It had been another long week for Grimshaw Fontaine. Endless hours pulling security for the caravans that came to and from Thrin, aqua cola and produce moved by the ton every month. It was enough to make his back ache like nails were driven in between the vertebrae, and the bitching from the dock bosses only made his migraines worse. It made him wonder if honest work was worth it.

The liqour helped to quell those thoughts most days, driving off the temptation to get back to easy life. The bad life. His bottle was empty now, though, and he clutched at his mask and goggles as he swept it aside and replaced it with a handful of coins. Always better to leave your bill paid without a word. 

Then the kid showed up through the doors of the dive, and the big man's mustached face lit up at his words. A goddamn airship, and not a merchantman. Best of all, he was hiring. Grimshaw swore as he tried to straightennthe corners of the giant mustache, his bald head shining in the dim light as he approached. He waited for the crowd of kids that had started to gather about him, no doubt looking for work as well. He pushed past a few when the conversation died down, looking as professional as he could in his dirty, somewhat mismatched clothes. When he spoke, his voice was coarse, ugly, not unlike his face.

"Need crew, ya came to the right place, Cap. Won't find a better hand than Grimshaw Fontaine." It was a boast, to be sure, but he put enough from experience in his tone to put some weight behind it. "Been flyin' up and down this Wasteland since I was a kid. Handle a gun an' an airbag well as the other."