(DONE) Ep. 1 - The Data Courier and the Singer [Dart]

[Deleted]

("Full Speed Ahead!" by Frank Kovalchek on Flickr)

Sarita stared, dumb with shock, as dust plumes rose from the sun-baked road. In one hand was her guitar case, a near-empty water bottle in the other. Her head was still pounding from the hit it had taken, but thankfully, she was pretty sure she wasn't concussed.

What she was sure of, however, was that her car had just been stolen. Not only that, but all her food, money and supplies were in that Sedan, and that it was probably the last time she pulled over for a sobbing woman. The bitch had claimed that her car had broke down and she was lost, but noooooo, it was just a front for her tweaker boyfriend to jump Sarita! If she hadn't played dead, the two fucktards would probably have beat her to death with the tire iron they had!!

After a couple minutes of silence, Sarita threw the bottle on the ground and screamed. Fucking with her car was one way to make her flip her shit, but to steal what amounted to her house, her transportation and one place of security in the world? The woman was having an instant meltdown. She pulled at her hair and fumed, snarling and spitting every foul curse in Spanish and English that she could think of. For a full five minutes, she paced up and down a stretch of five feet, cars whizzing by the irate woman. (To their defense, she probably looked like she was a crack addict herself.)

Angry ranting gave way to sniffling, and soon, Sarita began to cry. She wiped at her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned towards the north. She had been on her way out of Jasper to a job...it looked like she wasn't going to get there any time soon. Slowly, morosely, Sarita began to walk the way back to Jasper, hiccuping as she went. Her eyes were puffy and her face was burning red, both from the situation and the growing shame of losing her temper.

I must look like a fucking lunatic out here....

[Dart]

It was hot. Then again, Nevada was always hot. Shimmering sharp lines wavered along the ribbon of road, distorting the horizon. The shadows on the stones and brush next to the highway were struggling; even the stoic desert tortises had clambered off in search of shade. When the stubby little tortoises gave up, it was way, way too hot for things to be out in the blazing heat.

Unless they had air conditioning. Or a window to roll down doing sixty down the highway.

Which is what the low-slung, black and grey Pontiac had. Well, the window anyway. Even though right now it was tightly rolled up, presenting a tinted pane of glass to the blazing rays. The car was keeping carefully up with traffic; not too fast, not too slow, just - stay in the right lane and use your blinker to signal.

Mostly because the last thing she needed was a traffic ticket today. Not that there was much traffic on the road leading into Jasper- but it still made her nervous. She had a message to run, and normally, she would have veered wide around this area and left it well alone.

If it had been up to her, Dart would have been... well, waiting. She tended to do most of her moving at night, as far away from the cities as possible. Under cover of dark, she could run; it was easier taking the terrain as a giant sprinting robot than as a Trans Am. Her alt mode was seriously meant for cheesy TV shows involving winding California roads without a speck of rain. Unfortunately, that wasn't where she spent most of her time - but that was okay. She wouldn't have traded the Oregon backcountry for anything.

Well, maybe one thing, but hey, that was---

Human?

The pop up headlights of the Trans-Am lifted slightly in honest surprise, and automatically, the car slowed down a bit. The other cars didn't, they didn't even seem to be paying attention to the woman at all. In fact, they seemed to be doing a distinct lack of paying attention; or avoiding making any sort of contact.

The courier did. It was odd to see a human out here; she knew how hot it was. No other humans nearby? No... no broken down car or something? In this day and age everyone had cell phones, right? It made no sense that one would be walking beside the road, shoulders slumped, carrying a guitar case.

Dart was keyed into body language in those seconds as she drove towards the woman; the courier was a creature of motion. Her focus was easily on that, on the trudging steps, the slant of shoulders in defeat, the way her chin was down, the woman's gaze on the dry dirt puffing out from each step. The water bottle tossed behind her on the dirt- wait, why would you throw your water bottle away out here- all those things in a split second were processed, and added up to something Dart didn't quite feel right about.

The Trans Am slowed down, unsure. The left headlight raised an inch or so higher as the long, sloping hood drew even with the woman. There was a soft huffing noise; as if air was being sucked in through the car's vents - but it was swallowed by the rattling growl of the Pontiac's lifters.

