Flashback - There A Problem, Officer? [Arcee]

[Deleted]

//ooc// Set during the Caste System era, around Polyhex.

"...For the last fraggin' time, y'glitchwits, SIT STILL!"

He wiggled his hopper back and forth, throwing off whatever balance remained in his cargo's thick heads. A series of yelps and curses mingled with the crashing of metal bodies, various drunks and junkies yelling about their ride home. A heavy exvent cycled through B-Dump's vents, the wasteworker adjusting himself as his skid wobbled on the road. The aft-vented numbnuts that were being hauled behind him were trying to see what was going on up ahead.

Buffalo Dump hated festival season. Hated, hated, hated the fragging time of the year. The rainy seasons would soon be in full swing, and to celebrate the sad event of being dunked in acid-fall repeatedly, everyone wanted to get drunk as slag. Not only that, but the roads were constantly getting closed, making way for rowdy parties; containers, party favours and pieces of mechs were going to be everywhere. He didn't recharge much when he had to escort so many 'bots back and forth from bar to home — there wasn't the time. And, he had a triple-duty shift the next day.

So to say that Buffalo Dump was overworked, tired and grumpy was a bit of an understatement.

"Hey hey HEY!" the garbage mech boomed, wiggling his hopper again. "G'back down there! Stop tryin' to crawl outta the bin! We're on a highway, Primus dammit, calm down!"

"Butbut...prettyyyyy!" drawled a grey-and-black utility mech, giggling and pointing a wobbling finger at the horizon. The lights of the better parts of Polyhex lit up the nearby horizon, glittering blue, white and silver in the Cybertronian night. "So...so pretty...!"

"Yeah, yeah, they're pretty," Buffalo Dump huffed. "But ya won't get t'enjoy 'em if we get pulled over, so siddown! We're almost home."

The garbage mech flicked his mirrors to get a better look at the rowdy 'bot. He was slowly lowering himself down, but he didn't seem all there — his mouth was drooping, his optics were distant, and his vision receptors weren't adjusting to the sudden stretch of bright light. Focus going back to the road, Buffalo Dump cycled again, trying to flush out the worry from his system. Syk flowed freely in the Dead End of Polyhex, and during the festivals, it wasn't unheard of for drinks to have "something special" added to them. He didn't doubt that some of his passengers were high, but to what extent was a different matter.

The wasteworker put on just a bit more speed, accelerating as much as his build would allow him to. The faster everyone was home and in berth, the better. He had some major cleanup he had to get ready for.

[Deleted]

Cruising along the crowded highway and clocking questionable speeds, a two-wheeler whipped between a mid-size hovercraft and large cargo transport. The cybertronian highways were busier than usual and local law enforcement were overloaded with cratered party goers, fender benders, property damage, and more havoc in general. So, when extra help was needed, said extra help was drafted from the more mobile Highway Patrol Enforcement Branch.

Hooray for her.

She eased off the throttled briefly to coast at a reasonable speed, still passing other cybertron transformers as the Polyhex lights blitzed past in a blurr.

Her comlink crackled, “You do know we’re suppose to uphold traffic laws, not break them, right?” came a mildly-amused voice. Arcee groaned, her latest ball and chain and longest lasting one in a long line of assigned partners.

“Sure, we’ll effectively ticket and round up every rule-breakers by always conducting our actions by the same lawful standards.” she quipped with scathing sarcasm over the channel.

Unperturbed, the mech chuckled with a ghost of a smile carrying in his tone, “You’d only win with that argument if you were engaged with a target, not revving down the freeway scaring all the locals.”

“Shove it up your tailpipe, Tailgate,” Arcee spat. A resigned sigh carried over, backed by a deep well of patience. The two-wheeler cringed slightly, in only a little. Her new partner was trying harder than the others to get along with her, no easy task. She grudging gave him that much.

A new transmission from Tailgate interuppted her thoughts, “I’m going to head up the east-bound route, you take the west route?” he asked trying to appease with some space.

