[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Desert Winds ((Open))

[Cassandra Cassidy]

WEEK 4, DAY 2

The Outskirts of Jasper, NV

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A storm skirted the edge of Jasper, Nevada. The low-hanging, black-blue clouds rolled by on high winds. The ominous shadow of falling ran fell far in the distance, the system carried south by a sudden change in the air. Thunder boomed in the distance, and lightning sparked like static on a blanket. Enough rain to cause a small flood missed the town by a hair, leaving the settlement well and dry.

The same couldn't be said for the winds accompanying it. As their course changed, they lashed out in a swing at Jasper. The tail end of the storm's currents kicked up red sand for miles, sending tumbleweeds flying. The area, blanketed in a gritty, rusty haze, saw visibility reduced sevenfold. It was nothing apocalyptic, but people still had to squint against the assault of dirt on their eyes. Windows closed, those caught outside stepped in, and folks spat out sand. The tumbleweeds piled on fences and rooftops, some snagging on cars left to sit in parking lots.

Somewhere on the outskirts of the town, a lone figure walked beside the highway in. Their reddish-gold hair went askew in the wind, one hand held against their face to block out the dust. They'd already pulled up a blue bandana over their mouths to keep their nose clear. They held out their free hand and turned the thumb up, trying to look down to put one foot in front of the other. Once they were sure they were still on beside the highway, they looked back up. As their feet crunched across gravel, they tried to use their right shoulder to slide a bag back down to the joint. Whoever this person was, they had large duffel bags sagging from each shoulder.

[Deleted]

[Location: Earth: North American Continent: United States of America: Nevada: Jasper: Outskirts]

The cabin lay fairly quiet with the windows rolled up even with the winds howling outside, and the hard vinyl top firmly in place. The old two door sedan with a Dark Green finish with a hard white vinyl top firmly in place while black tires pressed against the darkened asphalt hadn't necessarily been an odd sight on the Nevada Highways, but the Ford Falcon Futura's hard body and squared off designed that hadn't shared the same curves of modern aerodynamic sedans had been a reminder of decades past. The Nineteen Sixty-Four Ford Falcon Futura Two Door sedan had embodied both a Nostalgia of a Bygone Decade when things may have seemed simpler to those that hadn't quite lived in that particular time, and had been to onlookers or even other motorists a result of an enthusiasts hobby brought to form. A man sat in the driver's seat in whose features had been older than the year the sedan had been made had worn a casual three piece suit with a jacket, and slacks. The figure's hands loosely resting on the steering wheel with a practiced ease while his eyes took in both the road and the land that flanked it rather than solely focusing on the road ahead. The interior with its seats coated in a light green and neutral color to the hardened dashboard tastefully bordered in chrome had seemed to any onlooker as a task handled with as much care and thought by the driver as with the Falcon Futura itself. The only thing the onlookers may have seen, and may have been permitted to have seen had been the aging figure in the driver's seat and the hard working Ford Falcon Futura rather than the aging Cybertronian that had adopted its Form.

The aging Kup had left the Outpost having found a partner for this little foray or patrol if one had wanted to have been technical about it to explore the small Town of Jasper that had rested near enough to the old converted Silo that it may have simply been an afternoon outing to the local store if he'd been human. The aging Warrior had wanted to have explored the small Town with its human population for several reasons with one being the need to study it, and the other to have stretched his legs -- as the human saying went. He'd been in his time a Scout, an Ambassador, a Liaison, a Trooper on the Front Lines, an Advisor to several Primes and an Instructor. He'd found he'd enjoyed the art of talking, exploring -- and when the need arose to bash Decepticon helms, but the Tessaran had wanted to learn the lay of the land. The best means towards that end had been a nice drive into Jasper to observe the humans, and to understand exactly why Optimus Prime had decided on the Silo to house the Outpost. He hadn't exactly been able to have kept in contact with his partner following the local storm brewing, and the winds seemed to have reduced his own visibility -- though he'd at least been able to have still seen the highway. His internal scanners had cut through the winds, and the sand enough for him to have kept his bearings.

“What's this...” the figure in the driver's seat quietly said. The mouth of the holo-avatar had moved, with the facial expressions reflecting it.

The features of the holo-avatar chosen by Kup both as a means to disguise himself when other motorists were nearby since a car without a driver would have raised more than a few questions the Tessaran hadn't been too eager or had wanted to have answered. It had taken a little while for the aging Warrior to have refined the holographic features until he'd managed to have scanned an image from the TV of an actor that had starred in some action film one of the kids had been watching at the time and had managed to have brought some depth to it to make it at least life-like or at least that had been his thoughts in the matter.

