09-17-2019, 11:38 PM
[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 9pt; line-height:13px;"]Bailey Abbot wasn't ever very good at leaving things alone. When he'd found the old record player a few days after arriving in Saint Louis, it'd been more impulse than any particular interest of listening to music that had urged him to repair the old thing. Bailey just liked to fix anything he could get his hands on, he supposed. During his teenage years, he'd spent most of it tinkering with objects that would quickly become obsolete in an electricity-free environment, breaking and un-breaking and in general, having a grand time ignoring social responsibilities.
"Shit." Bailey mumbled as the small container of screws he'd been keeping spilled after a careless elbow crashed straight into it. Well, it was his fault he supposed - he was the elbow, and he hadn't had the foresight to move the container a few inches to the right. Pushing himself away from the desk he'd been sitting at, the rolling chair slowed to a halt as the man leaned down, searching for... how many screws? He couldn't remember. "Hmm." Perhaps Bailey should've counted beforehand, and perhaps Bailey needed to organize before pulling things apart.
"Shit." Bailey mumbled as the small container of screws he'd been keeping spilled after a careless elbow crashed straight into it. Well, it was his fault he supposed - he was the elbow, and he hadn't had the foresight to move the container a few inches to the right. Pushing himself away from the desk he'd been sitting at, the rolling chair slowed to a halt as the man leaned down, searching for... how many screws? He couldn't remember. "Hmm." Perhaps Bailey should've counted beforehand, and perhaps Bailey needed to organize before pulling things apart.
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