(no subject)

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

[Today, Luke can be found sitting on the floor. ...In the middle of a public area. In his coveralls! Although they're peeled off his upper half and tied around his waist, and the shirt underneath is covered in grease spots. He's currently fiddling amongst a sizable pile of scrap metals and tools. He appears to be making something. Do feel free to pester.]

Comments

[fononfailure]

[ With the winged redhead being a quiet and uncooperative pain in the ass, poor Mr. Mechanic is going to get treated to a does of obnoxious not-a-mama!redhead. Unless Luke is on high alert he probably won't hear her approaching in stealth mode to crouch behind him to watch, head cocked to the side. The only reason her mouth isn't running already is thanks to the cookie hanging out of it. Yum. ]

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Hand me that flat piece of metal by your foot, wouldja?

[fononfailure]

Mph? Mhmm. [ Luckily for him she's in a helpful mood as opposed to one of her frequent snooty ones. The thing he requested gets hefted up for inspection before she passes over and scoots in to see what he's doing. ]

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Thanks.

[fononfailure]

[ Well now she's going to have to free up her mouth if she wants to have a conversation with him. Which she does. With the hand that has yet to be dirtied by the mess he's sitting in, she removes the cookie from her lips and swallows the last bite. ] Sure. What are you making?

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Not sure yet. I'm thinking a '67...

[fononfailure]

A sixty-seven what? [ The more she learns about this version of herself, the more confused she becomes about him. Not a simple task to understand this one at all. The weird little thing he's been messing with gets a couple pokes for the hell of it. ]

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

... Maybe an Impala. Fight tiny demons.

[fononfailure]

...you're making robotic demons? Who do you think you are, Dist?

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

An Impala is a type of car, Luke. A small model '67 Impala.

[fononfailure]

[ Nails him in the butt with the heel of her of her shoe. Bastard. ] Excuse me for not knowing all about things from Earth. [ She's not even going to ask if a car is related to the carriages Auldrant has. ]

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Ow, hey! Not my fault you jumped to conclusions when I said an Impala and thought I was making robots. I said fighting tiny demons, not making them.

[fononfailure]

What the hell kind of demons are that small? Ones that rolled your brain out your ear? [ Fumes at him and jabs the metal contraption of his. She's slightly peeved. Only slightly. ]

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

What'cha making?

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Cripes, sweetheart. Don't do that when I've got sharp pieces of metal in my hands. ...Making a model.

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

Sorry about that.

A model? Of what?

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

I have to assume you don't know what a 1967 Impala is.

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

You have assumed correctly.

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

It's a car. A type of... personally owned mobile vehicle that people where I came from drive. A very ...nice, personally own mobile vehicle. They're like large mobile, but people-operated fontech.

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

That's really cool.

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

Thanks.

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

You're starting to remind me of Guy a little bit. It's funny.

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

He's about half the reason I'm where I am. Call it a... hobby in memory.

[wingedreplica.livejournal.com]

I see...

You're something, Luke.

[highmaintanance.livejournal.com]

'Something', all right.