(DONE) Ep. 1.5 - A Gallery of Rogues [Closed, Deuce]

[Deleted]

//ooc// Set the morning after Quiet Nights — Week 1, Day 5.

Catherine was asleep. Cleaver and Layby were off tending to their usual routines, and James — for some reason only cats would fathom — had decided to curl up beside Sarita. Perched on the crate she had played on the night before, the girl stifled a yawn, weary from her restless pacing. She hadn't been able to get much sleep, thrust into wakefulness by the unpleasant dream that had jarred her from otherwise peaceful slumber; Layby hadn't seemed to notice her. That was good, as she wasn't keen on explaining why she'd be wandering around the bar and kitchen so late at night.

James seemed happy to keep her company, though. Ever since she'd fed the little monster, he had insisted on following her, so she did it again that morning. It would save Catherine the trouble, and even though he looked fat, he seemed awfully hungry. The cat could've just been manipulative, though; Sarita kept falling for those innocent, Bambi-like eyes he threw at her to get attention. Her hand idly went to scratch him behind the ears, the other balancing her guitar on her lap.

A moment's thought more, and the girl had a song on her lips to serenade the tabby with. Adjusting the tune of her chords, she took a breath and tried a few practise notes. Once her voice was at a comfortable pitch, she began to sing a familiar, favourite tune.

Soundtrack: Malukah - Rains of Castamere (Game of Thrones Cover)

"And who are you, the proud lord said,
That I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
That's all the truth I know...."

It was a simple melody, catchy yet roguish, victorious but with a sinister edge. It was a song that both snarked at and celebrated the subject, the words of a side that had rightfully conquered. It was powerful in a devious way, and Sarita had a slight smirk as she sang.

"In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
As long and sharp as yours...."

[Deleted]

From somewhere nearby, from some rocky and dimly lit corridor, another voice lifted in reply to the young woman's song. It was strong, masculine, if melancholic and a little hoarse. But the unknown singer had a good voice, and it gently rang through the dusky halls in a bittersweet counterpoint to Sarita’s.

It was a good voice. The song it sang, on the other hand...

”This is the best, this is the best, my head is such a fucking mess,” it hollered. ”This is the best, crack house arrest, my head's a mess!”

A moment later the singer himself tramped into view, a tall and dirty grey jetbot. His grey paint was streaked in a patina of dust and oil, and he slouched along with an air of exhausted satisfaction. There was a glint in his orange optics as he looked around himself, evidently in search of Sarita.

“On my way up, wish me good luck – Mission control, I'm crushing like a monster truck,” he sang. “Hola, amigo! Do I hear the voice of a lovely señorita nearby? Step forth and allow me to greet you, soul sister. Seriously, please do step forth – I’ve got limited range of motion in my neck right now after that thing with the Albanians. They do not mess around!”

[Deleted]

The presence of another voice caught Sarita's attention. She froze in mid-strum, the sounds of the guitar echoing away as she scrambled to her feet. James was pushed aside, the cat jerking to his feet with the movement; he leapt from the crate, tail twitching as he trotted forward. Sarita stood as if at attention, not recognizing the singer who was sauntering down the halls towards her.

Eyes darting about, Sarita began to catalogue everything in the room, and how she might use it to hide. Crates are too obvious, could be seen over by a robot; bar has a lot of gaps to stick myself in, but I don't want to touch Layby's stuff; could try and find a crack in the wall to hide in —

As the looming, orange-eyed silhouette of the new Cybertronian entered, the singer went rigid. She took on a polite (if wary stance), gently setting her guitar slowly back onto the crate. It kept her hands free if she needed, and it was faster to run if she had to; her head tilted up as the features of the newcomer came into view.

Dark grey. Orange highlights. Absolutely filthy, which she noted with an upward wrinkle of the nostrils. He had wings, so...maybe he transformed into something that flew? Of course he would, you absolute dumbass. With a frown, Sarita swallowed, and cautiously rose her voice so that the grey flier (?) could hear her.

"Um...I-I'm down here, sir!"

She hoped he wouldn't step on her. She glanced nervously at his big, tramping feet, then back up at him.

"I, er...don't think we've met. I apologize if you came through the ground bridge; if you did, I didn't hear you come in, sir.... Are you looking for Mr. Layby?"

