0.5 - Cleaver's Ship - 'Roommates' - [Closed]
Feb 20, 2012 16:54:02 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 20, 2012 16:54:02 GMT -5
(( This thread takes place after "Pop Cans" and before "Reliance". ))
Within the ship, Catherine often felt like a wee little mouse. The equipment and vast majority of the living space was mech-sized, including her own pod (though it had been customized courtesy of Cleaver for her use). It left very little room for a human to make her own way on the ship. But fortunately, the majority of the tools could be shrunk to a usable size for Cat (Or, as they began to refer to it, 'fun-sized'), and with a little time she had created her own suitable work stations upon the larger desks and tables where the 'microscopic' items were stored.
The repetitive cleaning work she grasped quite well, and for the first few days she noticed that it had gone by fairly quickly. Handling technology she was lucky enough to even know existed left her examining each piece in detail as she tended to it. Sometimes… most times… she had no idea what she was looking at. But whether or not if Cleaver was around to answer her questions, she would always take time to look, to study… and sometimes, pretend, quizzing herself on minor first aid.
The first day she met Cleaver she had begun to learn the complexities of Cybertronian anatomy and the medicine developed to tend it, starting with basic coolant line repairs on Cleaver herself. The lessons had continued, and to her pleasure Catherine found she was able to retain and connect the information well, perhaps because of developing a such a quick passion for it. Though her knowledge was likely only the equivalent of disinfecting a scrape putting a band aid over it, her respect for it, and for Cleaver, had grown deep. This alien world, like the under-underground of the internet, felt like something she could expand in.
Absently as she soldered to the sound of remixes through her head phones, foot swinging to the beat. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four,
one-two.. one-TWO, one-TWO, one-TWO, one-TWO. Her subconscious picked up on it first, translating to the swinging of her foot to the beat. Then she began to notice a different beat to the one currently trickling through her head phones. She paused, brows knitting, and listened. This different beat began to turn into a different song entirely over the sound of her Beatles.
'Is that… music?' Well she doubted it was Cleaver or Reflector. Barricade? It didn't fit… That left one.
Removing her head phones she slid down from her place on the desk, padding barefoot after the beat gently thudding through the walls. Contrary to what she had been advised to do, she walked out in the open without much thought to who she might run into. For better or worse… Barricade's not-quite-so-kosher personality had fractured her Give-A-Damn.
As she came closer to the source, she could distinguish the genre. Techno… It sounded like something out of a rave. A light was shining down the corridor from one of the six berth areas, allowing Cat to creep close and peer around the half-cracked sliding door. Lucky for her-- she was too small to open it herself. 'Here's one I haven't met before.' A white, lanky figure sat partially turned to the door, looking to be cleaning… 'Really big damn guns.'
And just as she was relaxing against the side of the door to watch and listen… she heard a steady, patient ping from her back pocket over the sound of the music that sent her heart stuttering. 'Shi- why do you do this when I'm trying to hide?!'
Within the ship, Catherine often felt like a wee little mouse. The equipment and vast majority of the living space was mech-sized, including her own pod (though it had been customized courtesy of Cleaver for her use). It left very little room for a human to make her own way on the ship. But fortunately, the majority of the tools could be shrunk to a usable size for Cat (Or, as they began to refer to it, 'fun-sized'), and with a little time she had created her own suitable work stations upon the larger desks and tables where the 'microscopic' items were stored.
The repetitive cleaning work she grasped quite well, and for the first few days she noticed that it had gone by fairly quickly. Handling technology she was lucky enough to even know existed left her examining each piece in detail as she tended to it. Sometimes… most times… she had no idea what she was looking at. But whether or not if Cleaver was around to answer her questions, she would always take time to look, to study… and sometimes, pretend, quizzing herself on minor first aid.
The first day she met Cleaver she had begun to learn the complexities of Cybertronian anatomy and the medicine developed to tend it, starting with basic coolant line repairs on Cleaver herself. The lessons had continued, and to her pleasure Catherine found she was able to retain and connect the information well, perhaps because of developing a such a quick passion for it. Though her knowledge was likely only the equivalent of disinfecting a scrape putting a band aid over it, her respect for it, and for Cleaver, had grown deep. This alien world, like the under-underground of the internet, felt like something she could expand in.
Absently as she soldered to the sound of remixes through her head phones, foot swinging to the beat. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four,
one-two.. one-TWO, one-TWO, one-TWO, one-TWO. Her subconscious picked up on it first, translating to the swinging of her foot to the beat. Then she began to notice a different beat to the one currently trickling through her head phones. She paused, brows knitting, and listened. This different beat began to turn into a different song entirely over the sound of her Beatles.
'Is that… music?' Well she doubted it was Cleaver or Reflector. Barricade? It didn't fit… That left one.
Removing her head phones she slid down from her place on the desk, padding barefoot after the beat gently thudding through the walls. Contrary to what she had been advised to do, she walked out in the open without much thought to who she might run into. For better or worse… Barricade's not-quite-so-kosher personality had fractured her Give-A-Damn.
As she came closer to the source, she could distinguish the genre. Techno… It sounded like something out of a rave. A light was shining down the corridor from one of the six berth areas, allowing Cat to creep close and peer around the half-cracked sliding door. Lucky for her-- she was too small to open it herself. 'Here's one I haven't met before.' A white, lanky figure sat partially turned to the door, looking to be cleaning… 'Really big damn guns.'
And just as she was relaxing against the side of the door to watch and listen… she heard a steady, patient ping from her back pocket over the sound of the music that sent her heart stuttering. 'Shi- why do you do this when I'm trying to hide?!'