Circe hummed to herself as she moved her through the hardware store. Pushing a wheel barrel. Because how else she was going to move and mix concrete in those dark tunnels. Plus it could double as a shopping cart.


She'd already acquired tools to help with the process. Hoe, trowel, shovel, dust masks, a couple of head lamp bands, and a float. Circe honestly had no idea that was what the thing was called. Live and learn.


Circe had the foresight to get some cheap plastic slats that could be braced against a wall to hold the concrete in place.


With all that in her barrel, the Summer Lost had only three things she needed for using these in the tunnels now. Water to mix, concrete to mix, and elbow grease. The first would be used milk jugs or Walmart. The second, she wheeled the barrel into that isle just now.


The third was with the break light fluid. Circe laughs at the idea. This laughter turns into a groan of pain as she has to heft the small bag into the wheel barrel. Small in this case being 50 lbs. And costing less then a espresso.


"Cazzo," she curses as she drops it into the wheel barrel. Then curses more as she has to shift it around. A employee inquires if the woman needs help. "Oh, not yet. And I expect some nice strong boys ta help me move this thing later. Wait," she looks at the poor teenager who'd come up to her.


"Nope, doubt ya'd get it inta my trunk at all."


Rather then offense, the boy seems relieved. Ah, the effects of working retail. Immunity to charms meant to make you do more work for free.


Circe felt she was getting a preview of what it'd be like to cold forge with how much strain lugging 50 lbs was giving her. On the plus side, all these things didn't run her that high a bill. Her budget was still solid enough to expand her other ventures.


The question on that front was, Soviet or American made?