Wrench is presently in the business of minding his own, which makes for a nice change of pace for a man who's so often been made party to others'. He doesn't really know what brought him here or why, and any attempts at explanation have fallen sort of flat. Maybe he hasn't been paying the kind of attention that he should have to the endless yammering, or maybe it's just that none of it makes any sense. Whichever might be more true, he's decided to approach the whole mess the way he would if he were back in the upper Midwest: just get on with the business of survival.
Commerce as a whole isn't something he's ever concerned himself with very much, but he came here with literally nothing and it seems wiser to get at least a few things to his name to work with. That's meant a lot more interaction with a lot more people than he'd have liked it to, so he's already tired and verging towards pissed off. When someone runs right into him, he's ready for a fight.
Wrench whirls around and just about shoves the aggressor until the man sidles up next to him and suddenly they're two against four. It's not great odds, but from the looks of things they've all been using their fists anyway. He doesn't know what it's about, but it probably wouldn't make much difference if he did. Wrench doesn't have any beliefs of his own worth fighting for; he's mostly waiting to be conscripted into someone else's conflict.
He squares his shoulders, widens his stance, and cracks his knuckles. It gets the attention of the clique who now seem to be sizing him up, so he juts his chin at the biggest one.
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Commerce as a whole isn't something he's ever concerned himself with very much, but he came here with literally nothing and it seems wiser to get at least a few things to his name to work with. That's meant a lot more interaction with a lot more people than he'd have liked it to, so he's already tired and verging towards pissed off. When someone runs right into him, he's ready for a fight.
Wrench whirls around and just about shoves the aggressor until the man sidles up next to him and suddenly they're two against four. It's not great odds, but from the looks of things they've all been using their fists anyway. He doesn't know what it's about, but it probably wouldn't make much difference if he did. Wrench doesn't have any beliefs of his own worth fighting for; he's mostly waiting to be conscripted into someone else's conflict.
He squares his shoulders, widens his stance, and cracks his knuckles. It gets the attention of the clique who now seem to be sizing him up, so he juts his chin at the biggest one.