The profile of a young woman had been mostly concealed by the blowing sand, and the howling winds hitchhiking along the side of the highway. Though he hadn't exactly known how long the storm would have lasted, Kup had known from his own experiences including some nasty dust storms on Beta-Nine that had required windshield wipers to keep the optics clear that the young woman stood a greater risk of getting not only lost in the storm, but that she'd meet a grizzly end in it. Driving past the young woman, he'd gently pulled over to the shoulder of the highway before having come to a steady stop with enough room between himself and the young woman. The red of the tail lights cut through the sand with relative ease, and hopefully had acted as a guide for the hitchhiker. He'd only unlock the passenger door when she'd approached.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

The lone woman halted when Kup pulled to the roadside. She leaned forward, squinting, hair whipping in the desert winds. Her posture straightened and she took a step forward, easing her weight into her foot. She was hesitating, looking over the car, eyes glancing at whatever plates were on the back of his bumper.

After a moment of stillness, she moved. One hand - her left - went to her head, trying to brush out the dust collected in her red-gold waves. The other reached out to feel for the car, only to draw back as she stopped when the door opened. She stood once more, blinked, and then hurried over to lean in. A worn set of gray eyes, surrounded by freckles and the odd acne scar, peered into the interior.

"Afternoon, sir. You offering a ride or waiting for someone?" she called out over the roar of the storm. The haboob churned around them, the wind picking up and sending more dust flying. The ruddy atmosphere had tinged her clothes rust-brown with Nevada earth. The dark blue scrubs, worn and faded in some spots, was covered in a fine layer of the stuff. More of it bashed against the door and swirled into Kup's interior, prompting the woman to close it some. Her head poked through the resulting crack, one gloved hand gripping the door's side to steady it. The other she tucked back into a pocket, almost looking like she was reaching for something.

The woman pulled down her bandana. Deep circles sat under her gaze, her weather-beaten face lined with wrinkles. Her nose had the distinct bump from being broken before. More freckles plastered her expression, and so did more acne scars. From underneath the bandana, a black cord hung down, two dog tags clinking at its end. "I'm not going far," said she. "If you're picking up, I need to get to Vegas. It's only forty or so minutes from here."

[Deleted]

“A good Afternoon in return, Ma'am. I'm simply a good Samaritan,” the holo-avatar said, in full honesty. “I thought I'd offer you a ride to wherever you need to go. It's a windy Afternoon, and the Sand Storm doesn't seem to be losing any of its strength,”

“Climb on in, and make yourself comfortable. You can stow your bags in the backseat, and don't worry about getting Sand everywhere. I'm not going to be finicky about it, and I can always clean it out tomorrow,”

“Vegas? I can give you a lift. It won't be out of the way either,” the holo-avatar said. “We have a full Tank of Gas, and with very few other cars on the road during this Storm we won't be running into any heavy Traffic,”

Reaching over with his right arm, he'd twisted the knob for the Air Conditioner, opened the vents to allow the Re-Conditioned Air to pass through the cab. Given the Sedan's nature, sand hadn't been a large concern since Kup's vents could have filtered out the fine particulates better than any commercially sold units made on the Planet. For his Passenger, it appeared the Old Man had been altruistic in his kindness without any other Ulterior Motives and that he'd known the car as the back of his hand. His movements had been slow, but deliberate and shortly the cooler air began filtering past the vents into the cabin.

He'd waited until she'd been settled into the seat, buckled up and had at least been able to have relaxed a little before the holo-avatar looked in both the Rear-View and Driver's Side-View Mirrors to check if any other vehicle had been nearby. Having checked, he'd waited a few moments with the left blinker on before shifting from the highway's shoulder and into the right hand lane heading towards his Passenger's destination.

The Nineteen Sixty-Four Ford Falcon Futura Sedan handled smoothly regardless or in spite of the storm as the Driver's hands held the steering wheel. The fairly massive Inline Six Engine under the hood hummed ever so reassuringly, and though it wasn't the most powerful or fastest Engine it was still impressive. The tires kept the Sedan firmly on the asphalt without wavering while the steady headlights cut through enough of the blowing sand. The windows in their rolled up slots kept both the sand and the wind out.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

The woman nodded and grunted as the older man finished speaking. Closing the front-passenger door with a quick shove, she made her way to the back. It clicked and swung open for less than a minute, the woman sliding one off her left shoulder to the floor. Her left hand pulled out of her pocket to help maneuver and catch the bag's strap, causing her to wince a little. Dropping it down with a quick release - perhaps not an intentional one, as she flinched - she looked back up at the driver. It was only a brief glance, and her eyes went to the rear-view mirror, as if to look at herself or the man. Then she hefted in the next bag, plopped it on top of the other, and pushed the door shut.

When she got into the front, her look was apologetic. Her left hand disappeared into her pocket as that side faced the driver. "I think I got dust on your seats," she said. "I'll see if I can't sweep it out with my hand or something when we stop. I have wipes with me." She pulled the door shut behind her and ran her free hand through her hair, dislodging a fine red layer. She curled her fingers into her palm, bringing it into her mouth to cough. The woman sniffed, reaching for her seatbelt.

