We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
"Lenny breaks a lot of things," growled the man. "Including himself. My radio just happened to be the last straw."
He was silent for a moment, as if sizing her up over the cellular network.
"Give him a message," he said. "Tell him that I know exactly what he did, and exactly why he did it. And that he is a bona fide psycho if he thinks it's going to work. And that's the standpoint of a professional loony with a bullet in his brain and worms crawling all over the floor of his shack all of a sudden. Get out of here, you worms! Take your technicolour shenanigans elsewhere. Tell Lenny I'm coming for him! Feel free to add, 'you son of a bitch' if you feel it adds suitable dramatic tension."
The man hummed thoughtfully.
"Lemme see. I think that's it. Hm. Hm hm hmm. Oh yeah! There's one more thing. You've met Nell Collins, right?"
Well...if that didn't sound ominous. The question about Nell was even more so. Despite having been proven as out of her depth, she had to try and bluff at least one more time, for Nell's sake. The thought of dragging people into whatever was going on was an unpleasant one.
"The name 'Nell' is familiar, but I don't know if it's the same person," said Sarita. "And...if you're having trouble with the peyote, there's this guy behind KO Burger in Jasper who picks it by hand, and can give you something less potent. You still get space coyotes, but the technicolour worms don't appear as much. Don't ask how I know."
The singer paused. "What...what is your tiff with him, exactly? I understand if you need to be vague, speak in riddle, yada-yada-yada. If this is business 'too important for me to know', then I don't have to, and I'm not about to go around and talk about it. Furthermore, I can get you $100, maybe $150 to start paying off the radio in a couple of days. Just give me a drop-off point, and I'll leave it for you, or something. I might have to send it by mail, though."
She put a hand on her hip, frowning. She was negotiating with this man, now, which was a brand of crazy all it's own. The songstress had to be insane herself to be doing this.
"My 'tiff' with Lenny is none of your business, kiddo," said the man snidely. "It is a gentleman's dispute between men, especially one with a bullet in his head and nothing but hysterical sightings to read over the mail for the next eight hours. Rar! Fist shake. Anyway."
He ignored the rest of her comments and dove straight to his point.
"Anyway! If you see Nell, tell her to tell Agent Chicken Run not to disturb the beast in Loch Ness. I don't care how many UFOs were reported in that area. Stay away from it! If you can't find Nell, maybe you should phone up Fowler in person to give him the warning. I can text you his number, I already know yours. In fact, you know what: tell those alien-loving jarheads to stay away from Loch Ness entirely, for at least, oh… I dunno, two days. The beast should be gone by then."
More humming. "I think that's it. Yep. I'm off to the can. Time to rock a piss. Tell Nell that I said hello! Later, guitar-girl. See you at your next gig! Ah ah ahhh."
Bull. It was a load of bull, had to be. And yet, she couldn't help but feel her stomach twist, her being tasked to deliver such a message. She wanted to say something, but Marco's rambling overtook her senses, and the phone clicked off before she knew it. All she was left with was a slight breeze over the mountain, rustling trees and bushes as the sun neared its finish. Night-birds hooted and chirruped in the distance, but Sarita didn't turn her head towards them.
Deuce was going to kill her, but not if she didn't kill him first. That is, if she wasn't tied up and thrown down a deep, dark hole somewhere. The entire situation reeked of a spy movie or psychological thriller, and there was Sarita, all caught up in the web because of two sets of butterfingers.
Crap.
Her mind went blank, and then her eyes to the ground. Didn't she have a spear to finish? Yes, yes she did. Gently grasping the iPhone with her shirt, sticking her free hand underneath to use it as a handkerchief, she ended the call and wiped off her fingerprints. Or, well, she tried to, and then gently put the phone back in the bag. The bag she would never open again. Ever.
Darkness swept over the sky as the night crept in. One by one the stars appeared, glittering shyly against the sunset. The evening birdsong fell silent, replaced by the sleepy croaking of frogs down by the lake.
No more ringing came from the canvas bag.
Less than twenty minutes had passed before the roar of a jet engine rang over the distant mountains.
It grew louder and louder, a big sound made hollow by distance. It reverberated against the night sky and vibrated the warm summer air. It was too dark by then to make out any contrails, but the roar circled somewhere overhead. One of the stars winked down at Sarita as the last rays of the sun glinted off its wings.
The star vanished.
The lake exploded.
Water erupted into the air with a noisy thunderclap of sound. It battered into the pine trees nearest to the shore and sent them swaying. Water rained down into the grass and rock, even as something thrashed about the lake. Something big.
The singer's back went straight as a rod. Normally, the sound of a jet engine would be welcoming to her, the oncoming signal that her friend was about to land. Sarita stared at the bag, then looked up again with a grimace; had time really passed so quickly? She forgot, lost in the rhythmic strokes of her knife, that the sun lasted only so long. Once it fell, it fell fast, and she was stupid for not turning on her flashlight.
