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suitably_heroic"The drain looks fine, the evaporator looks fine..."
Atton had his face halfway shoved into their window AC unit. He was sweating entire waterfalls, but he had been all week and if pushing through meant he could actually fix the stupid thing-- "I think it might be the compressor? It's looking busted."
"Okay," Dane said, arms crossed. Atton couldn't see the dubious expression on his face, but he could sense it, which was annoying enough. "You know all the guides online say you shouldn't touch that?"
"They say you should only let a professional touch that," he said, attempting to worm his hand further inside. "I'm as good as a-- ow!"
"Told you."
He yanked his hand back, inspecting it for any damage. Nope. "Just got it pinched," he announced.
"Are you boys all right in there?" Mrs. Jodorowsky called. Right. They had the door just sitting open, soaking in whatever scraps of cold air happened to drift through the hallway.
"We're fine!" Atton announced. "Don't worry about us!"
"Yeah, all he's doing is sucking up all the testosterone in the building and converting it into an escalating series of bruises," Dane called over his shoulder.
"I'm fine!"
There was the distinct, unmissable sound of an old lady clearing her throat. "Well, it looks like your portable AC just arrived," she said. "I picked it up from the nice man downstairs."
Wait, what? Atton threw a confused glance over his shoulder, a quick step back, and the step ladder behind him wobbled, then tipped over, going crashing to the ground and before he knew it his hand was on the arm sofa, and he flipped right over the falling ladder and onto the cushions with a loud thud.
There was a brief, stunned silence.
"He really gets his exercise in, doesn't he," Mrs. Jorodowsky said. Had she caught all that? Atton was pretty sure her eyesight wasn't that great.
"Uhh, yeah, he does," Dane said. He snapped out of it, hurrying towards the door, where he scooped the package out of her arms. "Thanks, ma'am! Have a nice day!" --and shut the door.
He turned back to Atton, eyes big. "Jack?" he said.
"Yeah?" Atton said, attempting to shift into a less conspicuous position on the sofa.
"Ratman, you are not."
"I know. Okay? I know."
Dane looked down at the package. "... which is probably good, because you're going to have to thank Summer profusely, and I don't think Ratman's capable of that either."
"I hate summer," Atton muttered, collapsed back, and amended: "Lowercase s. Summer."
[[ open for phone calls et al, nfb due to distance as always ]]
Atton had his face halfway shoved into their window AC unit. He was sweating entire waterfalls, but he had been all week and if pushing through meant he could actually fix the stupid thing-- "I think it might be the compressor? It's looking busted."
"Okay," Dane said, arms crossed. Atton couldn't see the dubious expression on his face, but he could sense it, which was annoying enough. "You know all the guides online say you shouldn't touch that?"
"They say you should only let a professional touch that," he said, attempting to worm his hand further inside. "I'm as good as a-- ow!"
"Told you."
He yanked his hand back, inspecting it for any damage. Nope. "Just got it pinched," he announced.
"Are you boys all right in there?" Mrs. Jodorowsky called. Right. They had the door just sitting open, soaking in whatever scraps of cold air happened to drift through the hallway.
"We're fine!" Atton announced. "Don't worry about us!"
"Yeah, all he's doing is sucking up all the testosterone in the building and converting it into an escalating series of bruises," Dane called over his shoulder.
"I'm fine!"
There was the distinct, unmissable sound of an old lady clearing her throat. "Well, it looks like your portable AC just arrived," she said. "I picked it up from the nice man downstairs."
Wait, what? Atton threw a confused glance over his shoulder, a quick step back, and the step ladder behind him wobbled, then tipped over, going crashing to the ground and before he knew it his hand was on the arm sofa, and he flipped right over the falling ladder and onto the cushions with a loud thud.
There was a brief, stunned silence.
"He really gets his exercise in, doesn't he," Mrs. Jorodowsky said. Had she caught all that? Atton was pretty sure her eyesight wasn't that great.
"Uhh, yeah, he does," Dane said. He snapped out of it, hurrying towards the door, where he scooped the package out of her arms. "Thanks, ma'am! Have a nice day!" --and shut the door.
He turned back to Atton, eyes big. "Jack?" he said.
"Yeah?" Atton said, attempting to shift into a less conspicuous position on the sofa.
"Ratman, you are not."
"I know. Okay? I know."
Dane looked down at the package. "... which is probably good, because you're going to have to thank Summer profusely, and I don't think Ratman's capable of that either."
"I hate summer," Atton muttered, collapsed back, and amended: "Lowercase s. Summer."
[[ open for phone calls et al, nfb due to distance as always ]]
