Sam Fawcett knows your secrets. (insistent) wrote in newsalem, @ 2012-01-22 22:53:00 |
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There were parts everywhere. It wasn't like he had the know-how to reassemble a muggle motorcycle, either. If it were his bike, it wouldn't be too big of a deal. Well, it would, but at least he wouldn't feel bad for being partly responsible for getting it in this condition. The partly responsible part of that was supremely important, though. Because there was no way in hell he was going to take the fall for this one. "You broke it, you're going to have to fucking fix it," he noted, drawing some blonde hair away from his eyes. "Fuck you. You're the one who wanted to take it apart to figure out how it worked." Never mind that she'd been just as eager to figure it out herself. Curiosity was just her nature; she couldn't help it. It was like air; she needed it to breathe. Her knees were beginning to lock in her crouched position. With a hefty push, she got to her feet and backed away. She rubbed the grease and grime onto her jeans, pushing her lips to the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, well. You didn't stop me, so it's obviously your fucking fault this all happened. What kinda conscience are you supposed to be, huh?" he challenged, raising his chin in a bit of defiance. It's just a pose he'd done all his life, much to the consternation of anyone he would consider a peer. He pinched his nose and closed his eyes for a second. "All right, all right. We gotta fix this. Somehow. Do you remember where this piece goes?" he asked, picking up something that looked like a spring mated with a screw and had an accident. "This is complete shite." "Shut your fucking gob already! I'm not your keeper!" Any other time, she would have just shoved him out of the way and been done with it. Let him handle the mess, but somehow she knew he would rat her out, and then she'd be in even more trouble for not admitting her mistake. Mistakes. Whatever. They were both to blame, and she was going to make sure he went down with her. "Errrmmm..." Looking down at what was left of the motorcycle, she tilted her head with confusion. She could have sworn it was there by that weird bolt, but she couldn't see a place to put it. It just didn't fit, and she couldn't think of any place at all that it would. She snatched the piece from him, trying several different spots - none of which worked at all. "Fuck if I know. I think we're fucked. Totally and completely and utterly fucked." "You're always fucking negative," he answered, sighing and wiping his hair from his eyes again. "There's gotta be someone we can call that knows this shite." He paused to think for a moment. "You know, that won't rat us out. One of the Weasleys, maybe?" He certainly sounded confident, but he always did, even when inside he completely agreed with her assessment. Grumbling, he kicked one of the larger pieces, then swore and held his foot. "Yeah. We're fucked." "Well, we definitely are now; I think the whole block heard that." She cringed, awaiting the inevitable. There was still time to run, to leave him to the wolves. Maybe run away from home completely. She just couldn't see how this would turn out so happy-go-lucky, and well, running was in her blood when the going got tough. Of course, no sooner had she turned to do just that, she ran smack into her mother. Her eyes went from one to the other, taking in the sight of the destroyed motorbike. "Your father's gonna be so fucking pissed at you too. You are just lucky that wasn't his favourite." She attempted to look stern, failed and shook her head. "Best you get it over with sooner than later." She drew in a breath, and in her loudest voice, yelled, "Wayne! Come and see what your kids have done!" A few moments of impatient silence later, Wayne arrived at the garage and looked around for a few intense seconds. His lips curved into a frown as he moved and started examining several of the loose pieces, occasionally glancing at the mostly disassembled engine still attached to the bike itself. After giving the two hoodlums a few minutes to stew and worry about how much trouble they were in, he finally broke into a chuckle. "Better than I did at your age. Clean disconnects, nae busted hoses. Screws aren't stripped. All n' all, nae bad. Could be a wee bit handier with a rag ta keep the mess down, but lesson learned, aye?" He smirked and rubbed some grease onto his daughter's nose. "Looks like we're going ta have a project this weekend." He added the last bit as if there was to be no objection, which didn't stop half of the pair from doing so anyway. "But dad, we were going to see the Kestrels play with Uncle Seamus, and--" "No buts, lad. I'm sure Shay'll find someone else fer the tickets and you'll learn a valuable lesson. Now the two of you go wash up, gonna have dinner soon. I left it simmering and need ta get back ta it." The girl immediately threw her arms over her chest and stomped into the house. There would be no tears on that girl's face, but some angry curse words were muttered under her breath as she headed through the doorway. And she made sure to touch anything she could get away with on her way in to leave black streaks. "You'll be cleaning that up as soon as you finish washing up," her mother replied, and for the briefest of moments, the blonde woman cringed. She sounded way too much like her own mother, and that was such a bad thing in her mind that she pinched the bridge of her nose. A moment later, she turned to Wayne. "You see what they do? They turn me into my goddamn mother. This is all your fault." Wayne chuckled to himself and moved to stand beside his wife as the kids reluctantly made their way back to the house. With a slight wounded expression, he slipped his arm around her waist and shrugged with his opposite shoulder. "It's a Hopkins curse, sugarpiehoneybutt. They got your stubbornness, though." |