Post by Cathal Ackermen on Apr 5, 2010 17:18:30 GMT
Place: Sherman Repair Station
Time: 22:18 hours
Weather: Harsh Thunderstorms
The thunder claps were actually calming him for a bit as the rain pitter pattered in the roof of the garage. Cathol was still trying to finish some things up while half asleep smoking a cig and looking for any officers that would yell at him for smoking around the diesel fuel. Tanks came in, broken down some how, and they would fix them. That is the three engineers that didn’t ever go to sleep until told to.
Walking crossed the hard concrete floor of the garage; Cathol heard a loud clap of thunder and then yet another flash followed by more thunder. “Well aint this a fuckin’ joy Cash?” One of the others had said to him while stumbling out of the way for the conveyor to bring in yet another broken piece of equipment.
“Ure’ is” Cathol’s Irish accent rang in heavily as he grabbed his toolbox to walk over to the Willy’s jeep that came in. Looking at it Cathol wasn’t very ecstatic about having to fix what ever was wrong with it. The grease from all the other jobs was draped over his face and clothes. Reaching for his flak jacket Cathol slung it on slipping his arms through the arm holes. He sucked in a last drag on his cig and threw it to the ground. “Some one yave’ meh”.
Time: 22:18 hours
Weather: Harsh Thunderstorms
The thunder claps were actually calming him for a bit as the rain pitter pattered in the roof of the garage. Cathol was still trying to finish some things up while half asleep smoking a cig and looking for any officers that would yell at him for smoking around the diesel fuel. Tanks came in, broken down some how, and they would fix them. That is the three engineers that didn’t ever go to sleep until told to.
Walking crossed the hard concrete floor of the garage; Cathol heard a loud clap of thunder and then yet another flash followed by more thunder. “Well aint this a fuckin’ joy Cash?” One of the others had said to him while stumbling out of the way for the conveyor to bring in yet another broken piece of equipment.
“Ure’ is” Cathol’s Irish accent rang in heavily as he grabbed his toolbox to walk over to the Willy’s jeep that came in. Looking at it Cathol wasn’t very ecstatic about having to fix what ever was wrong with it. The grease from all the other jobs was draped over his face and clothes. Reaching for his flak jacket Cathol slung it on slipping his arms through the arm holes. He sucked in a last drag on his cig and threw it to the ground. “Some one yave’ meh”.
), so you're gonna have to change the name. D:
