Ep 2: Volcano Hazards (Closed) - Finis
Nov 24, 2014 20:14:59 GMT -5
Post by Dart on Nov 24, 2014 20:14:59 GMT -5
<Set Episode 2, Day 1. >
A soft, far off howl. It started low and built to a high, yip, yip, yip. The sound drifted between the bare stumps and tall silver crags of long dead pines and then settled back across the dull shimmer of the lake.
Coyote.
There was a legend of Mount Saint Helens.
Dart remembered it, having heard it on a campus once, long long ago. She remembered the professor sitting in the grass next to the parking lot, the class surrounding him. Patches on his elbows, and his bare toes comfortable in old Birkenstocks. The smells of the students stretched out in the summer sunshine; soap and leather, sweat and the lingering touch of pizza from the cafeteria, the grease hastily wiped on jeans when they realized they were going to be late to class.
A bridge across the Columbia river, stone that you could cross on foot. A path from what was now Oregon into Washington. The people started arguing and warring over the bridge, they became greedy and fought. Coyote didn't like that, so he put all the fires in the lodges out, leaving only Loowit, the old crone of Fire Mountain who had not participated in the foolishness with precious warmth and cooked meals. She shared her fire with the people and Coyote asked her to take a reward for her unselfishness. She asked to become once again a beautiful maiden. Perfect in all ways.
This rekindled the war. Soon vying for her attention were two handsome young men, Pahtoe and Wyeast. One from the north, the other from the south. She could not choose between her suitors. Immediately they began to fight for her attention; sending boulders into the air, flinging molten rock at each other. Finally they drew the attention of the Creator who had had enough of their nonsese and damage to his world, and seperated them all, turning them into mountains. He broke the bridge and threw it into the river, creating dangerous rapids.
Fire Mountain. Smoking Mountain. The perfect mountain of the Cascades. They used to call Mount Saint Helens the Fuji of the Americas. Now...
Dart tipped her head back and looked at the mountain. The snow on the peak reflected the moonlight, and turned the sides silver... except for that deep grey indent in the middle. The erruption thirty plus years ago had nearly removed nearly fourteen hundred feet off of the mountain's once perfect top, leaving a deep horseshoe. It had devistated the area the courier now stood in, knocking down an entire forest with a pyroclastic flow, burying everything for over two hundred square miles in grey ash and thick, viscous mud.
Yet life on Earth endured. It found a way to survive and then it began to thrive.
Grass had recarpeted much of the bare grey ash. Wildflowers. Young trees scattered among the pale bones of their grand predecessors; pines, alders, maples and cedars. The constant ricket of the tree frogs chirping back and forth to each other. Elk that came down to the water's edge, their antlers as pale as the great grey mat of logs that rocked slowly in the lake, bobbing with the wind. Cougar tracks, elegant and light-footed on the lakeside.
It was silent though, except for the natural sounds of the mountain. No humans. No artificial lights. There was a hiking trail here though, but it was used during the daytime, and not much this time of year.
The courier had come up here to Spirit Lake with a personal purpose. To find a little box full of tokens and trinkets and leave her own. As always, she'd shifted down into her car mode at first and called on that projection. It was just easier to work with, and with no one to see her glitch and bobble, it was simply good practice to dig with her hands. Move stones and a tangle of branches with the avatar while alt mode quietly rested on worn tires behind her and kept her sensors into the wind, just in case anyone showed up and she had to hightail it out of here. Not that she expected to be bothered. Dart had found a lot of her own kind were distressed and disgusted by the organic feel of the wild places, and that was fine with her.
Now though, Dart had finished and she was left with her thoughts. Her avatar had come to sit on the hood of the car, one foot dangling quietly. Weirdest concept to her, but one she was trying to get used to.
Right now she was thinking about how the geocaching had come to an abrupt stop. On the forefront was that well, yeah, she was a Decepticon, and he was an Autobot and it had been stupid to try in the first place. The fact that he'd trusted her enough to even go to one - that truly was more than enough. A little lift of her spirits to hold on to. He no doubt had more important things to do than poke around the backcountry. Those were all acceptable. Understandable. Relatable. She didn't want to get him in trouble for this.
The other thought was the one she found herself worrying most about. That war was war, and sooner or later... well, only so many bullets you dodged.
A soft puff of air out from under the long hood of the muscle car. The tires splayed slightly and dug a tiny rut in the bare ground. Grey ash drifted up and settled back among the grass.
Time to go. Can't linger. You're already behind on patrol.
