[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Park and Wreck [Cassandra/Avalanche]

[Avalanche]

Episode 3 | Week 3 | Day 2
Location: Jasper, Nevada

The dusty air shimmered with heat, the sun beating down on the low-rise buildings and bringing the surface of the road to scorching. It was another typical day in Jasper, where the only mercy from the oppressive heat was the breeze that wound between buildings and gusted down alleys.

Down a couple of side-streets, a small park occupied the end of a block; a dry little playground and a garden filled with rocks and desert varieties of various green plants that were just coming into bloom. A section of lawn was baked to the same brown-yellow of the wind-blown dust, a few slightly hopeless palm trees dotted around the edge where it met the encircling path. Shelters stood here and there, in a concession to the idea that humans were meant to survive in the space without being cooked alive. A crimson sign at the playground's gate warned that metal equipment might be too hot to touch.

All in all, it wasn't especially inviting, but it was something.

Parked partially off the street and onto the curb, an old-fashioned dump truck lurked as inconspicuously as fifteen tons of scratched, scarred metal could. A scuffed-up road sign warning of falling rocks was bolted to the heavy bars that protected the front grille, and 'Avalanche' was spelled out down the side of her bonnet in silver. An Autobot symbol glinted dustily just above her grille.

The femme was out and - somewhat tentatively - exploring. She wanted to see more of the surrounding city, as well as getting accustomed to the native inhabitants a little more, so she'd spent a while navigating the streets and getting used to the meanings of road signs. The knowledge that all of this had apparently developed independently of the galactic community was just weird, and her initial brusqueness was starting to give way to curiosity.

There was only so many times the same unloaded dump truck could circle the town before she began to become conspicuous, though. After a few loops, she'd eventually picked out this little wedge of recreational space to park beside. Stay out of the way, stay inconspicuous, and she could do a little more exploration later.

Though just because she was stuck here for the time being didn't mean she couldn't explore in other ways...

Within her empty cab, a small cylinder of machinery unfolded from its storage place behind the seats. A flicker, and where the machine had been was a woman, stretching as she clambered over the seat to unlatch the door.

The woman was lightly tanned, her skin a pale shade of olive. Straight brown hair settled around her shoulders, her eyes dark enough that it was difficult to distinguish iris from pupil. Her body was hard and toned, her bare arms visibly muscled, and she wore a tight black tank top over soft grey pants. A chunky belt and heavy black boots made up the rest of her ensemble. There was a certain stubbornness to the line of her jaw, to the set of her shoulders.

The cabin door banged shut behind her, latching, and she set off to the entrance to the park. If she was going to get used to being around human structures, she could at least get used to walking around as one.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

See anyone?"

"Nope."

"Hear anyone?"

"No. Are you going to wuss out?"

"No!"

"Then let's go already!"

From behind a white van parked nearby, four boys poked their heads out. They were all young teenagers - gangly things between thirteen and fifteen - wearing an assortment of plaid, muscle shirts and jeans. Various tears, scuffs and dirt stains adorned their shoes and clothes. All of them were some kind of brown-haired save for the oldest, whose hair was a vivid jet-black. He and another boy had piercing blue eyes, both pairs focusing in on a beat-up dump truck with a "Rocks Falling" sign. They should've been in school, no doubt, as it was too early for children their age to have been let out for the day.

But boys will be boys, and these ones found playing hooky more enthralling than History 101. Besides, detention was likely if they made their way back now - the hall monitors at Jasper High had eyes like hawks. Better that they waste away the afternoon doing what they wanted. "No turning back now", as the saying went.

"On my mark," the oldest boy said. Unlike the others, he was far more cautious and wary. He was more experienced with skipping school, and knew he couldn't risk getting cocky. Leaning forward and squinting, his body tensed for the inevitable rush to their target. "On three. One, two...."

"Oh, fuck off with the mark, Mark!" snapped one of the younger boys - the other one with blue eyes in the group - before sprinting out. Mark, as the eldest was evidently called, bugged his eyes out before running after the shorter child. The rest of his little gang was quick to follow, running as fast as they could to the bumper of the large truck. Already the youngest had beat them, pulling off his backpack and rummaging around in it. Mark wasn't amused.

"What the fuck, Bradley!" Mark snapped. "Are you trying to get us caught? Again?"

