[ti]Ep 3[/ti]An Itch to Scratch. [Windshield and Pipette]

[Pipette]

Week 4, Day 2, Early Afternoon.


Imagine if you will the laboratory of a chemist, deep underground, with every wall, ceiling and floor hewn from rock, and of the six rocky walls, only the floor was smooth. Mismatched fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, while the four walls were largely invisible due to the racks and cupboards obscuring them.

The door was to the right of the first wall, currently closed but unlocked. The same wall held floor to ceiling cupboards, and a ladder on a track to reach those higher spaces. The corner opposite the doorway contained a glass fronted vapor extraction cupboard for those nasty reactions that produced toxic fumes. Those vapors were then filtered through rock and an underground stream to a degree that any traces essentially disappeared from detection.

The two walls that met at that corner held workbenches with additional cupboards underneath. On the workbenches was a tangle of equipment currently in use, bubbling, percolating, distilling, evaporating and other interesting things that could be achieved by an industrious chemist.

That particular chemist stood nearly five and a half meters tall, and yet was dwarfed by the seemingly cavernous room. The majority of the equipment was of human manufacture, stolen, and dwarfed by the chemist using them. She was currently adding very precise measured drops of some blue liquid into a clear liquid with a pipette.

[Windshield]

The afternoon following Windshield's arrival was rather uneventful. He had been set up with all the needed information and debriefs had been conducted already, which meant that, at least for a little while, the rest of today was all about and for him. Now, Windshield wasn't the most modest Cybertronian. Frankly, he had a problem or two. One of them became especially prevalent today.

Say what you want about the Autobots, but at least they provided him with some vague approximation of a circuit booster. It didn't hit the spot quite right, but he put up with it for a few months because the mission was more important to him than his own indulgences. Fortunately, the privacy of a lonely chemist wasn't quite as important to him, nor the sanctity of her workplace. He snooped around the place late at night, slipping past the Vehicons just to see what was around. Perhaps, Pipette would've found an odd ampule or two rearranged this morning.

Frankly, the inventory was a bit unimpressive and well outside of Windshield's limit grasp on chemistry. It was clear to him now that if he wanted some genuine high, he'd most definitely need to speak with the source. Perhaps their resident chemist could be blackmailed, manipulated, or befriended for some extra dosage. Favors for favors and all. It was with this mindset that he decided to—very quietly—open her door while she was invested in some sort of procedure.

Making sure to slip by unnoticed, Windshield stayed near a shaded corner created by the uneven walls, keeping tabs on his soon-to-be-new-best-friend while she did her job. He just wanted to see where things were going, test the waters so to speak before he approached her for a piece of his mind.

Of course, perhaps she was more attentive than he gave her credit for and already knew that she wasn't alone in her room, but Windshield counted on his skills being up to the challenge of sneaking up on an unsuspecting teammate. It took far more than squeezing through a door and taking a few light steps to fool the Autobots, after all. Windshield had it in him.

[Pipette]

Pipette's attention was entirely consumed in the exercise of counting the exact number of drops she added. But this focus did not stop her from noting the change in the reflections on the glassware that held her attention. Silicate glass, such a simple yet wonderful tool, and so versatile. She certainly hadn't heard the intruder, but she did effectively see that she had uninvited company. They were however keeping out of the way and not disturbing her count so with only a slight pause, she finished. There was no obvious change to the solution in front of her, but she knew precisely that it currently sat in nigh perfect equilibrium waiting for a catalyst to propel the dormant yet mathematically certain reaction.

Underneath the googles and filtration mask she wore, a sly predatory grin took hold as the chemist realized opportunity had come knocking. The pipette that Pipette held was placed aside in an empty vessel which in turn was placed almost at arm's reach out of the way on the bench. The concoction she had created was very precisely and delicately moved away from the edge of the bench as well, and importantly, out of the way of clumsy hands.

Only then did she turn to face her guest.

"Excellent, you must be my volunteer. I will need your full designation and precise mass so I can administer an exact dosage." As before, her expression was entirely hidden, and her voice was as cold and sterile as the laboratory. The way she steepled her fingers however was indicative of something far from coldly robotic.

[Windshield]

How quickly the tides turn.

Windshield wanted to approach the scientist and yet now he found himself in the position of the approached, much to his chagrin. Still, he graced her with a curious, exploratory look as her masked face echoed those still words, not rude but puzzled. How ever did she notice him? A question for later, perhaps.

As for now... He stepped out of the shadow and tilted his head to the right, then to the left, carefully inspecting the chemist's mysterious form. Her design was quite unorthodox and there was something strangely familiar about the way she carried herself.

His optics narrowed and his lips parted into a sharp, shiny grin.

"Volunteer?" He spoke at once, the amusement in his tone palpable. "I suppose you could put it that way, but really, I intend to be more of a customer."

A short pause followed. He hoped this wasn't the first time Pipette was approached for the reasons his words inherently implied and gave her a bit of time to put two-and-two together. Put that big processor of yours to work, Mrs. Chemist.

"The name's Windshield," the mech added, seeing as she asked for his designation. It would be impolite not to share it. At the same time, he dipped his head, hand on chest, and performed an elegant bow. What a charmer.

[Pipette]

Pipette considered the mech who stepped more into the open of the laboratory. In certain attributes, he seemed similar to Starkrieger, the dark form, not unlike hers, but confident, and the charismatic tone of voice. Whether this was good or bad was yet to be quantified. Her attempt at a joke didn't entirely miss the mark it seemed, but she thought, there was more experimentation to be conducted as circumstances provided.

