It can't be good for her, being so tight-laced all the time. You're making her loosen up, doing her a favor, and you're amused and jaunty when you head over to help her with the grate.
"Just scoot over, small fry," you advise, and as soon as she does, you grab the lid and lift. The prosthetigrub starts feeding out power reluctantly: stupid blighter made sure it got its sleep, but it works out. As soon as it wakes up enough to start properly producing, you heft the lid off of the grate, and step back wit a flourish.
no subject
It can't be good for her, being so tight-laced all the time. You're making her loosen up, doing her a favor, and you're amused and jaunty when you head over to help her with the grate.
"Just scoot over, small fry," you advise, and as soon as she does, you grab the lid and lift. The prosthetigrub starts feeding out power reluctantly: stupid blighter made sure it got its sleep, but it works out. As soon as it wakes up enough to start properly producing, you heft the lid off of the grate, and step back wit a flourish.
"After you, pipsqueak."