"Your kindness is appreciated, Mr...?" While that question hung in the air, the woman took a moment to glance about the dash. She did a second-take at all the chrome, eyebrows raised a hair.

"Nice dash. Is it custom?"

[Deleted]

He'd waited until she'd been settled into the seat, buckled up and had at least been able to have relaxed a little before the holo-avatar looked in both the Rear-View and Driver's Side-View Mirrors to check if any other vehicle had been nearby. Having checked, he'd waited a few moments with the left blinker on before shifting from the highway's shoulder and into the right hand lane heading towards his Passenger's destination.

The Nineteen Sixty-Four Ford Falcon Sedan handled smoothly regardless or in spite of the storm as the Driver's hands held the steering wheel. The fairly massive Inline Six Engine under the hood hummed ever so reassuringly, and though it wasn't the most powerful or fastest Engine it was still impressive. The tires kept the Sedan firmly on the asphalt without wavering while the steady headlights cut through enough of the blowing sand. The windows in their rolled up slots kept both the sand and the wind out.

“You don't have to worry about it, but I appreciate the gesture,” the Holo-Avatar said. “I can take care of it. I have a special vacuum that allows me to reach between the cushions on the bench seats and the floor boards. It would save you from getting sand beneath your nails, and from cutting up your hands. I saw from your hands that you must be skilled in one of the Medical Fields, that you work in a Hospital or that what you do is invaluable to that Field. Am I right?”

She'd offered to have cleaned the sand off of the seats from her the layers shaken loose from her bags to the layers that had accumulated on her clothing and in her hair, but while in an earlier Cycle that Kup would have appreciated having someone to have taken a vacuum or some other tool to have cleaned out the sand from his crevices since the granular particulates had an irritating knack of penetrating in the most uncomfortable of places that now the Tessaran had accepted the reality that if he'd had those fine particulates embedded in his plating or that had ground off the paint on a particular plate had been the least of his concerns. The Galaxy had a way of teaching even the most stubborn ones a lesson or two in what had really mattered.

“It's Thomas Franks,” he said. “I'm an old soul. These eyes have seen more things Change, but I'm not the one to judge whether those are for better or worse. Those few that have managed to do business with me know I can be trusted. It's a commodity that's growing scarcer with time. I tend to collect things, and restore them. I mostly Restore Older Automobiles, and I prefer to think of having saved them from the Crusher at the Junkyard. This Nineteen Sixty-Four Falcon Futura Four Door Inline-Six is an example. I drove something similar to this when I was a great deal younger, and I do miss the attention that was invested into its design. They don't make cars like this anymore, and it holds the same significance as a Greek Tragedy,”

“The Dashboard seemed plain without a little ...what is it young adults call it these days? Bling-Bling?” he smirked a little. He'd found the notion of a word such as the slang 'Bling' being used to describe what had previously been Pride in one's appearance to have been somewhat amusing. He hadn't entirely agreed with it, but it still struck an amusing cord. “The Dashboard had originally been bordered by plastic, but I had that removed and had the Chrome ordered. I didn't want to go overboard with it, and wanted to keep it tasteful. It was labor intensive, but I don't believe in taking one's car to a Mechanic's Garage when you can do the work yourself and for less of a cost. I think I did a pretty good job at it, but from a biased point of view,

“If I may, what would the name of a young woman be that decided to hitchhike in a storm like this? I will apologize ahead of time if you had given your name, and I happened to miss it,” the Holo-Avatar, Thomas Franks, said. The Holo-Avatar, or Thomas Franks, seemed to reflect Kup's own kindness and his honesty. If there had been any doubt as to the intentions, Kup had hoped the young woman -- his passenger -- hadn't misconstrued it as anything other than a kind samaritan.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

" ... I saw from your hands that you must be skilled in one of the Medical Fields, that you work in a Hospital or that what you do is invaluable to that Field. Am I right?”

The woman's eyebrows arched all the way up. She looked down at her hands, the sharpshooter gloves betraying their many scars. Where fingertips exposed themselves, callouses rose on their ends. Small mountains of skin, toughened by work and rough surfaces, had been built with time and effort. She gave a smile, warm and slight.

"In a way, stranger. You're a perceptive one," the woman said. "Though I wouldn't call myself 'invaluable'. I'm a housekeeper. I change sheets, mop floors, disinfect the front desk. It's nothing anyone can't do."

She leaned back a little as the man rambled on. Silent as she listened, her arms gradually relaxed into the rests of the seat. Her eyes kept on the driver, and her smile disappeared into something neutral after a minute. She nodded along as he explained his car and where he'd come from, glancing back to the dash as the man explained redoing it.

"The Dashboard seemed plain without a little...what is it young adults call it these days? Bling-Bling?"