Then again, hiding in the dark felt preferable. How was she going to tell Deuce that she had taken a random phone call, made up an entirely-flimsy story, threatened a guy who belonged under a bridge, and then learned she had a stalker with a full file on her? Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. She had to think; he didn't circle for long. He was probably tired from another long flight.
BANG!
Sarita dove to the ground, partially knocked aside by the shockwave. Pebbles flew out from the force directed at her, and birds and animals screeched, hurling themselves from their hiding places. Formerly-sleeping songbirds and now-awake owls were tearing into the sky, and whatever had been in the bushes darted out and up the slope. (From what she could see, it looked like a small coyote.) Her heart was thundering, ears ringing, a stunned look on her face as she stared at the dark, disturbed ground.
It took three minutes before her hearing came back. The hysterical laughter cut through the night like a knife. Water was splashing and steaming somewhere behind her, and she slowly stood up, turning around with a half-dazed look. Her eyes went down to the lake-like pond...which had shrank to two thirds of its size. Muck and filth were being flung everywhere, something rolling around and going on like a hyaena. Some of the conifers on the edge of the lake were flattened, like a bomb had gone off.
There was only one jet who knew about this valley, and he had just crashed into The Pond. Terror and horror seized Sarita, and she grabbed the bag, hurling herself down the slope. In the bare-bones natural light, she tripped and stumbled God-knew-how many times, but didn't care. Her voice was strained with fear, her brain near-petrified at the sight before her.
"DEUCE!!"
Last Edit: Jun 23, 2015 15:59:03 GMT -5 by Deleted
Water slopped against the shoreline as Sarita pelted to the lake. It was difficult to see in the gathering darkness, but she would be able to make out a massive beast lurching up from the depths.
It crawled into the bank using its elbows. Its legs dragged behind it, its wings flattened against its back. Smelly muck had turned it nearly black. It heaved itself half out of the lake before collapsing onto its side.
The weird laughter continued, mingled now with delirious rambling.
"Ha ha ha! Oh my god. I can't believe that worked. I can't believe it! A thousand years! A thousand years! No light! No voices! A thousand years of hell! I hope you enjoy what's coming to you, you bastards! That's my present, from me to you! I hope you choke on it! Ha ha ha!"
The beast turned its head. Its copper optics fell upon Sarita. They glowed feverishly in the dark.
"Oh, hey Sarita," it said mildly. "'Sup, my girl? Everything chill here?"
His coppery optics provided just enough light to give vague shape to Sarita's face. Her hair was a mess, one long braid loosened and turned into strings of hair, the other still clinging onto its coiled shape. Dirt smeared her face across one side, a thin, dark line dribbling something down her cheek. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilating strangely in the sudden light against the background of mental shock. Deuce's canvas bag had been taken onto her shoulders, having just barely survived the several-minute sprint down a dark and rocky hillside.
"...Is everything chill here."
She took a deep breath. She had spoke between gritted teeth.
"Is everything chill here, is everything chill here."
She tipped her head back a little, as if to look at the stars. Her eyes went to Deuce, then them, then back to Deuce again.
"OF COURSE IT'S NOT OKAY HERE YOU ARROGANT FUCKING DUMBASS!!"
Sarita fumed in a way that, if the woman had wings like Deuce's, or a ruff of fur like a hairy cat's, both would be sticking up as if electrified.
"You just fucking crashed out of the sky while laughing like a FUCKING HYAENA! Just a heads-up: I accidentally answered your phone in case you were trying to call for help and my line wasn't working. I got a crazy guy with a file on me ranting about how you 'turned off the safeties' and how you broke one of his radios. Now, you've nearly destroyed The Pond again, and you are crawling on your hands and knees out of it."
She laughed, sounding a bit hysterical, and leaned forward. "So this is what he meant, isn't he? You have just done something very fucking stupid, because even you, even you, are not stupid enough to cannonball into a shallow (for you) body of water FROM THE FUCKING STRATOSPHERE! What the fuck did you break, Deuce?! What the hell did you do?!"
Last Edit: Jun 24, 2015 22:23:24 GMT -5 by Deleted
His voice crackled like an over-modulated transmission. With effort he managed to leverage himself up onto one elbow. The other forearm was cradled to his chest. The glow from his optics weakly illuminated the ground beneath his head.
"What was that about a crazy man calling me on my phone?" he said. "Oh, crap! Ha! Was it Marco? That guy is psycho. I love him. He is a delight. I guess that big jump messed up his more sensitive equipment. Oops. Oh well, Weird Scenes should be fine. I'll call him back. I'll call him back and tell him to calm his tits. Everything is fine. It's fine! Just let me get vertical first. God damn it! Get vertical, legs. Pull it together, here."