Dart picked through the scents in an instant. Sweat. Salt. Other things that perhaps no one else would have ever picked up; that sharp acid touch of stress and salt. Dart's olfactory sensors could pick up a drop of blood in a swimming pool. Tears were easy, here in the desert.

Road under her tires. She drove on for fifty yards. Sixty. Need to get moving, can't stop out here this isn't good country to- gotta get this message delivered and get out of here, back into the safe zone, out of Nevada, ugh...

A wiggle adjusted her rear view mirror. Another car passed, and the woman still trudged.

The Trans Am sighed. The car flicked a turn signal and slowed down, threadbare tires pulling into the soft sand by the side of the road. It carefully turned on the hazard blinkers. Then it shifted the front tires back and forth, as if pawing at the ground before it settled in. Dust swirled and flecked along the already filthy sides of the vehicle and then drifted along the long, sloping hood.

A moment later, the door opened, and swung outwards with a heavy 'clunk' when it reached the end of the hinges. A young woman stepped out into the dry desert. Slowly, carefully, she set her hand on the edge of the sport's car's window. The avatar's fingers brushed, shimmered-- and then held. They didn't go through the solid weight of the car. There was a quick sigh of relief.

Okay. Whew. It was playing nice today, that was good. Actually that was fantastic. Sometimes it wasn't... so nice.

"Hullo?" she called out. "Hey, um-- are- are you all right? Is everything okay?"

[Deleted]

The heavy clunk of an aging car's door got Sarita's attention. She froze in place, bringing her guitar protectively to her chest, aiming to either block or swing. An angry outburst was on the edge of her lips, but she held it back, warily eyeing the stranger instead. Her usually-braided hair was disheveled and out-of-place, tangled with twigs after she fell into the creosote by the road. Every self-conscious, insecure part of herself rose to the surface, a hundred thoughts flicking through her mind: You didn't shower, your teeth aren't brushed, you're wearing your clothes for the third day in a row —

"Hullo? Hey, um-- are- are you all right? Is everything okay?"

The busker hesitated, unsure as to what to say. The sun beat down on them both, and it was hard to make out the features of the young woman in front of her. Sarita was sorely, sorely tempted to tell her to fuck off, but holding back her temper had made it die down again. Sarita's shoulders slumped even more; There's no point in not telling the truth. She had no food, no water, and didn't like the idea of being out on the highway alone.

"...No," Sarita said, voice heavy with defeat. Her breath hitched, the girl fighting back a sob — she managed to choke out, "M-my car...my car's been stolen. Some...some druggie or something and his stupid whore just drove off with it."

Her eyes began to burn again. Sarita sniffed hard — Don't start crying, don't start crying — and she continued with, "It...it had all of my stuff in it. D-do you know if th-there's any p-police st-stations outside of J-Jasper? I-I n-need to t-talk t-to s-s-s-someone...."

Oh God, she hoped she could keep it together long enough to get to some sort of station or something. She was a fucking wreck and she fucking stank, and she did not want to deal with the "homeless tramp" shit right then. If the young woman tried anything, as well, so help her God, Sarita would kick her ass and leave it on the highway to roast....

The girl's fingers clenched tightly, knuckles white against the striping grey-black of her case. Keep it together. Keep it together. Don't think about murdering the poor lady before you even get a chance. Not everyone was automatically bitchy, unlike the thoughts that Sarita's fury was screaming loudly at her.

[Dart]

The headlights of the Trans Am shuttered down and then popped back up slightly, as if the mechanism was stuck when the car had come to a park. The engine had settled to a rough idle; the car sounded as if it needed a good tune up and a quart or two of oil.

"Someone stole your car?" the young woman echoed. She lifted her head, and let go of the car door to take a step forward towards Sarita; her shoulders tipping in with obvious concern at the other woman's scattered words and her burbling sob.

