Work Text:
“Hark, Young Sinclair!” He heard Don Quixote roar out his name, making him almost drop the wrench to the ground. “Hath thou seen thine drill? Forsooth! It is required to mend mine patron's vessel." She said, leaning in close to her and from the corner of his eye, a strap from her overalls slipping off her shoulder.
Safe to say, Sinclair jumped out of his skin, wrench flying out of his hand and nearly hitting Don Quixote in the process when he shot his hands up to his face.
The wrench was embedded deeply into the concrete wall.
Ishmael walked in the workshop with a sigh, wiping muddy water off her face with a rag. “You two need to hurry up, the client is…” Her eyes trailed to the wrench on the wall. “...waiting.” Then trailed back to him and Don Quixote. “I’ll keep our client entertained.” She closed her eyes as she sighed. “Get that wrench out of that wall or else I’m docking your pay, Sinclair.”
Ishmael left without another word, leaving him and Don Quixote in silence.
“How did she know it was me?” Sinclair couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh, walking up to the wrench on the wall and used all his strength to pull it off to no avail.
Don Quixote marched up next to him, hands on hips and looking quite proud of herself. “Prithee! Let me do this, Young Sinclair!” She shot him a smile, hand now on the wrench.
“Don Qui–” Sinclair snapped his mouth shut when he watched Don Quixote, without effort, pulled out the wrench off of the wall and handed it to him with a smile. “...Thanks?”
“Thy task was of no problem at all!”
Sinclair let out another tired sigh as he watched Don Quixote drop the wrench in front of him and ran out with a shout of Ishmael’s name– followed by Ishmael’s loud groan.
He picked up the wrench, taking one look at the door before working again.
It was yet another day in the Molar Boatworks Office.
“Don Quixote! You are going to scare away our client if you keep this up!” He heard Ishmael yell out followed by a loud clang.
Yes, another day alright.
—
“Whoa!” Sinclair dodged a pincer in a nick of time and held his breath when the stench of trash filled his nose. He pierced his weapon into the shell, letting out a breath of relief at the sound of a shell cracking from the saw once he pressed the button. “That’s one down…”
A shout broke him out of his reverie, and he stared wide-eyed when he craned his head to see Don Quixote, on top of the bigger crabs and drilling her weapon onto the shell, her sunny orange eyes unusually dark– almost ruby red– before she turned to him and he felt his hair stand on its ends.
Sinclair couldn’t help it, he was enraptured by her.
“Sinclair!” He heard her shout, her eyes now back to a sunny orange and waved at him and he held the urge to throw up bile at the disgusting sight of green murk thrown in every direction from her arm. “Has thou witnessed mine’s victory with the enemy?”
He slightly averted his eyes, cheeks turning a bit pink. He couldn’t help but wonder how sharp were her senses to know he was watching her from a good distance. “I only saw the end,” he replied instead, looking at his now dulled weapon with a frown. “I was too busy wondering how the modifications went.”
Don Quixote gracefully jumped down from the big crab, walking up to him with an unreadable look in her eye. “Oho?” She said, grabbing his wrist and inspected the weapon rather closely. “Hmm…” She closed her eyes and nodded to herself. “Thou must visit thine station of the workshop after our work!”
Sinclair blinked in confusion. “Huh?” He blurted out before shaking his head and frowned. “Why– what,” He watched Don Quixote walk back to where their office was. “Don Quixote! Wait, a moment…!” He chased after after.
—
“Young Sinclair!” Don Quixote whisper-shouted in the dead of night, though it was borderlining on being her normal boisterous voice. “Prithee, come here!” She gestured for him to come close. “There is something to show thee for thy weapon.”
Ah, right.
“Um,” Sinclair found himself scrambling back to his station, gingerly holding his weapon by the handle in an effort not to cut his arm off with how fast he’s been walking. “Here you go…?” He placed down the weapon on Don Quixote’s work desk.
Then he watched her immediately go to work with his weapon. Her sunny orange eyes now sharp and clear as she picked up her welding rod. “Sinclair,” she muttered, making him stand up straight from her firm tone, her eyes still on his weapon. “Can you get the screwdriver in the toolbox?”
“Oh,” He sputtered out, grabbing the toolbox on the ground and hastily grabbing the item, yelping when it almost slipped out of his hands. “Here you go.”
Don Quixote shot him an uncharacteristic small smile that made his heart flutter a bit too much.
“Hark, Sinclair.” She whispered as she gestured to him to come closer. Sinclair noticed her smile once he felt their shoulders lightly bumped. “The chain here was welded a bit too loosely,” he heard her distantly explain and she began pointing on certain parts of her weapon that he was supposed to listen to but couldn’t.
He was too busy staring at her.
“Hast thou understood?”
Sinclair stood up straight, snapping his attention when he noticed her sharp gaze at him. “Y-Yeah,” he managed to sputter out, cheeks red. “Thank you, Don Quixote… I’ll keep it in mind.”
Don Quixote gave him a toothy smile. “It is of no problem for a heroic Fixer such as I!” She puffed out her chest, smacking it with her fist in the process. “Now come, Young Sinclair!” She grabbed him by the wrist and walked to the door of the workshop. “There is a fine place to partake in later supper!”
Sinclair let himself be dragged, too enamored by Don Quixote’s bright appearance.
They both got scolded by Ishmael as the morning came, yet from the bright look on Don Quixote’s face made everything worth it.