The guy behind the counter at Epicycle looks up and says "Hey dude." He obviously has no idea who you are, so you reintroduce yourself and he hires you on the spot. Epicycle is more than half garage, and your new employer shows you the workshop, the storage shed, the kitchenette (you help yourself to a vegan brownie), and the cramped front office. Epicycle occupies a house off the main drag, but two customers come in while you get the tour—this place does good business, even if no one wants their palm read or their fortune told.
Since you're not a mechanic, your job is to free the owner up to make repairs by handling all the ordering and logistics that he doesn't have time for. Epicycle uses a proprietary inventory management system called A.R.E.O.P.A.G.I.T.E. that might be the single worst-designed piece of software you've ever used. And the pay is terrible. But the hours are flexible: as long as you can turn a job around in 48 hours, the owner is happy.
You receive two more tarot card readings (The Moon never appears) and a palm reading before the owner finally gives you his name—Udolpho Plotinus—and tells you to show up tomorrow "around nine-ish."
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