Tall and lean, she looked like- well, a student, fresh out of college. Scruffy dishwater blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Her clothes likely affirmed this assessment as well. Faded blue jeans with a rip in the knee. A black T-shirt with a silhouette of a galloping horse on the left breast. There was an inscription under the horse, but it was faded and hard to read. Knotted around her waist was a charcoal and orange sweatshirt, with a Nike Swoosh on one sleeve. A worn pair of running shoes, the toes scuffed and the tread flattened.

"Out here? On the road, you mean?" she questioned. There was a soft huffing noise from the car; as if it was pulling air constantly from outside into the slowly cooling engine. "Wow."

Dart stared around at the desert around them, before immediately focusing back at the guitar-clutching woman. She was holding that case to her as if it was the only thing left in the world to her right now- and Dart, well... that gesture drove home, along with scent. No shampoo, not much soap, slightly rancid body oils. She was scared and angry at the same time, frustrated and frantic. All my stuff in it, everything I-- oh. Dart had parked enough places in Seattle and Portland to tie in that scent; someone who was living out of their car, most likely.

Then again, she herself was too, but in a different way. Ah well, had to hold onto that humor sometimes.

Well, that explained a lot- no cell phone, clutching a guitar, in the middle of nowhere on a hot and miserable stretch of road in Nevada.

"Oh geeze," the courier said. "That's awful. Are you all right?"

"Er, police station. I'm not entirely sure, I'm not from here, was just heading past for a run- I mean, a job."

She looked around. No one else was stopping. In fact they weren't even slowing or paying much attention.

The courier did not want to go into Jasper. Nope. No way. Not in the slightest, but... she couldn't just leave a person out here. Not on the side of the road in conditions like this. Another quick whiff of air; the femme turned it over in her processor. The avatar, no, it couldn't smell, which unsettled her quite a bit. But her body was here and close not like that whole situation with Maximus. Thank goodness for little favors, right? Okay, there was blood, and other scents- other human ones. This woman had been hit and she'd been fighting, for sure. There was no way Dart could leave someone like this on the side of the road.

"I can give you a ride back to Jasper," Dart offered, and her avatar gestured across the roof of the low-slung old sports car beside her. "Honest. You can't walk this, it's way, way too far and too hot and you're hurt, aren't you? I don't know the area, but I'm sure we can find you a police station, promise."

[Deleted]

Sarita wasn't eager to explain her situation, but when the woman asked if she was hurt, she nodded. "J-just a scrape," she said, brushing a few black locks out of her face. "I-I fell when they pushed me down — "

The woman stopped to give a hiccup. She wouldn't mention being smashed in the head with a tire iron; it would either make the stranger worry too much, or sound too incredulous and dramatic. And yet, in the latter case, it had actually happened.

"...And...and you'll really give me a ride?"

Tears fell, but Sarita bit back the sob. She tried to straighten up, eyes lighting up as she fixed her posture.

"Thank...thank you! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! Wh-when I get my car back, I'll give you money for the gas, I promise! I-I would now, but my wallet...wallet's in the car, I think...."

She quickly searched her pockets (thank God she'd thought to sow some onto her skirt), just to make sure.

"...Fuck me, it is."

[Dart]

There was a nod. "Aw, it's okay, you're welcome, it's fine..." the young woman replied. She rocked back on her heels, and the left hand mirror angled slightly as if she'd bumped it with her hip.

At the stricken look when Sarita searched her skirt for her wallet, the courier winced. "No no no," she said, holding up her hand again. "You don't need to pay for gas. I was going that way, honest. It's not a problem, really. Seriously. I promise."

She hesitated and patted the top of the car - herself - okay, that was uh, weird. Really weird. Well, she supposed she could pat herself on the back for a job well done... If that ever happened again. "I fueled up a bit back there. Besides, I like highway miles, they're easier on everything. Come on, hop in."

Dart gestured to the passenger door of the car. The vehicle crouched in the dirt, dusty and road-grimed with travel. Even the silver lightning bolt on the hood and her torn sigil were mostly obscured, blended with road grime into the scratched, worn finish.

The courier almost popped open the right side door to encourage the woman to approach before she remembered not to -- erk, no, no, don't do that. Trans Am's did not come with that sort of aftermarket gear and her alt mode wasn't brand new, it wasn't electric. It was... oh, how had he put it? Vintage. Funny, thirty years here and poof, that was vintage. She doubted it was the same back home.

