Cognatic Mechanic

The Magistrate was as patient as he was ascetically thin... which is why, not four hourglass flips past the ticker's 'nome, the rotund man marched, more belly than leg, into the cargo bay, huffing mad.

His airship, which was fortunately in better shape than its owner, was only one of many on the floor- but one of the few that was being attended to. It was rare for a private freighter to come through Victory's Shipyard, the establishment being a subsidiary of Her Majesty's repository- mostly because there were few captains brave enough- or stupid enough- to get stranded on Eli's Belt. The Magistrate was undoubtedly the latter.

"Oi. You, fellow," he kicked the booted foot protruding from beneath his ship, "I haven't got all day, you know. Some people have important places to be."

The clanking and hammering ceased- followed by a notable pause. Then, sliding out from beneath the belly of the airship, came a pointed-eared mechanic- who was undoubtedly not a fellow, even though her face was slick with grease.

"Well 'en," she said, leaning up with her elbows on the trolley, "maybe some people ought not drive through a commy belt like their arse was on backwards."


***

The goggles were a gift from the boy for my birthday. I had to do some'ought with 'em!

Time: The New Guy, up until the faux Braveheart Scene
Medium: Wolfe Brothers, cheapo, and German-bought silver.