[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Alone and Afraid [Patch]
Jul 26, 2020 3:08:45 GMT -5
Post by Patch on Jul 26, 2020 3:08:45 GMT -5
As they rolled, Patch found herself almost distracted by an aching WANT to just be back at Omega. Where she knew it was quiet, and well lit, and warm. Where she trusted there’d be worried sparks to help them handle whatever needed happening next.
As her tires hummed along the ruined road, the young soldier began to feel past experiences -circumstances a lot like this- burble up in her tank and at the back of her neck. Not fears, nor pain so much as reminders. Lessons. Plans. Simple, unemotional plans for how it went before, and how it could go again; all of which happening behind a woozy blinder. Like looking at a phase of the moon through a screen door. It was going away, slowly but surely. For now, however the world was just…. It was just… hazy. The crisp edges gone. As she felt her windshield press against the cool, damp air with a bit more depth than usual. Like floating under shallow water.
"What do you mean it’s all your fault?” Broke out swiftly, just a bit breathlessly from the vehicle as she sped along. Soft blue light illuminating her empty driver's seat in flashes as she spoke. “Ratchet’s the one who sent us out here.” Who else could it have been? As far as she knew, Ratchet was the only mech with jurisdiction over both of them. Evidently, Patch was not currently picking up on the mild innuendo that perhaps this wasn’t, in fact, an ordered, sanctioned mission. Frankly, she didn’t wanna think about it too hard, she didn’t wanna think about anything too hard. It was already difficult enough to focus on the path ahead, stay alert, AND try to keep this strange new melancholy at bay. It spun her punch-drunk brain in aching loops to even consider swallowing more right now.
Additional dampness, darkness, a backwards sort of warmth as the cover of organic limbs began outstretching overhead. Protecting their roofs and hoods from view, though not from fire with their strange, weak, barky flesh. In the foreign blue daylight of Earth, they could be quite pretty, Patch had discovered. She found herself generally fond of the strange, silent beings; even more so than ever before just now, as they offered some meager form of protection.
Once those stoic organic souls began tangling together too thickly to continue driving safely, the young femme popped back up from her alt-mode in a whirl of plating. Finishing on her peddes, with both servos on her knees, helm up to keep an optic on the area around them.
Fuck, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it?
“Don’t turn your windsh-... -Frag.” The young femme reached up to clap a servo to her forehead and shake her helm a second. It ached. She didn’t like how it ached. She wished the hurt away from her; but she sure as Pit wasn’t about to complain. “Don’t turn your lights on.... Don’t wanna draw attention. Keep your optics up and be ready to run.” Patch may have been the younger of two kids right now, but it was becoming clear to the medic; she carried more tactical experience. Patch sincerely doubted that Neon would contest her if she took charge just a touch, given the circumstances.
Two small, freckled digits came up to her audial -the syrette still tucked and capped in her palm- right servo still in place on her helm. ::Come in Omega. Come on guys, please. Please come in.:: She damn near begged in an all too conversational tone. Like asking a newspark not to argue over doing something otherwise stupidly easy. Like asking a car not to poop out right on the side of the road.
They could dig in, here or elsewhere if they needed to. They had each other to watch, and protect, but even still… Patch just wanted to go home...
As her tires hummed along the ruined road, the young soldier began to feel past experiences -circumstances a lot like this- burble up in her tank and at the back of her neck. Not fears, nor pain so much as reminders. Lessons. Plans. Simple, unemotional plans for how it went before, and how it could go again; all of which happening behind a woozy blinder. Like looking at a phase of the moon through a screen door. It was going away, slowly but surely. For now, however the world was just…. It was just… hazy. The crisp edges gone. As she felt her windshield press against the cool, damp air with a bit more depth than usual. Like floating under shallow water.
"What do you mean it’s all your fault?” Broke out swiftly, just a bit breathlessly from the vehicle as she sped along. Soft blue light illuminating her empty driver's seat in flashes as she spoke. “Ratchet’s the one who sent us out here.” Who else could it have been? As far as she knew, Ratchet was the only mech with jurisdiction over both of them. Evidently, Patch was not currently picking up on the mild innuendo that perhaps this wasn’t, in fact, an ordered, sanctioned mission. Frankly, she didn’t wanna think about it too hard, she didn’t wanna think about anything too hard. It was already difficult enough to focus on the path ahead, stay alert, AND try to keep this strange new melancholy at bay. It spun her punch-drunk brain in aching loops to even consider swallowing more right now.
Additional dampness, darkness, a backwards sort of warmth as the cover of organic limbs began outstretching overhead. Protecting their roofs and hoods from view, though not from fire with their strange, weak, barky flesh. In the foreign blue daylight of Earth, they could be quite pretty, Patch had discovered. She found herself generally fond of the strange, silent beings; even more so than ever before just now, as they offered some meager form of protection.
Once those stoic organic souls began tangling together too thickly to continue driving safely, the young femme popped back up from her alt-mode in a whirl of plating. Finishing on her peddes, with both servos on her knees, helm up to keep an optic on the area around them.
Fuck, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it?
“Don’t turn your windsh-... -Frag.” The young femme reached up to clap a servo to her forehead and shake her helm a second. It ached. She didn’t like how it ached. She wished the hurt away from her; but she sure as Pit wasn’t about to complain. “Don’t turn your lights on.... Don’t wanna draw attention. Keep your optics up and be ready to run.” Patch may have been the younger of two kids right now, but it was becoming clear to the medic; she carried more tactical experience. Patch sincerely doubted that Neon would contest her if she took charge just a touch, given the circumstances.
Two small, freckled digits came up to her audial -the syrette still tucked and capped in her palm- right servo still in place on her helm. ::Come in Omega. Come on guys, please. Please come in.:: She damn near begged in an all too conversational tone. Like asking a newspark not to argue over doing something otherwise stupidly easy. Like asking a car not to poop out right on the side of the road.
They could dig in, here or elsewhere if they needed to. They had each other to watch, and protect, but even still… Patch just wanted to go home...