There, polite and to the point. Maybe just a tad nervous, but mostly composed and definitely respectful. She was quite tempted to add You look fucking awful to the mix, but that wouldn't be nice (or smart) to say. Once she knew who the heck she was dealing with, then she could mention the second paint job of grime.

[Deleted]

Without thinking, the grey robot stood in the doorway and looked straight ahead, as if expecting to see another Cybertronian. When he realised that the voice was coming from much lower down he looked to the floor in surprise.

"Whoops!" he said. "Sorry, I uh... I didn't actually know there was another human living here aside from The Cat. I've been kind of out of it lately, and by 'it' I mean the continent. This is awesome! Humans are awesome. And - wait, did you just call me 'sir'?"

He goggled at her amazement, then laughed. "Wow. Wow! I don't think I've ever been called 'sir' before. Unless it was immediately followed with, 'you're making a scene.' Brilliant! Holy shit, I'm tired. Can I sit on your floor?"

He sat on the floor.

Now that he sat cross-legged in the hall he was closer to Sarita's eye level. More detail became apparent: the deep scratches in his paint, his plating. On his face. An old metal scar that cut across one of his optics. At some point it appeared that a sigil had been gouged into one of his shoulders, then forcibly sanded off. But despite the rough wear and his erratic manner he spoke in a friendly tone, and his gaze was curious.

"Sorry, I'm not usually this rambly," he said. "But holy hell, I was up against like an one hundred and twenty knot headwind coming back here. I think cars were passing me on the roads below. That is a god damned travesty. Did you say Layby? Met him already actually. Nice guy! Looks like he could punch the second head off a Proxian, but he mixes a good drink. Crap. I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?"

He fired off a good-natured salute. "Name's Deuce. Doctor of Journalism. How about you, senorita? Oh my god! You have a guitar!"

Deuce pointed at it excitedly. "That was you playing it just now? Holy shit! I thought you were singing along to a playlist or something!"

[Deleted]

" ... And - wait, did you just call me 'sir'?"

"Uh, yes sir," said Sarita, eyes close to bugging out of her head. She was...a bit taken aback by the twitchy, snap-to-it energy the flier had; either he was high as a kite, or he was remarkably buzzed out on the Cybertronian equivalent of caffeine. James still scrubbed at her legs and flicked his tail, calm as can be through the jet's tired babbling. When the Cybertronian laughed, he stiffened and looked up with wide eyes, poised as if to run.

" ... Holy shit, I'm tired. Can I sit on your floor?"

"Um...yes?" said Sarita, which was quickly followed by a loud, "EEK!" as the jet plopped himself down. James darted back and hid behind the crate, leaving Sarita to stare incredulously at the battered robot. And holy hell, was he battered — he looked like small claws had ripped through his armour (Skin? Hide? Plates?), and like Layby, there was an old scar over one eye. Her eyes flickered over and fixated on his gouged shoulder; they lingered for just a moment, and then Sarita snapped her gaze towards Deuce's optics.

"I'm Sarita," said the girl, wondering abruptly afterwards if she should have given the shortened version of her name. To people she was wary of, it was always "Rita"; "Sarita" sounded too exotic, too out of the norm. "Rita" was a two-syllable answer that could easily be forgotten, pushed aside, considered "normal". "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Deuce — "

He mentioned her guitar, and pointed excitedly at it. When he said he thought Sarita was singing to someone else's tune, her face blushed bright red; she turned shyly to the side. Eyes cast downwards, she twisted her lip and stammered for a moment, a warm smile of appreciation crossing her face. Whatever hesitation or fear had welled up in her suddenly melted into bashfulness.

"Ohhh...you're too kind," she said, shuffling awkwardly. "I get a lot of practise because it's my job. I'm...sort of a travelling musician. A busker. Doesn't always pay the bills, but I've loved music since my childhood, Mr. Deuce."

She turned back to face him fully, clearing her throat a little.

"I was singing The Rains of Castamere. It was written for House Lannister, from Game of Thrones. Might you have heard of it?"

[Deleted]

Deuce laughed.

