Having adjusted the ocular as if he were here alone, Edward continued to solder details, verifying every move with pinpoint accuracy. His new device had to be unexceptionable.
“Well, Ed, come on, what would it cost you? Come on, fix this damned radio!”
Rory was sitting at the other side of the table, leaning his cheeks on his fists in a way that his face that was already bearing the all the signs of the stormy night in the nearest bar became distorted. If Ani were here, she would find him cute or at least funny, for sure. But no, this fragile mechanic with an icy stare, to all appearances, lacked the sense of humor at all.
“Eeeeed!” Rory drawled once again, burying his face in the rugged wooden surface. “I got it. You just can’t. Well, don’t know how.” The right Edward’s eyebrow twitched, but he let no other sign of irritation betray him. “The radio is but some newfangled thing, right?” The racer kissed the tabletop with his forehead several times — slightly, forcing his silent companion to raise his hands up to keep the future mechanism from damage. “And I thought you know about the newfangled things.”
Having attached just soldered construction to the frame, Edward examined the main gear-wheel intently whereupon started to verify the distance between its teeth with compasses.
“Ed, well, don’t pout, come on, you know I was joking.” Rory lifted his head and tried to make the most pitiful face he was up to after five glasses of whiskey and a good blow to the jaw. “You’re but so smart. The smartest of smart,” he added silkenly. “And can manage everything in the world. Well, Ed.”
No response. Rory, furious, growled in an undertone and jumped up, overturning the stool on which he sat. Having made a circle around the hangar, he kicked a couple of boxes with spares and one empty canister that rolled to the wall with a thunder. Fucking touch-me-not. Fucking damned touch-me-not. By running his fingers through his hair, the racer tousled red locks that were riding up disorderly from the neat once tail and reminded now rather twisted copper wires even more. It would be impossible to comb them in the morning — again. He took a deep breath and, being calmed down a little, came back to the table, put the stool into place and sat on it anew.
“Could you fix the radio?” Rory asked in a level voice that costed him some trouble. “Edward, please.”
Having put aside his tools and taken off the ocular, the mechanic looked at Rory that couldn’t but notice the wandering ghost of a half-smile that touched the corners of his lips.
“Oh, you’re back already. I missed to notice. Most assuredly. Gimme your radio.”
okay i just counted the people on that post and for 2014 there were only about 200 people listed but around 3000 people died on 9/11
they might have left people out but still like 200 is no where near 3000. 200 is still unexceptionable and it should be way lower (ideally nonexistent) but you shouldnt go comparing tragedies like that if your statistics arent even right