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

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Sarita laughed in return at Deuce's shameful confession of liking Sting. "It's all right, sen — sir," she said, catching herself on the near-slip of Spanish. "As classless as she might be, I listen to Nicki Minaj when nobody's looking. Stupid Hoe is one of my favourites, but I did not say that to you."

But all that playful banter, no matter how awkward it might have been, was lost into concern as Deuce grew more sombre. Sarita tried to read into his tone — it was...homesick? Regretful, maybe? Definitely wistful in a way, and longing. A familiar pang echoed in Sarita's chest, and she unconsciously rubbed at her collarbone as she leaned forward a little.

"...Mr. Deuce...?" Sarita asked softly, a frown perched on her face.

"'For years we lived anyhow with one another in the naked desert, under the indifferent heaven. By day the hot sun fermented us; and we were dizzied by the beating wind. At night we were stained by dew, and shamed into pettiness by the innumerable silences of stars. We were a self-centred army without parade or gesture, devoted to freedom, the second of man's creeds, a purpose so ravenous that it devoured all our strength, a hope so transcendent that our earlier ambitions faded in its glare.'"

She couldn't help but be taken aback. The words felt like they betrayed it all — he was speaking of a group. Had she been right, then? Was this really just another lonesome traveller, like so many she had met on the road, that went alone because of their baggage? It was obvious that the woman he was looking for was close to him. Perhaps there was a bigger loss at play than Sarita realized, and she didn't doubt that for a second. Nomadic hearts took many forms, and she had met so many of them....

"Those are beautiful words, Mr. Deuce," said Sarita, her frown turning to a smile of artistic appreciation. "Where are they from? Do you write such things when you are not doing your journalistic work?"

Directly asking if he was quoting someone else was rude, especially if he was a journalist. For all she knew, he could have come up with them himself in his spare time, much like how Sarita could have her flowery moments. (Which there happened to be a lot of, if how she had been rambling up until now was indicative of anything.)

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The jet laughed.

"I wish I could say I wrote that!" he said. "Nah, that bit of wisdom came from T.E. Lawrence. British officer, of the Arab revolt? Seven Pillars of Wisdom? I know - that book came with a long list of alleged embellishments attached to it, but it's a good read nonetheless. I always liked that particular quote. It always seemed rather apt, a fitting summarization of a lot of the galaxy's problems, including Cybertron's. It's always resonated with me."

He paused. "But, you know, I wouldn't read too much into it or anything. I also quote Psych a lot. You know that's right."

Already the desert was beginning to pass them, the great dunes gliding behind the edge of the cockpit. The ocean spread deep and wide and blue off the nose of the jet, curved with the horizon. The sensation of speed was diminished at that altitude - there was only the roar of a jet engine and the steady retreat of the landmass below - but with thought it was clear they were flying very fast. Much faster than a commercial airliner.

The jet continued talking.

"Anyway, I don't get to write for myself that often nowadays. Actually, I haven't done much writing for work within the past year either. Too busy with just getting on. You know? How sometimes the things you enjoy must be placed aside to do the things that need to be done, just to survive another day. It sucks, but that's life. C'est la vie."

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She let him talk. It was good to let strangers talk — they could sometimes spill out all their secrets, fears and darkest desires without even knowing. From what Sarita had gleaned, so far she was dealing with a (possibly) lonely jet-mech, said jet-mech searching for a mysterious woman who might be (or was) in trouble. But then again, he had said for Sarita not to read too deeply into what he was babbling about, and she wouldn't be so foolish as to make assumptions.

Time for her to unravel a bit more thread, then.

"Mr. Layby told me about Cybertron," said Sarita, "and what happened there. Not all the details, mind you — I didn't push him for them. I...would ask for how long you've been on Earth, but I'm not sure if that would be prying, sir. You seem to have a very strong grasp on the English language, and you have an incredibly human way of carrying yourself. I would swear you were born and raised on this planet, sir."

