Ep 2 -- Wandrin' Around (Closed)

[Dart]

Set Week 2, Day 3

Late morning sun turned the bricks on the building a soft gold. It was shaping up to be one of those lovely, perfect Oregon days. Very few clouds hung in the blue sky. City traffic was at a comfortable flow; the cars and bikes sharing the streets with long-practiced ease. A horn honked somewhere; yes, you yield on yellow, yes you in the Mercedes! Long electric buses whirred down the street; the maze of lines and switches overhead a constant feature between the buildings.

Pigeons strutted among the feet of the humans, picking up all sorts of delicious things, from bagel crumbs to poppy-seed muffins. A Jack Russell Terrier on a lead strained towards them; houghing as he was checked short. The dog grunted and growled, fore paws slicing at the air as it told them how much it was going to eat them the moment it was off this leash.

On the curb, the pigeons waddled calmly. One flipped him the bird equivalent of... the bird.

The dog shrieked in fury but was dragged away by the owner across the street. It gave up and trotted along, nails ticking on the sidewalk. For a second, the dark black nose came to align on the wheel-well of a dusty old Trans-Am, it sniffed curiously, focused on the faint, unfamiliar scent of horse and range dirt.

A tug of the leash and it moved on.

Inside the small shop on the outskirts of Portland, the air conditioner hummed constantly, rattling out a soft, tapping rhythm. Inside the odors were of lacquer-coated wood and the warm, amber scent of resin.

The darker UV coating on the windows to prevent things inside from fading had cracked and feathered over the years. Outside, the place seemed old, one more older storefront among the row of businesses. Musical instruments lined the walls, hanging neat and clean. A drum set was on display in one corner, the bright brass of the cymbals shining softly.

At the front counter, a lean grey-haired man was bent over a mess on top of the long glass case full of electronic tuners, shoulder straps, and other expensive musical things. His pale blue button up shirt was rolled to his elbows; his tanned fingers bore thick calluses on his fingertips.

“So, really, what happened to this?”

On the other side of the counter, the young woman looked down at the shattered guitar between them. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her dishwater-blond ponytail curling with the motion. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, and the threadbare cuffs scuffed against the carpeted floor. The motion of the ragged edge didn’t disturb the tiny curls of lint resting on it that an earlier vacuuming of the store had missed.

“It uh, kinda... hit a car,” Dart admitted after a moment.

“It got run over by a car?” the man said, lifting his eyebrow. He slowly edged one of the splintered pieces of wood that were on the beneath the ruined instrument back into place. “Well, that’s a new one on me. What happened, backed over it, or hit it head on?”

“Pretty much head on, yeah. Well, kind of, but not really,” she replied with a shake of her head. “More off to the left. Was a pretty good hit though. So, I guess... I just wanted to know, is it- is it fixable?”

“Nope,” he said instantly. He reached out a fingertip and gently prodded at the purple lacquer on what had once been a perfectly wonderful pick guard. “No way.”

Dart’s shoulders slumped. Not that she hadn’t guessed that. She’d looked it up on the internet and tried to find out everything she could about guitar repairs and how much damage was possible to fix. This- well, this wasn’t a chipped body or cracked neck. This was a guitar that looked like it had been slammed down on the stage during a Green Day performance.

Looking up from the instrument, he set his hand on the counter.

“It’s not like a broken TV,” he explained, with the tone of someone who’d had to go over this many times with many people for many reasons. “Thing about guitars - well, or any string instrument for that matter - is that once they break in a severe fashion, the tone is destroyed. You simply can’t repair an instrument like this and expect that it will play anything like it did before hand. The glue, the cracks, it’s impossible to even know if you’re missing one little shard that you can’t fill, and besides, all the cleats that this would need- good chance you pick it up the wrong way one day and it would crack all the way through again.

“Really, you’re better off buying a new one,” he told her, and lifted his hand to indicate the walls of gleaming guitars, both acoustic and electric. “You’re going to spend money for a worthless instrument.”

The courier sighed. “Yeah, I- I guessed that was the case. I mean that it wouldn’t be cost effective to repair it, or that it wouldn’t play any more. I mean, it’s really not the guitar as much as that it just– it meant a lot to someone.”

“A good Gibson is pretty sentimental,” he agreed. He reached up and pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose with a finger.

“Yeah. I don’t know anything about guitars,” she admitted. “So, I think I’m afraid to even ask... but how much is a new one?”

