The shift end whistle blew, as Allison set down the I-beam she'd been hauling across the yard out of the way of the rush of workers heading for the punch
clock. Newbies, most of them, exhausted and looking to collapse into their beds before the shift tomorrow. She'd never been in that category due to outside
factors, but Allison knew the type by long observation. The rest of her more regular crew punched out and headed for a little sidewalk cafe' the crew
tended to frequent when off shift.
"Ah'm tellin' ya, we should jus' blow 'em all up!" Carl said, the dark skinned man sipping at his flask as they sat down. "Wee
little Clockwork ain't take more than a swing or two of a pipe t'break. A couple grenades in t' right places an' we'd be through and
through wit'em!"
"Yes, and then they'd come back for more, having pegged us as hostile," Allison pointed out, sitting down herself. "There's more of
those things than there are us, and even if we can handle ourselves, you don't want to chase off the newbies, do you?"
"Achk, a few less newbies might be an improvement," he observed dourly, and Allison chuckled as he glanced over at Joey.
"I'm with Carl, Allie," the youngster was saying. "I mean, down in the Row, you don't just take this shit. They run all over you less
you tell 'em to step off. S'all about respectin' the boundaries, see? Them Clocks don't, so we gotta mess with their shit, make sure they get
it." Joey adjusted his hat with a nod as he sat his pack down under the chair, leaning back.
"Son, your enthusiasm's writing checks the foreman doesn't want to cash," Al growled, the older ironworker giving him a look from under his
slightly oversized hardhat. "It's about strateegerie. Them Clocks outnumber us 5000 to 10, and if they ever decide they want to make a big mess, we
can't stop them." He scratched at his thinning gray hair, barely visible between balding and the former marine buzzcut. "Nah, Allie's right.
It's best not to piss them off."
"I am not seeing why you all find them so troubling. They are small, puny thingks," Ivan noted through his thick accent, the massive Slavic man
standing as they waited for a waiter to stop by. "We can crush zem if neccessary," he said, squeezing two large, meaty hands together. "If they
do not bother us like Allie says, then they are no trouble."
"The typical debate, mes amis?" a familar voice asked as Allison looked over with a chuckle.
"Same as always, Remy. Blow them up, beat them up, leave them alone, sit on them....Clockwork are a pain in the ass," she grinned.
Remy flashed her a dazzling smile as he flipped open his notebook, also handing Ivan a larger chair that was more appropriate to his unusual dimensions. Like
most of the men present, he was bald, but unlike the others besides Ivan, his was a fashion choice. The thin waiter was quite the charmer, really, between his
mild accent, good looks, and occasional peppering of French into his speech, but even if Allie had been in the market, she was fairly certain he was like that
with all the pretty girls, and she liked their current arrangement.
"So, what will it be today, messiurs and mademoiselle?"
"Ah'm still waiting fer Steve t'show up. Ah owe'im after he won our wager," Carl grunted.
"Just a medium steak and some potatoes, Remy," Al said. "Though make sure it's actually medium this time. Your chef appears to think you
mean well done when you take my order. I half expect to see it come out of there on fire."
Remy shook his head. "I shall make sure she understands your order. And you?"
"Steak, some steak fries and a soda, Remy," Joey noted. "And make it rare. I wanna see it bleedin', yeah?"
"I shall have a club sandvich," Ivan rumbled. "Extra large."
"As always, mon ami," Remy chuckled, before turning to Allison.
"Just the usual, Remy. Same as Ivan, just times two," she smiled back
"My word, I do not see where you put all of it, ma chere," Remy said, shaking his head with wonder as he flipped the pad closed. "I
shall inform the cook and be right out with your drinks."
Allison nodded at him, before sitting back, the table going back to the usual debate before a tall gentleman in a bush hat and sunglasses walked towards them,
talking on his cell phone as his companion, still wearing one of their company hard hats, just shook his head at him.
"I'm telling you, dad, I can't. Well, because I've got work!....no, it's not some kind of euphimism. I work in a construction yard.
I've told you this. We have a schedule we have to keep," Steve was saying into the phone, as most of the crew chuckled or rolled their eyes at the
familiar exchange. "Look, I was there for Christmas. New Years is just turning a number over on the bloody calendar. Why do I need to be there?" He
sighed, before tilting the hat back. "I'll see if I can manage it, dad. If I can. No promises, though. Give mum my love," he said, before hanging
up. "Bloody holidays..."
"I'm telling ya, you could..." Stan began with his usual drawl.
"Just shoot him," the rest of the table completed in sync, leading to Stan looking at them for a moment before chuckling, which spread to Steve
before long as the other two sat down. Allison, for her part, leaned back. Another day, another dollar, but what more could she ask for?