"A customer then? Fascinating. What specifically do you desire to barter for, Windshield?" Her body language gave away nothing, within her lab surrounded by volatile, dangerous chemicals in sometimes quite delicate vessels, she refrained from superfluous motion. Barter or trade? They were much the same. Money hardly functioned within the small community of Decepticons. As to what her creative skills could offer, that mostly came down to available resources, but nearly every option would be thoughtfully considered.

[Windshield]

"Oh, I think you know what I mean," he replied casually, "I'm sure you've heard about boosters before...and if you haven't, how in blazes are you a Decepticon chemist?"

Honestly, that question was probably better left unanswered. Many Decepticons did not exactly have a license or a formal education in their chosen field. Windshield certainly did not graduate Nova Point Academy in Computer Science, so he wouldn't hold it against Pipette if it turned out she wasn't familiar with the drug.

Still, he needed to gauge her reaction to figure out just how familiar she was with the subject. If she did not know what they were or much less how to make them, he could simply turn around and go bother somebody else. If she knew what they were and how to make them, but wasn't familiar with just how much they were worth to somebody addicted to the stuff, well, he'd need to come up with a way to  scam here. That could be a lot of effort.

...But if she DID know how much they were worth to a Con like Windshield, this would turn into one interesting afternoon. Perhaps she was the betting type? Maybe he could drink her under a table for it? Who knew? Until she responded, nothing was so certain.

Though, that did not stop Windshield from these and million other theories to run through his brain in the few seconds before she did.

[Pipette]

"No, I don't know what you mean." Her voice while cold before, now had heat. "I don't usually deal with such...imprecise terminology...as boosters." The implied insult was annoying, it provided nothing towards a transactional purpose, nor any form of social lubrication.

"However, I presume from your tone, you refer to personal recreational experimentation. In which case..." She then lifted her right hand, fingers curled in except for her fore finger which simply started the count. Most who came to her prior to her foray among the stars tended to have utilitarian or weaponized aims. But soldiers who needed something to fuel their courage were not uncommon.

"I have fuel boosters, Nitro-octane to start with. Electric pathway ohm omiters like delta infused gold iridium amalgam. Neural gliders are a more interesting challenge." She waved her right hand about her lab. "Very little is impossible if desire is great enough. Would you like to be more precise in your requirements?" She tilted her head, her field a mix of curiosity and welcome.

And there of course was the balance of the equation, how much did this Windshield desire what she likely could provide, and what could he pay?

[Windshield]

It took an awkward little bit for Pipette to make the correct assumption, but that did little to deter Windshield from his present course of action. As soon as she arrived at it, however, he let out a simple tsk-tsk, and pointedly exaggerated a pair of finger guns in his directions, shoulders slightly aloft in a confident fashion.

"There you go! That's the right answer," he sneered, "I knew you'd figure it out."

She began to list his options. None of which sounded quite appealing. By the time iridium amalgams were mentioned, Windshield had already crossed his arms and began to pace from left to right, throwing his head back towards the ceiling, like he was genuinely thinking.

"More precise? Let's see, let's see..."

The pacing intensified for a short moment before he spun on the back of his heel with a bright smile.

"Ah yes!" He exclaimed, chipper like a scraplet in a cemetery, "Syk! I haven't had that in ages. They had just the perfect blend in G1. I mean, yeesh, the scenery sucked lugnuts, but the stuff was pretty decent."

That sounded a lot like oversharing, but it was anything but.

Windshield's words carried a threatful implication only a clever mind could discern. The fact that he would admit to his criminal past carried twofold meaning. Firstly, he wanted to make sure that the scientist understood the full extent of dealing with him, now that she seemed open to the idea. You don't just back out of a deal with somebody who survived a Garrus ward. It already had some unpleasant connotations.

More importantly, however, it meant that Windshield had done something to end up in such a place before he was a Decepticon. In other words, it was a threat of sorts. Not an obvious one, nor one Pipette could even begin to pretend was obvious or intentional—but one veiled so well within his words that it could be nothing but the truth.

But he did not give her much time to ponder such things and continued in a more even, professional tone: "Now, what would you want in return?"

The question was simple—and that was precisely what Windshield counted on. This was where he could finally get the measure of Pipette's intellect, social skills, ambitiousness, and just how much this little deviation from the rules mattered to her. Naturally, if she was any smart, she would try to skew the deal in her favor. Windshield would not fault her for it. Asking for narcotics was no mean request.

No honor among thieves, as the humans say.

[Pipette]

"Syk...." Pipette specifically requested precision, not some idiotic nickname. She thought quickly, attempting to navigate this word game. "I will assume you refer to cyclo-ketafiend hydroxy tetracesium with a delta 7 infusion. Subjective properties when injected into a cybertronians fuel system include but are not limited to feeling of euphoria, feelings of contentment, elevated reflexes, and positive lux sensitivity." And was highly addictive. She left this last part unsaid as the implications were processed. Windshield was an addict she guessed, a tool to his own contaminated desires. She did wonder how he sated his needs previously, as she was quite aware of the rarity of psycho active narcotics. She had no moral opinion one way or another on the use of recreational drugs, merely on the people who were controlled by them.

"Difficult, you have presented an interesting challenge. Just a moment." Pipette went to the computer on her bench and brought up an inventory of her available stores. Mentally, she processed the math before turning to stare Windshield up and down to gauge his mass.

"I believe I have enough cesium for three, possibly four doses, though that does depend on your Beta neural net filters. I can have these ready in....48...72...Three earth days! As to what I want in return, that is simple, one hundred metric kilograms of pure cesium, or equivalent in ore to refine into such quantity." Pipette was a chemist and quite happily so, all she ever wanted was resources for her laboratory. That was what made her happy in a dependable way. In time, Windshield might even become a toll for her if his demand was fueled by her supply, a potentially welcome arrangement.

"Greater quantities of cesium will net greater quantities of Syk in return."