your bright eyes are gonna kill me for sure
Well it seems like glaring isn't going to work forever, and it's time to get down to brass (iron, really- who the fuck makes 'em outta brass?) tacks. With a good deal of obligatory grumbling you shoulder some slabs of wood, making your way over to where the deck isn't quite ship-shape. "Poor lass, what'd that fucker do t'ya?" you mutter, patting the boat affectionately and setting about your work.
It's easy enough to remove old boards, armed with a crowbar and a hammer as you are. It would be even easier if it weren't for the new girl's clumsiness. You're not paying attention when the water washes down, sloshing underneath your feet and towards the hole you've made. "What tha-"
You turn around just in time to see the poor girl go down hard. Your first reaction is to start laughing, but you very valiantly school your humor, raising an eyebrow and offering a hand to help her up in quiet comradery.
It's easy enough to remove old boards, armed with a crowbar and a hammer as you are. It would be even easier if it weren't for the new girl's clumsiness. You're not paying attention when the water washes down, sloshing underneath your feet and towards the hole you've made. "What tha-"
You turn around just in time to see the poor girl go down hard. Your first reaction is to start laughing, but you very valiantly school your humor, raising an eyebrow and offering a hand to help her up in quiet comradery.
ZEPHYR
