Thalia’s spanner bounced and clattered across the hangar’s dirty floor as she wiped the back of her greasy hand across her brow; she emitted an exasperated growl which was immediately lost amid the hiss of steam and piston thud. She closed her eyes, leaned over the grimy engine, and rotated her shoulders trying to release the afternoon’s pent up tension.
She tensed all the more as unannounced hands rested on her stiff shoulders and began to knead, as if her back was soft, yielding dough – it was not.
She yanked off her goggles and slung them across the room, just as her oil smeared fist met with the obsequious Danny’s jaw, “Take that as a warning shot!” she cautioned still brandishing her torque wrench like a gladiator’s weapon.
Nursing his chin and wounded pride, Danny slinked away, and Steven, on the other side of the hangar, offered Thalia a grin that she couldn’t refuse to return…
The Last Krystallos 