On the hood, the avatar of the college girl slid off, took two steps, and vanished in a ripple of static. The Trans Am unfolded a moment later; gears and plating whispering and adjusting into a long, lanky femme. The courier shook herself out, stretched. She scuffed dust over the tracks where the car had sat with her foot and then trotted a few strides before settling into a ground eating lope that carried her swiftly around the edge of the lake. Her intakes settled into an equal rhythm; pull air in to sniff and cool, huff it softly out.
As always she took in the world around her with scent, drawing a picture of the places she traveled. The ash had a distinctive touch to it, burnt and sharp. It was mellowed by the organic scent of rotting trees and water, touched with the perfume of the Lupine and Scotch Broom. Natural smells, and ones that gave her no worry...
Then that scent that stabbed into her processors like a knife. Foul. Immediately, Dart's heels dug into the earth. She stopped in mid stride. Her spoiler flicked over her shoulders.
The courier snorted, trying to clear it from her sensors. Another huff, and she brought her hand up to paw at the side of her face because even though it was just the smallest, barest thread of odor, it reeked. Cloying and thick. It stunk. It made her spoiler clamp to her shoulders, rattling nervously. This wasn't death. It was-
Foaming madness. In the lines.
Dart's optics widened. Her head snapped up. Here. Of all places. Something she had not expected to find, or recognize. Step by cautious step, she let her nose lead her across the ground; she balked and snorted and sidestepped along the way, but did not stop.
A patch of grey ash. Nothing grew on it. No grass. It was flat and cold and black. Tiny bits of pumice littered the surface, pitted by rain and time. Whatever was under it had been thrown up out of the guts of the mountain during her throes.
Dart stared at that spot. She snorted again, spoiler pinned back, tips flattened behind her shoulders. Turn around, Dart. Leave this where it lies. Get away from this, now. No one needs this. No one has to know. Bury it. Run like hell.
Yet she had her orders, and she dared not disobey them. They were there, word for word in her memory.
"If you scent this, you will report directly to Soundwave or myself. You are not to approach it, only transmit coordinates. Dark Energon is volatile, and those who experience contact with it have displayed weakness and disorientation."
Ugh. She'd already disobeyed them. Pull yourself together, now.
The femme swallowed back the morass creeping up her throat. A soft click as the general Decepticon relay comm came up on the first try for once. Her comm system was failing more and more often, but she didn't dare bring that up with anyone. Not that it mattered, she rarely used it anyway.
Once connected, the courier would give her findings to only Soundwave or Megatron. Coordinates to this place and the sliver below, festering under the skin of the mountain.
A soft, far off howl. It started low and built to a high, yip, yip, yip. The sound drifted between the bare stumps and tall silver crags of long dead pines and then settled back across the dull shimmer of the lake.
Coyote.
There was a legend of Mount Saint Helens.
Dart remembered it, having heard it on a campus once, long long ago. She remembered the professor sitting in the grass next to the parking lot, the class surrounding him. Patches on his elbows, and his bare toes comfortable in old Birkenstocks. The smells of the students stretched out in the summer sunshine; soap and leather, sweat and the lingering touch of pizza from the cafeteria, the grease hastily wiped on jeans when they realized they were going to be late to class.
A bridge across the Columbia river, stone that you could cross on foot. A path from what was now Oregon into Washington. The people started arguing and warring over the bridge, they became greedy and fought. Coyote didn't like that, so he put all the fires in the lodges out, leaving only Loowit, the old crone of Fire Mountain who had not participated in the foolishness with precious warmth and cooked meals. She shared her fire with the people and Coyote asked her to take a reward for her unselfishness. She asked to become once again a beautiful maiden. Perfect in all ways.
This rekindled the war. Soon vying for her attention were two handsome young men, Pahtoe and Wyeast. One from the north, the other from the south. She could not choose between her suitors. Immediately they began to fight for her attention; sending boulders into the air, flinging molten rock at each other. Finally they drew the attention of the Creator who had had enough of their nonsese and damage to his world, and seperated them all, turning them into mountains. He broke the bridge and threw it into the river, creating dangerous rapids.
Fire Mountain. Smoking Mountain. The perfect mountain of the Cascades. They used to call Mount Saint Helens the Fuji of the Americas. Now...
Dart tipped her head back and looked at the mountain. The snow on the peak reflected the moonlight, and turned the sides silver... except for that deep grey indent in the middle. The erruption thirty plus years ago had nearly removed nearly fourteen hundred feet off of the mountain's once perfect top, leaving a deep horseshoe. It had devistated the area the courier now stood in, knocking down an entire forest with a pyroclastic flow, burying everything for over two hundred square miles in grey ash and thick, viscous mud.
Yet life on Earth endured. It found a way to survive and then it began to thrive.