"Geez Louise, calm down," Bradley quipped. He pulled out a can of spray paint, the color a bright and garish red. He held it out for someone to take, one of the brown-haired boys doing so. "Do you want to spend all day waiting for Officer Mendez to catch up with us? There's no one here, genius. The kiddies can't play on the monkey bars today."

Mark leaned over, catching a glance of that all-too-familiar crimson warning sign. Bradley was right: the sun's scorching heat had made the equipment like touching a hot stove. None of the soccer moms that liked to frequent that sad little patch of playground would be there. Too much of a risk to their little toddlers' hands, of course, and no parent wanted sit out on such a hot day.

Sighing, Mark held out a hand, "Pass me the Bahaman Blue," he muttered, and Bradley did so. The other boys took a neon green and warning-sign yellow each, and walked over to the back of the truck. All four of the children admired it for a moment, eyes roaming up and down as they planned what to do next.

"I think I'll draw a dick," one of the brown-haired boys commented. "Or Dickbutt."

"Ew, gross," said the one other brown-eyed and -haired boy, a little younger than his companion. "You do that every time! Why not that fat version of Mrs. McGrady that made Sierra laugh?"

"Because that's lame and predictable," the older brunette boy said. "This is supposed to be a masterpiece. This truck should be a work of art."

"Yes, because dicks are a work of art," Mark commented, tone dry as the Nevada earth. "Shut up and watch a master, losers."

The two watched as Mark reached up to...whatever the container-part thing of the truck was called. After a couple of shakes of his can, he began to draw a caricature of a man breaking wind and puking at the same time. (Then again, it could've been explosive diarrhea.) A little police hat flew off the cartoon's head; a pair of oversized, saucer-shaped eyes poorly fit its veiny face. "OFFICER SHITTYPANTS" appeared in sloppy letters above and below the doodle. Mark stepped back from his work with pride, grinning.

"Oh yeah. Now that's art."

"It's double lame," the older brunette commented. Still, Bradley was snickering, and he went to add his own touches to Mark's graffiti. While he did that, the other boys began to add random symbols and cuss words over the truck's tires and sides. It wasn't long before Beavis and Butthead, "DAB IF YOU LIKE FORTNITE", and even middle fingers and a Welcome To Jackass slogan appeared on the vehicle. The boys giggled and snickered as they worked, feeling like their graffiti spree could go on forever.

It would've like gone on for another hour, at least, if a loud voice didn't break the silence like glass. "Hey! Knock that shit off!"

"Crap!" yelped the younger of the brunettes. They all turned around to see a short, red-haired woman in navy scrubs jogging toward them with a glare. The boys scattered in four directions, darting away and around the parking lot. The woman came to a stop behind the vandalized truck, head turning left and right to keep track of the little group.

[Avalanche]

Avalanche didn't notice the boys; not at first.

This was something she would rapidly come to regret.

The park had been pretty interesting. She'd spent a little while gazing with mild incomprehension at the children's playgroup equipment, able to see how it would or should work but having a harder time figuring out why. The chute, for example. There was a ladder, to climb up and load things, but... so what? The object slid down the chute. Were they ferrying sand through it? She just didn't get it.

The warning sign on the gate was clear enough, now that she'd gotten a lock on the native language. No one was going to be using any of the equipment today, and she'd just have to come back another time. Instead, she'd wandered off through the small garden, following the stepping stones that were raised above the gravel bed between various oddly shaped plants in different shades of dust-coated green. A little gentle prodding confirmed that they were sharper than they looked, too.

After that, well, she'd found another exit from the park and followed it, wandering down the road side. Vehicles hummed past in a steady stream, and she found watching them from her new, diminutive perspective to be an entirely different experience than driving among them. A lot of them seemed to be hybrid load-transport vehicles with a distinct cab and carrying bed, rather like tiny versions of her new altmode.

She was just trying to figure out some of the more obscure signs on building fronts - what did 'Giggle Springs' mean? - when she suddenly became aware of several small natives running towards her and hunkering down right in front of her front bumper.

...were they hiding? From what? Avalanche's avatar came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, her main chassis sensors focused with confused wariness on the humans clustered in front of her. It almost looked like they were taking out some kind of cylindrical explosives, but that couldn't be right. If the natives were in the habit of carrying grenades, someone would have told her.

