Post by The Mechanized Menace on Jul 17, 2013 11:51:41 GMT -5
((So after writing this story, I concluded that I write way better in first person than in third. Figures that I made this one the canon story. Oh well.
Enjoy!))
June 2nd, 23 CLE
Inside a particular workshop in Bandle City, the place was very-near-literally a maze of machine scraps and broken contraptions.. Bolts and screws lay scattered amongst the floor, blueprints piled high in one, unorganized, messy stack, and incomplete, flawed machines cloaked the majority of the workbenches.
Given that the workshop belonged to none other than the (in)famous Mechanized Menace, Rumble, this was fairly typical.
Rumble lay plopped on his bed in his bedroom, which was considerably cleaner than the main workshop area. He wasn’t actually sleeping, nor was he trying to fall asleep. Rather, he was resting idly with eyes open, not because he was tired of the heavy workload, but because he was feeling considerably lazy today.
Today was a special day to be lazy, however. For the mechanic, today was the 107th day that he would tell himself that he’d finally clean up the abysmal mess in the workshop, then put it off in the end because he would be too damn busy resting his lazy ass off for no good reason.
It was a special day because the number 107 happened to be his favorite prime number.
Anyways, Rumble was lying in his own bed, daydreaming in his thoughts, until he was rudely disturbed by a noise coming from outside his entrance door.
Scritch scratch scratch.
Rumble leaned slightly towards the left, and his ears twitched at the scratching noise. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was audible enough to vibrate the air just barely enough to travel through the workshop area, towards the bedroom, and straight into mechanic’s ears.
Scritch scratch scratch.
There it was again. Rumble covered his head and ears with the pillow, attempting to mute out the repetitive scratching. It was as annoying as the sound of a leaked pipe that kept on dripping drop-by-drop, slowly but continuously. Which is to say, extremely.
Scritch scratch scratch.
What annoyed the mechanic most was how the scratching always sounded exactly the same with each repetition. It didn’t go scratch scratch scratch or scritchity scratchity scritchity, it just went scritch scratch scratch. Every. Single. Time.
Rumble groaned and slammed his pillow onto the ground. He stormed out of the bedroom and through the maze of bolts and screws on the workshop floor. The scritch scratch scratch noise resounded through the workshop once more, almost causing the mechanic to trip onto the pit of machine scraps.
The yordle flung open the door and immediately managed to pinpoint the source of the scratching, which happened to be the most devastatingly uninteresting cat he’s ever seen in his life. Rumble didn’t even have to look down at the animal, probably because he was already really tiny.
“Meow.”
Rumble blinked thrice and kneeled down to check for a collar on the cat. Hmm, no collar. Probably a stupid stray cat, he thought. He didn’t recall getting many cats around the junkyard, though. The animals that dwelled within the junkyard were the ones that were actually wild, like rats and raccoons.
“Meow.”
Rumble blinked again. This cat was annoying him far more than it should. Rumble attempted to close the door, but the gray cat stuck its right paw in the doorway, preventing the mechanic from closing the door unless he wanted to seriously maim the cat via door slamming.
“Meow.” The cat stared back, appearing to be smiling at the yordle. Rumble growled and attempted to close the door again and failed yet again, for the cat kept its paw through the doorway, unwilling to let the door lock.
Now, Rumble could have easily thrown the cat or slammed the door shut, but he didn’t, because he, along with 99% of the yordle population, had Cute Animal Syndrome (or in real life, the Disney Disease), which basically prohibited him from maiming cute animals, including cats.
So instead, the mechanic groaned and said, “Fine, come in,” and the cat purred happily and hopped through the doorway. Rumble headed off to his bedroom to daydream again, but was interrupted by the cat suddenly crawling up the mechanic’s body and curling up on his head.
Rumble growled even more and placed the cat on a nearby workshop bench. The cat immediately hopped back onto the mechanic’s mohawk and slightly dug its claws into Rumble’s head, giving him the message that the cat will make his mohawk a nesting area should he want his forehead unscathed.
“Ow ow ow, okay okay, I get yer message!” the yordle said, cringing from the pain. He sighed in defeat and attempted to focus on his mechanical work while trying to ignore the cat for as long as possible.
“Man, you probably got fleas or somethin’ on you, anyways,” he muttered.
