Ep 2 - One Prairie Outpost (Closed)

[Deleted]

He stabbed a short talon towards the ration stock, turning to Buffalo Dump. "Nightlies are over there, if you want one. Should be at least a little chilled."

"Much obliged, sir," the mech grunted, a friendly flicker waving out through his field and towards Ghost's. It took a little bit to stand up, the mech grinting his dentae as his bad leg twitched, the healing knee making a very quiet grind. He had a small limp as he went and got a drink, popping open the cube and taking a great, big swig of the stuff. He gave a happy ex-vent as the fluid hit his systems, all nice-like in his tank as it sat and laid and began to process. He hadn't grown up with the best grades of Energon, so to him, this was good stuff. Good luck trying to get him drunk off of it, though!

"You ever have to watch a drunk so they don't do something everyone'll regret later? Either of you?"

"Ha! Did I ever!"

There was a new wave to B-Dump's field, perky and alive and waxing nostalgic. Glyphs of fondness-old memories-happy spun against Ghost's shortwave and Dart's non-existent, the mech grinning like a great big fool at the both of them. He hobbled back to his spot, sitting down with a whump as he stretched his sore leg out again.

Taking another swig, the wasteworker swallowed and said, "Every night, 'tween or after work, I went and got the poor gits in the Dead End out from their hidey-holes. Ya had drunks, Sykkers, people tryin' to drink rad fluid...good times. Used ta, used ta haul 'em from one bar t'the other, pickin' 'em up and stoppin' at Mech Delta's, gettin' fuel if they had the fuelin' feelin' from what they were doin'. Either had 'em in the hopper, or t'skid I used ta have. Festival season was crazy."

[Deleted]

<<OOC: Here's a Skydork cameo. He's not quite ready to come join you folks yet.>>

Skywarp lazily flopped over to his side.

He had returned to his sulking corner and had laid himself out flat on the ground. The seeker stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing it. He actually was running all his sensor suite flat out, taking environmental readings pretty much for the hell of it. Even though Skywarp cared little for the numbers, the percentages for the geochemical make-up of the rocks (lots of silicon, calcium and magnesium oxides) and other scientifically interesting things, there was still something of a thrill he got out of performing what should have been his purpose, had his stunted processor not got in the way.

The seeker didn't often do it. Mainly because it normally just honestly didn't occur to him. His optics had powered off and he was lulled into a deeply relaxed state by the soothing flow of information streaming through his processor. How long this state would last though, well, Skywarp was notoriously fickle. He could be like this for hours or, without warning or any real reason, sometimes he just flicked the suite off and bam, he was back to his usual self.

[Dart]

From under the brim of her helmet, Dart's blue optics softened a bit in thought.

Have I ever?

It struck her suddenly that she had, yes, but not in the way Ghost was describing, no. Nor in the way Buffalo was either. Waiting by the wharf, in Australia, parked quietly, guarding that warehouse patiently, keeping an eye on the injured femme within. They'd been trading off for the last few days, it had worked well, until-

The dockworker that had been so drunk that he hurled what was left of a strawberry milkshake back up on her hood. At that moment all she could do was freeze on all four tires and hold as still as she possibly could as it sluced down the slope of the car's hood.

As she relayed the situation, he'd ended up offering a bit of sympathy and then he couldn't stop laughing and that set her laughing too. She'd loved it. He wasn't laughing at her, he was laughing with her. Really, what could you do after besides add it to the list of stories about being a giant robot alien disguised as a car.

It's how it went. Cars sitting places got bumped, keyed, backed into, leaned on, peed on by dogs, and now Dart could cheerfully add puked on to her list of car issues. Tick off that one on the bucket list. Better yet, make notes about always parking near bushes or garbage cans when possible.

It brought back memories of sympathy and and disgust at the same time. Poor man, he'd been worse for wear, but oh gosh... for a long time after that the smell of artificial strawberries really didn't sit well. Not that most artificial flavor smells did; they had a plastic touch to them she didn't quite get.

Humans didn't notice it, really. But she did. Especially on things like candy and slurpees and things like that.

They were talking about robots, though, not humans. She was careful about not sharing experiences like that; most Decepticons had no interest in humans, and she was wary about offering up a story like that. They wouldn't see the humor in it. Someone would probably make a comment about kicking the poor man and Dart didn't like those sort of comments. Nor the terms they used for organic life 'meatbag' or 'squishy.'

Easier not to say anything then feel awkward and defensive about it when they scoffed and did.

"Ice and snow isn't bad. Just keep steady, don't try to speed and turn fast on wheels unless you're geared for it, sir. Mud's worse sometimes, honest- but... um, as to the drinking? No," she said. "Not really, not like you both."

