coast was clear, he went to wash the blood of his band at the sink, but caught his foot on the small work table next to the Ferrari.

He slammed down hard on the concrete floor, his jaw smacking pretty hard against it. His tools had scattered over the floor with a loud clang, one particularly large wrench landing dead center on his head. "Damn it..." Jon mumbled to himself as he sat up rubbing his head. Time of Dying was still droning on in the background, but he ignored it as he brought his hand in front of him to make sure he wasn't bleeding. He wasn't, but it still hurt pretty bad; he figured he might've cracked his skull a bit with that one.

Glancing at his hand, he saw the small cut that had caused him all this trouble had already healed and there was now just a thin scar. Sometimes being a werewolf could come in handy, but a lot of the time it sucked; but the 'time of the month' jokes had their moments of hilarity.

Jon sighed and decided against getting up just yet. Instead he grabbed the wrench that landed on his head and hammered the spot where his hand had sunk into the metal; a few good whacks later and you couldn't even tell it used to be a hand print. Tossing the wrench back onto the floor, Jon positioned himself so he could lean against the body of the rusty red car.

Bringing his left knee up, he rested his left arm on it lightly as he leaned his head back and covered his eyes with his right hand. The back of his head, where the wrench had so expertly landed, rested lightly on the cool, rough metal. In his heart, Jon knew that he was feeling this way because of Lila. Why did she have to be brought into this? Would death have been better than living a cursed life? He didn't really know, but he didn't exactly like either option. A life this long wasn't much of a gift, not to Jon. He would've preferred a normal life, but then he argued with himself, if he'd died the day he'd been attacked he never would've met his wife and had his beautiful children. Though he argued again, if he hadn't met his wife he wouldn't have had to suffer for all these years because of their death.

Rage seemed to pour over Jon at that thought and he slammed his right hand down on the concrete; hard enough to hurt, but not enough to break anything. Jon knew he would live a thousand years of pain and sorrow for one of pure and utter happiness and he'd received far more than one year. As if on cue, Pain by Three Days Grace started up, but he ignored it.

His thoughts wandered again, for a long time he was quiet until he asked himself very quietly, "I wonder if she's okay..." All ready Jon knew that life was better than death, even if it was a cursed life... Sighing to himself, Jon got up and began gathering up his tools and placing them again on the work table. They made light clings and clangs as he put them down before dusting himself off and looking at the old car. He wondered to himself if he was like the car; old and rugged, sharp around the edges and a little beaten up, but just waiting for someone to come and fix him. He laughed at the thought, who would want to fix an old thing like him, that looked beyond repair?

But maybe that was why he was so determined to get the old Ferrari running again; it was him in car form. The thought made him laugh as he started to decide which tool he'd need to fix the motor, the heart of the car...

((OOC: Believe it or not, I pulled that out of my ass as I went along. I kind of like the comparison at the end, though. Maybe there's a tool out there for ol' Jon...))

Jon smiled as he heard a familiar voice, he could use some cheering up from an old friend. "I wouldn't say typical, but interesting none the less." His tone was kind, yet seemed a little distracted as he leaned out away from the motor, his light brown eyes glancing at Tris for the first time since the gathering. She'd been showing up more than usually lately; maybe something was bothering her.

When she'd mentioned the 'lost cause', Jon sighed sadly and looked longingly at the rusted piece of junk in front of him, "I wonder which lost cause I keep working on is worth commending most..." He muttered quietly, half to himself and half to Tristan. Just the way he had said it was off beat for Jon, as if he was off in a thought that was far too deep for him or off in a distant land of some sort, thinking of happier days.

"I suppose I'm just looking for the right tool right now, something that'll fix it all..." He said this in a way that he was obviously referring to something, though what he was referring to was not entirely clear. It could be the old Ferrari, his life, or maybe even his heart; perhaps a combination of the three, or even something different entirely.

Grabbing a small rag off the work table, Jon began to wipe some of oil off his hands; though the rag was filthy and would probably only spread around the oil rather than remove it. Doing this snapped him out of his slightly emo thoughts and brought him back into reality.

"Man, I shoulda grabbed a bite before I came here, I'm famished..." Jon complained as his stomach rumbled slightly, "Could use some coffee too, what about you, Trisy?

"Hey, why don't we go for something to eat? Though I shouldn't leave the garage now that I'm here, I usually open..." Jon frowned as you could slowly see the gears turning in his head, processing a thought. Without warning a broad grin erupted over his face, apparently he'd thought of a scapegoat to get out of the garage for a few hours this morning; he didn't really feel like being there anyway. Let you down droned on in the background quietly.

