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9lives (9lives) wrote in silverage,

Rex was very much a morning person, and his routine each day consisted of a long jog – even back home he didn't like the recycled air of gyms, a light breakfast, and an early commute to work. He always had the tendency to be completely immersed in whatever job he did at any given time, even if that meant overworking.

The past couple of days had been experimental improvements to the steering system of a Lincoln 66H, and the results were mostly successful. The new hydraulics enabled power steering, while miles ahead of what was commercially available, still weren't up to his usual standards; Rex would have to start over, from his base modifications on the engine. That, at least, explained his early arrival.

He heard the elevator doors clang, but didn't look up from his work until his name was called. Poking his head out from under the hood of the Lincoln, Rex asked, "What's up?"

It always took him a while to readjust to the vocabulary of this era, especially when he'd been alone for a while. Also: probably not the best way to address one's boss. Straightening up, he wiped his hands on his shirt, leaving streaks of grease marks, but that was hardly the worst his clothes had been through.