“Of this quality? Well, looking at the model, probably about two grand. This one has pretty specific paint.”

Dart winced. "Owch. That was a really expensive hit," she finally said.

[Dart]

The man behind the counter gave a sympathetic nod. "Yes," he agreed. He reached out his finger again and gently turned over one of the wooden shards. The deep purple finish gleamed as he flipped it carefully, the metallic flakes in the paint catching the overhead light.

Two grand.

One of the things Dart knew fairly well was that it was difficult for a giant alien robot to make a living wage. It might have been a bit easier out in the great wide galaxy, sure. She knew that there were other cultures, other worlds... and jobs. Jobs where the worst thing that could happen to you if you failed was that you got fired.

Not oh, literally fired.

One of the things she'd realized rather quickly was how not having any money was incredibly tough. She'd found a solution that was working pretty well; her sensors could sniff out coins and other dropped money in parking lots or on the streets. That wasn't steady nor consistent, but it sometimes paid off. Including a twenty dollar bill that she'd found and then felt guilty about finding, thinking that was a lot of money for someone to lose... but she had no idea how to go about giving it back. Who knew when was dropped and how many days it had been blowing around before she'd discovered it.

However, Oregon had a Bottle Bill, which Dart had figured out. For every can or bottle you returned (well, at least the ones that were sold in Oregon) you got five cents. They made areas simply dedicated to this; all you had to do was bring in a bag of cans and bottles to either a store or a sorting center, feed them into a machine and it would cash you back out.

People left cans and plastic soda and water bottles in the backcountry. They fell out of cars or got dumped by accident into trash bins. While the humans were pretty darn good about getting them out of most places and Oregon was actually a pretty clean state as far as roadside trash went--

Dart's nose could lead her right to the smell of them; which was mostly the faint traces of what had been in them - beer, soda, even those Starbucks iced coffees. Unpleasant as some of it was after sitting out in the sun for a few days, it didn't matter. She'd hoarded them in little places and then when she had a chance to get into town, she'd redeemed them. It was rather satisfying to away with a few more dollars hoarded into the center console of her Trans-Am mode.

Equally satisfying to pack it out of the wild places. They'd saved her more than a few times, it was always a good feeling to do something in return.

At the time she'd thought the amount of money she'd managed to build up was substantial.

Yeah, no. Not even close. Not even remotely close. Sigh. Two grand... is a lot of money. I could buy a car for that. Wait, haha, I am a car. Oh I could totally buy myself for that. Probably have some money left over, too. Heh.

Her avatar settled her fingers carefully on the soft worn grey blanket under the guitar. She'd pulled it out of a box that had been left at a Goodwill station. When she didn't need it any longer, she'd take it back, honest. Blue eyes focused on that shattered ruined instrument. The man was quiet across from her; there was only the soft sound of background music playing, only instrumental.

"Could you fix it?" she asked suddenly, peering over from under her avatar's scruffy tangle of bangs. Her tawny ponytail bobbed as she ducked her head, and shifted her weight over her worn running shoes. "I mean I know there's some bits missing and it certainly won't play, but that's okay, that doesn't matter. I think she'd just like to have it back."

"Fix it?" he repeated.

"Like- like glue it back together, what can be glued. Just so she could hang it up on a wall without it breaking apart."

"I can say that no one's ever asked that before," he said, raising an eyebrow.

[Dart]

"Er, is- I'm sorry, is it wrong to ask?" Dart echoed, looking worried. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, unsure, and started to move her hand as if to gather up the blanket underneath the ruined guitar.

"Wrong?" he asked, and stared at her, confused. "Oh no- no, no, I mean, I could do what you're asking, it's just that most folks wouldn't want to even fix this for the expense alone. But... it means a lot to you, doesn't it."

"Yeah, it does. I feel pretty responsible for the whole reason it broke."

Which was true. For once, her head was hard enough to break what smacked her.

"It meant a lot to her. So yes, I guess it means a lot to me too, to fix it and make it right."

Her fingers lifted off the blanket, speaking as much with the soft, earnest gestures as she was with her words. There was the soft drone of cars outside on the street outside. "It's memories. You can replace the thing with a new one, but it's not the same, you know? It doesn't matter that it's broken, or ruined or that it won't play I don't think, I mean, it wouldn't matter to me. Just that you can look at it sometimes."