"Bling," she corrected in a half-murmur. She leaned forward and squinted a little, examining Thomas's handiwork. "Though I think that might be on its way out." She went back to sitting upright as the man finished, her posture a little more slack. If Thomas had been trying to ease any unsounded worries, he must've been succeeding. The lines of her face weren't pinched, and her eyes were less alert and watching. It appeared as if she'd deemed him safe to be around, even if she did lean toward the door.

"If I may, what would the name of a young woman be that decided to hitchhike in a storm like this? I will apologize ahead of time if you had given your name, and I happened to miss it."

The woman turned her head a little. She paused for a moment, then said, "People call me Butch. You can call me that too." The woman turned her attention down to her left pocket, digging around with her hidden hand. Producing a small, red-and-white box with plain packaging, she thumbed the lid open with a bit of a fumble. Her right hand whisked over to reach in and pull at something.

"You smoke?"

[Starkrieger]

It wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

The mostly black jet had taken a bridge to coordinates in some dry, backwoods...well back-desert part of the Northern American continent. He’d have preferred a real storm to the torrent of dust and grit, but function wasn’t all fun and games was it?  The distinctive outline of a Eurofighter Typhoon might be an odd site above Nevada, but who was going to spot him through the mess anyway? At 1,000 feet he was safe just outside the cloud, but his sensors didn’t quite reach that far. Visibility of the ground below was slag, so maintaining altitude meant he’d miss signs of… well. anything to be fair.

When he got back to base, he was stealing Bait and holing up in the washracks for the rest of the week. Maybe he'd tease Bac about needing her to clean his wings, as a ‘poor injured mech’. The semi-derisive laugh at himself probably mirrored his mud grub's opinion of such a ‘request’. Sadly, he needed to focus on more immediate concerns.

Reluctant, he dropped into the cloud, systems adjusting as they would for space flight, to keep fine particles from clogging his intakes. Dropping to 500 feet, the Con scoured the surface for anything of interest, wayward neutrals, lost comrades, lonely Bots longing for a friendly escort.

Boring, nothing, more nothing. Frag, Krieg was starting to hate the ‘dead’ parts of the planet, nothing interesting to hold his…

Oh, hello there Wunderschön

The sweet ping of life registered to his left, skirting the edge of his senses. A ground pounder no doubt, given the location and speed of travel. Dipping his wing to bank into a turn, Krieg kept his missiles inactive. He didn’t yet know if this was friend or foe; plus, with no teammates and only a vague purpose driving him, he was free to engage as his whim directed.

:Identify yourself hot plates: He opened a comm, standard Cybertronian frequency, one that wouldn’t likely betray his allegiance, after all, the precious little signal was out of visual range due to the weather conditions. It could have been anyone. :Don’t be shy, Liebling: A gentle chide before his new acquaintance was granted the opportunity to answer.

Kup wouldn’t have much time, the Seeker was bearing down on his position. Would his target sense what direction he was coming from? It was possible that experienced mecha would recognize the whine of turbines at subsonic speeds and narrow down his frametype. That suited Starkrieger well enough, it didn't seem entirely fair otherwise.

On impulse, the flier dove straight for the earth, 400, 300, 250 ft before he leveled to shoot past the Sedan, politely keeping his munitions to himself. Not so politely he twisted around his longitudinal axis, executing a simple roll, timed so he was inverted as he passed over head, flashing the sigils on his wings in a silent taunt. Once righted, he engaged his engines a hard boost accelerating to mach 1, ascending as he added distance between them. He hadn’t caught sight of a faction brand, instead monitoring Kup's reaction for indications of allegiance, if he didn’t announce it himself.

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Permission given to jump in here.  Thanks Ranix

[Deleted]

The distinction between the whine of the turbines above the sound of the wind passing by the cab of the older Sedan had been barely discernible to the range of the human ear, but for the old Cybertronian his audio receptors had detected and isolated it long before his human passenger could have and even before the following question of whom in their right mind or perhaps what kind of Pilot with brass could have decided to have flown in a storm limiting visibility to virtually nothing had come to mind. He'd been able to have discerned the direction the sound, and the following Transmission that had been intercepted from the Pilot or the Mecha in question had left little doubt in his Processor as to the Identity. The Transmission had been intercepted over a Standard Frequency known to any if not all Cybertronians meaning anyone could have had access to them, but the fact he hadn't recognized the Voice in the Transmission with that of his Patrol Partner had narrowed the possibilities.

The Radio inside the Cabin hadn't relayed the Transmission, as he'd seen to keeping its existence only in his own databanks in an attempt to keep Cassandra from being alerted. The Holo-Avatar Thomas Franks' expression hadn't reflected the nature of the situation the old Cybertronian and his human passenger had found themselves in. His Priorities had been to Safeguard and to Protect Cassandra, along with keeping as low a Profile towards his own nature. He hadn't been aware if any of his Kind had exposed themselves to her, or if she'd stumbled onto one of them. Either way, Kup had to maintain a low Profile and avoid both further Detection from the Decepticon above and in being exposed by his human passenger.