Rumble continued to work on his machines, getting increasingly irritated for every second the cat sat on his head. The cat mewed and occasionally pawed at the yordle’s ruffled mohawk, displaying no intention of moving from its newfound sitting place.
“Right, where’s my screwdriver,” Rumble muttered, and as if on command, the cat immediately hopped off and pounced towards another workbench. The animal picked up a Phillips screwdriver using its mouth and brought it over to the yordle mechanic.
“Thanks,” Rumble said, as he reached out to take the screwdriver without even looking at the cat. He grabbed the screwdriver, then abruptly turned towards the cat with widened eyes, because he just realized that a cat understood what he said and brought him a screwdriver. Phillips, at that. Rumble didn’t even order the cat to do anything, he just muttered about a screwdriver mindlessly.
“Wait, what.” Rumble pointed at the cat with a puzzled look. “You can understand me?” The cat nodded back, and Rumble slightly jerked back in bewilderment. Not only did the cat bring him a screwdriver when he asked for one, but it also nodded to a yes or no question.
Rumble slapped himself once to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Right,” Rumble muttered, affirming that he wasn’t situated in some crazed-up fantasy world. “Dangit, my hammer’s missing now,” Rumble said, glancing at the hammer lying right next to him. The cat mewed and picked up the hammer and dropped it in front of the yordle.
Rumble slapped himself three more times before stopping, because slapping himself hurt a lot, and he concluded that he'd seen weirder and stupider things in Runeterra, such as Heimerdinger's appalling afro-hairdo.
“I must be livin’ in a video game or somethin’.”
Throughout the course of the day, the cat didn’t do much at all except meow and nap and sit on Rumble’s head. Eventually, Rumble opened a window to let in some fresh air, which surprisingly led to the cat hopping out of the window and going to who knows where. Rumble sighed of relief and immediately closed the window, not wanting to deal with the pesky animal again.
The next morning went quite peaceful for the yordle mechanic. No machines malfunctioned, nothing exploded in his face, and most importantly, no scratching noises resonated in the workshop to drive him nuts.
After finishing lunch, Rumble picked up a hammer and went straight to his usual work. He pounded down four nails before he noticed the bite marks on the hammer’s wooden handle, which were left by the gray cat yesterday. Suddenly, Rumble remembered the cat from yesterday, and he felt disturbed that he actually missed it somewhat.
At least, until the scratching noise came back.
Scritch scratch scratch.
“Dammit, not again!” The mechanic slammed the hammer onto the workbench, then marched through the mess of machine scraps on the ground and flung the door open. He glared at the cat, then noticed that it was carrying a red rose in its mouth.
“Eh? You brought me a flower?” Rumble plucked the rose from the cat’s mouth and inspected it a little before realizing that this wasn’t any ordinary flower the cat picked. The rose was an assortment of gears and machinery that the yordle mechanic had constructed long ago. Rumble scowled and threw the metal rose behind him. He had bad memories with mechanical flowers that he’d rather not reminiscence.
“Aren’t youse cats supposed to bring me stuff like dead rats?” Rumble questioned, still frowning at the animal. The cat coughed and hacked for quite some time until it threw up a hairball with the remains of a rodent. Rumble grimaced and took a step back, his expression being a mixture of disgust and amazement.
“I thought only owls were s’pposed to do that,” he said. The cat mewed and walked up towards the mechanic’s leg, then nuzzled it happily and purred. Rumble blushed, unsure of how a cat could embarrass him this much. He waved his arms wildly in the air and proceeded to rant.
“This is so stupid! You’re not supposed to understand me and bring me flowers, you’re supposed to sit there and look dumb!” he yelled. In response, the cat immediately sat down in front of the mechanic and stupidly smiled back.
Rumble sighed and pursed his lips, irked beyond belief.
“Why am I even talking to you?”
“Meow.”
“I must be going crazy.”
“Meow meow.”
“I don’t speak Kittynese, mister.”
“Mrowowrowrow.”
Rumble sighed again. “Go away,” he muttered, and he shut the door before the cat could react.
The next three hours went by quickly without much interruption. Rumble didn’t hear any meowing or any scratching noise during that time period, so he assumed that the cat wandered off to bother some other being.
