I hate my brain sometimes

So I scrapped what I was working on for LT3 again because it just wasn't flowing. I wound up going back to something I'd started for bb_shousetsu that I never finished because I didn't have a plot. Meanwhile the LT3 thing had a plot but the setting was falling flat. So I mashed them together. Took the setting from the one and the plot from the other, tweaked and lo, maybe thirds time's the charm, because I think I got something now. I hope. Running out of time to keep making huge changes. At least this thing is already at 1300+ words so I don't feel like I lost too much. Here's the beginning and for gits and shiggles, it's set in the same universe as Cities of Steam.

There was a mechanical rooster crowing. You heard that right. I woke up to the sound of a distinctly metallic "cockadoodledoo" that reminded me in no uncertain terms that I had to get up, get dressed, and get myself to my first day at my new job.

I'm Oliver Merrill. No, Oliver Merrill Jr. My father's the Oliver Merrill people actually know by name. I'm just his son. Last week he decided it was high time I got myself an appropriate apprenticeship, and learned how to do something outside the family business. Why? Because after years of arguments, he'd finally learned that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. I needed to be my own man, not just his kid. He accepted it; he's kind of funny that way. We fight, but bottom line is, we're so similar he can usually see my viewpoint, and vice versa.

The problem was we didn't see eye-to-eye on just where I should be working. There was a science laboratory at the university that could have used a few more research assistants, and I figured one of them should be me. I had intentions of going down to the university, presenting myself with a letter of recommendation from my father and getting one of those positions. My father had other plans. He came home telling me I would be working with Doctor M. Fitzgerald Lippett.

"What, the loony recluse? Are you serious? This is a joke right?"

"It's no joke. You start next week, seven in the morning, no buts about it. You're lucky Oliver, so don't complain."

I found out a few days later, the university was cutting back on staff and they'd only taken on two assistants. My chance there had been gone before I'd even known. Good old Dad, looking out for me, in his backwards way, had gotten me what he thought was the next best thing. What I couldn't understand was why the doctor had agreed. Everyone knew he was the hermit inventor that toed the line between genius and madness. He didn't like people; he just liked his inventions. What was I supposed to do there?