There, a compliment mixed in with space to talk if he wanted or needed it. Cautiously worded and spoken, delivered with a friendly and non-invasive tone, Sarita hoped it was appropriate a response to what Deuce spoke of. It caught on the end of the yarn about the quote and how it summed up problems, so it wasn't too terribly inappropriate.

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The jet chuckled.

“Thank you – I think that’s a compliment,” he said. His HUD lit up with a beaming smiley face. “I’ll admit, I rather like humans. And Earth in general. It’s a nice, laid–back planet. And I’ve been to a lot of planets in my lifetime, believe you me.”

The smiley face turned to a winking face.

“I was actually designed to be a fast learner,” said the jet. “So to speak. I absorb stuff fast. Don’t necessarily retain it, my memory is goldfish levels of crap at times. I like to joke that when I learn something new, my brain core pushes something else out of the way to give it space. ’Hey, I speak Algerian Arabic now! Aaaand I’ve forgotten my credit chip passcode, shit.’”

He laughed. “But all in all I like going to new places, taking in new cultures. And, like I said, I like your planet. So I made it a point to adapt to it fast. I’ve been here for a little while anyway. Enough time to take in the sights from continent to continent and change my ways to adopt the different local ones. Makes getting around a hell of a lot easier. What about you? You seem like the sort of girl who doesn’t mind travelling from place to place to make a living. Do you get around the planet yourself much?”

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His display had smiley faces. The jet's display actually had freaking smiley faces on it. Sarita resisted the urge to squeal about how adorable that was, and instead beamed a grin at the friendly-looking HUD. A look of curiosity mixed in with her features afterwards, her lips making a smile as she cocked her dark-haired head.

"'Designed'?" asked Sarita. "What do you mean by 'designed'? Is that a Cybertronian term for the passing of talents and traits from one parent to a child?"

She couldn't remember whether or not Layby had touched on Cybertronian genetics. It tied into reproduction, which was a topic she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole; she likely hadn't asked the question. Though open-minded and willing to learn, she was still human, and the idea of a sentient being having been built and assembled was a foreign concept to her. She didn't want to assume that certain Earth literature was right in that regard.... Even if it was, to an extent. Deuce was a giant transforming robot, after all.

When asked about her own travels, Sarita shrugged at the jet's display. "Most of my travels have been limited to the west coast of the United States," said the woman. "I haven't had the money or resources to go abroad, and there is much turmoil in the world that limits travel. The uprisings in the Middle East, the ebola epidemic I spoke of, the current issues with Russia and Ukraine...."

She waved her hand in a casual, roughly-circular motion.

"All around the world, such conflict. We may be a laid-back species, but the truth of the matter is that many of us are seeing troubled times. On top of it, we have to worry about our activities heating up our atmosphere to a point where drought and disaster are going to be more common."

Her tone had become wistful and somewhat flat. She sounded disillusioned, on the verge of becoming annoyed — she described Earth's problems like one would describe stepping repeatedly in dog vomit. She tried to hide it under a casual veil, but there was a bite to her words, an unsaid hint of, "Fuck everything in the world, man."

Cynicism was easy to hide when you were polite. For years, she had kept a carefully-cultivated mask of professionalism and courtesy, like a good waitress on a bad day of service. Deuce, in just the half-hour or the two had known each other, was digging into places long thought buried by the singer.

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The jet waggled his wings again, this time slowly, like a shrug.

“I’ll admit, I’ve seen worse,” he said. “Wait, that... came out terribly. I apologise, I didn’t mean to come across as indifferent to Earth’s problems. What I meant to say is, I’ve seen other species treat their planets far more horrifically than anything humans have done here, some with a level of blithe dismissiveness that would make your heart ache. Or your slapping hand get itchy. Primus, I once attended an orbital rock concert that obliterated half of a planet’s moon.. We have an entire department in my workplace devoted to apocalypse chasing. You think those nuts in the vans who stalk tornadoes are bad? Eesh!”