"It's no trouble," she encouraged. "We should go though, get off the highway here before someone is texting and hits us or something. Plus, getting to the police as soon as possible so you can hopefully get your stuff back and your car back sounds like a really good idea..."

[Deleted]

It had been a long, long time since Sarita had met anyone so nice. The woman reminded her of an earlier time, when the singer was much younger and hopelessly more naive. The fallout from her parents, combined with the harsh reality of going from luxury to homelessness, had made her jaded over the few years of her new life. She smiled at Dart, gratefulness and weariness all packaged into one, and strode over to the car. She tried to bring some dignity into her step, moving more elegantly instead of a defeated shuffle.

"I haven't seen one of these in a while," said Sarita, once she was inside and comfortably positioned on the seat. Please don't let my time of month start now.... "Where did you get it? Or her, if she has a name."

Sarita chuckled a little, but it wasn't in a condescending way. The woman had met many like herself, who considered their cars living in a way of their own. An old trucker called his Peterbilt "Petey" for short, and had owned the car for his entire career; a young lesbian couple she had met in California traveled in an RV together, calling it "Old Friend". Like the horses of old, every car, truck and motorbike had a personality, an air to themselves, and this car was no different. It was worn, beaten and still dependable, looking like it would fall apart but revving just fine.

Yes, Sarita could tell this all in just a few minutes of sitting in that car. From what she perceived as a fellow human, she saw even more — a meek, somewhat flighty girl, who had somewhere to go but was kind enough to stop. She looked a bit on the nervous side, like her eyes and ears were always keen towards something, waiting. Watching. Tense.

"I am Sarita, by the way," said the girl, smiling but not showing her teeth. She'd rather not show off the fuzzy slippers of plaque that were covering a once well-kept smile. The tone she used was friendly, somewhat calmer than before; she wanted the driver to feel comfortable about picking up a wandering traveler. "I am from up in Oregon, in the mountains. You sound like you also hail from there, Miss."

Holy shit, I managed to do that without crying. Holy. Freaking. Shit. At the thought of her success, the woman almost cried again, but managed to restrain herself into sniffling.

[Dart]

The girl slipped into her seat the moment Sarita had finally gotten into the car. She reached for her seatbelt and pulled a bit too hard on it. It promptly jammed and it took her a few tries of tug and release to get it drawn across her shoulder and clicked into place. Carefully she shut her door and waited for Sarita to be comfortable and all right before she reached up and nudged the column turn signal up. The engine rumbled as she settled her hand onto the shift stick and then nosed it oh so carefully out into the highway.

There was a soft squeal and grind as the brakes disengaged and the Trans Am slipped out into the highway. It accelerated, and the young woman glanced over her shoulder and then settled into the right hand lane. This close in the car, it was obvious to see she was young; certainly no more than in her early twenties, and lean and lanky. Probably got up in the morning and jogged two hours before she trotted into Starbucks and got a skinny sugar free latte.

Typical of 80's sports cars, the leg room of the car was excellent - if Sarita wanted to she could no doubt stuff her guitar case down there with a bit of wrangling. However, the back seat was open if she wanted to set it back there. It was a bench back seat that looked as if it had been an afterthought from GM so that they could get passenger car ratings. Really, the best way to look at it was the old saying of a 'two man dog car.' Two guys and a Labrador retriever off to be good ol' boys and see the world.

Strangely enough, there was animal fur plastered in a spot on the back seat though. Too short and soft-appearing to be dog though - a cat perhaps? Most likely. If it was, it had obviously spent more than a few hours curled up on that seat, shedding away.

The car was... well, it was old. Stick shift. A wide, sweeping sun-weathered black dashboard without buttons and fancy electronic dials. Simple, plain dials that needled to the speed of the car, showed how hot the engine was running, a fuel gauge (half full) and air vents on either side. It also had some slider bars down below for AC, and below that was a tape deck. With a well-worn faded tape sticking out of it halfway.

The inside of the car was clean, though. No papers or gear or anything. No pop bottles. It did have crunched up leaves, dirt, little pebbles, and pine needles on the floor mat.