“Fine.” she replied numbly. “I’ll meet up with you in 2 joors for a break.”

Tailgate returned a confirmation and cut the connection. While the highway roared to life around Arcee, she left every quiet and alone inside. Growling at herself in frustration, she revved hard and sped down the freeway searching -no daring- anyone to make the slightest bit of trouble.

[Deleted]

Luckily for Arcee, trouble was only a lane of traffic ahead of her.

Buffalo Dump's attention had drifted from his drunken cargo — the Waste Authority Frequency had burst into a buzz of chatter, flooding the garbage mech's radio. A number of units were being called in for emergency late-night shifts, citing that there had been a major spill. A group of junkies had raided a satellite dump, attacked it for chemicals to make Syk with, and then proceeded to haul it on a skid through a block party. Said skid had ended up overturning onto all of the guests, their drinks, and some "special guests".

He wasn't going to recharge that night. Primus dammit, he probably wasn't going to recharge for the next two days. A grumpy cycle went heavily through his vents, the wasteworker growling, "This is B-D21M-Pol reporting in — I copy you, HQ. Will be on route in about two breems, currently on the Polyhexian Freeway."

"Primus, B-D21M, what the frag are you doin' out there?" came a gravelly voice over the radio. B-Dump ignored it, instead slowing down as weaved around a turn. The glimmer of Polyhex's lights were starting to fade, the familiar greyish-brown of the rusting Dead End creeping up on the nearby horizon. Signal lights were just ahead, a group of construction-bots diverting traffic away from a half-finished road.

And then, someone climbed up on the edge of his hopper. Buffalo Dump's mirrors flicked backwards, and he barked out a sharp, "HEY!" as a spindly flier balanced on both feet. "Get down from there, ya idjit! You're gonna hurt yerself — "

"BEHOLD, CYBERTRON!"

There was the familiar snapping sound of panels being undone. The flier hooked his fingers around the seam in his torso's front, and without shame or second thoughts, ripped it open.

"MY GLORY!"

A whoop of laughter erupted from the hopper. Shocked giggles, cries and cat-calls came from the skid. As Buffalo Dump skidded to a stop, Cybertronians honking and shouting angrily all around him, he could only feel mortified as the flier put on an impromptu strip-show for all of the highway to see.

[Deleted]

A bike roaring down the highway. A blue bike roaring down the highway into a log jam. A blue screaming bike roaring down the highway into a log jam and stopping in time? Nope!

Thank, Primus, Arcee’s creator gifted her with cyber-ninja reflexes to avoid faceplanting vehicle mode first into the backside of a rust-bucket shanty on wheels. However, what turned into a knee-jerk reaction from one near-death crash led to a different faceplate heat rising, awkward as the pit, how the frag did I end up here, and what the scrap am I covered in, moment.

In an impressive display of mid air transformation, Arcee propelled herself over the braking shanty-on-wheels and somersaulting with her hands once to continue her current flight path. Unfortunately, for Arcee, her momentum proved greater than she intended. Off balanced and at the mercy of physics until she landed, she has bare seconds to glimpse her upcoming land spot, the back end of a garbage truck’s skid.

With a clang and a whump, Arcee crashes into the skid and a pile of squirming bodies. Quick to collect her wits, Arcee pulls herself to the top of the moving pile. Drunk and high mechs fall away from her shoving hands and feet, leaving unknown residue clinging to her armor and sending the jitters down her spinal relays. Finally emerging from the excited and squirming mass of drunk bodies, Arcee vented deeply of the fresher air before turning her helm and being blindsided by a Not Safe For Work scene occurring in the very same skid she was in.

Flustered and trying to regain control of the situation, Arcee barked in her best enforcer voice possible over the mad laughter and cackles, “Highway Patrol! Shut your panels and set your fraggin skid plate down in the skid, now!”


(OOC: Sorry if this really goofy. I wrote this at 2 am and a little sleep deprived with a sugar high. Feel free to have the drunks and cratered mechs be resistant to Arcee's charm. Poor Buffalo Dump....)