Firm in the knowledge if he'd acted in a foolish manner either in speeding up or in evasive action that the Decepticon that had stumbled onto them would have been given more than enough incentive to set up for a strafing run and that he'd had Cassandra's life to be concerned about, Kup kept driving at a steady pace without having increased speed along the Highway. Less than a few Nano-kliks later, a Delta-Winged Fighter with leading canards buzzed overhead at roughly two hundred feet inverted before having righted himself leaving little more than a blur to anything other than a Cybertronian's Optics. His sensors had picked out the telltale Decepticon markings on dorsal surfaces of the inverted wings dismissed any doubts the Aging Cybertronian might have held about Pursuer's Identity.

Kup had been in his share of Engagements, and in having someone Trail him that he'd learned the best Offense had been to have simply kept driving rather than to have drawn attention to himself if his Pursuers had been unaware of his own Identity. The only thing most Drivers that had dared to venture out in the storm would have known had been that Thomas Franks had been out on a nice afternoon drive along a highway in the middle of a sandstorm and he'd keep it that way.

“I appreciate the compliment,” Thomas said, keeping ahead of him. He hadn't simply focused ahead out of the windshield, but kept a view of his mirrors as well and to the sides of the road.

“It's hard not to notice things in the world. I've been around longer than most, and have learned the best way to understand one's own part is to take in the small details,” he explained. “It wasn't only the callouses on your hands I'd taken notice of, a sign of someone that isn't afraid of hard work. It was in the way you carry yourself, the look in your eyes and in your voice. You're not someone that's afraid or averse to do what is necessary, to do what has to be done and though you consider it housekeeping it's proof you carry something inside that is far more valuable than an Ingot of Minted Gold. There aren't many that would do what you call Housekeeping, and even less that would admit it. There is an old saying, to take pride in one's work even if others won't see it. It matters to you, or you wouldn't have admitted it,”

“I used to instruct young people in understanding that. I taught History, and Ethics -- unofficially -- back in the Dark Ages. I was a High School Teacher until I retired. If they hated me for it, but took that lesson out of the classroom by the end of the day and carried it into both their Private and Professional lives I viewed it as a victory,” Thomas explained.

“I wouldn't mind. I find smoking a little behind the wheel doesn't hurt, and can be pleasurable,” he said. She'd asked him if he'd smoked, and though the Cy-Gars he preferred would have been roughly the length of a human motorcycle he'd been curious as to the human tobacco variant and had seen quite a few films back at the Outpost of people smoking.

“A Pleasure, Butch. I had an old nickname my students gave me. It was ...” he had to think about it for a few nano-kliks. “The Old Minuteman, if it were to be respectful and the Old Stone Face if it came from a young punk. I had a reputation of not getting angry. It didn't win over too many of my former young pupils,”

“The Cigarette Lighter works in this car. I saw to it. It's one of the few Vices I've allowed for myself. It's a Dirty Habit, but it's mine,” he chuckled. The old slide out cigarette ash tray had been tucked in beneath the dashboard below the air conditioner and the radio with the cigarette lighter tucked in above it -- one of those kinds with the handle you pulled on to light a cigarette or cigar before you plugged it back in.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

Butch's attention was on Thomas and nothing else. Her mouth was a thin line, but her eyes were wide and staring, attention rapt. He had a way of speaking that was captivating - melodic, even - but simple and honest, all the same. Surprise crept across her face, and the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. A small patch of scarlet grew on each of her freckled cheeks, and the woman looked away for a moment. If Thomas had been meaning to leave her speechless, he'd succeeded. She had nothing to say to his words. Instead, the woman stared at those calloused hands of hers, fists clenching and shoulders slumping a fraction.

She hadn't been expecting that little speech of his, and it was clear and stark for a few brief moments. The woman then schooled her expression into something neutral, sitting up straight. She cleared her throat a little, responding with a quiet, "Thank you." Butch said nothing after that, not until he accepted her offered cigarette. She couldn't help but chuckle at the comment about dirty habits.

"You and me both, sir," said she, voice light. "People say it'll be the death of me. I say to them to look at the half the things people take as supplements and try telling me that again." Leaning down, she slid out the ash tray and lit Thomas's smoke first, offering it from between two of her right fingers. Once the man took his cigarette, Butch would light her own and bring it to her lips, taking a long and slow drag. (And take just long enough, as well, for Thomas to take a look at the raised, two-pronged scar on her left hand.) When she exhaled, a smile had come to her face, creasing it.

"I hope you don't mind the cheap brands. Trying to get a deal on something premium is murder these days."

