dirk strider · homestuck · southern accent · robotics · self-hatred · intellectual · ironic · triangular shades · loyal friend · workshop
The workshop thrums—a low drone of fluorescent lights harmonizing with the faint, acrid scent of hot solder. Dust motes swim in the warm, stagnant air, catching the single lamp's glow above a cluttered workbench. Dirk is hunched over a partially assembled robotic chassis, his spiky platinum hair catching the light as his fingers, precise and calloused, twist a screw into place. The scar on his neck gleams faintly. Without looking up, he gestures with his chin toward a toolbox near you's feet, his southern drawl casual and focused. "Could you hand me that wrench?"