Then suddenly, the scratching noise came back in the next hour. Rumble nearly dropped a hammer on his foot, the scratching catching him off guard completely. The yordle set the hammer aside and howled at the top of his lungs. “Dammit, why do you gotta come back every time? Just go away!”
And just like magic, the scratching instantly stopped.
Rumble wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that the cat actually listened to the mechanic, or the regret he felt from yelling at it.
Snatching up the hammer once more, Rumble continued to work on his machines until he noticed the bite marks on the hammer’s handle again. He fumed for a moment, trying his best to erase the cat out of his memory, and went back to work, picking up the catdriver – the screwdriver – and tightening in some screws. He then laid out a blueprint and wrote some calculations on it. If the tangent was equal to the sine over the cat – over the cosine…
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Why was this stupid animal getting to his mind so much? Rumble gripped his mohawk, unable to concentrate on his work. He had only met the cat for a day – one day – and already he can’t stop thinking and worrying about the stupid animal. Why did he care so much about it? He shouldn’t!
“I must be going crazy,” he muttered bitterly.
Rumble figured that the prolonged seclusion from the outside world was starting to drive him crazy. He knew that most yordles needed some form of social interaction once in a while to keep themselves from going nuts, and he hadn’t talked with anyone for the past few days. Maybe that’s why he missed the cat, despite trying to ignore it. In that case, Rumble figured, all he needed was a dose of medicine to allay his loneliness.
He opened his medicine cabinet and searched for the pills – the kind yordles took to temporarily alleviate them of loneliness – then realized that he didn’t have any because he never even needed them in the first place.
At least, not until now.
Rumble looked outside and viewed the weather. Gray clouds clouded the skies, and rain started to pour down quite heavily. A strong gust of wind rustled one of the junkyard heaps. Yep, there was definitely a big storm coming, Rumble assured. Good thing he was nice and safe in his cozy workshop. The mechanic hummed an old Bandle tune and picked up his incomplete contraption.
Then his mind flashed back to the cat again. Where would it go during the storm? The cat was annoying, yes, and he called it dumb, yes, but it wasn’t actually stupid. If the cat was smart enough to understand him, then it was smart enough to find a shelter to hide in during the storm, he reasoned.
Rumble looked outside again. Torrents of rain poured down from the dark clouds and hostile winds screeched and rattled the giant junk heaps. A deafening crack of thunder reverberated intensely throughout the city, making Rumble jump in surprise. Yep, this storm was definitely getting worse very quickly, he confirmed.
The yordle worried more about the cat with each passing second. Why did he worry so much? It was just a stupid animal! Besides, he reasoned, the cat wasn’t stupid enough to not seek refuge in a shelter. It was only logical thing to do, considering that a scrawny animal like it would never survive the storm outside. The cold rain and icy wind would freeze the cat to death, and maybe it would even be unlucky enough to be hit by a stray bolt of lightning. Yes, if it had a place to stay, then surely the animal would be safe from the storm.
If it had a place to stay.
What resounded next within the workshop was the machine shattering into tiny little pieces of gears and metals as Rumble dropped it from his hand, the pent-up guilt suddenly tugging at him stronger than ever.
Rumble rushed outside, hastily putting on a raincoat and holding a flashlight, in hopes of finding the cat himself. As the rain battered against the yordle and as the wind slashed through his fur, he scanned the ground for any footprints or hairballs the cat might have left in its trail. Another feeling was building up in the yordle; not one of guilt, but of fear. Fear that the cat didn’t make it to a shelter. Fear that the cat would have to sit helpless against the storm.
Fear that it would die.
Rumble hoped that the little trails of liquid running below his eyes were just raindrops.
“Alright, you flea-ridden, mangled piece of furball, where are you?!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He paused; maybe that wasn’t the best phrase to yell. A small but definitive feeling of regret conjoined hand-in-hand with the already present emotions of guilt and fear.
The mechanic began to wander off in his own thoughts as he vacillated his flashlight on the ground. He still couldn’t figure out why he worried so much, especially since he only met the cat for a day. He could be inside right now, resting in bed without worrying about the storm, but noooooo, the loneliness just had to hit him at this point! Maybe he’d find the cat and bring it in just for today, wait for the storm to let out, then kick it out again! Yes, that’d show the stupid, annoying, piece-of-no-good-
“Meow…”
Suddenly, Rumble’s incensed thoughts disappeared, replaced with a single goal in mind: Find the cat.