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
clock. Newbies, most of them, exhausted and looking to collapse into their beds before the shift tomorrow. She'd never been in that category due to outside
factors, but Allison knew the type by long observation. The rest of her more regular crew punched out and headed for a little sidewalk cafe' the crew
tended to frequent when off shift.
"Ah'm tellin' ya, we should jus' blow 'em all up!" Carl said, the dark skinned man sipping at his flask as they sat down. "Wee
little Clockwork ain't take more than a swing or two of a pipe t'break. A couple grenades in t' right places an' we'd be through and
through wit'em!"
"Yes, and then they'd come back for more, having pegged us as hostile," Allison pointed out, sitting down herself. "There's more of
those things than there are us, and even if we can handle ourselves, you don't want to chase off the newbies, do you?"
"Achk, a few less newbies might be an improvement," he observed dourly, and Allison chuckled as he glanced over at Joey.
"I'm with Carl, Allie," the youngster was saying. "I mean, down in the Row, you don't just take this shit. They run all over you less
you tell 'em to step off. S'all about respectin' the boundaries, see? Them Clocks don't, so we gotta mess with their shit, make sure they get
it." Joey adjusted his hat with a nod as he sat his pack down under the chair, leaning back.
"Son, your enthusiasm's writing checks the foreman doesn't want to cash," Al growled, the older ironworker giving him a look from under his
slightly oversized hardhat. "It's about strateegerie. Them Clocks outnumber us 5000 to 10, and if they ever decide they want to make a big mess, we
can't stop them." He scratched at his thinning gray hair, barely visible between balding and the former marine buzzcut. "Nah, Allie's right.
It's best not to piss them off."
"I am not seeing why you all find them so troubling. They are small, puny thingks," Ivan noted through his thick accent, the massive Slavic man
standing as they waited for a waiter to stop by. "We can crush zem if neccessary," he said, squeezing two large, meaty hands together. "If they
do not bother us like Allie says, then they are no trouble."
"The typical debate, mes amis?" a familar voice asked as Allison looked over with a chuckle.
"Same as always, Remy. Blow them up, beat them up, leave them alone, sit on them....Clockwork are a pain in the ass," she grinned.
Remy flashed her a dazzling smile as he flipped open his notebook, also handing Ivan a larger chair that was more appropriate to his unusual dimensions. Like
most of the men present, he was bald, but unlike the others besides Ivan, his was a fashion choice. The thin waiter was quite the charmer, really, between his
mild accent, good looks, and occasional peppering of French into his speech, but even if Allie had been in the market, she was fairly certain he was like that
with all the pretty girls, and she liked their current arrangement.
"So, what will it be today, messiurs and mademoiselle?"
"Ah'm still waiting fer Steve t'show up. Ah owe'im after he won our wager," Carl grunted.
"Just a medium steak and some potatoes, Remy," Al said. "Though make sure it's actually medium this time. Your chef appears to think you
mean well done when you take my order. I half expect to see it come out of there on fire."
Remy shook his head. "I shall make sure she understands your order. And you?"
"Steak, some steak fries and a soda, Remy," Joey noted. "And make it rare. I wanna see it bleedin', yeah?"
"I shall have a club sandvich," Ivan rumbled. "Extra large."
"As always, mon ami," Remy chuckled, before turning to Allison.
"Just the usual, Remy. Same as Ivan, just times two," she smiled back
"My word, I do not see where you put all of it, ma chere," Remy said, shaking his head with wonder as he flipped the pad closed. "I
shall inform the cook and be right out with your drinks."
Allison nodded at him, before sitting back, the table going back to the usual debate before a tall gentleman in a bush hat and sunglasses walked towards them,
talking on his cell phone as his companion, still wearing one of their company hard hats, just shook his head at him.
"I'm telling you, dad, I can't. Well, because I've got work!....no, it's not some kind of euphimism. I work in a construction yard.
I've told you this. We have a schedule we have to keep," Steve was saying into the phone, as most of the crew chuckled or rolled their eyes at the
familiar exchange. "Look, I was there for Christmas. New Years is just turning a number over on the bloody calendar. Why do I need to be there?" He
sighed, before tilting the hat back. "I'll see if I can manage it, dad. If I can. No promises, though. Give mum my love," he said, before hanging
up. "Bloody holidays..."
"I'm telling ya, you could..." Stan began with his usual drawl.
"Just shoot him," the rest of the table completed in sync, leading to Stan looking at them for a moment before chuckling, which spread to Steve
before long as the other two sat down. Allison, for her part, leaned back. Another day, another dollar, but what more could she ask for?
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."