[Deleted]

With a graceful leap, the Seeker soared through the air, panels flapping around, before landing on the skid behind Buffalo Dump. He flared his inner workings and danced around, strutting his uncovered self for all of the traffic to see. B-Dump was still trying to process through the shame and shock, his field flaring out in uncontrolled annoyance.

The tremendous BANG of a body slamming into metal was even more of a shock. The sound even louder than the angry honks around him, B-Dump blared out a loud, booming note with his horn, drowning out a string of curses. Multiple bodies clanged around in his skid, drunks and junkies trying to climb up and see what was going on. The mechs, femmes and everything in-between that Arcee had landed amongst were half-laughing, half-gawking at her.

"Hey baby, where'd you come from?!"

"I know some girls are heaven-sent, but this is just ridiculous!"

"Nice legs, sexy!"

The streaker-to-be pirouetted on his heel. He faced the dirty, grungy enforcer, sashaying over to her with the confidence of an overclocked Syk-sniffer. Optics refocusing in and out a bit too much, the flier huffed, then put his hands on his hips. "And deny the world this beautiful spark?" the mech cooed, wagging a finger in Arcee's face. "You're just jealous people don't get to see this much of you, sweetspark."

"Okay, THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Hissing hydraulics gave way to the shriek and sound of people being dumped. The booming voice carried over the jam, so thunderous that even the bystanders went silent. The deep, clanging timbre of a large grounder changing led to Buffalo Dump standing upright, the magnetized joint that held the skid to his rear bumper lying on the ground below him. Painted in typical greys and blacks, his armour plain but scuffed from days of hard work, the horn-helmed giant stomped over to the skid with a look of absolute fury. The flier turned around, took one look at his chaperone's face, and proceeded to wilt in the mech's blistering field.

"You."

The waste-worker pointed a finger at the jetformer.

"Put that slag back together, now."

The smaller 'bot did as he was told. Buffalo Dump's attention snapped to Arcee, his faceplates twisting downwards into a frown; where he'd been, those of his hopper were picking themselves up off the ground. Field softening to one of apology-forgive me-are you all right?, the waste-worker gently reached for her, meaning to take the femme under the arms and out of the skid if she'd let him.

"You all right, Officer? P-please don't mind S-Stripwing, he's...he's a little glitchy in th'head, he is."

[Deleted]

She swore that glob of goop moved on its own.

Out. She wanted out. Now.

The chaotic tide of EM fields wildly fluxing left her drowning and crawling metaphorically for air. The tough image she usually projected floundered with the sensory overload combination of EM fields, booming and screeching sounds, blaring light, and constant jostling.

“Nice legs, sexy!” Something snapped. Arcee slugged the mech. Tough image restored.

She glared balefully at the jet former waltzing and invading her personal space with uncoordinated fingers. Sweetspark!?! Arcee bristled at the mocking pet name. She would show that two-bit, dimbulb a sweet aft-kick-

"Okay, THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Arcee snapped to attention as well at the bulky mech’s impressive bellow and abrupt transformation. The dizzy pace of the enforcer’s processor slowed from its overclocked state as the waste worker promptly restored a resemblance of order and cowed the jet former back into his place.

The two-wheeler rubbed strained optics creating more smudges across her faceplate, glaring at her grudgy hands in dismay. An apologetic field brushed hers and finally brought her focused attention to the grey and black waste worker. She diverted his intent to lift her out of the hopper and merely gripped his offered forearm to steady herself while climbing out of the garbage hopper.

Planted firmly on the ground, junkies and drunks squirmed about more subdued in the hopper with the occasional catcall and whistle hollered in the blue femme’s direction.

"You all right, Officer? P-please don't mind S-Stripwing, he's...he's a little glitchy in th'head, he is."

“You called that a little glitchy?” Arcee remarked, feeling more herself and in control of the situation. She sized up the mech about three times her size, not the least bit fazed by that at least. The situation was absurd enough and she would need to get to the bottom of it.