The yordle rushed towards the source of the sound, rushing against the wind and stampeding across the slippery puddles. The lightning cracked louder and louder, and the cold rain numbed his furry hands, but he still ran on, adamant on finding the animal that plagued his thoughts so much.
“Meow…”
A deafening boom of thunder crashed exceedingly close to the junkyard, causing Rumble to slip onto the ground and yelp. The mechanic slid against the near-frictionless muddy ground, the dirt and grime catching onto his fur. He only stopped sliding when he collided into the base of a junkyard heap headfirst.
“Ugh, owowowowww….”
“Meow!”
Rumble turned left whilst rubbing his head, trying to alleviate the pain from the collision. There, his eye locked onto a small lump of fur shivering under some scraps. Immediately, the yordle got up to his feet and ran towards the scrap pile, where the gray cat was huddling under for protection. Rumble picked up the cat and hugged it joyfully.
“Heheheh, found you at last!”
“Meow!” The cat scratched Rumble’s cheek, drawing a little blood, and Rumble winced and clamped the wound with his muddied hand.
“Ow! So much for being grateful,” he muttered, and the cat immediately purred and licked the wound. The mechanic chuckled a little and blushed, the licking turning the pain into a slight, pleasant tingling. He hugged the cat once more, not caring about the storm roaring over the pair.
“Heh, let’s get back to the workshop now and wash up,” Rumble said, and the cat mewed back, which Rumble assumed was kitty language for “yes.” He strolled back to the workshop, the storm now being a mere, forgotten thought in his mind.
“Hmm, you don’t really have a name yet, do you?” Rumble said as he opened the door to his workshop. The cat simply purred as Rumble brought it in the shelter and closed the door behind him. “How ‘bout Scraps? I’ll call you Scraps ‘cos that’s what I found you under during the storm. Great logic, eh?”
The cat hopped onto the yordle’s head and sat on its mohawk, playfully pawing at his forehead. Rumble chuckled and rubbed his newfound pet as he turned on the sink. He always preferred to be alone and without friends, especially ones that made a habit out of mohawk-sitting, but maybe, just maybe, having one to keep him company would be nice.
Maybe.
Enjoy!))
June 2nd, 23 CLE
Inside a particular workshop in Bandle City, the place was very-near-literally a maze of machine scraps and broken contraptions.. Bolts and screws lay scattered amongst the floor, blueprints piled high in one, unorganized, messy stack, and incomplete, flawed machines cloaked the majority of the workbenches.
Given that the workshop belonged to none other than the (in)famous Mechanized Menace, Rumble, this was fairly typical.
Rumble lay plopped on his bed in his bedroom, which was considerably cleaner than the main workshop area. He wasn’t actually sleeping, nor was he trying to fall asleep. Rather, he was resting idly with eyes open, not because he was tired of the heavy workload, but because he was feeling considerably lazy today.
Today was a special day to be lazy, however. For the mechanic, today was the 107th day that he would tell himself that he’d finally clean up the abysmal mess in the workshop, then put it off in the end because he would be too damn busy resting his lazy ass off for no good reason.
It was a special day because the number 107 happened to be his favorite prime number.
Anyways, Rumble was lying in his own bed, daydreaming in his thoughts, until he was rudely disturbed by a noise coming from outside his entrance door.
Scritch scratch scratch.
Rumble leaned slightly towards the left, and his ears twitched at the scratching noise. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was audible enough to vibrate the air just barely enough to travel through the workshop area, towards the bedroom, and straight into mechanic’s ears.
Scritch scratch scratch.
There it was again. Rumble covered his head and ears with the pillow, attempting to mute out the repetitive scratching. It was as annoying as the sound of a leaked pipe that kept on dripping drop-by-drop, slowly but continuously. Which is to say, extremely.
Scritch scratch scratch.
What annoyed the mechanic most was how the scratching always sounded exactly the same with each repetition. It didn’t go scratch scratch scratch or scritchity scratchity scritchity, it just went scritch scratch scratch. Every. Single. Time.
Rumble groaned and slammed his pillow onto the ground. He stormed out of the bedroom and through the maze of bolts and screws on the workshop floor. The scritch scratch scratch noise resounded through the workshop once more, almost causing the mechanic to trip onto the pit of machine scraps.