With a heave the jetbot got his knees underneath himself, and then his feet. On unsteady legs he stood, took one step up the shore, and fell back to one knee. The ground shook from the impact. Deuce made a face and shakily grabbed a pine tree with his good hand. It bent and snapped beneath his weight when he hauled himself upright again, and he stared at it a bit stupidly.
"Don't know my own idiot strength," he said. "Whups. Ugh. What time is it? My internal chronometer is totally pooched. Must have got a version with a dead timepiece this time. Look out, Sarita! Beep, beep! I'm gonna walk the shit up this hill."
Deuce loomed above her as he staggered up the bank. His optics would burn drunken light trails across the cones of her dark-adapted eyes as he made a wobbly line for the trees.
As unwise a decision it might be, the singer sprinted in front of the jet, holding both hands up. "You're staying right here. You are in no condition to try and move. You're covered in God knows what, and you sound like you swallowed a radio full of static, or something. I'm going to run up to my base camp and get you some...I don't know, some cleaner and a flashlight. You look terrible. Whatever you do, don't move from here, and for God's sake don't fly. I will be ten minutes at the most, okay?"
With that, and without any assurance or otherwise from Deuce, the singer turned and sprinted towards her bolthole below the Runway.
As promised, Sarita was back quickly, returning in seven minutes from a frantic search through her belongings. Not only did she have Windex and rags in a bucket (which was pitiful for the current situation, but would do) and a standard flashlight, but she had a small toolkit as well. The only thing missing was a couple cans of fuel — they hadn't had a chance to fill up on gas yet.
Deuce was probably going to need more than window cleaner to get all the muck off, but it was the best she could do until morning. They had only been in the valley for a day, and here the jet had gone, somehow hurting himself and getting people pissed off at him. God, did she ever want a coffee.
Wherever the jet had gone, Sarita would quickly be there, whether by sound or sight guiding her. Sunset was still fairly recent, and his large, winged silhouette stood out over open ground. On top of that, when she got close enough, the pinpricks of orange-ish light that were his eyes were fairly easy to make out. The girl's hair had not yet been fixed, still snagging on branches and twigs as she ran along — it didn't slow her down.
"You...you holding in there?" Sarita said once she skidded to a halt by her friend. "We...we don't have fuel right now...how are your tanks?"
By that time Deuce had already made a seat for himself within the safety of the trees via his usual method: kicking a few of them down to make a leafy throne. He lay sprawled back on the debris like it was a deck chair, nursing his hand.
"Totally empty," he said.
He sounded pleased about that. "Like, I'm running on fumes. No worries, I can do a slow recharge. It'll take some time, but I've got time to kill now. Heh."
The beam of her flashlight passed over his body. There did not seem to be any damage to his scrawny frame at least. All of the scratches and scars in his paint were old ones. Mud streaked down his limbs in rivulets.
As Sarita drew near she would feel it: he radiated a deep chill. It was not enough to burn her bare hands if she touched him, but his entire body was icy cold. The warm lakewater steamed off him in places.
Deuce stretched out his legs. Winced. Rummaged back, yanked a stump out from under his ass. Threw it into the trees, where it crashed down into some underbrush.
"Holding up good," he said. "What a lovely night. I feel like celebrating. Too bad I don't have any of the old Panther Piss here. I could really use a belt right about now. Sarita! Put down that Windex, girl, and grab a beer! Let us lie back and contemplate the stars, and all of the strange alien adventures happening on them as we speak. Ha!"
The cold scared her all over again. Sarita had camped out in mountain winters, during unbelievably cold nights in arid parts of the West Coast, and once been stuck in a freak ice storm while driving down from Washington — none of it compared to the cold radiating off of Deuce. Hypothermia, she thought, recalling the drunken and giddy mannerisms of friends too badly chilled, and of Sheila stalling when the weather was too frigid.
She needed to get him warmed up. Or dried off, at least.
The singer was about to say something, but ducked when Deuce chucked a stump into the trees nearby. Swinging back up, she glanced back behind her, then looked over at the jet. He went on about stars and space adventures, or something along those lines — she wasn't listening. They could do all the talking and tale-spinning they wanted when Sarita was sure that Deuce wasn't on the edge of death. Or stalling. Or going into some "machine coma" because his systems were too cold to work. God, D, what have you done to yourself?
But don't forget to keep them talking, a familiar voice echoed back, sudden and surprising from a distant, thought-forgotten time and place. If they go quiet, that might be because they're beginning to slip. The words keep the shock away, and keeps their mind going so it doesn't cut out.
"I'll have to pass on that beer," Sarita said dryly. Keeping the Windex in the bucket for now, she began to wipe off at one of Deuce's outstretched legs with a rag. She glanced at his throne of trees, idly wondering if setting everything on fire would be enough to warm him up. That thought was quickly smashed by the hammer of common sense going, "Yeah, and Layby could've rehydrated you by throwing you in a lake."
