#warik

"You motherson. Rach-air-muin." Shaking his gloved hand, the shifter headed away from the car he was fixing, toward the bathroom. The sink needed to get fixed. No matter how much you turned the faucet, the sound of droplets falling against the ceramic surface kept on echoing in the room. Plic. Plic. Plic. He just had to change the gasket, and that would take fifteen minutes maybe but lately, he did not have the time for anything, and he had to wake up earlier and finish work later if he wanted to keep his clients happy. As if he did not have enough trouble, the front door had been damaged a couple days ago by a bunch of wankers and he would have to fix that shit too. Or maybe not. After all, no one had complained about it for the whole morning and his alarm was enough security to him. The door was just here because insurance companies were enough of bastards to refuse to reimburse you if they could proove that you getting robbed was kinda your fault. 

He felt some kind of relief, running some cool water on top of his hand. He doubted he would get a bruise from that although now he was going to have to put a bandage on that cut, he told himself. 

Everything would be better once he'd have someone to take care of half of his business, he told himself, searching for gauze and some tape. 

It was as he strode back into the garage that he realized that someone was waiting for him. Recognizing Warik, the shifter rubbed at his plaster then dropped his hand to his side, sighing and walking up toward them. "What's bringing you here? Nothing too bad I hope?" Please don't tell me you broke your car, he thought, idly rubbing at his hand again.