The yordle flung open the door and immediately managed to pinpoint the source of the scratching, which happened to be the most devastatingly uninteresting cat he’s ever seen in his life. Rumble didn’t even have to look down at the animal, probably because he was already really tiny.
“Meow.”
Rumble blinked thrice and kneeled down to check for a collar on the cat. Hmm, no collar. Probably a stupid stray cat, he thought. He didn’t recall getting many cats around the junkyard, though. The animals that dwelled within the junkyard were the ones that were actually wild, like rats and raccoons.
“Meow.”
Rumble blinked again. This cat was annoying him far more than it should. Rumble attempted to close the door, but the gray cat stuck its right paw in the doorway, preventing the mechanic from closing the door unless he wanted to seriously maim the cat via door slamming.
“Meow.” The cat stared back, appearing to be smiling at the yordle. Rumble growled and attempted to close the door again and failed yet again, for the cat kept its paw through the doorway, unwilling to let the door lock.
Now, Rumble could have easily thrown the cat or slammed the door shut, but he didn’t, because he, along with 99% of the yordle population, had Cute Animal Syndrome (or in real life, the Disney Disease), which basically prohibited him from maiming cute animals, including cats.
So instead, the mechanic groaned and said, “Fine, come in,” and the cat purred happily and hopped through the doorway. Rumble headed off to his bedroom to daydream again, but was interrupted by the cat suddenly crawling up the mechanic’s body and curling up on his head.
Rumble growled even more and placed the cat on a nearby workshop bench. The cat immediately hopped back onto the mechanic’s mohawk and slightly dug its claws into Rumble’s head, giving him the message that the cat will make his mohawk a nesting area should he want his forehead unscathed.
“Ow ow ow, okay okay, I get yer message!” the yordle said, cringing from the pain. He sighed in defeat and attempted to focus on his mechanical work while trying to ignore the cat for as long as possible.
“Man, you probably got fleas or somethin’ on you, anyways,” he muttered.
Rumble continued to work on his machines, getting increasingly irritated for every second the cat sat on his head. The cat mewed and occasionally pawed at the yordle’s ruffled mohawk, displaying no intention of moving from its newfound sitting place.
“Right, where’s my screwdriver,” Rumble muttered, and as if on command, the cat immediately hopped off and pounced towards another workbench. The animal picked up a Phillips screwdriver using its mouth and brought it over to the yordle mechanic.
“Thanks,” Rumble said, as he reached out to take the screwdriver without even looking at the cat. He grabbed the screwdriver, then abruptly turned towards the cat with widened eyes, because he just realized that a cat understood what he said and brought him a screwdriver. Phillips, at that. Rumble didn’t even order the cat to do anything, he just muttered about a screwdriver mindlessly.
“Wait, what.” Rumble pointed at the cat with a puzzled look. “You can understand me?” The cat nodded back, and Rumble slightly jerked back in bewilderment. Not only did the cat bring him a screwdriver when he asked for one, but it also nodded to a yes or no question.
Rumble slapped himself once to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Right,” Rumble muttered, affirming that he wasn’t situated in some crazed-up fantasy world. “Dangit, my hammer’s missing now,” Rumble said, glancing at the hammer lying right next to him. The cat mewed and picked up the hammer and dropped it in front of the yordle.
Rumble slapped himself three more times before stopping, because slapping himself hurt a lot, and he concluded that he'd seen weirder and stupider things in Runeterra, such as Heimerdinger's appalling afro-hairdo.
“I must be livin’ in a video game or somethin’.”
Throughout the course of the day, the cat didn’t do much at all except meow and nap and sit on Rumble’s head. Eventually, Rumble opened a window to let in some fresh air, which surprisingly led to the cat hopping out of the window and going to who knows where. Rumble sighed of relief and immediately closed the window, not wanting to deal with the pesky animal again.
The next morning went quite peaceful for the yordle mechanic. No machines malfunctioned, nothing exploded in his face, and most importantly, no scratching noises resonated in the workshop to drive him nuts.
After finishing lunch, Rumble picked up a hammer and went straight to his usual work. He pounded down four nails before he noticed the bite marks on the hammer’s wooden handle, which were left by the gray cat yesterday. Suddenly, Rumble remembered the cat from yesterday, and he felt disturbed that he actually missed it somewhat.