The courier hesitated and appeared unsure. Then her gaze dropped to the floor, staring at the scuffed tips of her worn sneakers. One of the laces has broken and was tied in a knot. Maybe that was strange. Maybe that was her. Dart knew she had a habit of finding things and carrying them along with her for a while. She had a pine branch she'd carried all the way from Oregon to Alaska and then to Australia; it had gotten lost out there when she'd gotten shot up. That had been a seriously low point. Well, no, the fact that dingoes had stuffed a dead bird in the gap of her shoulder had been even lower.

It got better though. Lots of good things, yeah, but goodness no, she wasn't keeping the dead bird in memory of that. That one stood just fine on its own, thank you. Even if it was in a crooked desert sort of way.

Across the glass counter the older man simply listened to her speak. He looked down at the shattered instrument between them. Then he cleared his throat.

Dart's head immediately pricked up. She peered out from under the fall of her bangs, and then brought up her fingers to push it nervously behind her ear. They didn't stay put - instead they fell right back over her eyes.

"Three hundred dollars," he murmured. "I could fix it for that. It won't play. But it will be something you could hang on the wall."

"Three hundred?" she repeated.

"I know it's expensive."

"Oh, no no, I expected it to be more," she said honestly, her eyes lighting up. She came up on her toes on the other side of the counter and did a little prancing motion of sheer excitement, bouncing up in pure delight. Three hundred dollars. Where would she get it. It was a lot of cans, but Dart didn't care. She'd find a way to make it. Somehow. Someway. She had some put aside but that was for- well, that might not even happen. "No no, that's wonderful, that's wonderful, oh thank you so much, thank you. Three hundred, I can do, I can do it, it might take me a little bit but I can earn three hundred dollars, promise- ah, how long will it take?"

"At least a few weeks," he told her. "I'll work on it as I can. Might be longer. That okay?"

"It's perfect," the courier replied. "Do I have to sign paperwork and stuff? I- I'm not sure how this works. I mean, for a guitar repair."

"Yep, I'll bring it out. Can I call when I'm done?"

"Oh gosh, email's better. My job takes me out of phone range a lot but I check email at least every other day."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a courier."

At least I've got an easy job that humans understand. I mean, it sure makes it easier. I wonder what those other guys say. It must be tough to be a medic -how would that translate? I guess it would be, hi, I'm a giant robot repairman? Maybe. Well, at least that somewhat sounds like a legit job. Supreme Leader sounds like you'd end up being evaluated on a couch somewhere, right? Right.

"Hmm, one of those crazy folks zipping around on bikes?" he said with a smile.

"Kinda, yeah," Dart laughed. "I do the longer runs though, so mostly by car. I just was in town today- I needed to pick up some books I can't find anywhere else."

"Let me guess, Powell's?"

"Yes sir, Powell's."

"Everyone goes to Powell's, even the out of state folks. They have a great historical section, though. Some used books you'll never find anywhere else. Well, let's get this slip done and get you back on the road, how's that sound? I'll email you with anything I run into, but it should land around that price, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded. "That's great, this is wonderful, thank you so much."

[Dart]

Fifteen minutes later, Dart's avatar was setting a parking stub carefully on the top of her dashboard. The Trans-Am was politely tucked between an old Subaru and a fairly new Honda in a small underground parking garage. Dim light filtered overhead; there was a large sign on the wall that stated As she went to open her door, Dart was incredibly cautious, keeping the avatar's fingers between the dusty, heavy door of her vehicle mode and the car beside her. Best not to bump the Honda; the last thing she needed was to damage some human's car.

The courier guessed that they had better insurance, though.

Actually, this was Oregon. Insurance was mandatory in this state. Except for giant alien robots.

Huh, you know, thinking about it, she wondered if Autobots had insurance. Like, what happened if they got into an accident with a human. They had to, right? They had human companions and human help, so hmm, maybe they did actually have that sort of policy. She'd have to ask...

He probably didn't know either. Didn't seem like a thing that an Abrams really needed to be kept up to date on. If a tank hit you, Dart hoped that most insurance companies would consider that an unforeseeable force of nature or something. Like a hurricane, earthquake, or bees.

A smile.

Oh right, right -- can't forget why you came here in the first place.

The courier reached back into the car and fished a little purse out from between the seats. It was one of those super cheap and simple ones made out of black vinyl. She'd fished it out of a box that had been set behind a Goodwill station a few weeks ago. She'd stuffed a few dollars between the pages of an old book to hopefully make up for her theft.