"Trust me. There's no need to fear, everyone's here. Waiting for you to finally be one of us. Calm down, you may be full of fear. But you'll be safe here; when you finally trust me, finally believe in me..."

Looking swiftly to his side, Jon saw the object that would set his ('brilliant' as he felt) plan into motion. That damn wrench was becoming handy today... Swiping it off the table and grasping it firmly in his hand, weighing it for a moment. Then, without warning, brought it behind his back then wiped it full force at the defenseless stereo.

"Let you down, I----- Geeeeggggggggkkkkkkic!" It screamed as the wrench embedded itself deeply into it's mechanical 'guts'.

"Oh dear, it appears my CD player is broken, I suppose I'll have to replace it..." Jon muttered innocently as the CD player still made sad noises of protest in the background as if trying in vain to continue playing the song. "Know any good brands?" He asked smirking and pulling out his cell phone, which he only carried for emergency situations (he didn't like cell phones very much); and now was clearly an emergency.

Quickly he typed in a familiar number and brought the device to his ear; a few rings later and a familiar voice answered. "Hey Pete!" Jon said pleasantly and the voice on the other end seemed to acknowledge him.

"Yeah, so listen; I came to work early, but I didn't have time to get anything to eat. I also found the CD player in a horrid mess, tragically, Lance's Three Days Grace CD was in the misshapen piece of technology at the time; I don't think it'll be working again... He'll have to make another one." The voice on the other line sounded pleasant and happy; apparently he wasn't a big fan of Lance's music, "Yeah," said Jon, "Would you mind opening shop up while I run a few errands this morning?"

He was silent again for a few seconds, muttering a few 'uh-huh's where appropriate. "Thanks, Peter. You're a life saver. How much to I pay you again?" Both of them laughed as they said their goodbyes (Jon warning Peter to keep an eye on Lance) and Jon closed his silver phone.

Smiling, Jon asked Tristan kindly, "So, would you like to join me for breakfast? Or do I have to go by myself?" Apparently Jon wasn't leaving her many options; it had been awhile since he'd talked seriously with Tristan, breakfast could be fun.

((OOC: Sorry I sort of commandeered the direction of the thread, but I do want Jon to get out of the garage. I know very little about tools and things of the sort, which is why I keep choosing to use wrenches as my 'tool of choice'. Plus this could lead for bonding time between Tris and Jon and/or character development. Oh, and Soap told me that Tristan owns a diner, so they could go there if you want, aimless.

This post also sucks because I suck and... yeah. Just beat me up if you don't like it.))

Washing his hands quickly (but sufficiently), Jon jogged back up to Tristan to meet her before she got in the car. Though he could hear her fine from within the garage. Jon wore some dark blue jeans that were heavily worn out from the years of use and a faded maroon t-shirt with "Jon's Garage" written in small white letters on the right side of his chest. Jon felt he didn't need his employees wearing uniforms, they were usually identified by the grease and oil on their clothes; not to mention many of Jon's customers had been going there for years. Some of the customers were like family to the small mechanical team. Though the team usually wore something baring "Jon's Garage" on it, whether it be shirts or baseball caps.

"Why do you have to meet 'the suits?'" Jon asked with a hint of worry in his voice, "You know if you're in any trouble, I could help you out... I can hire you the best lawyer in all of Denver, one who'll let you wear jeans or sweatpants; hell, even 'drawers' if you want." He smirked, sliding into the passenger side of Tris' car; a nice machine if he did say so himself, though not as beautiful as his magnificent truck (he has a thing for his truck).

Buckling his seat belt, Jon continued, "Honestly, if there's any ever trouble... Just call, you know I worry about my friends; besides knowing you you'll get chased after by the mob one day. Not that you couldn't take 'em yourself." For a moment, he wondered if he would be so worried if someone like Marcky-boy got into trouble. True, Jon was very fond of Tristan, she was smart, funny, and beautiful; maybe even gorgeous... Jon stopped himself, no, don't think that way. It never ends well, he scolded himself in his head. Anyway, Jon regarded Tris as more of a friend than anything; he hadn't really regarded anyone more than a friend (or pack-mate, pretty much the same in some cases) for a long time.

Gazing down at his hand, Jon awaited Tris' answer as to why she was meeting with important 'suit people'; if it was anything funny, he'd have to bug her about it. If it was anything seriously,he'd have to help her out, then bug her about it later. But as he waited, he stared at the barely visible scar that had only been caused a little while ago; reflecting upon Tristan's words.

Maybe I do need a tool box...

((OOC: This sucks really, really, really bad; but I'm going to do my homework now. Damn you math! *shakefist*))