RR time!Quin

Chatterbox: Inkwell

RR time!Quin

RR time!

Quinn strained against the wrench. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and the raised letters spelling "Farraday Mechanics" on the side of it bit painfully into his palm. He felt the heavy bolt give under the wrench's torture. Flakes of rust fell like snow onto the ground, forty feet below him.

Quinn sat up and removed the wrench. He repositioned himself on the great iron beast and mopped his forehead with a greasy rag, leaving tracks of oil across his face.

"Tired already, Quinn?" a voice called up from underneath a shelf of iron.

He laughed - a strangely deep, throaty laugh from one as slight as he was. "Not a chance, Rhea!" He attacked the bolt again with renewed vigor. The nut popped off, skittered across the metal surface, and plunged over the side.

Spitting out several choice obscenities, Quinn shot out his hand to grab it, but it was too late. The nut was already plummeting four stories to the canal below.

--

This is where I leave you, my lovelies!! Two character names, a mild dilemma, and a kinda-sorta-somewhat place!

--L

submitted by L
(July 20, 2012 - 2:14 pm)

back to the Inkwell

((Haha Quinn do I have the perfect idea for THAT!))

Rhea watched the rusted nut fall past her. Gripping the edge of the automaton's outstretched hand, she hoisted herself onto the palm, looking Quinn straight in the eye.

"Quintus Wendelon Farraday. You did not just drop something down there." Arms akimbo, Rhea towered over him.

Quinn ran his fingers through his mop of dark hair. "Well, I... yeah. I did," he replied sheepishly.

Rhea rolled her light blue eyes and breathed an exasperated sigh. "And, you're expecting me to go get it for you, to 'spare you the shame that your father will make you feel, because you are supposed to be the star mechanic and I am your friend who completely disregards the rules about wearing harnesses at heights greater than ten feet'." She said the last part in a singsong voice that was rendered less effective by her lilting Irish accent and the obvious smile in her voice.

"Well, yeah. And you've done stuff like that before."

"Very well," she sighed, and took a running start. Dark red hair streaming behind her, she dove off the automaton's hand, through the splayed iron fingers.

It is a strange force of physics that governs the substance known as water. In a glass, upon the kitchen table, it is drinkable; it is liquid; it is no less harmful than a feather. But just as a feather can become harmful when the end is sharpened and inked and used to write the yellow journalism that swamps the streets of London every day, water too can become harmful when one dives from an automaton's hand suspended forty feet into a stretch of water that is barely twenty feet wide and ten feet deep after a rather unimportant and useless piece of machinery.

None of these ruminations had ever crossed Rhea's mind, which is why she was holding her body straight as a ramrod, arms together over her head, plummeting towards the canal at great speeds. Yells of surprise barely registered in her ears. And then, everything was wet and cold and dark. Bubbles rushed towards the surface - the breath forced from her lungs as she hit the water.

Ripping the regulation phosphorescent flashlight from her tool belt, she soon located the rusty nut and stowed it carefully in one of the many pouches contained on said belt.

Kicking her legs, Rhea burst out of the canal. She gulped down great breaths of air, not heeding the heavy footsteps approaching her.

"Rhea- you idiot," Quinn disentangled himself from the harness. He held out a hand for her to grasp and she did, pulling herself up onto the pavement. 

"Well, you wanted me to go get it," she answered. 

"I thought you would climb down!" She ignored the panic in his voice, heading to the worker's lockers. "If Dad saw that, you'd be out of a job like that!" He snapped his fingers to demonstrate.

Rhea opened her locker, number 18, and extracted a towel of indeterminate color. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she turned to face Quinn. "Lucky I was on the side you can't see from the office then."

"You have seaweed on your nose. And that's no excuse."

She removed the seaweed, flinging it in Quinn's general direction. "Sounds like you were actually concerned for my well-being," she said, squeezing canal water from her hair.

Quinn flushed. "You are my friend," he muttered, but it sounded like an excuse. Rhea happily cuffed his shoulder harder than was absolutely necessary.

~

And there is where I shall leave you. Ha.

Garthwumpian Flopp says zhpn.

~Quintus!

submitted by Quintus, Calveicia
(July 22, 2012 - 7:40 pm)

Poke

shove

whack

kick

TOP!

submitted by TOP, age toptoptop, at the top
(August 16, 2012 - 12:34 pm)