Carefully, she ducked and looped the thin spaghetti strap over her shoulder and waited for a second. Her avatar didn't waver; thank goodness, she'd dropped it more than a few times. Then she carefully shut the car door behind her and started to walk towards the elevator.

There was a young man waiting as well; when they got in, he smiled over at her. "What floor?" he wondered, his hand hovering over the panel. He wore a University of Oregon shirt; Dart knew the green and yellow colors of the school.

"Um..." the courier echoed. "Third? I think?"

He nodded and depressed the button, glancing over at her again as the door shut. "Sorry we whooped you this year," he grinned at her.

Dart froze. The avatar blinked. In the parking lot, the Trans-Am rose up a bit on her tires, sniffing frantically around her. The rear spoiler rattled softly and her antenna flicked back and forth in a nervous twitch. No, all she could smell was cars and people, there wasn't a whiff or a touch of Cybertronian. Then again, she knew now that you could go miles away, given a point to work from, and keeping your concentration....

"Huh?" she echoed, and drew back slightly.

"Take it you don't follow football?" he laughed, looking apologetic. "The Ducks? The Beavers?"

Down below, the Trans-Am splayed suddenly over the tires. Oh! Her headlights lifted and then squinched back down in an embarrassed flick.

"Ohhhh!" Dart replied. "Oh gosh, oh, whoops, I- haha, I didn't even- yeah, you've got a great team going down there. I don't follow the games much, I'm uh, kind of a track person, honest."

"Yah, I see that," he laughed. "Didn't mean to scare you, sorry, I just thought it was funny, you know, contrasting college colors in the same elevator and all that."

"Aw, it's okay." A shake of her head, and she offered up a sheepish grin. "I totally forgot what I was wearing, I guess." Ducking her head she peered down at her shirt and jeans; lavender horse still galloping over the fabric of her black tee, denim ripped and frayed at the knee.

Right then the elevator stuttered to a standstill. The doors hissed open and revealed a space packed floor to ceiling with wooden shelves. People everywhere, wandering through the concrete floors and heading in a steady stream up and down the stairs. Some of them had plastic shopping baskets full of books; most of them held one or two in their hands. They were dressed in Portland casual; a smattering of everything from colorful saris to lumberjack flannel. Color and light and voices; music through the overhead speakers, something a bit folk-touched with a heavy acoustic guitar.

A chalkboard on one side had arrows drawn on it; there were signs that pointed the way to different rooms- yellow, red, pearl, purple, green. Organized by color - wait, was that one the coffee room? That didn't fit the general color theme, did it?

"Oh wow," the courier breathed. She lifted her nose and went to sniff at the air, her hands starting to stuff in her pockets.

Then she realized that the guy was holding the button; and with a laugh and a quick lift of her hand in goodbye, Dart trotted quickly out of the elevator and into the bookstore. The purse banged against her hip, she curled her fingers over it and just paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking it all in before she began to hunt the area for a map. There had to be a map, especially in this maze of a building.

Sci-Fi... where's the Sci-Fi in this place? Beside me, I mean...

[Dart]

Half an hour later found the courier looking up at the chalkboard over her head, trying to read through all the print that had been scribbled on it in bright green. The letters and numbers were small and neat. Someone had doodled flowers and coffee cups along the edges to artistically frame it. The glass counter was filled with pastries and sandwiches. In the background there was the soft hiss of the barista using steam to foam a metal cup of milk.

It was hard-earned money she didn't want to spend right now with that expensive guitar repair lingering... but Dart had learned. A cup of coffee and food gave you reasons to sit for a while with no one even giving you a second thought. Part of the price of human interaction.

The young man behind the counter eyed her. His brown apron was over a black t-shirt with a flying cat on it. Pinned on a shelf near the counter was the same shirt that proudly proclaimed that it was the logo of their own roast. Puddle Jumper Blend. Which was weird because the cat wasn't jumping a puddle, but a large coffee pot. "Okay, so that's a raspberry muffin and... did you want that hot or iced?"

"The muffin?" Dart echoed, and then realized an instant too late that wasn't what the clerk meant. Right, okay, food, as far as she she knew, human muffins did not come in iced. Unless this was a new trend since she'd been in the States. Possible, they did deep fried Snickers bars and Bubble Tea.

