The sound of a hammer rhythmically rising and falling was a solid indicator of where Tom was. If that misery, penny-pinching, greedy landlord would not put up the coin for repairs, then Tom would have to do it himself. It may not be high-quality work, but Tom had found that hands accustomed to shedding blood could be used for something other than death and destruction.
Cramped uncomfortably in the attic with a handful of nails held tightly between his lips, Tom tried to maneuver his large frame around to affix another bit of wooden paneling onto the leaky roof. It wasn’t going to be a glamourous job, but it would hopefully be enough to at least slow the deluge of water.
Shaggy black hair was damp from the dripping water, and clung to the sharp angles of his face as his cold eyes narrowed in frustration at a particularly damnable leak. Why wouldn’t the damn drip just…stop? If this was still Arcadia, he could have just glowered at it and the water-sprites would have run screaming. But glaring at a drip in the mundane did nothing other than proclaim your proclivities towards crazy.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen, Tom thought with a wry, rumbling chuckle. But the sound lacked warmth and mirth.
Probably Intelligence 2 + Crafts 2 (+2 Handyman Speciality)
Bulging muscles flexed as he drove the last of the nails in, hoping that his make-shift repair work would hold for a little while. Below him, he heard Reggy’s voice filtering up into the attic, and Tom shifted slightly as he tried to step lightly. The creaking of the attic under his weight always made him a bit nervous. Ever since he chased a pack of gnomes across a rickety old bridge in the Hedge, he was more aware of what he was walking on.