One winged Owl

Jeez. Even the coffee in this time was better than home's.
Of course, that didn't stop the rugged-looking man from grumbling about plenty of other things. How they still used notebooks in this time. How they made their coffee without regard for any eco-care.
At least, he told himself, at least the cafes here advertise actual parts for working machines. In his many years of being alive (if you could really call it living), he'd had much, much worse. That test run he did way back, when he started using the machine? He shuddered to think of how little technology there was there. Here, though, colorful advertisements showed at least the predecessors of what would eventually become normal things back home - e-readers would turn into e-pads and e-halls, bikes would turn into transport docking stationaries.... It was a little bit interesting to watch technology develop.
Right now, though, he was a man on a mission - the machine he'd used to get here had essentially fallen apart when he'd gotten here. Of course it had - it was made of 1800's era technology, so who could blame him - but still, it had fallen apart. Damned if he wasn't going to fix it.
He lumbered across the cafe, his gaze flitting from page to page until
"Huh?"
there was a page that caught his eye. A transistor for a real advanced engine - power source, perhaps? If he got that,t hen he'd have to assemble a bunch more things, but.... this seemed to be a streamlined decision for power, aside from nuclear - and he knew from last year's summit that as soon as you mentioned the word "nuclear power" everyone loses their shit and kicks you out of the association.
He grabbed the paper, with a gruff grunt in place of an "excuse me." As it so happened, he had taken the sheet of paper from right underneath a young woman's nose.

@Prinny-Jt

Obviously, Damien didn't reply right away - he was busy calculating and recalculating the power levels necessary for the transistor to work. Only after he'd decided the power levels were fine for this transistor, and pocketed the flyer, did he notice the purple-haired girl with a witch hat in front of him. Damien guessed he'd stolen her flyer. Oh well.
"Sorry, kid," he said gruffly, his voice like gravel. He pawed at another flyer, one for axels - also right in front of Hazel. "Need these," he grunted again, rifling through them until he pocketed some more of them. Clearly, unconcerned with the girl (the witch?).
But then she mentioned something about prosthetics. Something something, new leg. Apparently she'd lost hers. He wanted to say tough luck, but.... it was prosthetics. And plus, the young woman reminded him of his dead wife. Kinda creepy, but he wouldn't admit it, even if this stupid town did ask. He took a glance at the (honestly outdated) surrogate leg and scoffed.
"The people in this time really are primitive, aren't they. Who holds up a leg with steel and fiberglass anymore?" he mumbled to himself. "You damage the internal nerves so they become weak, and the stuff's conductive as hell.... Hhh. Tough luck, kid, you got stuck with a bad leg." His own fake hand twitched at his side.
A second passed.
Silence...
"Tell ya what, kid." Damien leaned on the table. "I fix your leg. It doesn't look like any o'these other kids could do it. Steel feet - what are they, 18th century?"

@Prinny-Jt

All the young witch got was a ...really. face. "Seems you don't really understand sarcasm, kid. Gonna be hard to deal with you." He cleared his throat and then sat down opposite the girl, whipping out his phone. Obviously, it had been modded to at least try to come to futuristic standards. He'd got it working well enough. Scroll, scroll, scroll... and then he stopped on a particular page. He seemed almost bored.
"When do you need the leg by, do you want it deattachable...? Give me details here."
Wait, he'd never gotten her name.
"Right. What's your name, kid?"

@Prinny-Jt

"Of course it was, kid." The tallish man muttered, taking the card from Hazel and studying it for a few seconds. There was a slight mechanical twitch to his right arm as he put the card down. "Hazel, in'nit, kid?" A rusty chuckle. "'Kay then. I'm gonna need some supplies for this prosthetic." With a sudden movement he stood, and it was apparent now that his left leg had a glint to it that didn't seem natural. It was, after all, made of a flexible sort of aluminium...? It was some weird pliable metal. "You said money'd be no object. When would you forward the payment?"
He pocketed the business card.
"Damien Invasio."

@Prinny-Jt

A simple nod and a grunt, as he trudged his way to the door, arm and leg now glinting pretty obviously. It was apparent he knew a thing or two about prosthetics. "That'd be about right for a kid like you. Though, I doubt you'd have enough money to pay me and the shopkeepers. Need some parts, too, for a project I'm workin' on."
On second thought - maybe he should pay for all the stuff.
"It's a plan, then," he agreed in response to her payment offer.
And off they went, to the parts store. Well, the nearest one - Damien abruptly swerved into a computer shop and seemed to know exactly what aisle was which.