"Unless that's the name of a band, I'm afraid I probably haven't heard of it," he said, with a touch of regret. "I haven't had a chance to watch a lot of television in the past few months. I'm way behind on, like... everything that isn't the news. Did they ever get off that island on Lost?"

He laughed again at the rhetorical question and stretched both arms above his head, working his head from side to side to ease a crick in his neck. It popped with an awkward twang of cabling, and he sighed in relief. He let his arms drop and leaned back against his hands, casually.

"Anyway, you're really good!" he said. "Trust me, I know good. I'm a big fan of acoustic guitar. And hell, electric guitar too. No clue how to play either course, so I admire those who can. Man, I wish I had been here on Earth when the greats were still around. Neil Young, Freddy King. Clapton and Gilmour. Stevie Ray Vaughan. Townsend, Allman. B.B. King. Page, of course. And god, Hendrix and Healey. Keith Richards is my soul animal."

Deuce cackled and wiped his hand across his optics. He settled a moment later and regarded the young woman again, his tired gaze kind.

"But like I said, you sounded good," he said. "I had to wander over to see who was singing. Did you say you're a travelling musician? No shit! That's awesome. I love music too, but my hands, they can't play it. What sort of music do you play? Rock, folk? Bluegrass?"

[Deleted]

"It got complicated on Lost," said Sarita, the "rhetorical" part of the question flying over her head. "I would try to explain it to you, sir, but I don't want to give away spoilers. The twists are the best part."

She couldn't help but smile and nod at some of his suggestions. She had heard them all and looked to a few for inspiration, even if she couldn't remember the songs she had heard from them. What surprised her, though, was the omission of a certain British singer — "And Freddie Mercury and his act, Queen," said Sarita. "There's a reason Bohemian Rhapsody is still on the radio, and not just the special stations, either."

When asked about what genres she played, Sarita said, "Folk and classical covers. I, um...was never really good at writing tunes or lyrics. Kind of like Celtic Women, in a sense, but with a guitar and only one woman."

She couldn't help but chuckle, the sound practised and poised. It was a noblewoman's laugh, the small laugh of someone who might be at a fancy dinner party instead of a near-empty bar. The sound barely resonated throughout the cavern, stark in contrast to the voices of the pair.

"I'm sure a way could be found for you to learn," said Sarita. "Though I'm not sure what materials we might need — I think we'd need to carve an entire tree to fit you — we could ask Layby if there's a way to make a guitar fit for a Cybertronian."

She smiled and spoke with a tone that was dead serious. If Deuce really wanted to learn how to play, why not? Cybertronians were decades ahead in technology, if not more; a guitar, in her mind, should be easy for them to produce.

"It would be lovely to hear any Cybertronian folk songs sung...if you have them or know of them, sir. I would sing them myself, but I'm afraid I haven't had the time to ask if any are known. I'm not sure if I could physically speak them, either — as you are a species of human intelligence, it's likely that you have your own special language."

Hopefully the wording wasn't rude. She was trying to state a fact, and there was still a touch of an awkward undercurrent to the conversation. Despite this, Deuce — however he was doing it — had begun to put her at ease. Maybe it's because he reminds me of the boys....

[Deleted]

"We do!" said Deuce, clearly not offended. "It's called Neocybex. Pretty glyph-based. Spoken, it vaguely sounds like someone flipped your vocal switch to auto-tune. Listen to Cher sing 'Believe' and you've got a fair idea what it's all about."

He smiled. "Okay, that was a bit facetious. But you get my drift. It just sounds like electronica, to be perfectly honest with you. I don't think a human could speak it, but it's nothing to write home about. Then there's old Cybertronian too. That sucker is old. Not many of us still speak it this day and age. And I mean ancient."

He raised a hand and wobbled it back and forth. "Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh yeah, music! Actually, believe it or not, I tried learning how to make music when I was young and impulsive, and more in love with the sound of my own voice than I am today. But I soon learned that I did not have the gift. While I could play the notes, I couldn't make the music, you know? So now I'm more than happy to sit back and listen to those who really can share their gift with the world. While I pirate their albums off the internet."

Deuce grinned and rubbed his finger across his mouth. "But now, I gotta ask... how did a busker find her way into a Cybertronian Neutral base? In Africa, of all places? I have to admit, I'm hella curious."

