There were many things that preoccupied Megan O’Brien these days, namely their newest housemate—Nick—who seemed incapable of upholding his end of the chores agreement. The guy had started off well enough when he’d first moved in, but it’d been weeks since he’d actually done anything without being bullied into action. Assigned the responsibility of talking to him this time around, Megan was dreading the confrontation. What should have been a pleasant night off from her second job was turning into unpaid, unnecessary overtime at her first in order to avoid the whole thing. If she could push off getting home too early, then perhaps she could put off the entire confab to a later date.
Perched over the crafting bench, the young sorceress picked at the regulator she’d been commissioned to repair earlier in the week. There was no rush on the job, but out of the many things she was expected to handle, diving gear was what she preferred. Barred from scuba diving due to the unilateral deafness she’d suffered on her last dive many years ago, there was something about simply being around diving gear that lifted her spirits. Too focused on technicalities when explaining to customers and servicing gear, Megan seldom permitted herself to reminisce about what she was missing.
Unaware of the time that’d gone by since she’d been asked to close up, the blonde slipped from the stool and crouched in front of the toolbox beneath the bench. The task at hand might have to be delayed if she was forced to order some of the parts, which was perhaps just as well considering how little light she was working with. Mornings were the best time to sit here and work, when the sunrays filtered in and lit the entire bench without blinding her. And until morning this would have to wait, for the replacement she needed would have to be called in from the outlet.
As Megan straightened to her full height, she extended her arms overhead until her spine cracked. Though she enjoyed the job, it required far more sitting than her willowy frame was accustomed to.
Resigning herself to an early late night, she began to tidy her workspace and mentally prepare for the conversation that’d no doubt turn into an argument. Nick was stubborn and entitled, and Megan wasn’t looking forward to dealing with him one iota. As she contemplated the many ways this could go wrong, a sound caught her attention. It must have been incredibly loud for her to hear it up here, and though she couldn’t tell where exactly it had come from, it was evident from the emptiness of the room she stood in that if the sound came from inside the boat, then it could only be downstairs in the shop. ****-- had she locked the door? Rosalyn had said she would on the way out, hadn’t she?
Nearing the staircase, Megan centred her energy and cast as wide a net as possible to track the source of the sound. Its source was definitely downstairs. Grabbing the nearest object (a wooden canoe paddle propped against the wall), she began her descend, unaware of the creak in her step. No sooner did she something out the corner of her eye did she swat at it with superhuman force, paddle swinging wildly through the air.
Perched over the crafting bench, the young sorceress picked at the regulator she’d been commissioned to repair earlier in the week. There was no rush on the job, but out of the many things she was expected to handle, diving gear was what she preferred. Barred from scuba diving due to the unilateral deafness she’d suffered on her last dive many years ago, there was something about simply being around diving gear that lifted her spirits. Too focused on technicalities when explaining to customers and servicing gear, Megan seldom permitted herself to reminisce about what she was missing.
Unaware of the time that’d gone by since she’d been asked to close up, the blonde slipped from the stool and crouched in front of the toolbox beneath the bench. The task at hand might have to be delayed if she was forced to order some of the parts, which was perhaps just as well considering how little light she was working with. Mornings were the best time to sit here and work, when the sunrays filtered in and lit the entire bench without blinding her. And until morning this would have to wait, for the replacement she needed would have to be called in from the outlet.
As Megan straightened to her full height, she extended her arms overhead until her spine cracked. Though she enjoyed the job, it required far more sitting than her willowy frame was accustomed to.
Resigning herself to an early late night, she began to tidy her workspace and mentally prepare for the conversation that’d no doubt turn into an argument. Nick was stubborn and entitled, and Megan wasn’t looking forward to dealing with him one iota. As she contemplated the many ways this could go wrong, a sound caught her attention. It must have been incredibly loud for her to hear it up here, and though she couldn’t tell where exactly it had come from, it was evident from the emptiness of the room she stood in that if the sound came from inside the boat, then it could only be downstairs in the shop. ****-- had she locked the door? Rosalyn had said she would on the way out, hadn’t she?
Nearing the staircase, Megan centred her energy and cast as wide a net as possible to track the source of the sound. Its source was definitely downstairs. Grabbing the nearest object (a wooden canoe paddle propped against the wall), she began her descend, unaware of the creak in her step. No sooner did she something out the corner of her eye did she swat at it with superhuman force, paddle swinging wildly through the air.