She was out, unsupervised, in a populated native settlement alarmingly close to the Omega garrison. If she overreacted and made herself obvious, she could do immense damage to the Autobot cause. Stay still. Be patient. Wait for them to move away-

The distinctive hiss of compressed gas and the spattering of paint against her side made sense, all at once.

She was being defaced.

A street away, her avatar's hands clenched into fists, a look of incredulous outrage on her face. "I'll make you regret you were ever sparked!" she burst out. Spinning on her heel, she took three fast strides before catching herself and forcing herself to walk more slowly.

She, a normal human, couldn't possibly have any idea what was happening to her nonsentient vehicle. If anyone saw her dashing down the road with a face like thunder, they'd be curious. They'd remember. They might ask questions that she was badly equipped to answer.

Walk.

She walked, teeth grinding together behind an unconvincing expression of forced, neural lack of concern.

The hissing of the spray cans was loud in her audials, her plating feeling unnaturally sensitive as she strained to discern what symbols were being scrawled down her flanks. She couldn't tell.

Walk.

Stiff-legged, her hands rammed into her pockets, she headed back into the park. Paint spattered across her tyres, in what she was swiftly beginning to understand were native obscenities. Her brakes clamped down on her wheels harder, having to force herself not to let out an audible growl.

She could have realised she was late for something, couldn't she? Or she was exercising. With a swift run back to her vehicle, where entirely coincidentally she'd be in a position to make the wretched human pests stop.

To the Pit with this.

She broke into a run, head down. The bulk of her chassis loomed over the park fence, smeared with colours and crude drawings that did not belong there. She had no idea what she could acceptably do in human society to discourage the vandals from continuing, but she'd just have to figure it out, wouldn't she?

The bulky truck rocked ever so subtly on its wheels as the urge to move pushed against the iron grip of her own brakes. Bursting into the open, she drew a deep breath to shout something that would scare them off.

Someone else got there first.

"Hey! Knock that shit off!"

The smaller humans scattered. Finally free to express her own displeasure, Avalanche roared, "Get out of here! If I see you again, you'll regret it!"

Turning to behold her own bodywork, her hands clenched tightly at her sides in livid frustration, she exhaled a hard sigh. Solus's sacred spark, the little scum had made a disproportionate amount of mess. How was she going to get this off? If she went back to the garrison in this state, she'd never hear the end of it. Especially from certain mechs that had earned themselves a long-term stay on her personal black list.

Oh, and there was the other human, too.

Avalanche turned, one hand resting against a spray-marked tyre. The woman was roughly her own height, solidly built by human standards, and wearing an outfit not too dissimilar to her own. Now, how should she address her? Lieutenant Adler had been easy enough to talk to, but she was used to Cybertronians.

"...thank you," Avalanche said after a moment, consciously uncurling her fists. Her clenched brakes relaxed a little, her chassis settling imperceptibly. "I wasn't expecting this when I stopped here."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

The boys only hastened at Avalanche's angry yell. The woman who'd raised the alarm moved to run after them, but stopped after one step. Mouth open to shout something, it was quick to close when the stranger saw that giving chase was unwise. The small group was beginning to disappear into the distance, one over a small house's fence. The pair would need at least two other people who were fleet of foot to catch the group.

The woman sighed, turning back to the dump truck. It would be a stretch to say it was covered in graffiti, but where the teens had been able to reach? It was bad. Obviously, gaudily, inappropriately bad. "Shit," the Good Samaritan muttered, a small frown flickering across her face.

She walked over to examine the damage done when another woman came up beside her. The redhead was taken aback for a moment, both by Avalanche's physique and that the truck belonged to her. Both of the redhead's eyebrows went up, her surprise evident.

"Don't worry about thanking me. I've seen these kids around town before - they're a bunch of troublemakers. I'm pretty sure they'll get picked up if I send a call into the truant officer."

