Through Clouds of Steam (A WWFFY)

Chapter 1: Results

The results will be in the boys' points of view, so you'll get to know a little about them and at the same time learn bits of information that may or may not be relevant in the future!

Feel free to read all the results. ;3

---

Mostly (A)s:

Looking at his cluttered work table he sighed. Stacks of papers - some with diagrams and complicated equations, others scribbled on and screwed up into balls - lay strewn among tools and other little bits and bobs; small, delicate vials and odd-shaped glass containers stood along one side of the table, glistening in all the colours of the rainbow under the bright lights above him.

The deadline for their latest assignment was only days away and it was still nowhere near completion. Well, sort of. I mean, of course it's complete but it still isn't, you know? He sighed again, a gloved hand rubbing at his tired eyes. I really need to stop having conversations with myself.

Everything was in order, exactly how it was supposed to be; it should work, theoretically. But theory is always far more mentally satisfying because it's all calculations and diagrams on paper - if it went wrong it was easy enough, although terribly tiresome, to redo it all. When it actually got down to building stuff though, things always managed to go wrong for him somewhere. I just need that one last thing and then we're all set - then it either works or... doesn't. Although I hope it won't come to that.

Pushing away the pile of papers in front of him and placing the pencil in his hand back in its place, he stood up with another sigh as he grabbed a spanner off the messy desk and grudgingly made his way over to the metal contraption that had been consuming his thoughts all day.

---

Mostly (B)s:

Bloody great. Of all the people in this entire bloody city, it had to be him. I hate my life. He stared distastefully at the the grimy sign hanging on from just one side from a rusty old chain on the wooden porch - which was equally as filthy as the sign itself - which had a picture of a pumpkin painted in flaking orange paint with a grinning worm poking out from one side and read: "The Juicy Pumpkin." How creative.

Brushing back the stubborn dark locks falling onto his furrowed brow, he entered the inn. The lively music he had heard outside the modest establishment seemed to almost hit him in the face with its sheer volume as he stepped in, accompanied by the strong smell of fermented brews, pipe-smoke and sweaty feet. Lovely.

Suppressing a groan, he reluctantly made his way towards the innkeeper, with his nose screwed up in an attempt to prevent himself from passing out from the aroma, or perhaps even puking up his lunch. Pushing past people dancing around and singing merrily with drinks in hand, and dodging the odd drunkard that stumbled his way, his eyes sweeped the pub scrupulously for the reason for his presence in this unseemly place.

---

Mostly (C)s:

When the bell above the door jingled, his gaze shifted away from the pretty redhead polishing mugs behind the counter towards the dark-haired newcomer that had just entered the pub. He couldn't help but smirk at the disdainful look on the young man's face as he made his way in past the mob of intoxicated people, hawk-like gaze searching for none other than yours truly.

He chuckled to himself at how uncomfortable the poor bloke seemed to be, taking a sip of the bittersweet drink in his hand. Should I shout out to him or just enjoy this for a bit longer? What the heck, I'll just sit here and wait for him to notice.

He stretched his legs out and rested his feet over the tabletop before him, little bits of dried mud from the soles of his boots flaking off and landing on the already grimy surface. He leant back on the two back legs of his chair with his arms resting lazily behind his head, observing the young man from his dark little corner of the pub.

Unfortunately for him, his obvious lack of subtelty caught the young man's attention and not a second later, he started making his way towards him.

Well, damn, he sighed dejectedly. So much for a bit of entertainment.

---

Mostly (D)s:

He lay in bed, hands resting behind his head and staring up at the roof of his cabin, wondering what he had done wrong to deserve this. The jovial whistling coming from the bed across the room was starting to give him a headache. He's been at it for bloody ages. If he keeps on going, I will not regret knocking his teeth out - at least then he'll have to find another hobby besides whistling.

He was quite enjoying the mental image of his captain trying to whistle with no teeth when the man himself suddenly jumped off his bed with a loud thud after polishing his boots to a shine and putting them back on his smelly feet. "Well, my new first officer," he began obnoxiously loudly with a wide grin.

I'm not a new first officer, I have always been first officer. It's just you who's the new captain, you blithering idiot, he wanted to say but instead settled for, "Yes, sir?"

"Looks like I'll be here a while since my quarters are being refurbished, so I guess we should just set some things straight: this here, is my side of the room, and that there is your side of the room. Alright, mate?"

"Yes, sir." Even though this whole room is technically all mine. Why the bloody heck do I always end up with the idiots?

"Great! Now that that's settled, be a good lad and fetch me a sandwich, would ya? I'm bloody starving."

The condescending grin on his captain's face almost made him lose his cool but he managed to contain his rising anger. He had years of experience with people treating him like dirt to thank for that - he had the art of masking his emotions well and truly mastered.

Afraid he might say something that he would sorely regret later, he gave a quiet nod and left the room, grateful to have a reason to be away from the snot-nosed senior officer.

---