She glanced between them as Buffalo thudded down to back down to the ground, cube in hand. He seemed incredibly cheerful. Ghost had relaxed a lot too, an easy grin, a comfortable shift of body and shoulder. Around them, crickets chirped -a lazy creak of sound against the dark.

"Was this before the war?" she asked quietly, fascinated by this new information. "For both of you, sirs? Or was it after?" Her optics touched on Ghost for a moment. "I mean, I just- were you allowed to get drunk in workspaces like that, or was that after work?"

There was a puzzled expression on the courier. Her spoiler had shifted, angled off to the side, cocked as much as her chin.

Dart glanced at Buffalo. "Or wait, no, wait, you said there were bars? You worked a side job?"

[Deleted]

"Well, one goes where one's told, and knock on alloy that the weather will cooperate, right?" Ghost stretched one stumpy leg and thumped the pede lightly on the ground, then repeated the procedure with the other as he listened to Big McSteady.

The Tomahawk had always found a few... well, he wouldn't call them 'safe', but they were subject matters that most every bottom-scraping grunt could contribute too. It didn't matter if they were around a scraps campfire, a fusion field heater or in a barracks waiting for deployment, you could almost always count on everyone having drunk tales to tell. Dart's questions, however, reminded him that someone with a courier's job might have had... a lot less interaction of that kind.

"Oh, before and during, at least for me. As for the being allowed, weeeeeeell." Ghost waggled one hand in a so-so fashion. "We didn't hardly have the credits to get the goods, and time off meant even less in your account. But you managed, you managed. Pooled your resources, covered shifts. Got 'charged in the deep tunnels where supervisors didn't go. Time off was for the Pits, though never any of the real popular stuff. Low risk, low payout. Nothing that would get found out."

He grinned roguishly and sipped at the cube and rubbed at his chin and neck thoughtfully. "When the war swung in, it got easier, actually. You got high-grade as reward for a fight well fought, or if you secured or held a point. Field-stuff. Got the drink, and the time to drink it. But with you doing messenger runs, I imagine you didn't get to see too much downtime."

He turned to look at McSteady, hoping the mech could paint something of a portrait of a world other than pipes and conduits, wires and tunnels, for Dart. Not that Ghost minded that world, but he knew ninety astroseconds of it kinda put everyone but him to sleep.

[Dart]

The large mech didn't answer her- he seemed to be a bit sunk in his cheerful thoughts for a moment, as if he was trying to gather everything. Festival season for some reason reminded her of human fairs; rides and things and the smells of farm animals mixed with cotton candy and caramel --

Weather.

When you were stationed on the ground, it was one of those things that you really hope would cooperate. City streets were slick after the first rain; oil and grit layered the blacktop. You would smell it; even the humans as nose-blind as they were would often sniff at the air and make a face. It didn't even smell mechanical - it had that strange, syrupy scent of decomposition from the oil itself and the things mixed into it. Dead leaves piled in the gutters, rotting paper, and even worse.

As it continued to rain though, it would wash away. Dart loved the rain. Which was one of those things she knew wasn't quite up to par with other Cybertronians. Having no background of rain being a terrible thing that could melt you or pit your finish, she just simply liked the sound of it, the smell of the world after, and that when it rained, it was far easier to move around. People stayed indoors, they stayed out of the weather, and rain obscured your movements. As long as you stayed out of the severely muddy areas, she was happy for the fact that it was less of a trail she had left behind her.

Snow and ice, she wasn't so fond of. Just because Trans-Am's were never designed to run on it. Neither were long-legged couriers; she slipped and slid and had had her feet knocked out from under her more than once. Nothing like landing flat on your back at a few hundred miles an hour. Not her most graceful moment.

She cocked her head as she listened to Ghost. Her optics were drawn to the motion of his hand; a little wave that said more than his words about eh, life happened. It was his story though that she reached for, adding more onto her picture of Cybertron from the levels no one ever really talked about. Well... Pyrotech's crew didn't talk about much among themselves. Or about themselves. Safer that way.

Money. Universal problem. Pooling resources sounded like a great way to deal with it. She wondered if they paid a can deposit, and then had to laugh at herself about that.

"Really? They actually gave you stuff for holding the point? Wow, I mean--"

You know, the only thing I have ever gotten for holding the point was knowing that if I didn't there would be hell to pay later.

There was an answering twinge from her chest. She ignored it and shifted her weight on the crate.

"That's - er, that's pretty nice," she murmured. "I mean, being told you did a good job, I guess."

At his grin, she paused another second. Her spoiler flicked up just a bit more. It was an expression she hadn't expected on him; it made him look younger. Not that anyone here really cared about that sort of thing, or that it was something any of them thought about maybe? You didn't really age, right? Dart wasn't sure about that. Some of them just seemed older, but a lot of them -- well, you could be millions of years old and still have the brains of a teenage human, heh.