At least, until the scratching noise came back.
Scritch scratch scratch.
“Dammit, not again!” The mechanic slammed the hammer onto the workbench, then marched through the mess of machine scraps on the ground and flung the door open. He glared at the cat, then noticed that it was carrying a red rose in its mouth.
“Eh? You brought me a flower?” Rumble plucked the rose from the cat’s mouth and inspected it a little before realizing that this wasn’t any ordinary flower the cat picked. The rose was an assortment of gears and machinery that the yordle mechanic had constructed long ago. Rumble scowled and threw the metal rose behind him. He had bad memories with mechanical flowers that he’d rather not reminiscence.
“Aren’t youse cats supposed to bring me stuff like dead rats?” Rumble questioned, still frowning at the animal. The cat coughed and hacked for quite some time until it threw up a hairball with the remains of a rodent. Rumble grimaced and took a step back, his expression being a mixture of disgust and amazement.
“I thought only owls were s’pposed to do that,” he said. The cat mewed and walked up towards the mechanic’s leg, then nuzzled it happily and purred. Rumble blushed, unsure of how a cat could embarrass him this much. He waved his arms wildly in the air and proceeded to rant.
“This is so stupid! You’re not supposed to understand me and bring me flowers, you’re supposed to sit there and look dumb!” he yelled. In response, the cat immediately sat down in front of the mechanic and stupidly smiled back.
Rumble sighed and pursed his lips, irked beyond belief.
“Why am I even talking to you?”
“Meow.”
“I must be going crazy.”
“Meow meow.”
“I don’t speak Kittynese, mister.”
“Mrowowrowrow.”
Rumble sighed again. “Go away,” he muttered, and he shut the door before the cat could react.
The next three hours went by quickly without much interruption. Rumble didn’t hear any meowing or any scratching noise during that time period, so he assumed that the cat wandered off to bother some other being.
Then suddenly, the scratching noise came back in the next hour. Rumble nearly dropped a hammer on his foot, the scratching catching him off guard completely. The yordle set the hammer aside and howled at the top of his lungs. “Dammit, why do you gotta come back every time? Just go away!”
And just like magic, the scratching instantly stopped.
Rumble wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that the cat actually listened to the mechanic, or the regret he felt from yelling at it.
Snatching up the hammer once more, Rumble continued to work on his machines until he noticed the bite marks on the hammer’s handle again. He fumed for a moment, trying his best to erase the cat out of his memory, and went back to work, picking up the catdriver – the screwdriver – and tightening in some screws. He then laid out a blueprint and wrote some calculations on it. If the tangent was equal to the sine over the cat – over the cosine…
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Why was this stupid animal getting to his mind so much? Rumble gripped his mohawk, unable to concentrate on his work. He had only met the cat for a day – one day – and already he can’t stop thinking and worrying about the stupid animal. Why did he care so much about it? He shouldn’t!
“I must be going crazy,” he muttered bitterly.
Rumble figured that the prolonged seclusion from the outside world was starting to drive him crazy. He knew that most yordles needed some form of social interaction once in a while to keep themselves from going nuts, and he hadn’t talked with anyone for the past few days. Maybe that’s why he missed the cat, despite trying to ignore it. In that case, Rumble figured, all he needed was a dose of medicine to allay his loneliness.
He opened his medicine cabinet and searched for the pills – the kind yordles took to temporarily alleviate them of loneliness – then realized that he didn’t have any because he never even needed them in the first place.
At least, not until now.
Rumble looked outside and viewed the weather. Gray clouds clouded the skies, and rain started to pour down quite heavily. A strong gust of wind rustled one of the junkyard heaps. Yep, there was definitely a big storm coming, Rumble assured. Good thing he was nice and safe in his cozy workshop. The mechanic hummed an old Bandle tune and picked up his incomplete contraption.
Then his mind flashed back to the cat again. Where would it go during the storm? The cat was annoying, yes, and he called it dumb, yes, but it wasn’t actually stupid. If the cat was smart enough to understand him, then it was smart enough to find a shelter to hide in during the storm, he reasoned.
