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Written for Oz Drabble Tree
With attention to the details, he knew the ins and outs of the prison like it was a machine. Each piece did what it was supposed to do, although some certainly needed a bit of tweaking--a shove in the right direction.
Sometimes the machine stuttered, hesitated, creaked its resistance, but he plodded along, getting it back where it--he--needed it to be.
Ryan did not swagger. He did not drawl out suggestions in a fake display of laziness. He moved with purpose, almost skittered. His words were quick, spoken with a rapid succession that winked an observant eye at his brain rapidly at work.
He smiled at the chessboard.
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