The woman gestured at the large vehicle. "She yours?" asked the redhead, leaning back on her heels. "I have to say, I didn't know these were for private purchase. I thought for a moment the town was collecting garbage from the park bins - unless you're off the job right now. You need somewhere to clean it up? I know a place, and some people. "

The redhead leaned back, waiting for an answer. It would give Avalanche time to take stock of the other: a masculine woman her height, downright androgynous from a distance. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, any loose strands kinked and wavy. Her skin, tanned and heavily-freckled, bore several scars both small and large. Ropy, thick muscles sat on a rectangular frame, the woman lacking almost any curves. A pair of stylized sharpshooter's gloves were on each hand, the left stuffed deep into one pocket. Well-worn sneakers were on her feet, stained with the reddish dust and sand of the area. Deep bags sat under each of her gray eyes, and lines of stress and exhaustion made deep chasms on her face. She looked like she could be anywhere from thirty to forty-five.

"It's no trouble, really," the woman added, in case Avalanche didn't want to inconvenience her. "I don't have a shift until five. We have plenty of time until then."

[Avalanche]

Avalanche made no move to chase after the fleeing humans due to one very simple question: what could be possibly do if she caught up with them? Using any kind of physical punishment was right out, and other than yelling at them, all she'd do was escalate a situation that she didn't have the cultural knowledge to solve. Better to scare them off, then begrudgingly set about fixing the mess they'd made.

Although before she could really tackle that, first she had to figure out how to talk to a human that had no idea who or what she was, without giving the game away.

The helpful passerby had a broad, muscled build, something that seemed less common in femmes - in women - according to the footage and cultural material she'd poked through. The scars on her mottled skin were interesting - if impossible to decode - and she seemed to be suffering some degree of exhaustion if Avalanche was interpreting her facial features correctly.

Oh, and she looked confused that Avalanche's avatar would be driving a vehicle like her altmode. Why? Had she made a bad choice of holoform? The last thing she could do was ask, in case it betrayed her fundamental unfamiliarity with native social mores. All she could do was concentrate, pick up what she could, and try not to trip up.

Okay. Kids. Juveniles. So they weren't just short, they were incompletely matured. They were known for causing trouble. Minor law breaking? What was a truant officer? The half-understood term was coming up with associations of being absent without ordered leave, but from where, or what?

"She's mine," confirmed Avalanche. In ways you couldn't imagine. She turned, casting an assessing gaze over the length of her altmode. It hadn't been long since she'd landed on the planet, and in some ways, she was still getting used to her restructured form. She'd been a bridge layer for a good while, with a wider, lower chassis, but this world wasn't Canyon, and the road network made that kind of temporary infrastructure unnecessary. A heavy-transport form suited her just fine.

"Not owned by anyone else. I picked her up in Chicago." Literally true; the name of the city she'd crashed into from the space bridge was one of the few cities she could think of off the top of her head. "Contracted to do some private construction work. I'm not on the job right now, just getting used to the city." Garbage collection? I think not. "Wasn't expecting this as a welcome."

Avalanche sighed deeply, then looked over at the unknown woman again. On the one hand, the longer they talked, the more likely she was to slip up. On the other hand, she did need to clean up this mess, and what better practice than this could she ask for in interacting with native sentients that weren't in on the big secret?

"It's no trouble, really. I don't have a shift until five. We have plenty of time until then."

Avalanche visibly made up her mind, nodding. "Alright, I'd appreciate the help. If there's somewhere I can get this mess hosed off, that'd be great." She paused briefly. The idea of inviting a human into her cab felt weird, but how else were they going to get to wherever she had in mind? "Hop in the passenger side, and you can guide me. Oh, and uh, if you can make a report to the truant officer, that'd be great."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"Hop in the passenger side, and you can guide me. Oh, and uh, if you can make a report to the truant officer, that'd be great."

"Sure," the woman said. She walked over to the passenger door, her loose hand swinging in a slight back-and-forth with each step. Her posture tightened up a little as she climbed up to the free seat, something in her body language perking up. "You might want to get her wheels checked, though. Brakes, too. I noticed she seemed to sink a little while we were talking."

If Avalanche was hoping to be "imperceptible", it didn't seem to work. Not with this human, at least, though her notice of the truck's posture could've been a fluke. The woman opened the truck door gently, settling into the seat before closing it with firm care. Her eyes glanced around the interior with slow, measured observation.

"Hm. You keep it well," commented the woman once Avalanche entered her vehicle. "Not a speck of dirt to be seen. You wouldn't happen to be military or ex-law enforcement, would you? You strike me as that type. You certainly have the cleanliness for it." Her tone had a hint of approval, or fondness even - it seemed she had a soft spot for such a neat, organized space. Her pocketed hand rummaged around in her left pocket as she waited for an answer. Her gaze went from the spotless insides of the truck to its muscle-bound driver.

