Stalkers

Stalkers
1st quarter, 2017
Sydney, NSW, Australia
There's a redhead walking along the catwalk in their direction, "Stalker at seven o'clock," murmurs Jackson.
Chuck keeps tapping away at her tablet.
"Anyway," he squats beside her on Vulcan's arm, "the engines in the legs kin slip in 'n outta standby t' save fuel if
it's a long haul, so that's neat, uh ...."
"Yer supposed t' be working on Lucky," scowls Chuck. To Jackson: "And yer supposed t' be wearing yer harness."
Eyes on her tablet, Chuck digs out her lanyard and holds it up.
"Aw, Chuck, lookit the wittle Chuckles worryin' about me."
"'m worried 'bout my old man being without backup 'cause yer brother can't Drift with anyone else."
Jackson snorts dismissively. "Relax, Chuckles, 'm fine."
"Oh yea, 'fine'—,"
Chuck clears her throat.
Chuck rolls his eyes—
Jackson smirks. "Ye'll understand when yer older."
"I saw, Rainbow Brigade, but it doesn't tell me why yer wasting yer time on this lightweight."
Chuck taps a sticker. "Class-i-fied."
"Says the kid whose dad's Jaeger got stuck in the mud last week."
"Like you didn't," snaps Chuck.
"We didn't, actually, 'cause again, light-er."
"Weaker, too."
"Doesn't matter if I kin outpunch 'em, ay, Chuck?"
"Whatever gets the job done." She unclips her carabiner— "Thanks for your time." —and [abseils] away.
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