“Care to explain why a waste worker, such as yourself, is toting around mechanisms with half-fried processors?”

[Deleted]

B-Dump's field pulled back a little, the heat coming off of the officer enough to make it sting. Head bowing a tiny bit, he gave a frown, clearing his vocalizer with an awkward couple of clicks.

"...They're drunk, like y'said, ma'am," the waste-worker quietly replied. "I don'...don't wanna see 'em drive 'r fly home like that. They'd crash, or hurt themselves, or hurt other folk, and...I wanna see 'em safely home. I'm real, real sorry about all of this, ma'am — "

"'Eeeeey, get back in your t-t-tower, precious! Come and 'face me, ya wiry — "

"SHUT UP!"

The small crowd went dead silence, every drunkard, junkie and over-fried spark slinking down with pulled-back EMFs. Ever-mouthy Stripwing was especially cowed, hiding behind a craneformer and peeking out around her back-kibble like a small sparkling. The waste-worker gave a loud, angered huff, glaring with fiery optics at each and every one of his passengers. Some of them would be lucky if he gave them a ride home the next time.

But then, he turned back to the tiny femme, who had almost been lost in the sudden outburst of his voice and field. "So...yeah," he tried again. "I don't trust 'em to get home alone, and not tryin' to make anyone fight 'em or 'face 'em in public, or some slag like that. It's...yeah. They're just a bunch o' glitchwits when they're like this, but real nice otherwise. I promise, ma'am, no harm meant t'ya or anyone else, ma'am."

[Deleted]

"...They're drunk, like y'said, ma'am," the waste-worker quietly replied. "I don'...don't wanna see 'em drive 'r fly home like that. They'd crash, or hurt themselves, or hurt other folk, and...I wanna see 'em safely home. I'm real, real sorry about all of this, ma'am — "

Arcee listen to the waste worker’s explanation while maintaining a sharp posture. She was taken with some surprise at the lower caste mech’s sincere intention and concern, though her facial and EM field betrayed little of the feeling. The tempered edge of her field dropped by a degree.

"'Eeeeey, get back in your t-t-tower, precious! Come and 'face me, ya wiry — "

The enforcer shot a slag-melting glare at the blathering junkie. She straighten rigidly about to knock the junkie’s remaining marbles loose, when the waste worker did the work for her.

"SHUT UP!"

Even Arcee was beaten back a bit by the sheer force of the waste worker’s presence. She then couldn’t help quirk a slight smirk in amusement at the suddenly submissive mechs in the hopper and the drastic change in the mech’s demeanor.

“So...yeah," he tried again. "I don't trust 'em to get home alone, and not tryin' to make anyone fight 'em or 'face 'em in public, or some slag like that. It's...yeah. They're just a bunch o' glitchwits when they're like this, but real nice otherwise. I promise, ma'am, no harm meant t'ya or anyone else, ma'am."

“Are you sure you weren’t sparked for crowd control.” Arcee spoke rhetorically, speaking in the professional calm of an enforcer. The raw emotion from her earlier humiliation had simmered down greatly. To say she wasn’t highly irritated still was an understatement.

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge between her optics, Arcee withdraw her tablet from subspace and flicked her digits across the screen.

“An admireable gesture, I suppose, to escort...the locals to their lodgings to limit any mishaps... Arcee begrudgingly said, a touch of approval creeping through her field. “That doesn’t excuse the misconduct of disrupting a high traffic route,” Arcee said a little harsher, switching to a more stern tone, “but I’ll let you go with a warning this time as long as you get these idiots off the main freeway for the rest of the festival.”

The two-wheeler openned her commline to Tailgate for assistance in opening a route through the traffic and to the nearest exit. A sensation creeped across the sensitive dermal mesh of her foot. She glimpsed down to see a slug-macro crawling up her leg. Arcee hastenly jerked her legs to the side to dislodge the disgusting...something. She resumed her normal composure.

Meeting the waste worker’s optics with sharp look, she said, “Next time, just take the back route.”