"You mind if I smoke?" The woman paused in searching for whatever it was that lay in her pocket. Her expression was neutral, calm, unsuspicious - but a bit on the alert side. Something in her body was ready to move, but not if she was fearful or on edge. It was an underlying layer of caution that followed being around the unfamiliar. The woman also leaned a little toward her door, which was the closest way out.

[Avalanche]

Observant.

While Avalanche didn't have a complete handle on what humans would or wouldn't notice, the shift in her frame hadn't been that obvious. To another Cybertronian, they'd be expected to pick up that kind of chassis language, but for this woman to notice it... well, she'd have to be careful not to do anything inexplicable.

Strolling around the front of her altmode, a brief expression of frustrated dismay crossed her face as her hands trailed across graffiti smeared across her name where it glittered down the side of her bonnet. Sighing again, she opened the driver's door - careful to only open the door with her avatar's hand and not just swing it open herself - then climbed into her cab and shut the door.

She paused for a moment, before remembering that for real vehicles of this type, they started with a key. She manifested one in the pocket of her avatar, just in time to pull it out and slide it into the slot in the ignition. With a distinct sense of relief she started her engine, a low rumble beneath and in front of them, and the fan mounted on the dashboard began blowing cooler air.

"Not a speck of dirt to be seen. You wouldn't happen to be military or ex-law enforcement, would you? You strike me as that type. You certainly have the cleanliness for it.

Very observant.

"I'll get the brake lines checked out. And yeah, you got me." Outright denial would be suspicious, but she wasn't nearly familiar enough with this world's conflicts to actively talk about them as if she'd been present. Best to be vague. "I've spent some time with the military."

Avalanche glanced over at the woman beside her. She seemed comfortable enough, no obvious suspicion yet. There was a hint of coiled readiness to dive out of the passenger door, but that was a sensible precaution when entering a foreign vehicle with an unknown quantity. Nodding approvingly, her avatar grabbed the gear lever and pushed it into place, then slowly pulled away from the curb. Rounding the corner, she headed down towards the main road, merging into traffic.

It was embarrassing, frustrating too, and her senses snapped onto high alert as she scoured her surroundings for any sign of Cybertronian signals. The last thing she wanted was to be seen like this; it was bad enough that the natives could see all the crude obscenity scrawled down her hull. Unpractised at controlling an avatar that was as expressive as humans were, the emotion showed clearly on her face.

"You mind if I smoke?"

Avalanche blinked once. Humans gave off smoke? Surely she should have noticed that in her skim research on the natives. It took a second for her to register that the woman was digging in her pocket, and the concept clicked home. Right, right. Some kind of burning vaporiser. She'd known soldiers that had habits like that.

"Not in my cab," she said succinctly. The last thing she wanted was her interior smelling of whatever humans inhaled for recreation. Looking around, still fairly unfamiliar with Jasper, she added, "Alright. Which way do I go from here?"

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"Not in my cab," Avalanche said. Her passenger stopped rummaging and sat back up. Her left hand remained where it sat snug in her pocket, the right and its arm resting on the edge of the woman's door.

"Alright. Which way do I go from here?"

"It's on the west edge of town, near the sparser parts," the woman explained. "You'll see a large pavilion with a yellow sign that has 'Gas' on it. Just head south until you reach the main road, take a right, and follow the street. I'll let you know where we turn off."

As Avalanche drove, people stared. It was inevitable, given the state of the construction femme's paint job. Some stopped to stare, while others chuckled and whipped out their phones for a photo. Somewhere on Instagram or Tiktok, a cheeky Jasperian uploaded themselves fighting back laughter. Hopefully Omega's residents would never stumble across this video. Who knew if Avalanche would hear the end of it if they did.

There were a few ugly stares, too. It became clear in no time that Avalanche's graffiti was unacceptable. One woman poked her head out of her Prius to yell, "Get out of Jasper, you fucking bitch!" before flooring the gas. The scrub-wearing woman frowned as the stranger's car rocketed away, but said nothing. In fact, she'd been quiet the entire ride so far, eyes focused on the buildings moving past.