"No, I don't have much downtime," she said thoughtfully, swinging her toes back and forth as she sat on the crate. "Not enough of us here to do that, you know? You- you must have had a good team back home."

[Deleted]

Ghost had, rather forcibly, tried the scouting and courier and running and zig-zagging thing. Once. It had gone... poorly, he'd lost frame parts, no one had gotten anywhere and someone else had taken up the job that had more speed and less mass to bring to it. The mech in charge had punctiliously kept it off the record. Nonetheless, in between the failing spectacularly at it and his processor going 'scrapscrapscrapscrap' on a single, endless loop for twenty-seven astroseconds (and blissfully unconscious afterwards), the Tomahawk had marked that it was a slagger of a job. No backup, no intel, no clear objective, not any of those warzone comforts a mech got to take for granted: just 'get from here to there. Somehow. Addendum, don't get too shot full of holes. Second addendum: don't lose this important geegaw or that critical bit of data.'

"I guess it's something scouting don't get told often," he nodded evenly at Dart. "Everyone's got the benefit of their job but the names don't get attached to the report, right?"

Ghost looked about them. "Yeah, it's a little skimpy, but that's for someone higher-up to look into." He gave the femme a wry, knowing smile. "I mean, sure I can do six things at once. You got some volume on me, you can probably do twenty."

His optics dimmed briefly as her words took him into memories rarely visited. The two-wheeler stared at his hands, stubby talons, powerful fingers, scratches and scrapes and the occasional burn where he'd not been careful enough, or hadn't had a choice. There was, however, only a distant, pleasant recollection to his tone when he spoke again; he'd been raised to believe that the worst disservice you could do your dead was to paint their memories in pain and loss and anger.

"I did. I always did have good mechs backing me up, more often than not. Command, eeeeh... You can always flip a credit on that, and have better luck calling it."

He sipped at his cube. "I've always worked with big mechs. Maintenance, oh, you need size to work a city's guts, or you'll be there a star's own age. Front-line drew the same kind, so it was like cohort all over again, at least for those few moments before deployment, and when everything was going to scrap in the battlefield. That gun next to you don't do you no good if you don't make an effort to keep 'em alive and shooting."

He stared curiously at Dart. "You don't got... I don't know, some sort of... Couriers' Supervisor, or some sort of squadron, sorta?" He waggled his hand a bit to try and pinpoint what he was trying to say. "Someone you can talk running with?"

[Dart]

Dart started to say something, but was interrupted by Buffalo climbing to his huge feet. The big mech obviously was tired and worn out from the day's work after all. He politely and quietly excused himself and lumbered back down below after wishing them a good evening.

The courier's tall frame shifted on the packing crate. She curled her fingers over the edge again and swung her toes. There was a slight vibration in the earth as the massive mech disappeared into the crack between the stones.

A faint whiff in the air; something like pine, with an undertone of rust. Sickly sweet to her intakes; a faint warning prickled along the back of the courier's neck. There was something to that smell she did not like and it brought up memories she did her best to forget. Australian junkyard, rusting old vehicles. Long nights huddled in the rain under a scrapped sheet of tin; she couldn't bear to set foot in that warren that smelled of antifreeze and rotten oil.

That place had been a boneyard, the corpses of cars stacked up on each other, their broken headlights gouged out and blindly staring off into the darkness.

A soft snort; Dart blew air out not only to clear her sensors, but to remember where she was. Open Oregon sky, stars overhead. Miles and miles of acreage to trot through, familiar places and spaces. Home.

In Ghost's hand, the cool glow of the cube flickered in his fingers as the two of them for now were left quietly alone. A silvery grey moth fluttered against his fingers, brushing lightly along his plating as it attempted to get closer to the light.

Finally, it gave up in mothy frustration and looped around Ghost's head before it drifted into the dark.

"No," Dart replied thoughtfully after a moment. "No. No squadron, no group, no one I've ever seen, no. Never met another courier, or a runner. It's an outdated function, I guess. Couriers, I mean. Everyone sends so much encrypted information now and very few things need to be carried physically here- well, here in the States."

Her tone had shifted ever so softly as she spoke. Echoes of someone's else's words once again touched her own quiet accent. She'd heard it so many times it had become a sort of litany that she could repeat without even thinking -- along with a few other phrases.

"No, I don't think anyone scouting gets told that often," she agreed and then there was a faint smile and a shake of her head. "Aw, no, no, I'd be lucky to do six myself, promise."

She watched as he glanced at his hands. The slope of his shoulders told her that he was somewhere else. Dart understood that, and kept perfectly silent, letting him have his space. She was always careful about that, and when he started to speak again, she simply listened to every word before she inclined her head.

"I bet the maintenance things are amazing," she said. "It has to be so much work to upkeep a city and know how to fix what breaks so that it doesn't impact anyone else, but... wait, they put you on the front line, then? When you came here to Earth, or- back on Cybertron?"