Rumble looked outside again. Torrents of rain poured down from the dark clouds and hostile winds screeched and rattled the giant junk heaps. A deafening crack of thunder reverberated intensely throughout the city, making Rumble jump in surprise. Yep, this storm was definitely getting worse very quickly, he confirmed.
The yordle worried more about the cat with each passing second. Why did he worry so much? It was just a stupid animal! Besides, he reasoned, the cat wasn’t stupid enough to not seek refuge in a shelter. It was only logical thing to do, considering that a scrawny animal like it would never survive the storm outside. The cold rain and icy wind would freeze the cat to death, and maybe it would even be unlucky enough to be hit by a stray bolt of lightning. Yes, if it had a place to stay, then surely the animal would be safe from the storm.
If it had a place to stay.
What resounded next within the workshop was the machine shattering into tiny little pieces of gears and metals as Rumble dropped it from his hand, the pent-up guilt suddenly tugging at him stronger than ever.
Rumble rushed outside, hastily putting on a raincoat and holding a flashlight, in hopes of finding the cat himself. As the rain battered against the yordle and as the wind slashed through his fur, he scanned the ground for any footprints or hairballs the cat might have left in its trail. Another feeling was building up in the yordle; not one of guilt, but of fear. Fear that the cat didn’t make it to a shelter. Fear that the cat would have to sit helpless against the storm.
Fear that it would die.
Rumble hoped that the little trails of liquid running below his eyes were just raindrops.
“Alright, you flea-ridden, mangled piece of furball, where are you?!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He paused; maybe that wasn’t the best phrase to yell. A small but definitive feeling of regret conjoined hand-in-hand with the already present emotions of guilt and fear.
The mechanic began to wander off in his own thoughts as he vacillated his flashlight on the ground. He still couldn’t figure out why he worried so much, especially since he only met the cat for a day. He could be inside right now, resting in bed without worrying about the storm, but noooooo, the loneliness just had to hit him at this point! Maybe he’d find the cat and bring it in just for today, wait for the storm to let out, then kick it out again! Yes, that’d show the stupid, annoying, piece-of-no-good-
“Meow…”
Suddenly, Rumble’s incensed thoughts disappeared, replaced with a single goal in mind: Find the cat.
The yordle rushed towards the source of the sound, rushing against the wind and stampeding across the slippery puddles. The lightning cracked louder and louder, and the cold rain numbed his furry hands, but he still ran on, adamant on finding the animal that plagued his thoughts so much.
“Meow…”
A deafening boom of thunder crashed exceedingly close to the junkyard, causing Rumble to slip onto the ground and yelp. The mechanic slid against the near-frictionless muddy ground, the dirt and grime catching onto his fur. He only stopped sliding when he collided into the base of a junkyard heap headfirst.
“Ugh, owowowowww….”
“Meow!”
Rumble turned left whilst rubbing his head, trying to alleviate the pain from the collision. There, his eye locked onto a small lump of fur shivering under some scraps. Immediately, the yordle got up to his feet and ran towards the scrap pile, where the gray cat was huddling under for protection. Rumble picked up the cat and hugged it joyfully.
“Heheheh, found you at last!”
“Meow!” The cat scratched Rumble’s cheek, drawing a little blood, and Rumble winced and clamped the wound with his muddied hand.
“Ow! So much for being grateful,” he muttered, and the cat immediately purred and licked the wound. The mechanic chuckled a little and blushed, the licking turning the pain into a slight, pleasant tingling. He hugged the cat once more, not caring about the storm roaring over the pair.
“Heh, let’s get back to the workshop now and wash up,” Rumble said, and the cat mewed back, which Rumble assumed was kitty language for “yes.” He strolled back to the workshop, the storm now being a mere, forgotten thought in his mind.
“Hmm, you don’t really have a name yet, do you?” Rumble said as he opened the door to his workshop. The cat simply purred as Rumble brought it in the shelter and closed the door behind him. “How ‘bout Scraps? I’ll call you Scraps ‘cos that’s what I found you under during the storm. Great logic, eh?”
The cat hopped onto the yordle’s head and sat on its mohawk, playfully pawing at his forehead. Rumble chuckled and rubbed his newfound pet as he turned on the sink. He always preferred to be alone and without friends, especially ones that made a habit out of mohawk-sitting, but maybe, just maybe, having one to keep him company would be nice.
Maybe.
