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Piano 0.3 30.0% [ 6 ]
Cello 0.25 25.0% [ 5 ]
French Horn 0.05 5.0% [ 1 ]
Guitar 0.1 10.0% [ 2 ]
Drums 0 0.0% [ 0 ]
Flute 0.2 20.0% [ 4 ]
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                XXX INEEDANOTHERSTORY xx
                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxSOMETHING TO GET OFF MY CHEST

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                                        It was a beautiful day - the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and, just because life was a b***h, his car had broken. down. The saving grace was that, while his car had broken down, it had conveniently broken down when Christian had been around, handy with his lovely little tool box and his creeper (that was the thing that you wheeled on your back under the car with, apparently). So, instead of enjoying a day on the beach like he had intended, he was sitting on a bench a few feet away from his car, watching Christian's shadow from under the car as he worked at attempting to figure out what was wrong. He'd asked what was wrong a fair few times, but hadn't gotten a satisfactory answer, so he was currently just waiting impatiently on the bench, not terribly amused with the "hmms" and "huhs" that were coming from under his vehicle. "Do you have any idea what's wrong yet?" Cayne asked, again, for probably the fifteenth time since his curly-haired classmate had "creeped" under his car. Of the virtues that Cayne had, patience was, unfortunately, not one of them.

                                        Leaning back on the bench, Cayne stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling more than a little antsy about getting his car fixed and moving on with his day. For starters, he really didn't want his car to be broken - it wasn't like you could afford to replace a car when you were a student getting through on student loans. Well, not if you were being financially intelligent. He really didn't like the thought of having to get around town by taking transit. While Nanaimo's transit system covered most important areas you needed to get to - the bus that came up to VIU came down to Woodgrove Center, which had pretty well everything that you needed. If you wanted to get from one side of town to the other or get down to the beach, you had to hop across a various system of buses, transfers, and deal more than one rather irate bus driver. He'd done so the first few months he'd gone to VIU, and couldn't say it was an experience he wanted to live through again, especially when he was now used to being able to hop into his car and not have to deal with sitting next to people doing highly inappropriate things on public transit.

                                        From where he sat, he could see the ocean and the beach. It was one of the nicer beaches in Nanaimo, when the tide was out like it was now. When the tide rose, it was nothing by an ugly, rocky surface. When it was out, it was nothing but long, sandy beaches. As a result, a fair few people showed up here at times like this. Cayne wanted nothing more than to just go out there and relax, now that his midterms were over, but he couldn't. He'd imposed on Christian to check out his car, when Christian probably had better things to do with his time. Besides, Christian had once commented that Cayne had a talent for "taking the heterosexuality out of fixing cars". Mainly because he had a habit of taking note of the frayed ends of the boys jeans, or the condition of his nails. He'd offered to fix the nail issue more than once, but was repeatedly chased off and forbidden to do anything of the sort. Disappointing, really. Christian's hands were in terrible condition, and he did have a nail file in his glove box...

                                        Pulling a hand through his hair, Cayne turned his attention back to the boy working on his car. "If you want to take a break or give up, go ahead. I can always call a tow." He paused for a moment, trying to remember if he had the change in his pocket to take the bus, or if he'd have to mooch a ride off one of his friends, again. Digging into his pockets, he quickly determined that he did have the change, and he had remembered his cell today. Bonus. Hopping to his feet, he marched over to the car, squatting down to look under the vehicle at Christian. Lucky that his car wasn't one of those tiny low-riding things that everybody liked to drive - courtesy of an uncle from up North. "Unless you have an idea as to what's wrong?" he couldn't help but sound a little hopeful, as though the latter was a possibility. He liked his car - while it definitely had it's quirks, it definitely had character. Like the time it squirted oil all over the mechanic who was being quite lewd towards one of his female friends (said mechanic was assuredly not Christian), or the time he'd leant it to a friend, it broke down, and led to said friend getting to third base for the first point with a girl in his back seat. He had made a point of sanitizing the back seat after his friend informed him of the terrible things that had happened there.
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                        ( ` ☆ ) NO LIGHT NO LIGHT ● ● ● in your bright blue eyes
                        xxxxxxxxxxi never knew daylight could be so violent

                            xxxxxxxyou can't choose was stays and what fades away

                            Cayne was probably the worst person to fix a car in the presence of. Particularly when that vehicle happened to be what Christian referred to intermittently as Hitler's or Satan's revenge. From under the car, he could see his old classmate shifting around - clearly done with this particular situation. "If you actually knew anything about cars, aside from the colour and the smell of the air freshener, we'd be a lot better off." Having a list of vehicular symptoms always made it easier to diagnose the problem.

                            From what he had been told, the car simply up and died. There was nothing said about whether it sputtered, made terrible grinding noises, or started jerking when the brakes or the accelerator were applied. He was always wary of Cayne's car to begin with - he had heard horror stories from the local mechanics. "Pass me the three quarter inch, would you?" he stuck his arm out from under the car, and pointed specifically at the tool box, "It's labelled three quarter inch. So, three over four, and two little lines after it. The socket wrench, please. That's the one that spins."

                            He was on his back, on the creeper. Most of his tools were stored in the back of his truck. The thing was ugly as hell, but it ran like a dream, and purred like a kitten. There were at least three different colours of paint on it. "I'm not giving up yet - but your wiring is mangled. Did you duct tape something up here?" He eyed the rat's next of wiring with some amusement - something had clearly been dangling, so the wires had been dragged to the right, and taped up against the closest thing that the amateur had been able to find. "Did some drunk help you with this?"

                            Granted, a drunk was examining the car at this point, but that was irrelevant. He had been sober for at least ten months - he'd started young, and had quit shortly after he'd started working full time at his dad's mechanic's shop. Being drunk on the job was a danger, and he hadn't had a lot of options but take over the business. His dad was pretty sick - nothing fatal at this point. But chemo treatments weren't easy to go through, and then walk into work and start hefting tires all over the place.

                            "You're stalling because of wiring,"
                            he hadn't been handed the socket wrench yet. Granted, he just wanted it to hit things with, and he didn't trust himself with a hammer. Creeping out from under the vehicle, he wiped the back of his hand across his jaw. "Call a tow, yeah. I can fix it tomorrow, but I'm out of the shop today." He eyed his old classmate warily - hoping that he could keep the business and his day off. "My brother's there today, but he doesn't know wiring. He knows tire and lube." His older brother was a part time worker - he was university bound, the guy that every parent would have loved to call their son. "Want an oil change? He's pretty good at that."

                            Trying to get him to fix wires was always a disaster. Christian had had to fix enough disasters to know that. "Your sensors attached to your fuel tank are loose, and there's a random mess taped up." He wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans - knowing full well that that complete lack of regard for his appearance could very well send his rather fabulous customer into cardiac arrest. "We can try giving it a jump, but I doubt it would work. I can give you a ride though." He paused, "So long as you let me drive, and keep the nail file in your pocket."

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