[Deleted]

The question was inevitable. Even with another human living in the DMZ, Sarita stuck out like a sore thumb — a thin, boho-outfitted outsider among an established cohort and living group. She kept wary of Cleaver, had not made the best impression with Cat, and didn't see it polite as to follow Layby around base like a dog; she had known others were in Haven, but she didn't interact. Many times had she passed by Deuce's room unknowingly, aware someone was in there but not sure who.

Wavering a little in her stance, the busker considered her options. She wasn't comfortable going into detail; Deuce was a charmer, but she had known many charmers. Many of them were selfish, and had their own agendas and people to worry about. Sarita herself had shades of this, mostly to survive and get by on the streets while not seeming like a crazy homeless person. People liked when she was polite, cultured, obedient to etiquette and propriety — she both fit the norm and stood out in a world that was quickly losing its manners. Brushing a black lock out of her face, she straightened herself out and twisted her lips again.

"Well..." the woman began, "it's because I owe Mr. Layby a great favour. He...helped me out of a spot of trouble, you see, and risked his cover when he could have very well left me be. I know your kind is supposed to be a sight unseen, and Mr. Layby went out of his way to extend his hospitality to one such as myself. Though I am free to leave at any time, I stay to help out where I can...."

She looked uncertain, her tone faltering a little in its neutral, matter-of-fact tone.

"...Though to be honest, there's not much I do around here. I go and restock the kitchen that Miz Cat and I use, and that's about it."

There was an awkward pause, and she quickly resumed a confident, more casual stance. Don't seem unsure. Don't seem weak. Carry on as usual, don't give him any wrong ideas.

"What about you, Mr. Deuce? Are you a part of Mr. Layby's cohort, or are there others here that you are with?"

[Deleted]

Deuce laughed.

"Cohort? Me?" he said. He waved his hand. "Nah, nah! Truth be told, I'm not really into the whole cohort thing. Not for me, man. I'm a one-mech sideshow. Don't get me wrong though, I do have a couple good chums I bomb around with."

He smiled a bit nostalgically and stared off into space. "One of them is in the same business as I am and is a complete and utter bastard, but also my oldest friend. Haven't seen him in ages though. I kinda miss the big red ass. I wonder what he's up to. The other, well, she's here on Earth as well. I'm actually looking for her. Hey!"

Deuce brightened and snapped his fingers. "You've been here at the Neutral base for a while, right? Maybe you've spotted her. She's tall, about my height, painted black with a lightning bolt on her chest, and has long legs. Amazing long legs. Fffreow!"

He wolf-whistled and chuckled. "Kind of shy and reserved too. Ever come across a femme like that during your time here?"

[Deleted]

Sarita frowned and shook her head. "No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't. Though Mr. Layby has had a few visitors, I think, I've not seen them; I...didn't think it would be wise to interrupt him when he had company."

There was more hesitation there, though she did well to hide it, as well as a number of other uncomfortable feelings she didn't want to express at the moment. Though Layby was a good soul and meant well for Haven's humans, Sarita didn't trust the other robots that came through. They were waging a war she knew little about, and if Cybertronians were supposed to be a sight unseen, then she didn't want to think of the ramifications of being spotted. Come to think of it, talking to Deuce was taking an awfully big chance, especially after her encounter with the birdbot.

Why the hell had talking to Deuce been a good idea, again?

"But, um...do you know what her alt-mode looks like?" asked Sarita, trying to remember the lingo she'd heard thrown around base. "I've been on the road enough that I might have spotted her car, if she's travelled. If I know what she looks like in her other form, I could probably try to see if I've seen her anywhere."

As an afterthought, she added, "What might her name be, too, Mr. Deuce? If I see her, that way I can tell her you've been looking for her."

[Deleted]

"Her alt mode, yeah!" said Deuce. He spoke with mounting enthusiasm, his manner growing more animated. "She transforms into a black Trans Am. The only one I know."

He laughed fondly. "If you see a car like that, it could be her. On, and her name is Dart. If she shows up here, could you please tell her that Deuce is looking for her? And that I'll be heading back Stateside shortly. Probably in the next day or two, come to think of it."

