[DONE] Ep. 2 - Dear God, What Happened To You?! [Deuce]
Jun 17, 2015 20:02:55 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2015 20:02:55 GMT -5
Set Day 2 of Week 2, sometime around sunset.
The Western Horn was a great pyramid rising into the sky, silhouetted black as the sun set in its direction. The sky was red and pink, a flier's delight — the sunny, warm weather the valley had been graced with was going to keep up. A flock of geese honked somewhere above, distant and passing as quickly as they had come. Crickets were chirping all around, the chitter of overhead bats lyrics to the oncoming night-song.
No, more like...a xylophone, I think. Or a synth.
Sarita McCoy sat on the edge of a cliff, a long bough of pine in her lap. One hand grasped a kitchen knife, crudely carving an end into a sharp tip — the other held the middle for support. Sarita had no illusions that, in such a remote and dangerous part of the wilderness, trouble was easy to find: bears, cougars, and even coyotes could be a problem. A key part of defence was offence, and she also needed the spear to hunt for food.
It wasn't like anyone was going to miss a few deer out there. Poaching was poaching, but Sarita was more concerned with keeping a giant, alcoholic, possibly-bipolar jet safe and sound. She'd never say it aloud, but part of her...questioned...Deuce's sanity — even with the trust they'd developed — and not in a funny way. There was too much evidence to the contrary to suggest that he wasn't mentally ill, or codedly-ill, or whatever Cybertronians called their version of such sicknesses.
And Deuce had proven to be a witty, humourous, and charming (if sometimes-obnoxious) mech. Despite his ego, his fits and his disappearing acts, she did not find him threatening. She still had her guard up; he wasn't as stable as Layby or Cleaver, but she didn't think he'd intentionally harm her. Between that, and the fact she owed Deuce for the kindness he showed her, she was worried about him. Even more so than Layby, because Layby stayed in one place, and he was hanging in there with Cleaver's disappearance.
Deuce, on the other hand, looked ready to die the night he'd chased down antifreeze. He came out of the experience relatively unscathed, but what if he was sicker, next time? What if he did something that made him drunk in the air, or high, and he crashed? He was a lone wolf, save for the little singer — there was nobody to watch his back if something happened to him.
Despite said worries, Sarita tried not to fuss too much when he was away. Deuce was still a giant living jet, after all, and a military model. He had been in existence for thousands of years, piloting around solar flares while drunk on antimatter, visiting more hostile places than a human could even think of. All Sarita had to tell herself, and keep telling herself, was that Deuce was going to be fine. If he came back beat up? At least she was here to help him if he needed it.
Or if she could get him to sit still. The mech had the energy of a chicken screwing a live wire, and briefly, Sarita wondered if that was how jetformers came to be. Then she had gotten out of the sun and had something to eat, because not only was that thought physically impossible, it was also really, really wrong on so many levels.