"Haven't seen one of...?" the girl echoed, sounding a bit confused. She glanced over. "Her? Oh-- oh, gosh, the car!"

There was a sheepish smile; blue eyes peered out from under her scruffy bangs. "Um. Yeah, got it a few years ago. Side of the road. It's a bit of a gas guzzler and it needs work, but it's mine. Er, no... no name. Nah."

Maybe a nickname or two but none of them are probably okay to share... ooch.

"Sarita," she repeated and started to stick out her hand as if to politely greet her. There was a soft little huff from the car's air vents; something sounded like it was stuck. In mid-reach, Dart quickly caught herself and put her hand on the wheel again. Partially because Dart didn't want to look like she was driving like an idiot, partially because... oh, I have no idea how this avatar is going to hold. A quick, apologetic nod. "Nice to meet you."

It had barely held last time she was around humans. This one was- well, she was closer. Like sitting in her front seat closer. And any screw up couldn't be hidden by motion or space or the fact that Maximus was glowering and that totally tended to make everyone politely stare off in another direction. She hoped he was doing all right. Not that she was was supposed to care about that, but... she did.

"I'm- I'm Rachel. Rachel Decker," she offered. "Oh! Yeah, I'm from Oregon. I guess- well, my accent is showing, isn't it?"

"Wow, I didn't realize it was that bad," she said, shifting her weight against the grey seat beneath her. "Or that obvious. I guess those things just sort of stick with you, no matter where you go. Yeah. I'm from Portland. Well, West Linn but honest, no one knows where that is so I just say Portland, you know?"

"You're from Oregon?" Rachel asked. "Whereabouts? Did you move out here? Or are you visiting? Nevada, I mean?"

[Deleted]

//ooc// Sarita's hometown is not an actual town, it's a made-up location. I left it vague for the sake of future plot in case anyone wants to do anything with it or set a scene in it.

"I am living out here right now," said Sarita. "I am a temporary worker. I originally come from Lilytown — not many people have heard of it, it's off the beaten path, so to speak. A lot of people from Portland come to visit in the summertime, however."

She had felt a twinge of self-consciousness when the woman pulled back her handshake, but didn't show any sign of how she felt. If she did, she might start crying again because she was already feeling like crap, and the soothing hum of the Trans Am's wheels was starting to take away from that. Sarita continued with, "Your accent isn't a bad thing — don't ever think that. I am a tad sensitive to picking up on these things; I have been to many places."

With some effort, the girl managed to snugly fit her guitar case in the legroom below her. Straightening herself and brushing back her hair, Sarita said, "You strike me as a girl that does a lot of travelling herself, or if not, physical exercise." It was the car and the girl's appearance that tipped Sarita off, now that she had a better view of her. You look like you could use a few more carbs... the busker couldn't help but think, but did not voice these thoughts aloud. Her eyes drifted over to the well-worn tape instead.

"Fancy the oldies? I'm a fan of classical and folk myself. I often play them when I am asked to perform."

[Dart]

A nod. "Aw, a lot of folks from out down in Portland go out all the time to places not the city," Rachel replied. "Trees and hiking and - I was at Crater Lake a few weeks ago. S'beautiful in the summer, but it's full of tourists. I don't think I've been to Lilytown. I'll have to go and check it out sometime, I like off the path places."

Rachel leaned a bit back in her seat and kept her hands lightly on the wheel. The car powered smoothly down the highway. The slight tint on the windows helped tone down the blaze of the sun outside; the hot red rocks and low scrub slid smoothly by them. The car's engine had settled down into a soft, rumbling thrum, low and steady. There was a lot of road noise though; old tires against stifling hot pavement.

"It's okay, I was just surprised," she replied with a lift of her shoulder. "No- no one usually knows where the accent's from, or recognizes it. S'just neat to find someone else from Oregon, that's all."

The courier glanced over again. Her head cocked slightly to one side, chin tipping as she seemed unsure about Sarita's comment for some reason. Then she brought up her hand to brush her hair out of her eyes; it didn't do much, just flopped back into place. "I- oh. Right, yeah, no, I go all over the place. For work, I mean. Courier - I mean I work as a courier, but I run a lot."