Deuce flashed a thumbs-up. "Got things to do there, people to meet. Fires to start. That sorta thing. It's all good."

[Deleted]

Sarita nodded with a small smile. "I will be sure to let her know, Mr. D — "

Black Trans-Am. Possible lightning bolt mark on the hood, which would probably be more noticeable if she transformed. She had stopped by the road, and had a passenger with her. Both had taken Sarita back into Jasper....

The rest of the sentence halted on Sarita's lips as a look of realization emerged. She quickly picked the conversation back up with, "I had a Trans-Am pick me up on the way into a place in Nevada, called 'Jasper'. It had black paint and a lot of grime, and I think there was a lightning bolt on the hood, but I can't really remember, sir. Someone stole my car, sir, and the car had a passenger — a nice young girl with a ponytail, college-aged — and they picked me up and took me to a station so I could get it back. They were on their way through Jasper, and the girl was kind of nervous — she said she had a job to get to, or something."

Sarita took a moment to think, trying to remember something else.

"...I gave her an address and an e-mail to some friends of mine in Oregon. Old business partners I did some driving and other work for, at one point. The girl in the Trans-Am had an accent from the Pacific Northwest, definitely; I wouldn't be surprised if the two headed back up that way. I know exactly where to go to find these guys, and maybe you can find your friend there?"

She fished around in the pockets she'd sown into her skirt.

"I could swear I had a pencil and paper to write down with, somewhere...."

[Deleted]

”That’s her!” yelped Deuce.

He sat upright, his optics wide. He laughed incredulously. “Holy shit, that’s her, all right! She would give a ride to a stranger in trouble, ha, ha! Uh, paper? Pencil, pencil, let me take a look here, hang on a sec...”

Deuce twisted, distractedly patting down the plating at his hips. Then a strange look came over his face and he stopped.

“Wait, what the hell am I doing? I’m a giant robot with a computer brain, for god’s sakes. Just tell me the address – I’ll remember it. Holy cow.”

Looking dazed, he ran one hand back over his head. “What are the odds? Talk about a small world. But it sounds like she’s alive and okay. This is amazing! I’m no believer in divine providence, but running into you like this feels like a sign. Oh my god.”

[Deleted]

Sarita could never forget how grateful she was for Dart's intervention. Walking back into town would have taken an hour in ungodly, simmering desert heat, with no sunscreen or water and a nasty blow to the head. Getting to the station as quickly meant that Sheila had been found as quickly; she'd left at a truck stop with no gas, and the perps running like hell into the bush. When the girl in the Trans-Am had insisted on no payment — Sarita was starting to wonder if she was a hologram, like Layby's avatar form — the busker had insisted, and managed to pass along the numbers.

But even up to now, that didn't feel like enough. Sarita was a great believer in the balancing of debts, real or imagined — Layby had saved her, and she repaid him with services to Haven. He had her loyalty, a commodity she saved for not just anyone; Dart's kindness warranted a similar repayment. By finding this scruffy flier and, unwittingly, giving him joy and affirmation that his friend was alive, she felt satisfied. A warm spark of something stirred in her heart, and the singer gave a soft, melting smile towards the living jet.

" ... I’m no believer in divine providence, but running into you like this feels like a sign. Oh my god.”

"Were you separated at some point?" asked Sarita, remembering from conversation with Layby about how scattered his species was. The mech may have claimed he was a one-man show, but from his reaction, he clearly cared about the woman (femme?) he was looking for. The busker wondered if he took a solo act simply for appearance's sake. "From your reaction, Mr. Deuce, I surmise that you have been searching for her for a while, or at least have been very concerned about her safety. She was somewhat scuffed up, from what I could see, but I didn't note any outward signs of injury."

Oh, the address, right.

"As for where she might be headed...." She rattled off an address that was fairly obscure — a place on the edge of the Oregonian countryside. It was not rural enough to be completely in the sticks, but it was far enough from the city that a lot of people retired there. A place where packages might take a while to reach, and where extra mail labour was appreciated. Surely it held potential for a courier, which the woman that had been with Dart (or Dart herself) had claimed she was.

//ooc// Pick a random place in Oregon that you think matches that kind of description if you want, Lex. I'm adaptable to any future RP setting.