riding up that hill — andal &. cash
Oct 5, 2022 16:15:42 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 5, 2022 16:15:42 GMT -5
ANDAL SEARLEY
Bending over, Andal inspected the engine of the machine closer. Metal, chrome, and a substance he hadn’t seen before. He paused, debated, and poked at it. His finger sank in. Fascinating.
He wasn’t sure which boy started the story, but back home they speculated that everything in the capitol, from the smallest cup to the tallest buildings, had been hammered from starlight. They harvest it using a rocket, dude! Now, looking at the skyline and back towards the engine, Andal could take a guess as to why. If they called the new lawnmowers and the horse-feeding machines ‘advanced’ in Ten, then this was the true alien star-craft.
He put his leather gloves back on, took a glance at the clock on the wall. The time for training was way past its expiry. Surely his trainer would be noting it down in her reports now. But really, this – he drew on his welding helmet and looked at the engine again – was training too.
The tips of his welder awoke in a hissing and colorful burst of sparks, the heat instant and inviting. He traced them over the parts he’d intently broken, welding them back together again, confident it would be stronger than it was before. That was often the hidden nature of metal: stronger under pressure, up to a certain point. Everything had its limits, of course.
He finished the welding. His heart thrummed against his ribs as he grabbed the engine, turned it to examine his own handiwork in the light. “Work for me, baby,” Andal whispered and turned -- right into his almost-death, his soul halfway leaving his body with a yelp. His breath hitched; his chest swelled.
Was he standing there this whole time? “Sorry, I –” he gasped. “I didn’t see you there.”
He drew in another steadying breath, felt it clash tumultuously with his growing excitement. “Isn’t everyone supposed to be in, uh, combat practice?” He faked a frown, then turned towards the other to give him a confiding look. Andal smiled a half-guilty, half-giddy smile. “It bores me to death, too.”
Back to the machine. Well, it’s a motorcycle but it’s more of a machine in his eyes, a miracle of engineering. Andal gingerly raised the engine in his hands and, with extreme care, slotted it back to where it was from.
The motorcycle purred almost immediately. Headlights came on, bright as his excitement, and he laughed as he heard the engine hum for the first time since he’d disassembled it yesterday. Andal steadied himself on the leather saddle. It worked. It worked. "It freaking worked!"
He tilted his head at the other boy. If he was a better tribute he would have remembered his name, but some things were not as possible as piecing together an engine for Andal. He was, however, keenly aware of the fact that the motorcycle could be started now and there was plenty of space on its back for two boys who skipped combat training. “Andal Searley,” he said, extending a hand and a smile in tow. “This is, uh, a crazy fuckin’ question, but is there any chance that you know how to drive a motorcycle?”
He wasn’t sure which boy started the story, but back home they speculated that everything in the capitol, from the smallest cup to the tallest buildings, had been hammered from starlight. They harvest it using a rocket, dude! Now, looking at the skyline and back towards the engine, Andal could take a guess as to why. If they called the new lawnmowers and the horse-feeding machines ‘advanced’ in Ten, then this was the true alien star-craft.
He put his leather gloves back on, took a glance at the clock on the wall. The time for training was way past its expiry. Surely his trainer would be noting it down in her reports now. But really, this – he drew on his welding helmet and looked at the engine again – was training too.
The tips of his welder awoke in a hissing and colorful burst of sparks, the heat instant and inviting. He traced them over the parts he’d intently broken, welding them back together again, confident it would be stronger than it was before. That was often the hidden nature of metal: stronger under pressure, up to a certain point. Everything had its limits, of course.
He finished the welding. His heart thrummed against his ribs as he grabbed the engine, turned it to examine his own handiwork in the light. “Work for me, baby,” Andal whispered and turned -- right into his almost-death, his soul halfway leaving his body with a yelp. His breath hitched; his chest swelled.
Was he standing there this whole time? “Sorry, I –” he gasped. “I didn’t see you there.”
He drew in another steadying breath, felt it clash tumultuously with his growing excitement. “Isn’t everyone supposed to be in, uh, combat practice?” He faked a frown, then turned towards the other to give him a confiding look. Andal smiled a half-guilty, half-giddy smile. “It bores me to death, too.”
Back to the machine. Well, it’s a motorcycle but it’s more of a machine in his eyes, a miracle of engineering. Andal gingerly raised the engine in his hands and, with extreme care, slotted it back to where it was from.
The motorcycle purred almost immediately. Headlights came on, bright as his excitement, and he laughed as he heard the engine hum for the first time since he’d disassembled it yesterday. Andal steadied himself on the leather saddle. It worked. It worked. "It freaking worked!"
He tilted his head at the other boy. If he was a better tribute he would have remembered his name, but some things were not as possible as piecing together an engine for Andal. He was, however, keenly aware of the fact that the motorcycle could be started now and there was plenty of space on its back for two boys who skipped combat training. “Andal Searley,” he said, extending a hand and a smile in tow. “This is, uh, a crazy fuckin’ question, but is there any chance that you know how to drive a motorcycle?”