"Not professionally or anything," she admitted, and reached over to move the AC lever. A soft puff of air rolled over Sarita's feet and legs; it wasn't exactly cool, but it helped fight off a bit of the heat rising off the black dashboard.

The title of the tape could be read, even thought the letters were worn and scuffed. It was Duran Duran. Whatever album it was couldn't quite be made out; it appeared to have been played an awful lot.

"Oh- I like all music, really," Rachel replied. "I do like classical, and - I love John Denver..."

She eyed the scuffed guitar case. "You play? Professionally? Oh wow, neat! Folk, then? Or-- or something else? It's an acoustic, right?"

A blink. "Oh geeze, it's probably really good they didn't get your guitar too..."

[Deleted]

"Aw, a lot of folks from out down in Portland go out all the time to places not the city. Trees and hiking and - I was at Crater Lake a few weeks ago. S'beautiful in the summer, but it's full of tourists. I don't think I've been to Lilytown. I'll have to go and check it out sometime, I like off the path places."

"It's not as glamourous as it used to be, sadly," said Sarita. "The town was hit very hard by the recession. We've lost a lot of cottage-goers and the like because no can afford to rent the properties anymore. The banks took back a lot of land." A thin frown graced her lips, and she said not much more about the subject — it was...still sore. She didn't want to think about the little house in the mountains she had lost in that damned financial crisis.

As the cool air brushed past Sarita's legs, the woman smiled and leaned back, relaxing a bit. Letting out a content sigh — and with it, the small seed of anger over her hometown and its fate — the singer closed her eyes. One opened to look over at Rachel when she asked about Sarita's playing; the busker smiled, nodding at the mention of playing professionally.

"Acoustic, yes. I do mostly covers, I was never really talented at songwriting — kind of like how Celtic Women do a lot of new spins on the older songs." Her frown returned when it was mentioned how lucky she was that the thieves didn't get her guitar, and she nodded.

"Yeah...I hit the bitch of the pair over the head with it, and that was enough for her boyfriend to shove me to the ground. I was an idiot and left my keys in the ignition, so when they got in...."

She looked away to hide a bitter expression, one reminiscent of tasting something too sour.

"...Well, you have to admit, it makes a good club in a pinch."

Sarita laughed at that, but the sound was forced, nervous. She looked over quickly at Rachel, expression slightly mortified. Oh God, please don't think I'm going to smash you in the head with it next!

[Dart]

Dart nodded. She knew places like that. Towns in Alaska hit by the same thing, where everything was boarded up and gone and food was so expensive that people simply had struggled to get out and go somewhere else as quickly as possible.

The nervous laugh echoed through the inside of the car. It wasn't the sound that made the young woman look concerned. It was the sudden tenseness of Sarita's leg, her shoulder, the motion against the old seatbelt. The weight shift that was oddly something she could feel as the human pressed against her seat. Having a passenger riding shotgun was... pretty different.

It was a sudden influx of everything, what Dart could see, sense, scent - the little bit of sweat, nervous muscle, and finally the mortified expression.

She didn't understand though, why Sarita would be so worried about being upset about reacting to that scenario. Someone bashed you over the head and took off with your car and left you out in the desert? Your wallet? Humans needed wallets, it was a whole life, everything you could live off of - your cards, license, even...

Photos of your family and your history in a folded place you could carry. Memories that were there when you needed them most, close and available. Dart could understand that. Those things, the kind you relied on when life was so tough you didn't know if you'd make it through the hour, let alone the week.

For her, it was a datapad, tucked into her pannier. It also played Tetris.

A sympathetic nod. "You weren't an idiot," she murmured, her head pricking up, shoulders shifting off the back of her seat. "Seriously, no. Who expects someone to jump you for your car and your stuff out here? That's not being an idiot, that's just-- I dunno. That's just awful."

"You used it as a club?" Rachel asked after a moment as the car swept along the arid landscape. "Is- aren't they delicate? I mean, guitars? They look like they'd break and that would be um, expensive, right?"

