Editing Stripped Gears Writefaggotry (section)

==8==

Ivan pulled one of his hands out of the machines guts and ran it absentmindedly across his forehead. His hands were soaked in grease, but his face was already coated in black lubricant and hydraulic fluid, so the net effect was smudging the filth around. Reaching back inside, he yanked out a hydraulic capacitor, eyed it for a moment, and then tossed it aside with a curse in his native Russian. Starting to rummage around again, he heard the door to his workshop open, and then close with a softness that indicated the person who had just entered was being careful to avoid making noise. The rich boy. Great. The skinny little shit padded up behind him, and Ivan could feel the boy peering over his shoulder. “Vat do you vant?” Ivan growled, not bothering to look up. “Isn’t she...I mean...isn’t it supposed to be...sexy?” the little bastard stammered. With a deep sigh, Ivan straightened and glared down at the young man before him. Pressed suit. Shiny shoes. Designer sunglasses in his breast pocket. Fucking highlights. Ivan suppressed the urge to spit in his eye. “She vill be sexy.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the thing on the table. “Hyu tink real voman is sexy ven she is all opened up? Don’t be stupid.” “Well...ok. But I’m paying for fast, strong AND sexy. She better be all three” “Yah yah” Ivan growled, turning back to his work “She vill rip of heads and look good doing it. Now fuck off, I vill call you ven she is ready.” The boy murmured a thanks and scurried out. Fucking Americans.