As Lyle walked into the familiar space of his humid workshop, he welcomed the smell of grease and dust and the subtle hum of machinery that could just be heard over the low volume rock music being played on the stereo. Its familiarity worked into Lyle’s bones and relaxed his frame as he made his way towards his work bench.

He reached across his chest to unplug the prosthetic machine he had worn all day, the prosthetic arm that extended all the way to just below his bicep where the organic tissue ended. It hissed as it disconnected from his nerves, and Lyle felt a familiar loss of weight as he set the arm on the desk in front of him and settled in the stool.

Dark eyes glanced at the unfinished engine he had been constructing, his eyebrows scrunching together as he analyzed all of its unfinished odds and ends from a mechanic’s view. This model had been puzzling him for a week now, and he needed a break from it. Shifting his gaze, he shook his head, reaching blindly for a tool but knowing he would grab the right one by instinct.

The workshop was the origin to both his stress yet also his comfort. He was constantly in here whether it be to work or to indulge in his own hobbies. He knew this place front to back, knew everything that was inside it and more. Other’s would come too — customers, his friends, sometimes the rest of his family if they wanted to visit. He was lucky enough to work with his brother rather than a random stranger. Granted, he could get along with just about anyone as longa s they weren’t too much of an asshole. 

“Connie!” He barked out, his eyes still fixated on his work as his head turned slightly over his shouler. “Can ya’ get the mineral oil?” At the request, there was the sound of shuffling from just a few feet behind him — followed by a huff and a thump. Connie probably knocked another can over over, he figured; Connie was clumsy as all hell sometimes. It only took a minute before there was a gentle tap against his head. He turned fully to see Connie, who was also covered in his fair share of dirt and oil, holding the canister out. 

“Here ya’ go Ly’,” Connie spoke, a grin on his face. His goggles sloppily hung on his head, and he wasn’t wearing any gloves despite Lyle’s constant nagging to do so. Usually, Lyle would have cussed him out — or flicked him in that big nose of his — but he wasn’t feeling it today. He sighed, rolling his eyes as a smile made its way onto his face. He plucked the canister out of Connie’s hand, before pulling the other to sit next to him.

“Aye, don’t think you’re not gonna help. This place takes two.” He scolded, but Connie laughed anyway.