He let out a snorting laugh. “Anyway, I think it’s good to worry about your planet and its welfare – without worry there would be no action – but don’t let it stop you from getting out there exploring. Trust me. Sometimes worry gives a problem a longer shadow than it needs to have.”

The jet paused awkwardly. “Of course, that said... a lack of available funds or resources is a totally legit reason not to travel much. Man, I’ve been there. It sucks. I took a lot of bad jobs just to work up the cashola to travel after getting off of Cybertron. Very bad jobs. Hopefully at the very end, they will have paid off.”

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"I'll admit, I've seen worse."

Sarita gave the display a glare, eyes narrowed.

"Wait, that... came out terribly. I apologise, I didn’t mean to come across as indifferent to Earth’s problems. What I meant to say is, I’ve seen other species treat their planets far more horrifically than anything humans have done here, some with a level of blithe dismissiveness that would make your heart ache. Or your slapping hand get itchy."

The glare softened and Sarita nodded, only for her to stare in disbelief at what was Deuce's "face". "...Apocalypse chasing. Your...newspaper, or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent might be, has something for apocalypse chasing."

Further words tried to form on Sarita's mouth. They did not succeed, the woman mimicking a goldfish for a minute before Deuce spoke again. Once more, the jet caused her heart to ache, sympathy unsaid shown only with an appreciative nod. "I struggled making ends meet for a while. Not anymore, of course, but it's not the best of places to be in. I am terribly glad you were able to find the means to travel to Earth, Mr. Deuce."

She patted him on the side of the cockpit, close to where she thought the wing attached outside. It was an unconscious, friendly reflex, a sudden level of casual conversation achieved without it being realized. Sarita's posture relaxed a smidgen in her seat, and her Latin accent rolled her words a teensy more.

"I was curious, Mr. Deuce — do you have to take jet fuel, or are you able to consume any kind? I know that Cybertronians feed themselves with Energon, but ah...you seem to buck that trend, sir. If you wish, I have a rough idea of where we can get cheap gas, so you don't have to stop at an airport."

She was kind of hoping he wouldn't stop at an airport. The last thing she needed was to be an accomplice to theft from her country's own government. How on Earth would she explain to the police that she was just a passenger in a sentient, alien jet?

The mental image was already giving her the beginnings of a headache. She switched her mind to other things — namely, the fact she just realized that Deuce had been wiggling his wings. She looked outside, stared at the sky and his wingspan and then blinked.

"You...wiggle your wings," she said, somewhat incredulously, the words slipping out without her really minding what she was saying. "Kind of like a bird. That's adorable."

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A glowing :3 blinked onto the HUD.

"I am pretty cute," said the jet modestly, without a hint of shame.

Its wings dipped again, this time to make another small adjustment in its heading. Already Portugal and Spain were visible beneath them, and beyond them Ireland, a green jewel against the sea. In the distance was a glimpse of tiny Iceland, limned with snow.

The jet continued speaking.

"Anyway, yeah, I can run on pretty much any of the liquid fuels and hydrocarbons you've got here on Earth, along with a handful of others as well," he said. "Hell, I could probably run on Libyan plutonium if I had to, providing it can produce the one-point-twenty-one gigawatts required for serious shit to occur. Heh heh. So if you've got a place in mind where I can get gas cheap, I'm all ears! In fact, that would be amazing. In the meantime..."

The jet shook itself in a contemplative fashion.

"I've still got some fuel sloshing around in the tanks. Enough to get me to the North American east coast, anyway. That should take an hour or two, if I can maintain this altitude and cruise speed. Why don't you get some rest? I can wake you before we need to land. And then I can teach you how to land a fighter jet! It'll be awesome, don't worry, it's totally not hard at all. Piece of cake. You'll love it."

:D :D :D




to be continued!