closed starter for @scthcartcr
“Motherfucking piece of shit, cock sucking son of a bitch ---” is just the start of a very long string of curse words that falls from Rowan’s lips in that moment. It isn’t often she finds herself in the auto shop. Even when Andy had been working there she hadn’t come into the shop often --- a quick stop in once every few weeks, maybe, but for the most part she’d just have him meet her in the club house. Now with him working at the diner she’s got even less reason to go into the garage but… here she is. And this is a perfectly good reminder as to why she doesn’t like to go in there. Flat on her fucking ass, palms scraped against the concrete she huffs as she glares down at the tool she had tripped over.
With a dramatic sigh, she pushes her hair out of her face and moves to stand up only for her ankle to immediately protest that, a sharp pain radiating through it causing her to let out an irritating yelp and find herself on her ass again. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She asks to no one in particular. She isn’t even sure who, if anyone, is in the garage with her and isn’t sure who she would even want here at this exact moment. Her best option is probably Eli-- he’d be least likely to hold this over her head for the rest of eternity, but she’s almost certain he isn’t working today. Jeremiah comes to mind next and while he would absolutely make fun of her, he’s her brother so she’ll let it slide. Who she doesn’t want, though, is Seth. Their friendship is odd. It’s like they can be best friends one minute and hate each other’s guts the next. The only thing consistent is that there’s somehow still a layer of respect between the two of them --- usually, anyway.
But of course, since that isn’t who she wants… that’s who she gets. And for a minute she thinks about letting her pride take over and just staying on the ground and waiting for literally anyone else to come in, but then the idea of someone else finding her like this in a few hours is even more embarrassing so she scratches that immediately. “This place is a fuckin’ death trap.” Her eyes roll and she knows she’s being harsh Jeremiah runs a tight ship and this is likely just a fluke, but she’s not about to admit that. Her lips purse, tongue running over her teeth while steam practically flies out of her ears and she tries to think of a way to ask for help without really asking for help which seems to be impossible so with yet another heavy sigh, she bites the bullet. “I need help getting up into the club house.” But then she breezes by it in hopes of him not calling her out on needing him for something; instead, picking the tool up again and passing it between her hands and feeling the weight behind it. “You know who this belongs too? I wanna know who I gotta beat to death with it. S’not yours is it? ‘Cause that’d really put us in an awkward situation right now, huh?”