Grass had recarpeted much of the bare grey ash. Wildflowers. Young trees scattered among the pale bones of their grand predecessors; pines, alders, maples and cedars. The constant ricket of the tree frogs chirping back and forth to each other. Elk that came down to the water's edge, their antlers as pale as the great grey mat of logs that rocked slowly in the lake, bobbing with the wind. Cougar tracks, elegant and light-footed on the lakeside.
It was silent though, except for the natural sounds of the mountain. No humans. No artificial lights. There was a hiking trail here though, but it was used during the daytime, and not much this time of year.
The courier had come up here to Spirit Lake with a personal purpose. To find a little box full of tokens and trinkets and leave her own. As always, she'd shifted down into her car mode at first and called on that projection. It was just easier to work with, and with no one to see her glitch and bobble, it was simply good practice to dig with her hands. Move stones and a tangle of branches with the avatar while alt mode quietly rested on worn tires behind her and kept her sensors into the wind, just in case anyone showed up and she had to hightail it out of here. Not that she expected to be bothered. Dart had found a lot of her own kind were distressed and disgusted by the organic feel of the wild places, and that was fine with her.
Now though, Dart had finished and she was left with her thoughts. Her avatar had come to sit on the hood of the car, one foot dangling quietly. Weirdest concept to her, but one she was trying to get used to.
Right now she was thinking about how the geocaching had come to an abrupt stop. On the forefront was that well, yeah, she was a Decepticon, and he was an Autobot and it had been stupid to try in the first place. The fact that he'd trusted her enough to even go to one - that truly was more than enough. A little lift of her spirits to hold on to. He no doubt had more important things to do than poke around the backcountry. Those were all acceptable. Understandable. Relatable. She didn't want to get him in trouble for this.
The other thought was the one she found herself worrying most about. That war was war, and sooner or later... well, only so many bullets you dodged.
A soft puff of air out from under the long hood of the muscle car. The tires splayed slightly and dug a tiny rut in the bare ground. Grey ash drifted up and settled back among the grass.
Time to go. Can't linger. You're already behind on patrol.
On the hood, the avatar of the college girl slid off, took two steps, and vanished in a ripple of static. The Trans Am unfolded a moment later; gears and plating whispering and adjusting into a long, lanky femme. The courier shook herself out, stretched. She scuffed dust over the tracks where the car had sat with her foot and then trotted a few strides before settling into a ground eating lope that carried her swiftly around the edge of the lake. Her intakes settled into an equal rhythm; pull air in to sniff and cool, huff it softly out.
As always she took in the world around her with scent, drawing a picture of the places she traveled. The ash had a distinctive touch to it, burnt and sharp. It was mellowed by the organic scent of rotting trees and water, touched with the perfume of the Lupine and Scotch Broom. Natural smells, and ones that gave her no worry...
Then that scent that stabbed into her processors like a knife. Foul. Immediately, Dart's heels dug into the earth. She stopped in mid stride. Her spoiler flicked over her shoulders.
The courier snorted, trying to clear it from her sensors. Another huff, and she brought her hand up to paw at the side of her face because even though it was just the smallest, barest thread of odor, it reeked. Cloying and thick. It stunk. It made her spoiler clamp to her shoulders, rattling nervously. This wasn't death. It was-
Foaming madness. In the lines.
Dart's optics widened. Her head snapped up. Here. Of all places. Something she had not expected to find, or recognize. Step by cautious step, she let her nose lead her across the ground; she balked and snorted and sidestepped along the way, but did not stop.
A patch of grey ash. Nothing grew on it. No grass. It was flat and cold and black. Tiny bits of pumice littered the surface, pitted by rain and time. Whatever was under it had been thrown up out of the guts of the mountain during her throes.
Dart stared at that spot. She snorted again, spoiler pinned back, tips flattened behind her shoulders. Turn around, Dart. Leave this where it lies. Get away from this, now. No one needs this. No one has to know. Bury it. Run like hell.
Yet she had her orders, and she dared not disobey them. They were there, word for word in her memory.
"If you scent this, you will report directly to Soundwave or myself. You are not to approach it, only transmit coordinates. Dark Energon is volatile, and those who experience contact with it have displayed weakness and disorientation."
Ugh. She'd already disobeyed them. Pull yourself together, now.
The femme swallowed back the morass creeping up her throat. A soft click as the general Decepticon relay comm came up on the first try for once. Her comm system was failing more and more often, but she didn't dare bring that up with anyone. Not that it mattered, she rarely used it anyway.
Once connected, the courier would give her findings to only Soundwave or Megatron. Coordinates to this place and the sliver below, festering under the skin of the mountain.