Her marred hand settled back into its familiar pocket. Tobacco wafted around her, settling on her skin, hair and clothes with its chemical reek. It was a familiar scent she couldn't wash away, and even before lighting up, it had radiated off of her in a faint miasma. But that wasn't the only stink coming off of the janitor after time passed - something old and meaty lingered about her. Buried under the after-scent of cleaner, it was putrid and a touch warm, like something left to rot out in the sun. Even if it wasn't nearly as noticeable as tobacco, it was still there and definitely came from her. If Thomas focused on it, he might recognize it as similar to that of old, weathered roadkill on hot asphalt.

If his passenger had noticed the smell, she said nothing. Her focus was on the road ahead, out the passenger window, and sometimes on Thomas. Butch had relaxed more into her seat, but she still kept alert. It might've been that she was exercising being safe. When the jet above dipped lower, its whistle growing a tad louder over the desert winds, she frowned. Her eyes looking up, she leaned toward the windows, trying to see what was above them before checking the rear-view.

"Storm sounds like it's picking up," Butch mused. "Awful wind to listen to out there. Did you want to pull over and wait for it to settle?" She leaned back into place, still oblivious to the alien jet stalking her ride. It was too high above to cast a noticeable shadow, the haboob further obscuring it.

[Starkrieger]

Nothing. What the frag?

The ground pounder below kept on driving, so casually it threw off his certainty. Surely… his sensors weren’t glitching? Perhaps the other's comm and visuals were malfunctioning… or it was a comrade operating under strict radio silence, depending on him to interpret the lack of concern as them being on the same side? The already quick working processor of the Seeker continued on a string of potential explanations. Formerly unexperienced malfunctions, behavior altering virus, a broken Bot or neutral that couldn't take it anymore, just at the top of his list.

Throttling back to buy himself time, Starkrieger adjusted his angle till the climb shifted into a loop, aborted halfway the flier was left inverted only until he completed a half roll to right himself. Aimed the way he’d come from, the seeker dropped lower to counter the rise in altitude inherent to the maneuver.

::Identify yourself:: The Con’s vocals came across hard, the playful tones fell away as he worked through the unexpected scenario. He followed it with a message over an encoded Decepticon channel. ::Signal ally::

… Was it possible the other didn’t realize he knew?

Krieg was a construct, regardless of how pricey his design had been, he doubted his sensor array was unique, but it wasn't exactly standard. Stationed at his last post so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to go into combat without the enemy being aware of his capabilities. Everyone got used to the ‘same old’ faces when troops weren’t cycled in ages.

He could fire, but it felt…wrong. He had no partners to protect, no specific objectives he was ordered to achieve. He couldn't justify this. Krieg didn’t execute mecha in their hiding places, even if it took the form of some foreign alt.

The moment of truth, would he engage?

The second pass, this time the Seeker had descended to 150 feet approaching head on, but his weaponry still remained idle, his targeting systems cool. He was trying to get the sedan to flinch in a game of chicken.

Engage you fragger….surrender. Slag it! Pirouette singing praise to Primus in ancient Cybertronian! Just do… something.

[Deleted]

“You're rather welcome,” Thomas said.

“Isn't that how it is?” he asked. He'd heard her remark on how the Premium Stuff, the Brand Names or rather Iconic Companies were harder to come by or at least not affordable for most.

“We're going to be better off if we kept driving through this storm. If we were to pull over onto the shoulder, we'd lose sight of the road and the tires would become buried. It'll be that much more difficult, and it'll mean even with the Emergency Flashers on it could result in a rear collision or a side collision from another driver -- if there's one brave enough to be out a time like this,” the Holoavatar explained.

“It was a good suggestion, but the storm will most likely get worse. We can make it to the other side if we keep going,” he said. The Ford Futura remained steadfast on the storm ridden highway with sand whipping around outside the cabin, and the other reason had been that Kup hadn't wanted to have become stuck in a sandstorm on Earth as his Unit did on Beta-IX. He hadn't wanted to have stopped though he had to give Butch credit for her suggestion, as in under other circumstances he might have pulled over. In a storm, even a sandstorm, the odds of being involved in a collision with a random motorist or the surrounding landscape would have increased exponentially.

There hadn't been a risk or at least a high risk of having lost sight of the highway or even the location of the highway with his Cybertronian Sensors, but with a human aboard he had to maintain the realism of the situation and had to be more subtle about it. He had to appear as regular Ford Futura Sedan, even if it had been well maintained.

The shadow of the troublesome jet had become more visible through the storm, with its Delta-Wing Shaped Profile and Forward Canards fairly detailed leaving Kup to realize the Decepticon had sharply dropped altitude. According to his own Sensors, the Seeker had managed to obtain an altitude of only a hundred fifty feet above the Deck and had picked up speed in their direction. The sound of the Turbines had become louder, and clearer able to have been heard over the howling wind and pelting sand making Kup realize that Butch may have been able to have heard it with her own audio receptors or at least the human equivalent. He hadn't been that well versed in human anatomy to have memorized each little term, but he had tried.

