The Wars That We Fight

Chapter Two

(Author's note: Hi again! You made it to Chapter Two, which presumably means that you liked Chapter One enough to continue. We're really glad you did. Nonetheless, if there's anything in this chapter or the previous one that isn't working for you, we'd love you to let us know in a comment. And, as always, if you like this chapter, the vote button is quite conveniently located, and we'd be honoured if you'd press it. Thanks!

- E and A)

Tyler opened the garage door, and was greeted by the usual, suffocating plumes of cigar smoke. Once every so often, old Rob would deviate from his usual cigarette smoking and purchase a packet of cigars. It was usually during periods of discord in his home.

"Morning. Check out the carburetor on this ancient gasoline engine."

Tyler, raising his brow in consternation, said, "What? I don't see a carburetor."

"I know," Rob said dryly.

Tyler grimaced, "Senvalorates."

Having been a mechanic for eleven years, Tyler had seen the like before.

"Pass me my tool box, Ty," Rob talked through the cigar which waggled from his mouth, threatening to fall at any given moment.

Tyler looked around, "Looks like they took that too. You know, I could look into changing the lock, maybe a security system?"

"You know we ain't got the money... So I guess I'll let you makes the calls. We have—what—seven people on our hands right now?"

A moment later, Tyler cooed softly into the receiver of a tired, black telephone which was mounted on the gritty wall. "Yes, your automobile, well what a wonderful piece of machinery. Unfortunately, we've run into some unexpected fixes that need doing right away. It will cost a little extra."

"I won't pretend to be an honest man. I'm not. Just do an extra good job on the cars that supposedly need extra work. And try and find a carburetor cheap enough to leave money for a security system. I don't wanna have to do this again," Rob waved his hands about in meaningless gestures. He fiddled with a car with resignation as he spoke over his shoulder, his back turned to Tyler.

The morning drained away slowly, and it soon became a grey Thursday afternoon. Amidst the oil and grime from working with engines, Tyler couldn't help but picture the life Audra had just lost. If she were lucky, she would find work like this, not given a chance to continue her studies, or travel abroad like she used to dream. A life of gasoline fumes or coal dust, of dishonest, desperate measures to get just a little more, maybe in order to give someone else even just half a chance.

***

"Hey," Tyler plodded through the front door, returning from work. "How was school today?"

"Bad. The Senva classes..." Audra broke off and wiped her eyes just as gossamer tears began to form. Her experience in Senvalorate classrooms was not even vaguely reminiscent of her time spent as an Olegate. She was still attending K6, but the EDFC had not managed to combine ranks within the classroom.

Tyler grimaced, remembering his own high school days and his father's stories of teaching. Underpaid teachers, water-damaged classrooms, and never enough chairs. "How bad?"

"Very bad. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," Tyler consented, hanging his machine-grease-covered denim jacket on a large nail in the wall. "Want something to eat?"

Sitting at a small, battered table in the kitchen, they finished the remnants of leftover soup from the night before. Tyler looked at the newspaper, lacy in his hands from the holes left by the missing coupons.