Snippet #1404739

While Kane was out finding whatever it was he'd gone to look for, Grant had taken to the bathroom with a mutter. "I wuz thinkin' summa a li'l stronger than water..." But he kept his voice low, somewhat eager to clean up and, for the first time in he didn't know how long, stay that way for more than a few hours. He cleaned quickly and stood in front of a mirror, looking around for a razor. He found one soon enough and got to work ridding himself of the bush that had grown on his face, yet again questioning why he had accepted this offer in the first place. The break couldn't have been it he thought now. Not half an hour since he was last working and here he was bored out of his mind. He was a workaholic at heart, never to be seen standing idle and he knew that would creep up on him while he was onboard.

Reasonably smooth-cheeked and once more dressed, he made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of water which he took through to his room. The door he left open as there was no one around to disturb him and he got to work. He pulled an old rag from his toolbox and a small jar of oil. With the precision and speed that can only be gained from regular practice, one by one his tools started to be disassembled and cleaned. It was dull, repetitive work but it did the trick. He kept his mind on the task and tried to shut out the idea that he had made a truly terrific mistake by coming here. As he worked he started to hum, then whistle. Finally, he broke out into a gruff but quiet rendition of a worker's shanty often sung across mining colonies. It seemed that no matter where in the galaxy you went, everyone knew it. Unfortunately, it was in a language he couldn't speak and as such didn't have a clue what the lyrics meant. And he'd never bothered to ask because, when it came down to it, the words weren't really important.