Logs:Talking Shop

Talking Shop
Dramatis Personae Scott, Spencer
In Absentia B	2024-11-03 "I think I can rustle you up some -- stuff."
Location <XAV> Scott's "Office" - Garage
There's a Residential Dean's office on the administrative level, and Scott Summers is the Residential Dean, but his de facto office is here, in what was once just a utility room for the auto shop. "Cramped" might be uncharitable, but it's not large, more an extension of the shop than anything else. One wall is half glass and looks out onto said shop, one given over entirely to a pegboard sporting meticulously organized tools, one lined with sturdy wire racks laden with supplies and components, and the last, beside the door, almost completely papered over with colorful safety posters save where an almost comically large first aid cabinet is mounted. A workbench is kind of like a desk, right? There's a bit of quiet knocking around outside in the auto shop where Spence is rooting around in educated if not very organized fashion. He vanishes, then reappears for another round of searching, to judge by the soft clatter from the other side of the mysterious red Ford truck that's been sitting in the back of the shop for over a year. And then the sound of whatever clattered being returned to its proper place. The silence after this suggests he's gone again, but a moment later he -- -- materializes inside Scott's office. Somewhat absurdly, he knocks on the inside of the open door. "Sorry to bother you Mr. Summers." He's wearing a kippah styled like a smiling yellow sun, a red corduroy work shirt, comfortable old jeans, and steel-toed work boots, his black canvas shop apron liberally bedazzled with his name and all manner of other whimsies, the half-laden tool tray in his hands personalized likewise with chipping glitter and paint. "I'm just looking for some..." He glances at the pegboard, then back at Scott, sounding suddenly a little unsure. "...stuff?" Inside the "office" it is lazy-Sunday quiet; Scott has just been doing some cleaning, one of the older toolboxes (currently unassigned to any students) sitting empty on the workbench, its contents dumped out and still being meticulously sorted through, Johnny Cash playing quietly on the radio behind him. Scott is dressed lazy-casual -- navy blue work shirt, jeans, grubby rag draped over one shoulder. He glances up at the door, then at Spence -- even on a lazy Sunday the movements of his head are always sharp and crisp -- "Hey, Spence, come on in," comes after Spence has already come on inside. He tilts his head expressively at the wire shelves. "We got stuff. Any stuff in -- particular? What are you working on?" Spence nods, hefts his tool tray, and blips -- -- over to set it down on the workbench. The assortment of "stuff" he's collected so far are a bit random but skew somewhat toward engine work. "I'm restoring a motorcycle," he says, with the definite air of trying to make it sound like not a big deal even though he probably thinks it is. He can be cool and stoic, too. This lasts for all of two seconds. "It's an old Suzuki v4. I'm trying to convert it to take hydrogen fuel. Just as like, you know. A project? I think I have to replace pretty much all the gaskets and valves. And the injection and spark plugs." He produces his phone and opens up a long, threaded list of materials. A distressing number of the listings have a "?" next to them. "I'm not super sure what else?" Scott slides some of the spilled-out contents of the toolbox out of the way, surveys Spence's tool tray thoughtfully. "Pretty neat project," he says; despite his lack of inflection there is still a definite note of approval in his voice as he pokes through Spence's things. "How old is it? I can get you parts if you give me the specs. Might have to special-order..." he frowns down Spence's materials list, lips moving silently as he reads through it, then shakes his head smiling thin but amused. "I can put it on the shop budget. This place is here for you kids, not just for me." "1986 Suzuki Madura." Spence swipes over to an image of a classic cruiser. "I mean, it does not look like that right now. It isn't even in one piece. I'll send you the stuff I know I need, but there isn't a conversion guide for that engine yet so I'm kind of, finding out what I need as I go?" He hesitates, chewing on his lower lip. "Some of it may need to be like, custom printed. Which I know how to do." This isn't quite defensive, but there is a touch of uncertain embarrassment there anyway. "Thanks, Mr. Summers. I thought I could do this to impress B, but I feel like I have to get maybe a little farther than this to be impressive. It's kind of just a mess." Scott whistles, low and appreciative, settling with his hands braced on the worktop, giving this image a slow nod. "Yeah," he agrees, with matter-of-fact confidence, "That seems doable." The corners of his lips twitch. "Mm. Your sister is pretty impressive herself, you're going to have to work pretty hard. You just keep at it," somewhere in this he's slipped accidentally into his teacher voice, which is not very different from his regular voice, "you'll do fine. Let me see the list again. I might have some aftermarket parts lying around." Spence may or may not have consciously clocked the change in Scott's tone, but he seems to relax, if only by a fraction. "Yeah, I figured...it doesn't actually need to be hard, it just has to be like. Not one of her things, you know? But it feels more impressive to me if it's hard." He flicks back to the list and hands his phone to Scott. He turns to start helping himself with some tools he hadn't found just yet, then stops, glancing sidelong at Scott again. "...you're not worried I'm going to blow myself up?" He sounds wry and unconcerned, himself -- more curious than anything. "-- should I be?" Scott sounds genuinely curious, too, eyebrows suddenly scrunching in, like, oh no what have I done. "Oh no definitely not!" Spence assures him brightly. "I fell down this rabbit hole because I'm trying to design a portable electrolytic device that turns water into hydrogen and oxygen which is totally safe." He twirls a between his fingers. "I just thought you might be worried cause, you know, hydrogen. I'm very careful, though!" It's probably not the most encouraging sign when he drops the spanner in the middle of this brag. "Hm." Scott straightens up again, shaking his head, his face still set in an unhumorous frown despite the (...almost) lightness in his voice. "Well, feel free to bring it by the shop if you ever want another pair of eyes on it," he says, this is totally not a request he's making for his own peace of mind. He hands Spence his phone back, unlatching a jingly set of keys from his belt loop as he heads for a locked row of cabinets. "I think I can rustle you up some -- stuff."