The latter was super hard to get off of your hood when someone set it on there while you were parked and on patrol. Those tapioca bits stuck to everything and dried on like glue. It took an oddly long time for the weather and general wear and tear to dissolve them, yuck.

"Oh! The coffee, the coffee, right. I'm so sorry, I'm kind of a little bit scattered today. Hot's fine, it sounds great right now, thank you so much."

Carefully, her hands closed over the purse that was slung over her shoulder. The courier hitched it further over her hip, long fingers fiddling with the tiny latch that kept it closed. Her thumb rested on it, and she was puzzled for a brief moment when it did not click and spring open.

Not your hip carriers, ugh, purses don't open automatic, Dart. No magic thought button open the box here. It's all manual. Fumbling with it, she caught the little twist between her fingers, and oh so carefully flipped the top back to fish out one of the bills carefully tucked inside. There were other little things too. Loose change. A purple gel pen and a receipt for the guitar that she'd forgotten to stuff into the mid-console of her vehicle.

These were those moments. They came with a weird combination of anticipation and dread that the avatar would glitch, fail, do something weird and call her out.

While buying the books downstairs she'd had a momentary panic attack as the clerk scooped them into the plastic bag and handed them to her with a smile. It was such a normal, everyday gesture; take this object, hold onto it, carry it out. As a femme, there wasn't even a second thought, it was done, but here she suddenly realized all the darn things you had to open, to carry, to lift, that were handed to you. Change being dropped into your palm was a breathless moment; would it go through, would you glitch, would they see?

The courier shifted her weight over her worn running shoes. Her fingers closed around the money; the green, soft paper crinkled under her touch. Fascinated by that feeling, she held onto it just a second longer, her thumb running over the money. A moment later she outstretched her hand and offered it to the man running the till.

He took it without even a second of hesitation.

Dart hurriedly tossed the handful of change he gave her back in her purse. The quarters and pennies clinked to the bottom as she reached down to pick up the plastic bag full of books she'd set on the floor. The coffee and the muffin on the end counter became a balancing act; hold books in one hand, pick up coffee cup with the other, realize there was still a muffin. Muffin on top of the coffee? That might work. With careful concentration she stacked them, and then eyed the series of small empty tables over by the window.

There were people seated around the area, some reading books, others reading tablets and computers. A pair of older ladies were gossiping about some book. A family was eating sandwiches with a little girl in a stroller. The toddler had a picture book with ducks on it. A young man was typing away on an expensive laptop, head bent over his work. There was a stack of computer books next to him. One was pinned open with a green highlighter marker; pages marked with neon Post-it notes. He brought up a finger to tap his glasses back onto his nose.

Yeah... across the concrete floor to the seating area suddenly looked a lot longer away than it had just a minute ago.

Nowhere to go but forward, she thought. Her avatar chewed its bottom lip, teeth worrying back and forth before a look of determined concentration slipped over her features. Table. Fifty feet or less and it was a straight shot.

Dart lifted her chin and focused on that table, holding tight to the cup of coffee.

[Dart]

There was a sigh of relief as she got to one of the open tables by the window. The coffee and the muffin were safe from being dropped; Dart put them quickly on the table. The books she dropped on the floor by her feet as she slid into the chair. It took her a moment to find a way to sit; one knee tucked under, the other leg out to the side. Just how she was, you never knew when you had to get up and run. The purse she lifted up and set on the table, and then she rummaged through it for the gel pen.

After that, she was digging in the plastic bag of books. Two of them she brought up and set on the table. The first was a student college textbook, Vertebrate Paleontology and Evolution . It was a thick, hardcover book, the grey cover with the fossil of an Ichthyosaur.

Resting on top of that was an old, worn paperback, the spine creased with how many times it had passed through hands. Read over and over again before finally coming to land here on one of these huge loaded wooden shelves of tomes. The cover was from the 80's, the painting style that of the time period, red curving arches of an imagined interior room, vaulted windows. A young man leaning against a pillar; across from him, another man who was opening his button up shirt and jacket to reveal that underneath was not skin, but a complex meshing of cogs and wires.

Between them, a completely metal and obviously alien mech, peering at that human-skinned robot as if it couldn't quite comprehend what it was seeing. Or maybe he could... and...