If Avalanche were to look over again, she might notice a new detail about her passenger. A new sound, too, as the woman reached to her neck and brushed some hair out of her collar. Something metallic tinkled under the short-sleeved, dark blue shirt of her workwear. A thin black cord was wrapped around her neck, pulled up into sight at the back by the motion of her fingers.

[Avalanche]

Avalanche nodded along to the human's directions, turning the wheel as she approached an intersection to ease around to a southerly direction. Traffic was growing thicker, especially as she approached the main through road, and her impromptu redecoration was definitely drawing looks.

The small devices that passersby were holding up - well, she didn't know what their exact capabilities were, but the way they tracked her with them was a dead giveaway of some kind of image/video capturing facility. Her hands slowly tightened on the steering wheel as the stares grew more intense and increasingly unfriendly, her jaw clenching. A hard tension suffused her chassis, stiffening her suspension, and the cab jolted as they went over a poorly filled in channel across the road.

The shout from the woman in a small vehicle was very nearly the last straw. Avalanche might not have a full grasp of what 'racist' meant, but the overall tone was clear enough.

A low, audible growl escaped her lips, her jaw set. The heel of her hand slammed against the centre of the steering wheel, giving her an excuse to release an aggravated blast of her horn at the fleeing compact. Her head turned towards Cassandra, infuriated frustration writ plainly across her face, dark eyes narrow.

"They know this was sprayed onto my truck without my consent, so why are these idiots acting like I want it there? For the sake of-" Solus's spark. Nope, can't say that. "I want this mess gone, right now."

The human was fiddling with something around her neck; a cord with something metallic strung on it, out of sight under the shirt. Avalanche's gaze settled on it briefly, but her face showed no recognition whatsoever; while a member of the American military would have known the dog tags for what they were, she plainly wasn't familiar.

Turning off the main road at Cassandra's direction, she scoured the road ahead for a yellow sign. There. Pulling off the road and onto the broad forecourt, she really couldn't get this over fast enough.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

" ... I want this mess gone, right now."

"We're almost there," the woman reassured her, arm resting again on the edge of the door. When the horn had blared, the flinch she made had been as imperceptible as Avalanche's brakes. Despite this, she was nonplussed. "Take the next turn after this row of buildings and head north. You can't miss it."

Silence fell over them again. It wasn't until they reached the massive parking lot of Jasper Gas - a small gas station with a store, auto-parts dealer/garage, and several pumps under a standing shelter - that she made a sound. The woman leaned up, the tags under her shirt jingling as she did, and opened her door as it came to a stop. Her free hand unclicked her seatbelt.

"I'm going to pop in and get something for the paint at the shop over there," the woman said, pointing at the garage. "They have a certain solution for cases like this. I shouldn't be more than a couple of minutes, depending on the line. The gas is self-serve if you need it, and there's a little bin full of cleaner if you want to do your windows."

The edge of her mouth quirked up a little. "At least the little artists didn't get them, right?" With that, she hopped from the seat onto the pavement, gracefully landing a pace in front of the step down. Quick, long strides took her across the lot and to the store, where she disappeared to do her shopping. She hadn't mentioned for Avalanche to stay put, so the femme was free to look around or do as she pleased....

And people were staring at the truck again, either from the sidewalk, the gas pumps, or the stores. Perhaps this was incentive for Avalanche's holotar to get out of sight and their gawking?

[Avalanche]

Perhaps Avalanche would have noticed the flinch - as imperceptible as it was, the woman was entirely within her cab - had her attention not been focused on the enraging spectacle of people pointing at her, judging her, laughing at her, for something that was none of her doing. The sensation of being condemned and sneered at was one she was all too familiar with from certain types of her own kind, and no matter how different the circumstance, it still cut down to the bare struts of her personality.

She pulled into the broad parking lot, seething, and braked to a stop with a little more vigour than was technically required. Something jingled under the human's shirt, again drawing a little glance from Avalanche's avatar.

"Thanks again. Appreciate it," Avalanche acknowledged, nodding as Cassandra got out. If the materials for stripping the vandalism off her hull had to be paid for, well... Avalanche certainly didn't have any human currency. Drat. Now she was going to have to figure out how to repay the woman later on.

