Tully comes into the waiting room of his auto repair shop, a troubled look on his face. He approaches you with his head cocked to decided, as if he's already considering the answer you've not yet given to the question he hasn't asked.
As he stops in front of you, Tully's eyes narrow and he juts his head forward while maintaining its tilt, contorting his neck into an unnatural position equal parts comical and uncomfortable.
"You been messin' with Vikings again?" Tully asks you point-blank.
You shake your head violently, firmly indicating in the negative.
"No? Trafficking with ice giants? Invoking the Old Gods of the Norse tradition?"
You repeat your gesture. You're pretty sure your non-verbal lie is convincing.
"See, 'cause the reason I ask is," he continues, scratching his head, "seems your serpentine belt has somehow turned into the eternal serpent himself, Jörmungandr. Looks like he's gonna devour the Tree of the World starting with your engine block."
You blink nervously. The Nordic shaman said he'd be more discreet than this, damn it.
"I reckon you realize I'm gonna have to report this to the authorities, what with the world-ending consequences of you and brining Ragnarok upon us and all."
"Surely that's not necessary," you plea.
"'Fraid so," Tully replies. "You and I both know Jörmungandr won't rest until all the nine world lie heavy in his bell and he takes the final slumber of existence. Rules is rules."
This will not look good on your record.