Samson's Machinery
Charlie Ewing was humming to himself. And why not? he would have demanded of anyone who had asked him about it. He was in a good mood. The work in front of him today was somewhat dull, but it was going well; he had finally found something stable, he thought. It had taken nearly five months, but he had found it in the end. He was the most junior mechanic in the shop, for now--given boring jobs like this, little routine repairs that had to be done off-ship, working on smaller machines, so on. Charlie thought he would have minded more, but the work was absorbing even when it was dull. He always felt better with something in his hands.
Absorbing sometimes meant he lost track of the time, too. Charlie scrubbed a hand across his face, pushing his hair out of his face before remembering he was filthy. What he needed was a haircut--it was starting to fall too much over his eyes in the front, and if he waited much longer to cut the back of it he would have to start pulling it back. Charlie was beautiful no matter how he wore his hair, but he had never liked the look of long hair in particular--not on himself, anyway. Other people, yes. He wiped his hand pointlessly against the denim at his thigh. He had been doing so all night already, and he succeeded more in pushing the dirt around than removing any of it.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself. Then, remembering he was alone in the back of the shop, repeated himself again louder and with more gusto. There. Now he felt a little better.
At least he was almost finished, which meant he could leave. Which was good, because he was one of the last ones still in the shop. Fair enough, as he'd shown up late--his excuse had held, as far as he could tell--and it all balanced out in the end.
Most importantly, it had been his birthday for nearly an hour now.
Charlie was not the type of man who did not enjoy his birthday. He had never particularly cared for the people who thought he shouldn't, like there was something shameful in the indulgence of it. He indulged more than most, it was true, but what was the harm? It was only one day a year. Really, what wasn't there to enjoy? An entire day where everyone was required to pay attention to him, to do things for him? Where drinks were very often free, if he mentioned it to the right people? No, Charlie loved birthdays. Especially this one--his first as Charlie Ewing, his first in his new life. A new name that came more easily now to his tongue--he hardly ever stumbled, even when drunk or high or both. A new job, with promises to let him work on bigger, more interesting things. Things that paid better. Everything, he thought, was looking up for him.
Just a little bit more. He could have left, but he was close to being finished with the repair. No point in leaving now when he was very nearly done. There was no good stopping point, and he wanted to be out on time tomorrow. To maximize the amount of birthday evening he had, of course. Charlie grinned to himself, thinking of a few people he would be very happy to track down on this particular day. There was no sound but the ones he made, and some shuffling from somewhere towards the front. At this hour, quiet had settled deep over the whole of the shop.
Until it was, abruptly and without warning, shattered entirely.