The mobster quickly took hold of his tommy gun and aimed it at the stranger, not completely trusting this person since they were already trespassing on private property.
“What are yous doin’ here? I’d make my ans’ah short and sweet if I was yous– unless yous want yo’ brains splatt’ad against the walls here-ah”
The Repairman was quick to put his hands up, dropping his fishing rod into the polluted water.
…Of course. That’s the fourth thing I’ll have to fetch.
The inkbot turned to face his fifth problem. That was certainly an intimidating sixth problem being pointed at his face by the potoroo.
The Repairman nervously looked up to see his aggressor’s face.
“Scheduled maintenance, sir. I came in here just to make sure everything’s fine, but then…”
He motioned towards his former fishing spot.
“…I dropped a few things, and you caught me trying to get them back. So…I’ll just get those, finish the checkup, and be on my way, all right?”
Siblings-a-Fixin' 