The Face of Your Father [BWNN]

[Eighteen]

“Oooh oh oh, no no no,” the sounds of singing filtered out from the large double doors of the garage. Some would argue that it was a barn, but it was not meant for animals in the least. Music thumped from speakers that were rigged up with many a cable and line, leading directly to the large computer system. This, in turn, was plugged into multiple screens that held visages of people, places, and one that danced with colour as each beat was issued. “Tell me it isn't soooo!” The youth sang, one wrench held loftily toward her mouth as she leaned back and away from the engine. Her usual pale cheeks were smeared with engine grease and her hands were no better. It had taken a long time to salvage these parts and bits, create a hub, and operate with no purpose but for the fun of it out of this barn.

It was a hot day, the sun was beaming ferociously down on the lot. They had the advantage of having many dunes rising up like a sandy cavern around them, and many forms of camouflage otherwise, but there weren't many options against the pure dry heat. Caret had rigged up a cooling system for the garage, giving her some form of sanity as she worked, but it was no empire job. Ah, the good old days...

She wiped at her sweaty brow and stared at the beast below her. This truck was something. It was, obviously, made for bandits...but it was crafted beautifully. A well made machine. She wished she had the skills to do what primes could. Hell, if she could, she'd gladly take over for Omni too...but even she was sure that being a God wasn't what it was all cracked up to be. The youth chuckled at her own thoughts and shook her head.

The lid to the engined closed with a sound, and she habitually slapped her hands together to rid herself of grit. It had been a long few days, while Shepherd did his thing, she did hers. While his was more life and death, hers was...well, equally the same, but on a different level. Caret wasn't wealthy in empathy, only where it mattered. There was only one person she could really name when it came to caring, and that was...well...

“Shepherd, are you alright?” the girl called as she barged into the room. She'd been arms deep in one last job, goggles in place, and wrench in hand. It wasn't every day that she heard a scuffle and loud voices. With her free hand she pulled her eye wear off and shot a disapproving glance at the bandit.

“I'm alright, there was a misunderstanding.” Shepherd was getting to his feet, and extending both hands to help the woman off the floor.

“Okay, but last I checked, sheets weren't in season,” the red-head remarked with a bit of sarcasm toward the dark-skinned bandit. “You should have fixed her by now.”

“Caret,” said the man, with voice soft but ever so stern. He help the bandit to sit on her bed, and she was wincing less...but wincing all the same. He turned to the other girl and grasped her shoulders as if a father to daughter. “I told you, they aren't like your projects. They take time.”

Her lips pursed, pulled to the side, brows furrowed, as if the cogs were turning. “I suppose so. I'm done, though,” she said with a subtle shrug. “Can she at least move now? I'm sure she's worried about her truck by now. I would be.”

The proud youth shot the bandit a smile that was laced with the sweetest intentions. Where Shepherd was a compassionate man that could relate to, and help others, she was not as much. She made up for it in her skills, otherwise.

“She needs rest more than she needs to see to her truck.”

“Nonsense, it's just outside. Stop being such a codger. I've been waiting for, like, ever.” She replied with a wave of her hand. Caret was already grabbing the bandit's clothing and shoving it forward. “She'll come right back. That thing was all but broken until I got my hands on it.”

“Is she always like this?” said the bandit, until now, she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”