With a frustrated sigh, Avalanche leant over her steering wheel, in a half-hearted effort to sink out of the immediate sight of the stares she felt from all sides. Not that hiding her avatar would do a thing for the way her sensors registered the gazes; at least when they were aimed at the holographic human form, it wasn't quite at her.

Reaching down, she experimentally prodded at the buttons of the radio communications unit set into her dash. There was one unit for two-way communications, but another that seemed entirely passive and set to receive only.

Well, she didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.

A knob clicked as she turned it. All of a sudden, a burst of music and human voices filled her cab, her avatar jerking back in surprise that caused her brake lights to briefly flicker red. Grimacing, glad she'd not tried that when her passenger was there to see it, she tried a few other buttons, feeling the frequencies the unit was attuned to shifting in response.

...okay. I think I get this, now.

Straightening up, she stopped using her avatar to prod the controls, and simply began modifying them directly. Dials turned by themselves, buttons clicked in and out, a brief audio kaleidoscope ringing through her cabin before she settled on a signal that was mostly instrumental. Though what kind of instruments, she couldn't have said.

That felt like enough hiding in her own chassis. With another sigh, she pushed the driver's door open and let herself down to the ground, boots crunching on the gravel. The local fuel wouldn't help her and she didn't have currency for it anyway, but she could at least try the cleaner. Taking a disposable cloth from the cleaning dispenser, she propped herself on the cabin step and began cleaning her windshield of the dust that had begun to accumulate there.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

The woman was gone for ten minutes. Trucks and a few cars streamed in and out of the parking lot, a busy river of metal, fumes, and activity. People were walking, talking, standing, staring - whatever it was humans did, it filled the area. Lunch was over, and the after-work/school rush hadn't begun yet, but the place was still active. There were enough large haulers to suggest Jasper Gas was a common rest stop, hence the busy atmosphere.

At least no one was yelling at Avalanche now, though a few people honked at her.

When the woman in scrubs walked back out, her arms were full. Her left hand had a worn, stained, gray bucket in it, the other clutching supplies to her chest. Among them were a package of clean white cloths made for cleaning cars; a black-topped white spray bottle, the words MOTSENBOCKER'S LIFT OFF visible on a dark label; and a small sample can of black paint, not dissimilar in shade from Avalanche's base color. She went around to the side of the auto-parts store, stopping at an open tap and placing her goods on the ground. The bucket began to fill, though the stream was small and the process slow. A group of college-aged travelers stopped and laughed loud at Avalanche as she worked, one yelling, "Nice paint job!" as he took out a flip phone. The woman noticed this, getting to her feet and turning off the tap, the bucket being only a third full.

"Hey! Fuck off!" the woman yelled, striding over to the car. The college group looked at her, laughed again, and drove off. There was the slight sound of a camera shutter before they did, and the woman frowned. She muttered something under her breath before walking over to where Avalanche stood.

"Sorry about the wait. The store's full of truckers that've pulled over for some lunch and maintenance. I think there's some late deliveries for the bigger places in Vegas today. Probably something for the casinos, or the car lots." She put the bucket down, the package of cloths placed beside it, and held out the spray bottle for Avalanche to see.

"It's called Lift-Off," the woman explained. "We spray this on and wait a minute, then wipe it away. First, we'll test on a patch of your truck no one will notice to make sure it doesn't lift your paint off. Do you mind pulling into the shade off to the side, over to the left of the convenience store? I know there are a lot of people there because of the pumps, but you can't use this in direct sunlight."

[Avalanche]

Every honk made Avalanche grit her teeth all over again, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the humans as they drove past. She had no idea what the appropriate human response was to this kind of treatment, but given the carefree abandon with which they were taunting her, they didn't seem to expect any kind of consequences.

"I hate this," she muttered to herself, her brakes gripping hard in tense frustration.

Another taunt rang out from behind her, and the screen wipe crumpled into a ball in her hand. While her chassis language was opaque to humans, the way her avatar's toned muscles locked into hard, clenched immobility bespoke a woman that was incredibly displeased with the situation. But she couldn't, couldn't, cause any more of a fuss than she already was.

"Hey! Fuck off!"

The helpful woman was back, and offering a handy guide to how natives dealt with such situations. Fuck off. Right. That was something to keep in mind for later.