“Identify yourself,” the voice filtered over his own internal com-unit. Kup had kept the Internal Com-Unit from having been heard in the rest of the cab. The jovial, even inquisitive tones -- if Kup could have called it that -- had been replaced with a far more demanding one.

'The Seeker wants to play chicken? What Universe did I land in? The Comic Circuit? Bonk's World of Whoopee Cushions?' Kup thought. 'Is this Con short a spark plug?'

The Sedan kept pressing along the highway despite or rather in spite of how the on-coming Jet might have appeared, and while the Aging Warrior had decided that Evasive Maneuvers would have only tipped his hand -- and existence -- to the nosy Seeker the Tessaran devised another plan. The Nano-klik the Seeker's engine nacelle had passed over the Vinyl-Topped Cabin, Kup would open the throttle hoping it would have taken the Seeker at least a few Nano-kliks to have turned around. He'd have to find a means to keep the Seeker from gaining a lock without having put Butch's life in danger or at least more danger, and had to have been able to have lost their tail without having to resort to Kup blowing his cover. The Inline-Six Engine that had been Standard with that line of the Ford Futura had been fairly advanced for the day and had been human tech, but what beat beneath Kup's hood -- disguised as an Inline-Six Power Plant had made the Inline-Six Power Plant the equivalent of a Steam Engine.

Kup had used his Sensors to search for any available side-roads using the old map he'd found, or at least had committed it to his available RAM and had compared it to the more modern GPS. The other part of his plan had involved having opened the throttle, and in the dropping visibility of the storm had decided to have turned onto one of the available side-roads or branches knowing he'd force the Seeker to have expended more Energon. If he'd been able to have found a rocky outcropping or some other old distraction, he might have been able to have lost his Pursuer.

“You might want to tighten that belt. The ride is going to get a little more rougher, but I will see you to Las Vegas. I gave you my word that I would. I'm not about to break that promise,” Thomas said. His eyes remained on the road ahead, even as the jet quickly approached.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"I trust your judgment," Butch said. If she questioned his driving, she hid it well as she glanced out at the storm. The winds blew faster, the roar getting louder, the road around them darker -

Something wasn't right. Butch squinted at the landscape that flew by, frowning. The edges of the highway were in shadow, as if they'd passed under some kind of outcropping. The whistle that would've accompanied high winds was a high-pitched, whirring scream. The sound of blowing sand drowned in the noise of turbines, Butch finally recognizing them for what they were. Her again-neutral expression shifted into mild bewilderment.

"What the hell...?"

Without thinking, Butch rolled down the window and tried to stick her head out. Her bad hand launched out of her pocket to shield her eyes. The hand holding her cigarette pushed and pinched down on the lit end, smothering the ember there. The sharp prick of heat against her skin went ignored, the woman's eyes narrowing to focus. Though grains of dust and dirt made them sting, Butch angled her body out and craned her neck best she could.

There, dropping quickly to a stop less than two-hundred feet above them - far less than any FFA-approved plane had any right to do - was a jet. A fucking jet. It was hard to make out details, but Butch had consumed enough military works to recognize it was a warplane. Thoughts of the many bases in Nevada came to mind, and she briefly wondered if they were on military land. That wouldn't make sense, though - the car hadn't turned off of the highway, and they were still close to Jasper -

Butch yanked herself back in and rolled up the window. Her gaze fell upon Thomas, alarmed. She was about to say something when he said, "You might want to tighten that belt. The ride is going to get a little more rougher, but I will see you to Las Vegas."

Butch's gut twisted. "What's going on?" she snapped. "What are you doing?" It was all she could ask - what else was she supposed to say? There was a jet keeping pace with them, dropping low as if to land, and Thomas's words were suspiciously enigmatic about the whole thing. Someone else might've swerved and gone to the side of the road, or fallen back to give the jet space, but the way Thomas spoke? It sounded too much like a line out of a movie or a book, right before something bad happened.

She had no doubts now that something was up. Her body braced, tense, ready to defend or dive or do whatever it had to. One hand gripped the side of her door, readying to push it open. Her body pressed into the window and leather of the passenger's way out.

[Starkrieger]

Target’s velocity increased just as he cleared it… not a Con then. Well he’d been fairly sure of that anyway. Now the question was, Autobot or Neutral?

If an Autobot, why wasn’t he getting more of a reaction? He was a coldsparked Con, surely it didn’t expect him not to attack merely because he didn't confirm faction allegiance. As for a neutral? There were Cons who would actively try to offline them, but what benefit was there to possibly being mistaken as an Bot? An unarmed mecha’s only play could be to cling to the hope that he didn't know they were helpless… if he wasn't a military build.

Unfortunately, he was no closer to deciding on who he was tormenting. They clearly weren’t in the mood to open up. Why should they be? Megatron's fragging goons were as likely to rip  into a simpering cleaning drone that beeped funny, as a proper warrior. He couldn’t count on common sense inspiring a neutral to honesty.

