This was just a temporary gig, but they'd stuffed Karl into a dark green coverall with the Army logo plastered on the sleeve. It wasn't really that much different than his flightsuit but the colour and texture was all wrong and it just didn't feel right wearing some grease-monkey's gear instead of his own. There was nothing he could do about it, thoughβArmy was big on uniforms. Karl figured the higher ups liked it that way because it made things seem more organised. Everyone fits in a box. Everyone does their job. Around here, it didn't take much to figure out who worked where just by looking at them.
Like the kid hanging around watching him pick shrapnel out of the engine compartment. Skinny punk like him in a white shirt and black suit, he had "Administrative Research" written all over him. Karl snorted;
"You really like working on this kind of shit, don't you," the kid said.
"Yeah," Karl replied in a tone stamped all over with 'fuck off'.
"Do a good job, that baby's gonna be mine in a year."
This time, Karl tried polite and aimed for 'fuck off, please'. "Sure thing," he said. He'd lay a bet down the kid was bluffing. And if he wasn't, odds were he wasn't going to be around in a year anyway. Administrative Research wasn't exactly a department known for pensioners.
The kid wasn't getting the hint. Or he was ignoring it. He sauntered over and whipped open a baton, using the tip of it to poke through the mess of parts and tools on the cart Karl was using. He found a pair of tinted welding glasses and dropped the baton to dangle at his wrist in favour of picking them up.
"Oho, these yours?" he asked. He held them by the stem and flipped them around. Probably thought they looked 'cool'.
"Nope."
The glasses found themselves a new home on the kid's forehead. He grinned wide and slung his hands in his pockets. His firecracker red hair was pulled back into a thick tail and little wisps came free to frame his eyes as he fixed Karl with a devious look. "So, can you string more than two words together or are you as dumb as you look?"
Karl's grip on his spanner went white-knuckled and he knew the muscles in his jaw were tightening up. It'd only encourage the kid to get a reaction out of him, but keeping his cool wasn't precisely something he excelled at. "Sure, here's three: Fuck off, shithead."
"Sore spot, eh."
There was sweet blessed silence for a whole two minutes before the little punk opened his mouth again. "My name's Jimmy," he told Karl, and if there was a bigger cry for attention anywhere in Midgar, Karl hadn't come across it.
"Good for you."
"Got something wedged into the intake," Jimmy said.
Nothing pissed Karl off faster than people trying to do his job and point out things he was already aware of. He tore another chunk of twisted metal out of the engine casing and tossed it aside. "You want to be able to fly this thing in a year, you'd better shut your mouth and let me do my job."
Narrow shoulders drew into a lazy shrug and Jimmy wandered away. Karl thought maybe he'd finally be able to get down to work again when the cargo door to the copter slid open and the bird's weight shifted. Karl banged his spanner against the plating and regretted not cuffing the kid and running him off when he'd been within arm's reach. "Get the fuck out of there."
Jimmy's voice floated back, and it wasn't any less obnoxious when Karl couldn't see his expression. "I'm just making myself a little more comfortable."
"Well, go make yourself comfortable somewhere else."
Karl left his spanner on the cart and wiped his hands off on a rag. He'd wring that scrawny neck if he had to. He had three birds to service and he was doing this as a favour. Putting up with snotty toughs wasn't part of the deal. "Get the hell out before I drag you out, you skinny little shit. Didn't your momma ever teach you any manners?"
"Think she was too busy with a trick to bother." Kicked back with his arms behind his head, Jimmy looked like he was waiting for Karl to give a try at forcibly removing him. Guy like him probably itched to start up trouble no matter where he went. Karl cursed and got a foot up on the deck. He hung on the frame, looming over Jimmy as the kid gave him a cocky look that made Karl want to knock a few teeth out of that pretty face.
Instead, he counted to ten. "Go run off and dye your hair again or something."
"Who says I dye it?" Jimmy turned to sit sideways, and he closed his eyes in a slow blink. He lifted his gaze up as his smirk widened into a grin. His baton in his hand again, he brought it up to tap the end of it against the side of his neck. His attention flicked to the tag dangling from Karl's breast pocket. "Want me to shove my pants down so you can see for yourself..." he paused to curl his tongue out lewdly over his upper lip, "...Karl?"
"Don't you got anything better to do than be a cocktease?"
Jimmy shrugged and rolled the end of that baton of his over his mouth, let it drag his lip down like he was getting ready to slide it right inside and give the thing a fucking blow. "Not really. Isn't really a tease if you take me up on it, though." The look in his eyes was all challenge, the shape of his mouth all flirt. That was the problem with Mariness-fuckers had the run of everything and only had to answer to a few.
"I don't fuck kids," Karl said.
"Everyone's a kid to you, old man."
Karl grabbed the front of Jimmy's jacket and gave him a teeth-rattling shake. "You looking to get your ass handed to you?"
"Actually, was looking to hand my ass to you. And you know, you keep talking like that and I'm going to start thinking you're trying to give me a hard-on." Jimmy didn't seem the slightest bit worried that a guy twice his size was up in his face. Hell, maybe he was telling the truth and getting roughed up a bit got him off. Not like at his age a stiff breeze wouldn't have him sprouting wood.
Letting go of Jimmy, Karl stepped down and propped his hands on his hips. "You just aren't going to get out of my hair, are you?"