She had to have some kind of name, didn't she? Didn't humans offer names? ...if they did, she was going to have to offer her 'human name'. There'd been plenty in the briefing material on the native culture, but right at that moment, she couldn't think of a single one.

Focusing on the cleaning supplies, Avalanche nodded along to the woman's explanation, a flash of visible relief on her face at the prospect of ending the whole embarrassing, humiliating episode.

Laura? Lieutenant Adler was called Laura. That was a human name.

"Alright, that sounds great. Look. I appreciate you helping me out like this. Not sure why you'd go that far out of your way for a stranger, but thanks."

It'd be weird if she had to go around calling herself Laura in front of Laura, though.

Circling around her cab, Avalanche climbed back into the driving seat and shut the door. The music grew quieter as she distractedly turned it down, starting her engine with a low rumble and rolling steadily across the forecourt into the shade.

Laurann? Laurav? Alderis?

The engine grumbled into silence as she locked her brakes, belatedly remembering to flash her brake lights as she did so. The solvent seemed unlikely to strip off her chassis paint, but she had to act as though it might, and to be fair, you never knew for sure.

Aldlau?

"Okay, let's try it on the chassis under here. Try some on the tyre, too."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"Alright, that sounds great. Look. I appreciate you helping me out like this. Not sure why you'd go that far out of your way for a stranger, but thanks."

The woman shrugged and said nothing. She too circled around, hopping back into the cab with supplies in hand. Setting them at her feet, she kept her seatbelt unbuckled and one hand on the passenger door. As soon as they were parked, she was out again, jumping down before reaching back in to grab what she needed. Both hands were free and out of her pockets now, allowing Avalanche to see the two-pronged scar on her left. Raised, red and angry-looking, it sat stark against the square of bare skin on her glove's back.

At Avalanche's direction, the woman knelt, removed the cap of the Lift-Off, and sprayed at a line of neon green on a tire. While that dripped down and ate away at the graffiti, she bit down on the edge of the cloths' package. Jerking her head as if the plastic were tough meat, she tore open a hole and reached in with her scarred hand. With some difficulty - the fingers seemed a bit stiff, for a moment - she grabbed a cloth and yanked it out. One minute and a quick couple of swipes later, most of the mark was gone. The woman was quick to repeat the motion on a small, inappropriate scribble of red on the body above the tire. None of Avalanche's proper paint came off.

"I think that bodes well," the woman said. She stood up and circled around, spraying the white Jackass slogan that marred the driver door. Once that was done, she worked clockwise around the vehicle in firm, careful movements. She had the grace and speed of someone used to this work, and her scan of the vehicle for graffiti was meticulous. In slow but sure time, the ugly, haphazard rainbow of marks that had defaced the truck began to vanish.

[Avalanche]

Avalanche's glance was a curious one. Odd that the woman didn't give any reply at all, or any explanation as to why she was helping out. If casual conversation was a road, there was a definite pothole there, one that jarred slightly.

Even with her avatar on the far side of her chassis, still getting out of the door, the vivid scar on Cassandra's hand caught her attention. Even without knowing much about human biology, the way it puckered and tugged at the skin reminded her of a nasty mesh wound. It looked fresh. Perhaps there was a reason that the human seemed prepared at all times to bail out of the unfamiliar situation. But then, why get involved? She was missing something, Avalanche was sure.

Circling to stand beside the woman, Avalanche watched her rip the packet of cloths open, then reached out to take one for herself as the first sprays of the cleaning solvent landed on her hull. It felt... tingly, a sensation that could have given her a little shiver if she hadn't been carefully keeping her altmode absolutely still.

The first smears of paint came off under the firm pressure of Cassandra's cleaning cloth. Avalanche breathed a sigh of relief, nodding.

"Yeah, that looks good. Doesn't seem like it's going to mess up my paint; you picked a winner. Had to do this before?"

Watching Cassandra set about spraying and rubbing off the marks, Avalanche followed behind her, letting the human do the work of spraying while she helped scrub the ugly smears of paint away once the caustic chemicals had taken effect. It was honestly a little ticklish in places, and Avalanche's shoulders tensed now and then as she suppressed incongruous giggles that'd be impossible to explain.

Trying not to betray herself with chassis language - the woman had proven she was keen-eyed enough to notice that sort of thing - Avalanche chose to distract herself by asking, "What happened to your hand? If I can ask."