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[Doing likewise, from the other side.]

[Chance looks up, wearing his flight suit and bandanna which obscures his identity and frowns when he realizes he's not alone. At T-bone, he doesn't hold much back but he's still a decent-mannered Kat and just resorts to pointedly tossing a destroyed piece of metal into the peripheral vision of the other temporary tenant of the scrap heap. Not threatening, just a heads-up.]

[The stranger is a large man in a ratty army-green coat, but he's paused to frown at the stranger, momentarily frozen as he assesses the potential threat. Then there's a soft rattling as something metal slithers and retracts from sorting through scrap to hide under the coat. No ordinary man, this.]

...What are you looking for? [It's not strictly courtesy, he isn't sure if they're going to be competing for material, here.]

[That sound puts T-bone on edge, making him pause in his digging as he also assesses the stranger more closely now. Something's off and his ears fold back a bit as he stands up straighter. Sure it's a little bit of posturing, but he's a Swat Kat, he needs to look he could kick tail.]

For starters? An engine block that isn't stripped clean. What about you?

[A Kat never could tell when someone might be friend or foe. It was usually in his best interest to try being polite.]

[That's as it should be. He doesn't mind putting people on edge. There's no posturing yet, though. He's a large man, and that by itself is usually enough as a start. His expression relaxes slightly, though.]

Ah. I'm seeking smaller parts than that. Odds and ends...

Well maybe we can help each other out. Whatcha lookin' for, exactly?

Electronics, mostly. Wire. Finer pieces to be used for circuitry. [If the stranger wants to help him out, he doesn't mind a bit, but he's not so quick to return the offer.]

Seems like they crush a lot of that around here but if I see something I'll let you know.

[He goes back to his side of the heap and keeps clawing out scrap metal with a familiar ease. He comes up with a car steering wheel and sighs.]

So I'm guessing they crash more cars than choppers around this place.

Yes... it can be hard to find anything of real value in a place like this. [He sighs and tosses aside a clump of frayed wires.]

If I see any helicopter crashes, I'll be sure to let you know. [He half though about offering to cause one, just because mayhem and destruction would be cathartic after the frustration of picking through scraps.]

Usually places like this are a goldmine.

[He grumps, but stops as he pulls out a radio. Hidden behind it is what he's looking for, an engine block with most of the guts still attached.]

Hey hairless, heads up for ya'. [He holds up the radio, trying to get his company's attention before he intends to toss it over.]

Hairless-?!! [He's been called many things, but never that, thank you. Not that he's met many people as hirsute as Chance.]

[It did the trick, anyways, as he's noticed the radio the stranger is holding up.]

Heh, yeah. You and all the other ones around this place.

[Chance gives an easy toss of the radio toward the stranger. In his opinion, even the uncoordinated should be able to catch the softball throw.]

[He does catch it, but shapes stir under his coat as he does, too much movement to be dismissed by wind.]

I take it you're not from around here?

First smart thing I've heard all day. [He flashes a sharp, toothy grin.] What about you?

[Chance starts freeing up the space around the engine, being careful not to bring the pile down on top of it or him.]

[He gives a slim smile, one that's more superior than it is friendly. Of course it's smart. He's a genius.] I'm from New York, if that's what you mean, but I tend not to put down roots...

[He pauses, watching, then a metal tentacle snakes from under his coat and flicks aside a part of a car door in Chance's way, tossing it aside as easily as if it were made of paper.]

[Chance gives that actuator a wary side glance.]

Thanks...

[He pulls a screwdriver out from a pocket in his flight suit and starts working on the engine even as he keeps an eye on his 'friend'.]

Can't say I know a New York where I'm from. Wouldn't happen to know a Doctor Viper, would you?

[No shock or alarm, so that's interesting. The robotic tentacle retreats again, the claw at the end swaying around ankle level, while another claw peeks out. There is a red light in the center of each, glowing, watching.]

[He raises an eyebrow, and picks at the radio carefully.] I can't say that I do... what is he a doctor of?

Genetics and biochemicals.

[Well, not knowing is a good thing so that's a start in the right direction.]

Those don't look like anything Doctor Hackle would put together, either.

[Almost as an afterthought.] Robotics specialist.

[Is he implying somebody else made his actuators? He is, isn't he. The nerve...]

These? [All four rise abruptly, claws opening, watching Chance with intense focus.] My own design. Doctor Otto Octavius.

[Chance stops to watch, surprise registering briefly on his face as he goes tense. The stance this Doctor, of course he's a Doctor, is taking is threatening with the way he spreads those things out.]

It was just a question, Doc.

[He turns to his trusty tact of being flippant as he tries to brush off his uncertainty. He's not quite sure what to make of this on top of all the weird fleshy, hairless inhabitants so he'll have to take it as it is.]

[It's menacing, but the threat is indirect. He is content, for the moment, just to be recognized as potentially dangerous. Chance's expression is enough for now.]

It was a question that assumed my reliance on others... but I'll let it pass. [The open claws lower, one by one, returning to picking through scraps, while he uses another to help him pry apart the radio.]

Why are you looking for helicopter parts?

So I can fix my jet and get back home. And since your Enforcers don't use anything other than cars and choppers, I'll have to make due with whatever I find here.

...You have a jet? [It's not that he has any use for one, but the idea that this potentially extra-dimensional stranger has a jet hiding somewhere around is... interesting, to say the least. New York is used to all manner of strange, with costumed villains and vigilantes fighting in the streets, but still. A random jet isn't likely to escape notice for long.]

Yeah, I do. I'm not in a flight suit for my own health, y'know.

[Chance may be a stranger, but he's quite well-practiced at hiding a jet. It also helps that he can park it vertically.]

[He grunts, acknowledging the somewhat obvious. Just because he's a pilot doesn't mean he has his own jet, after all.]

Hope you didn't park it close. This isn't the best neighborhood.

Anyone gets close to my plane, I'll whip their tails. Even if they don't have 'em.

[He shrugs, the gesture sending a ripple down one robotic tentacle.] You might find yourself outmatched, around here.

Yeah. We'll just see about that.

[Okay, so he's cocky, but he's thrown down with the likes of space monsters and freakish mutations on a weekly basis. He has some foundation to be sure of himself.]

Just a word of friendly warning. [He smiles, but the expression doesn't reach the eyes behind the dark glasses. Not that he has any call to be smug, himself, since he's equally cocky.]

Sure. Friendly.

[Chance shakes his head and decides to go back to his engine. It's clear he knows exactly what he's doing as he expertly strips it of the parts he needs with minimal effort, even using his cat claws like wire cutters to remove a few wires he doesn't need.]

As opposed to a threat, yes.

[His tone is even, but he resumes his own search, aided now by the metal arms.]

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