Fiddleford frowned at Ford’s failure to deliver a direct answer to his question and resumed his search, diving back underneath his bed. He fumbled around until his hand found his flashlight and he clicked it on. He used it to illuminate the dark, cramped quarters beneath his sleeping area, sweeping the beam around for a while before giving up. As he withdrew from the recesses of his junk hoard, he bumped his head on the bed frame. “God fucking- sweet Lord above…”
He took Stanford’s advice and paused a moment to breathe, his hands clenching and unclenching uncontrollably where they rested on his knees. The gentle baritone of Stanford’s voice soothed his nerves enough for the curses to evaporate back into the usual excuses for swear words that were common in Fiddleford’s peculiar vernacular. “That- that grain-siftin’, barn-raiding…” he trailed of, taking a few deep breaths. His leg muscles twitched uncontrollably and his foot tapped erratically on the floor, betraying his frustration.
“Alright. Alright. This… this bastard… this absolute freelancin’ bastard from my theoretical physics class, name’s Gabe, he…“ Fiddleford gave a sigh. “Decided it would be a good idea to yank it off my back and smash it right in front of me. Doesn’t seem to have a reason that I can decipher. He and his buddies just jave a heck of a time watchin’ me squirm, I think, ‘n I… I just let them. I-I can usually deal with stuff like this, y'know? I can handle it on my own. But I just… don’t know what to do.” Trembling fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans. “It’s just… this was a gift from my dad, ‘n…” He bit his lip to try to keep the tears from coming, but they began pooling in the corners of his eyes despite his best efforts. "I’ve done nothing to antagonize ‘em, I swear. I’m just… being me.” He furiously wiped the tears away. “It’s dumb, is what it is. It’s stupid.” He couldn’t even handle a couple of dumb bullies, and he hated himself for it.
