Abigail regarded the combivan with a mixture of scepticism and awe. Patchwork repair jobs like this always tended to go sideways at the worst of times but you just couldn't tell when it came to lower class rural engineering. Practitioners varied wildly in terms of skill. Abi had seen flaming wrecks of old pickup trucks alongside mysterious trailers with sawn off paneling, vents and all sorts jutting out at bizarre angles. She'd seen miracles performed with PVC pipes, a blowtorch and a bit of ingenuity. It's a strange vocation that came with a lot of trial and error, but when it worked...her gaze slipped to Billy with just as much scrutiny, as if she was trying to sniff out his origins. Weighing him up against the fruits of his labour. All of these things were a moot point regardless. Abi hadn't seen anything else in the car park big enough to hold the entire squad and she wasn't about to dig her heels in over a clunky undercarriage. If it broke down, it was everyone's problem - not hers specifically. And it smelt like doughnuts. "Should'a painted on a bit of décor," she remarked critically, mangling the pronunciation of the word into something that could best be described as 'americanised to the extreme'. "But hey, looks good. Dibs on the back seat!" She'd taken off before she even finished the sentence, wrenching open the side door (it made a nasty THUMP when it hit the end of its hinges) and launching herself into one of the stiff grey seats near the back window. A cloud of dust, dirt and various ashes rose as she collided with the cushions. She didn't even flinch at the disgusting condition of its interior, even looking around with some fondness at how…well-loved it was. Instead she took to drawing on the window with her finger, smearing the brownish film on the interior as she drew a sun shining.