"Hey, defending yourself is a total pinch," she told her, setting her hands back on the solid feel of the wheel. Okay, that was odd too; the sense of driving, like you were seeing both things at once, all this perception. Easier when you were sitting still, and your avatar was reacting to things miles away. "I just hope the police can get you back your stuff. And your car."

[Deleted]

"Is- aren't they delicate? I mean, guitars? They look like they'd break and that would be um, expensive, right?"

"They are," said Sarita, "but I didn't have many options. See, the girl has a knife on her, and it was pretty long, too; I kind of...swung out of reflex. You know, you'd always assume it's the guy packing heat and she's just the accomplice, but no, she wanted to kill me. So I just...kind of semi-aimed and tried to hit something, maybe dislodge the knife or at least get it stuck in the guitar case."

She couldn't help but smile when Rachel voiced her hope for getting Sarita's stuff back. "So do I," said the singer, relaxing a little and sinking into her seat. "My worry is that they'll pawn off what they can. They look like they're heavy drug users, so they'll do anything for the next fix, and I mean anything. I pretty much got out of there by playing dead."

Part of Sarita wanted to follow up with "and if you are ever in my situation", but that didn't sit right with her. Truth be told, despite everything other travellers had told her, she still hadn't know what to do when the pair cornered her. Everything had been reacted to in a split-second; she was pretty sure she shouldn't have been alive. The blow from the tire iron hurt like hell, but at least the boyfriend had a swing like a pussy.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" asked Sarita. "I could fix up something for you, if you wanted. Or sing."

[Dart]

The car's air vents made a funny sound; a soft snuffling noise. Rachel looked utterly thoughtful, and she lifted her jaw up, tilted her head slightly, lifting her nose into the air currents inside the vehicle.

Processors whirred, tested - tore apart scents, seeking something...

Blood, yes?

She knew the smell of blood. Too well and -- there it was, not a lot. But enough to tell her that Sarita had been struck pretty good. "Whoa," she breathed, and her shoulders twitched. "You got hit and then they attacked you with a knife? That's just awful that were going to kill you over your car and your stuff for... oh. Drugs. I guess so.

You sound like you know them, though. Were they folks you'd given a ride to?"

The courier lifted her hand reassuringly. "No no, really, nothing I need," she smiled, and turned her eyes back to the road. The buildings of Jasper had come up on the horizon - and that made her even more nervous. Dart really had this thing about territory - you stayed out of someone else's if you didn't want to get gutted or attacked. Already she was wincing to herself; this was off the path - at least her superior officers sort of understood how long it took to drive places during the day and she might be able to pass it off as road and traffic issues. Which was true. Traffic issues.

"Don't get me wrong, I like singing, but it's kinda awkward in here, I guess. Well unless it's on the radio. I mean, I've got leg room in here but not much cab room. Were you on your way to sing at a job? Or a different job?"

[Deleted]

"No, I don't know them," replied Sarita with a frown. She was looking straight ahead, so she didn't catch Rachel sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "But I've been travelling long enough that I pick up on these things. There are always the little signs you need to watch out for — the bad teeth, the sores on their faces, the twitching, the smell of chemicals. He got close enough that I could smell whatever his fix was, which was probably meth or crack. The cops will know what to look for."

It was odd how calm she sounded now. Her temper had gone off like a firecracker — loud, noisy and attention-getting, only to fizzle out into nothing save for some smoke and sparks. She wouldn't be surprised if she started crying again when the police talked to her; she was...nervous...around them. They had already slapped her on the wrist for busking before, calling it a "public nuisance". As far as she knew, Jasper had no laws against busking, and she couldn't find anything to suggest otherwise.

"I was going to paint a man's fences, and put up new boards if needed," said Sarita. "He hurt himself in some kind of accident, so he needed an extra set of hands. Some sort of gardener, I think."

Sarita's eyes flickered over quickly enough to catch the bit of tension in Rachel's shoulders. The girl was hiding it very, very well, but she was getting more nervous the closer they came to Jasper. Perhaps she had run into the police there as well? And her car kept making strange noises, too. Perhaps she didn't want to break down in the middle of a strange city.

"If you want," said Sarita, "you can drop me off outside of Jasper."