That this mech could walk among the humans, be mistaken for one. She'd read all the books a while ago, but hadn't seen this particular cover. It suddenly took on whole new meanings. She glanced around her, pushed her nose into the air and then caught herself sheepishly. No one was looking at her, and she couldn't smell a darn thing in this room. All that came back to her vehicle mode was the odors of a crowded parking garage.

Also, patchouli.

The Trans-Am whuffed out a tiny mechanical snort. On the sloping hood, the pop-up headlights opened a tiny bit and then squinched back down. Not her favorite smell. The humans that used it often applied a lot of it.

Dart's fingers tapped the cover gently for one second longer. Then she opened the book and reached for the postcard she'd bought at the counter as she was checking out earlier. The young woman's fingers fumbled at it; it took her a moment to pull it free and carefully set it on the table.

The courier reached for the gel pen. She rested it between her fingers as she turned the postcard over. The blank white area stared back up at her, and Dart hesitated and glanced out the window, drawn to the motion of the people outside walking down past on the sidewalk.

All sorts, all shapes and sizes, all colors. Everyone just walked along, the flow of humanity content on their business.

Brows drawn in thought, Dart tilted her head, lifted the pen to her lips and tapped the cap against her teeth. Her other hand came up to tuck a strand of dishwater-blond hair behind her ear. It fell instantly back into the place it had left.

No one really paid much attention to anyone else. A look here and there, but no intense scrutiny. They had other things to do, the tourists.

A smile.

Oh wow. This might actually work...

The gel pen dropped back to the postcard. Her writing was neat, just so, careful.

[Dart]

People, coming and going. Espresso machines hissing, steaming milk and grinding cup after cup of coffee. Nearly all those here had a book tucked under one arm, or a paper, or a magazine. Some would come and sit at the tables for a brief moment to skim a novel, deciding whether or not to buy. Others merely eyed the displays, the pyramids of best-sellers stacked on the ends of the racks. Game of Thrones seemed incredibly popular right now.

The family with the child had wandered off a bit ago, replaced by a young couple who were drinking coffee and texting to each other, even though they were sitting face to face. Every once in a while there would be a ream of laughter as one phone was lifted towards their partner. When one of them loudly burst out that someone being an idiot on Facebook, Dart was reminded she needed to check her email, actually. The nice folks from the canyon still exchanged things. She loved every moment of that, even the mundane moments of 'oh, the dishwasher broke today.' One more thing to marvel on.

Not dishwashers, of course. Although they were probably a marvel to most college students. Good thing to remember.

Dart's concentration was buried in that textbook in front of her. One chapter read, full of dry, careful notations on fish, on strata, on the way that the families had developed and branched. That wasn't where she'd lingered though; she'd flipped to the middle of the book within a short time and was drawn into other places. A discussion on ectothermic versus endothermic metabolisms; how dinosaurs differed from both. Body size relationship to heat loss and gain; she understood that, she thought. The larger the creature was if it was cold blooded, the less heat loss it would experience through the night or during sharp dips in climate.

Her fingers strayed to the gel pen. She picked it up and tapped the cap lightly against her chin. Larger frames among Cybertronians seemed to do the same thing. They were able to work longer among colder situations if they had more mass. It was the heat that personally caused her problems; more than the damp and cool, but- she knew, that had to do more with design.

Half an hour later the coffee had cooled, the paper sleeve no longer needed to handle it. Un-nibbled on, the muffin rested off to one side of the table. The gel pen had been set down neatly between them. The courier's small shoulder purse was slung over the back of the chair.

Dart rubbed at the corner of her nose and then looked up at the clock on the wall. Oh. Time had gotten away from her. She was normally a good judge of it. Well, when she was moving. There was a rhythm to running and driving that ticked off the miles. She knew how many strides at what speed would take her where and when, but just sitting? Not so much.

Maybe someday I should really think about getting a watch.

Quickly, the courier began to gather up what was on her table. Books in the white plastic bag, stacked from the largest hardback on the bottom up to the paperback holding the postcard on the top. Reach back and grab the little purse slung over the back of her chair and set it carefully over her shoulder. It stayed put and she immediately slid it to her hip and dropped her pen in it before closing it once more. Crumbs brushed off the table, not that there were many. Coffee and muffin restacked neatly so she could carry them. Dart brought up her hand, brushing her bangs back behind her ear. They held position exactly for one second before flopping back across her forehead.

Okay, everything together, time to get back on the road. Haha, car humor. On the road.

