"Bite me, green bean,” the Sprite
shot back.
"You two play nice,” I warned. “Or I'll make Brutus come supervise." "We're just gonna go talk,” Karl assured me as he started toward the back of the mobile home. As he disappeared into the hallway, I could hear him giggling and shaking the bottle. I shook my head and slowly returned my attention to the Maker. “Sorry about the hour,” I apologized. "No worries.” The Maker laughed. “I was up anyway. They're showing aBattlestar Galactica marathon on TV."
"Old or new, re-imagined one?” Toby asked. "Please,” the Maker dismissed Toby's question quickly as if insulted. “Of course theoriginal . Starbuck is a dude, not a chick."
"Ah.” Toby laughed. “I thought the old show from ‘79 was kind of hokey. I mean, angels and the Devil fighting for control of the ragtag fleet? That's just silly. The new one is very dark and gritty. Much better show."
"That's one Werewolf's opinion,” the Maker shot back. “It's not right, but it's your opinion. The Colonials were escaping religious persecution. The show was rife with religious overtones,” he looked Toby squarely in the eye, “if the viewer was intelligent enough to see them." I looked at the two as if they were having a conversation in an alien language. Toby shrugged. “I like the new one. It has an actual plot that makes sense." The Maker started to retort, but I intervened. I couldn't take anymore of the sci-fi geek talk. “I need you to build me something."
Eyeing Toby with a hint of anger in his blue eyes, I knew he could continue this argument the rest of the night. He slowly pulled his attention back to me. “What do you need, Rosy?" "Some way to track a Sprite,” I answered. "Oh,” the Maker breathed. Crossing his arms, he ran his fingers over his beard stubble thoughtfully. “That could be a tough build. Good thing it's already done.” He turned and started inspecting piles of inventions scattered throughout his living room. I raised an eyebrow. “You already built what I need?" "Yes, yes.” The Maker waved off my concern. “Seems we had a similar problem. A swarm of Sprites took up residence in the swamp cooler on the top of my house and were sneaking in through the vents to steal my beer."
Toby looked at me with an odd expression perfectly capturing the absurdity of the moment. I shook my head with a soft smile. The Maker really was good at what he did. He was just a bit ... insane, that's all.
"You two play nice,” I warned. “Or I'll make Brutus come supervise." "We're just gonna go talk,” Karl assured me as he started toward the back of the mobile home. As he disappeared into the hallway, I could hear him giggling and shaking the bottle. I shook my head and slowly returned my attention to the Maker. “Sorry about the hour,” I apologized. "No worries.” The Maker laughed. “I was up anyway. They're showing aBattlestar Galactica marathon on TV."
"Old or new, re-imagined one?” Toby asked. "Please,” the Maker dismissed Toby's question quickly as if insulted. “Of course theoriginal . Starbuck is a dude, not a chick."
"Ah.” Toby laughed. “I thought the old show from ‘79 was kind of hokey. I mean, angels and the Devil fighting for control of the ragtag fleet? That's just silly. The new one is very dark and gritty. Much better show."
"That's one Werewolf's opinion,” the Maker shot back. “It's not right, but it's your opinion. The Colonials were escaping religious persecution. The show was rife with religious overtones,” he looked Toby squarely in the eye, “if the viewer was intelligent enough to see them." I looked at the two as if they were having a conversation in an alien language. Toby shrugged. “I like the new one. It has an actual plot that makes sense." The Maker started to retort, but I intervened. I couldn't take anymore of the sci-fi geek talk. “I need you to build me something."
Eyeing Toby with a hint of anger in his blue eyes, I knew he could continue this argument the rest of the night. He slowly pulled his attention back to me. “What do you need, Rosy?" "Some way to track a Sprite,” I answered. "Oh,” the Maker breathed. Crossing his arms, he ran his fingers over his beard stubble thoughtfully. “That could be a tough build. Good thing it's already done.” He turned and started inspecting piles of inventions scattered throughout his living room. I raised an eyebrow. “You already built what I need?" "Yes, yes.” The Maker waved off my concern. “Seems we had a similar problem. A swarm of Sprites took up residence in the swamp cooler on the top of my house and were sneaking in through the vents to steal my beer."
Toby looked at me with an odd expression perfectly capturing the absurdity of the moment. I shook my head with a soft smile. The Maker really was good at what he did. He was just a bit ... insane, that's all.