Starkrieger had a few methods to turn more sharply than one might expect, but he wasn’t ready to utilize them yet. Restricting himself to an easy banking maneuver, Krieg circled around while maintaining altitude. For a brief moment the Sedan was out of range, but he was hardly concerned. They simply didn’t move fast enough for him to worry. He made his decision.

::Unidentified Cybertronian:: The sternness of his tone was one he'd heard from commanders or Sol whenever he was done with his youngspark nonsense. It usually got him to fall in line at least ::I am equipped to identify our species:: Not entirely true, it was more a matter of the energy they gave off registering in a distinctive pattern. Regardless, what was important was that the ground-pounder was put on notice. All...well… some of his cards were on the table.

As he bore down on Kup for his third pass, Krieg pulled back on the throttle, to the slowest rate he dared, 100 knots. He was no former Energon Seeker. Learning the advanced technique required to hover in place had never been an option for the strictly combat mech. Staying still got a flier scrapped on the battlefield. Maybe one day he’d reach such a lofty caliber, equal to the likes of Lord Starscream, but not today.

::Signal civilian or be treated as a hostile:: Civilian, not Neutral. He was still a Vossian Seeker, the Decepticon sigils were a sign of an alliance, not his identity. Perhaps his choice in wording would inspire some trust, or the other to flat out lie to him.

Ideals aside, he was on edge, impatient, and decided a bit more incentive to behave properly was needed. Opening fire, the Seeker unleashed a single 10 round burst at Kup’s flank. Well ‘at’ was a strong word, Krieg was forced to give plenty of clearance with his warning shot to avoid melting the grounder’s tires. The shells detonated as they hit the pavement, leaving cracks and melted asphalt in a shallow but wide impact… They were meant to be unloaded into another flier, better at forcing them from the skies through heavy surface damage, rather than the gamble of piercing plating.

 He was about to present the best opportunity to get the drop on him. A hiding mecha's cover declared blown, and him flying overhead into its sights? Yeah, he wasn’t making it that easy, as he passed, the Seeker kicked it back into high gear, accelerating to Mach 1, his systems remaining tense and alert, ready for the return fire.

[Deleted]

“It seems we've been found by one of those people that don't trust me,” Thomas said.

'Unidentified Cybertronian. I am equipped to identify our species. Signal Civilian or be treated as a hostile,' the Seeker relayed through his Transmission filtered over Kup's own internal comm-unit. He'd been the only one to have heard it.

'Allow him to see me as a Civilian or be treated as a Hostile?' he thought, amused. 'When has that ever worked? Halt, tell me who you are and I won't shoot?'

Nearly a dozen rounds impacted leaving holes in the asphalt or along in the sand flanking the highway. He'd had to imagine the road crews sent out to that particular stretch would have treated the impacts of the rounds as large potholes or from gophers? Nevada did have gophers, didn't it? The Seeker, he'd had to assume, had been cautious enough with his warning shots to have avoided striking them directly in an attempt to frighten them.

“That Pilot needs to have his vision checked. Isn't Perfect Eye Sight a Requirement for both Civilian and Military Pilots or has that changed?” Thomas asked.

He'd kept his eyes on the road, and only turned the wheel a tad more harder to the left than he might have preferred, but as the Tessaran could have followed through with the turn with a mere flick of his own optics though he hadn't wanted to have tipped his hand to the Seeker and he hadn't wanted to have revealed himself to Butch. He had to admit, he had started to like her. She'd been as gruff, and worldly or at least as stubborn as he had and with a Work Ethic that could have made her a Legend in her own right. The wheel slid back into its former position in the Holoavatar's hands before the fingers on those hands gently took control, lending itself as a result of a practiced hand. There hadn't been any need for Thomas Franks to have been worried, to have broken character or worse that Kup would have allowed his only internal Energon Reserves to have dipped so far below as to have caused the Holoavatar to have vanished.

The darkened asphalt dotted by broken or solid center lines and solid white lines bordering the highway had changed to a somewhat more sun and weather beaten asphalt with faded lines of a side road that lead farther into the back country of the Southern Nevada Landscape with the rocky hills to the Orange-Flowering Barrel Cacti and the Creosote characteristic of the Mojave Desert along the horizon. Road Signs passed by the determined Sedan with its passengers indicating various directions for the nearest highways or old Pit Stops and old Motels or Tourist Attractions that had faded over time, with the majority of the Road Signs having faded completely from the Sun. The Ford Falcon Futura with its Vinyl Top sped by Stucco, Brick and even Concrete Ruins of buildings a sign of how times had changed or rather a sign of progress moving forward. Kup opened up his throttle causing the Ford Falcon Futura to accelerate, speeding along the back roads kicking up sand in its wake or loose asphalt adding to the detritus being blown about.