"So! You mentioned space adventures. Tell me about that planet you landed on after you went around those solar flares on that antimatter bender. What was it like?"
Last Edit: Jun 27, 2015 21:09:14 GMT -5 by Deleted
"If you suspect a victim is going into shock, you keep them talking!" he said. "And warm too, if I recall correctly. Are you going to give me a little cuddle next to share your body heat? Because I wouldn't object to that."
He grinned down at her. Despite his giddy exhaustion his optics were keen.
"I know all about this," he said. "You think I'm loopy! Or concussed. I assure you I am nothing of the sort! I am merely suffering from the side effects of a gross, glorious, delirious happiness, and this is how I express that inner distress. You're just lucky I haven't pulled cartwheels. Or whipped out a really big air horn."
With a cackle Deuce sank back against his seat of trees and cocked an eye at her.
"I imagine you are full of questions," he said. "Good for you! That's the sign of a curious mind, which is something to be proud of. Personally, I can't stand apathy. Or dull-witted coolkids who are too hip to allow themselves to doubt and wonder. So, what do you wish to know? Why I teleported into the lake? Or why I'm so cold you could keep a side of meat in me for months? Ask away! I shall answer your questions to the best of my ability."
He paused. "Or lie outrageously. It's all good."
Last Edit: Jun 28, 2015 21:38:19 GMT -5 by Deleted
"If you suspect a victim is going into shock, you keep them talking!" he said. "And warm too, if I recall correctly. Are you going to give me a little cuddle next to share your body heat? Because I wouldn't object to that."
She stopped, and looked up at Deuce. Her face was blank, like he'd just asked her to walk into a sketchy 7-11 and buy something unreasonable from the magazine rack. She looked at what she had been trying to clean off, then back up at his face, then back at the now-drier spot.
"I know all about this," he said. "You think I'm loopy! Or concussed. I assure you I am nothing of the sort! I am merely suffering from the side effects of a gross, glorious ...."
As he babbled on, the singer tossed the rag back into the bucket. She slowly made her way up to the throne of trees, frowning slightly. Glancing at the mech's cradled arm, she looked up at him again, then proceeded to clamber onto a tree that had snapped near its base. Deuce was never careful with the small patches of forest; he kicked over, punched and ripped out trees as he pleased. It was good for building materials and extra firewood, but Sarita felt bad about the birds and bats roosting in them. If Deuce knocked over a nest of eggs, she was going to make him keep the damn things in his cockpit until they hatched.
... He paused. "Or lie outrageously. It's all good."
"I'd prefer if you didn't lie," said Sarita simply. Her tone was slightly tired, but mostly worried — the anger had faded away, like wisps of cloud. The human carefully picked her way up the fallen tree, trying not to trip over the tangle of limbs that the spiny branches had formed. "You...can teleport, D? 'Cause if I have to be honest...you kind of really freaked me out there. I thought you'd crashed and hurt yourself, or something."
Her eyes squinted, trying to find another broken tree she could try to clamber up better. There was nothing but bare trunk leading upwards from the snap in the wood; she was trying to get onto the jet's shoulder. The singer didn't seem to care that he might be cold enough to frostbite over someone's fingers.
"And before you say anything: I have a feeling you've been lying outrageously to me before. No one spends three days trying to find the Liberace Museum when they have a built-in GPS. I didn't ask because it wasn't my business, and it's never my business what another person wants to do when they're off and away, or whatever. This Marco thing was a fluke."
She realized she must have sounded like she was babbling too. After the emotional gut-punch that was thinking Deuce had smashed into the valley, she didn't care.
"You can tell me, or you can not tell me. Either way, I'm cleaning you off and making you decent. Then I'm going to rob a gas station in the morning and cook some ramen, or something."
Last Edit: Jun 28, 2015 21:55:09 GMT -5 by Deleted
Deuce had to be tired, because the mention of petty larceny went cawing over his head.
"Mmm, ramen good," he said. "Or so I have heard. Wait, didn't I mention I was a teleporter? I thought I did. Actually, I sort of thought I'd showed it off to you before. I like showing off. You may have noticed that already."
He stretched out gingerly and crossed his legs at the ankles. Brush crackled beneath his weight.
"Anyway, I kinda teleported some people around tonight. And I kind of might have overextended myself a little. Truth be told, my teleportation unit wasn't designed to be a teleportation unit. I've just ransacked it and perverted its original purpose to suit my own. That's why I'm so run down now. And cold."
Deuce sniffed his arm and made a face.
"As for the smell, I took a dip in a lake earlier. Not our lake. Another one. A bigger one. And that's pretty much it. That was my exciting night."
He closed his optics. Then he opened then, and looked at Sarita.