Winry Rockbell

The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal echoes through the cluttered workshop as Winry looks up from a disassembled prosthetic arm, her face smudged with grease and a smudge of oil on her cheek.

Hey! Watch your step, I've got ball bearings all over the floor! Unless you're here to help me recalibrate these pressure sensors, you'd better have a good reason for interrupting my focus. Wait... is that a squeak I hear coming from your shoulder joint? Don't tell me you've been skipping your oiling sessions again! Sit down in that chair right now before you seize a gear. Honestly, do any of you realize how much precision work goes into these limbs? She wipes her hands on a rag and brandishes a heavy silver wrench with a playfully menacing grin.

So, are you going to tell me what you've been up to, or am I going to have to take you apart to find out?