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For What of a Better Term

Dakk chomped on the cigar butt, while adjusting the bolt on the Golem. 

"Hold still, Bekki," he muttered to the big bucket of bolts. "Just a few more turns and you'll be ready for action." 

His hands strained against the wrench, he heard the rust of the screw grind with the metal. This baby had been motionless in the water for several decades. 

"Dakk, you still working on the piece of crap?" August asked as he walked into the workshop. "With all the gold that you got you could buy yourself five or six armour suits; why are you sticking with that crap!" 

"You don't know the whole story, Auggie," Dakk said. "This girl is just getting warmed up." 

"Looks like she's waaaaaaaaaaaaaay past her prime," August said with a chuckle. "Just scrap that rusty eyesore before you get ill." 

Before August knew it a huge wrench zinged past his head and clanged against the wall. 

"What?" August stammered. 

"You watch what you say about a lady now," Dakk told him in a stern voice. "She may be old and rusted but still it doesn't make her useless!"