Handles over her left arm, tucked in her bent elbow. She leaned down and carefully picked up the coffee and the muffin. For a moment she simply stood, shifting her weight from one foot to ther other. Down below in the garage, her car mode huffed out a soft, nervous puff of air as the avatar's power draw climbed.

It steadied. The plastic bag swung slightly from her arm. The purse bumped against her hip. With a shake of her shoulders and two light-trotted, cheerful strides, Dart stepped away from the table and headed for the exit. Best morning, everything going great, from the guitar repair to buying books. How many mornings did she have like that lately? Aw, well her patrols had been fine, she didn't mind long stretches of wilderness to herself. I wonder if he got up to St. Helens; oh geeze, I hope there isn't more of that awful--

Her toe slammed into someone's chair leg and she pitched forward. The muffin flung itself into the air like a freed pigeon. Dart had a moment - ah, the floor, I'm going to hit the floor - and then something else- oh no, coffee, coffee, the coffee, can't lose the coffee, can't spill it all over their clean floor, oh I'm going to be in so much trouble if this doesn't hold, please hold, please hold- don't fail, don't fail--

A frantic clutch at the cup, and she braced herself to hit the concrete floor.

The sudden jerk at her midsection held her perfectly still, perfectly up. Her knee never made contact.

The young man in the glasses had spun around and was gripping her sweatshirt. For a second, Dart stared stupidly up at him, as he leaned over the edge of his chair and braced her. The muffin landed. The books hit the solid floor with a thud. People looked over. Down in the garage, a tiny whine escaped the sloping hood of the Trans-Am. The car rose a bit on all four tires, headlights popping up as the avatar turned her head and stared stupidly up at him.

"Oh, I am so, so, so sorry," she apologized, voice cracking a bit with panic. "I didn't see your- your---"

"My tire," he apologized back, glancing down at the side of his wheelchair. "Hey, it's okay, nothing broken here."

"Well no more than the usual me, heh," he joked, offering her a quick wink in an attempt to take that mortified look off her face. "You all right?"

[Dart]

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm okay," Dart said as she attempted to scrabble back onto her feet. Everything was forgotten in one thought. In the garage her systems were surging, the vehicle flattened both side mirrors against the frames of her windows. On the trunk of the car, the spoiler chattered softly, the sound small and tinny in the enclosed parking garage.

People are staring. There are people staring at you. You're going to mess this up, you've already messed this up. Okay, you're going to mess this up farther.

Don't fail. Don't fail on me. Please don't. Oh gosh, he's holding on. Don't fail, come on Dart get on your feet, on your feet... Wait, his tire?

Oh gosh, oh gosh, only you, you just hit a guy in a wheelchair. What do you do, what do you do when this happens. Do you have to exchange insurance information? Is that right? No no, that's only if you hit his car or his bike.

I guess that's kind of like a bike, if you stretch the tires out. Nope, nothing like a bike, and humans don't transform into cars and I can't even believe I just thought that.

The man smiled. His blue eyes were highlighted by the rather retro frames of the glasses perched on his nose. He looked about the same human age as her own avatar, just out of college, perhaps. At least that was Dart's best guess. Maybe a little older.

"Here, let me help you up."

His arm flexed. Under his dark t-shirt his muscles corded as he leaned a bit back in his chair. He was With that little boost Dart managed to get onto her feet. He eyed her and cocked his head, and then gently let go of her sweatshirt when he was sure she had her feet.

"Okay, I'm impressed you held onto that coffee. Those are some good reflexes."

"Held onto the -- oh."

Dart stared at the coffee in her hand. A bit had puddled on the lid of the cup. There was only a few drops on the floor but she found herself wincing. Clean it up. The muffin. Immediately the courier hurried forward to grab the muffin where it had rolled underneath an empty chair. Her purse banged against her hip and she automatically reached down to press it to her hip as she straightened back up.

Flustered, she looked around. Throw it away? It seemed like a waste of a muffin. She knew better, you didn't waste anything that might be fuel. Wasn't there a three second rule? Did it apply to bookstore floors?

The courier stood there with the muffin. It sat in her hand like a golden idol. The way things were going at the moment, she half expected a large boulder to crack through the window.

"I'll get your books," the young man called to her and smoothly backed out his chair. It had an interesting design, streamlined and low. The wheels only had three curved aluminum spokes, and the armrests could be flipped back and up. A push with his arm, and a second later he had leaned over and scooped up the plastic bag that held her purchases.

