Jimmie watched in silence through the window of his shop. The pet-maker in his portable shop, Odo and some fine looking lady caring for a bleeding girl, but most of all, he fixed his stare on the shop of that Volex fellow. Before Jimmie had not bothered with the engine-vet, but as of now, he found a rudimentary interest in him. Not because of his trade, but rather because of the golem earlier.<br/><br/>The scum had sported interest in his shop rather than his own, and everybody knew that Scum did not go to purchase wares of the everyday citizen. They were parasitic simpletons that only required the means to an end-ussually a blunt object or a simple gun - in the service of some one in crime. He had not turned to Irish? - The- Irish of London. The underworlds most proficient gunsmith in all of England (or at least so he liked to boast himself). Jimmie Cullen's work was beyond average and everybody knew that if something above the law needed doing that contained oil, metal, copper and clockwork, he was the man.<br/><br/>But this Volex fellow had got the attention of the scum. A potential rival? Here, almost neighbouring him? All this time that bloody screwdriving veterinary had been here taking his work just under his nose, and he hadn't noticed. Finally giving up on his curiousity, Jimmie braced himself, barked at Lynn thick with accent to take over the shop again, and stepped outside.<br/>He looked to stern and he realised that he looked as annoyed as he felt. Deciding to not only look relaxed, but also to sooth his mind, he lit a roughly rolled piece of of paper with cheap tobbacco between the folds. Inhaling greedily from the simple cigarette he marched over, stepped in the store and put on the most business-like smile he could fathom.<br/>"Hello there."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>