The paperback novel perched precariously on top slid out when he lifted the handle. It landed on the floor. He reached out his other hand and grabbed it, then easily shifted his weight to sit upright again and offered it towards her. "Here you go. You sure you're all right?"

Her books. Oh ah, they must have - she must have lost them when she fell. How? Through her arm? Probably. She had no idea. Had anyone noticed? A quick glance around and people were going back to their own business. The moment was over and no one was bleeding, everything was fine.

Dart slunk over to him, still holding the muffin. Then she realized she had both hands full and stuffed the muffin back on top of the coffee cup so she could reach out for the bag.

"Yeah, just- just really embarrassed, I'm so-"

A voice boomed out over the hushed chatter of the seating area. It cut off the fact that Dart was about to apologize yet again for hitting his chair. It was loud enough to be heard by every single person there.

"You know, if you hit someone's wheels, it means you exchange phone numbers!"

In front of her, the young man winced as a bunch of people looked over in unison.

Wide grin on his face, the fellow from the elevator jogged towards them, weaving through the tables easily as could be. He had a magazine rolled up in his fingers.

"Oh, don't worry," the man in front of her mumbled, as he held her books out to her. "I'm right there with you. We can both be embarrassed because yes, that is my friend. I can't even pretend I don't know him, can I?"

[Dart]

"I- um, no?" Dart stuttered, fumbling for the right words. If I say yes, you can't even pretend he's not- is that offensive? She was so careful with that now, words were dangerous things; often she didn't quite know what might set someone off. An offhand remark could evolve into a shoving match or even a quick cuff to the head. Best to avoid that sort of thing when at all possible.

Not that this man looked like he was going to do any of those things. At her hesitation, he shifted his weight in the chair and lifted up the plastic bag to her. The definition of the muscle in his arms was obvious; and now that Dart had the sense of mind to look at him a bit more and not gape like a muffin and coffee loaded fish-

He reminded the courier of something. Wait, those men that played basketball down on the court at the college campus. They had chairs like this; sharp sloping wheels that were balanced correctly for quick turns and athletic maneuvers. She'd been impressed and wished she could drive half as well at times.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, and reached for the bag. Carefully she closed her avatar's fingers around it and felt the plastic crinkle.

That was the weirdest thing about some of this - the feelings of texture that it relayed. How? She didn't know. Dart simply thought it was neat. Muffled, distant, but... neat. Different than her own fingertips and how they touched things. It hung from her hand, heavy with the books. They were a lot heavier when you started to panic about your avatar giving out and dropping them on the floor again.

Or glitching. Oh don't even think it, not right now.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile.

By then, the other young man had made his way right to them.

"You try all the time but it doesn't work, Chip. You've known me since before highschool and you're still stuck with me," he laughed.

"I know. It's amazing we're still friends, Eddie," Chip replied, rolling his eyes. He lifted his hand and lightly adjusted his glasses on his nose.

Caught between them, Dart's toe lifted slightly. Normally, her first instinct was to turn around, deke out from between the chairs and take off running. That idea was shot down by the fact that she couldn't do it in any sort of logical, graceful way in a crowded bookstore full of people. Well, she had no doubt she could run between them and dodge, sure, but then someone would probably yell at her for running in a business and that was attention she certainly didn't need. It was bad enough falling nearly on your face and mismanaging an innocent muffin.

"Hey, it works out," Eddie replied. He leaned back on his heels, crossed his arms, and grinned. The sweatshirt drew tense over his broad shoulders; the sort of young man who probably played football and then promptly pulled an engine out of a truck for fun. "You fix my computer, I fix your car."

"Your computer needs work far more than my car ever does," the other young man pointed out with an easy chuckle.

A shrug. "Eh, I learned. Don't use the CD drive as a coaster," Eddie laughed. "Not that I actually did that. Did spill a soda over it once, that was the end of that laptop. Right before finals too, Chip here saved me from a fate worse than death. That economics professor was absolutely no leeway on late work."

"He was pretty tough," Chip agreed. "Good class though, learned a lot from that one."

"So hey, speaking of classes and schools - guess what?" Eddie exclaimed, looking down at Dart. "Chip here was at OSU too for a while. Small world of schools down here in Oregon, go figure! Maybe you two passed each other in the hall...?"