[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Drop the beat, not the band [ Closed | Butch ]

[Jazz]

Timeline: Week 1 Day 3
Immediately after I wanna know the answers

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Jazz had retired into his personal quarters after the run-in with Prowl, needing the time away after that whole... whatever one would call it. He'd never figure he would question so much, let alone have anything thrown into his face by a mech that he had worked with countless times before, but here he was- left to recover silently to himself as he usually did. His old comrad could have worded things far differently than he had though some part of him felt that Prowl really wanted to drive home just how he had been feeling about him ditching out. 

The other mech was also a terrible liar. The run-in with Knock Out hadn't been as easily brushed off as Prowl was indicating so that was irritating.

Everything was just that: Irritating. 

So was the very high pieced screech from the neck of his electro-bass, the half-built instrument letting Jazz know that it did not like the tune that he was playing on it. He'd been needing to finish building it, but for the time being, a new button was in order. Maybe they had something in the rec-room that he could take apart and use. Putting the makeshift instrument down, he stood with a few hisses of hydrolics and shifting metal, gave a rather half assed stretch to ease things back into postion after being in the same one so long, then picked up the neck piece again and made his way out of the room towards the said location. 

Instinctively he moved silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself, especially when he entered the rec area without so much as a scan to make sure he was alone. The kids should have been at schoool, and any other mechs would have been easily noticed, so there was no need to think he wasn't. Rummage around he did, trying to see if anything would even match up with what he needed.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

There was someone else in the rec room, against a far wall. She leaned up against the rough-hewn rock of the room, one foot propped up on the stone, the other bracing her position. In one hand with a sharpshooter's glove was a phone, a pair of black headphones reaching from the device to the redhead's ears. Her freckled head dipped and nodded along to a beat, her other hand dangling at her side with a lit cigarette between two fingers. On that hand was another sharpshooter's glove, and a large, trident-shaped scar that could somewhat be seen in a cut-out patch on the top. Whatever was playing on her phone, it had her attention as Jazz quietly crept in.

It was only when the woman looked up that she startled herself, eyes wide at the black-blue-white mech that appeared several feet away. She had neither heard nor felt his footsteps, one of which she usually sensed if an Autobot came her way. She tapped her phone's screen with the cigarette-holding hand, pausing her music and pulling her headphones out. Watching for several moments, she finally approached the mech with a hesitant and soft step, not making much noise herself.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked Jazz, still holding up her phone. She rolled her cigarette between the two fingers she held it in and her thumb.

[Jazz]

'Not much noise' wasn't something that escaped the fine tune of Jazz's audials. The mech turned his head slightly to the direction of the sound, indicating he was aware of her presence before she had even spoke. The feline-esque receptors didn't move themselves, but with them angled in such a way with the look on his face was reflective of the curiosity he had for this unfamiliar human. Considering the company, perhaps 'Earthling' would have been far more approperiate.

His visor scanned her, taking note of her appearance as he stored it in his datafiles for later. A question had been presented and far too much time had passed between them which threatened to be considered rude on his part.

"Just slowly rebuildin' an old friend of mine. Figured I'd see if I could find somethin' that'd work as a makeshift button, but ain't nothin' here from what I can tell." The said buttons on the neck of the instrument were just large enough to fit under the tips of his digits with very specific dimensions so they didn't get in the way of the other ones. He went to place the piece of the neck down on the couch, and while the 'piece' looked like it was small in Jazz's hand, it stretched beyond both armrests of the full-sized object.

"She ain't too happy with me at the moment."

Jazz rolled his shoulders some and turned to fully face the human then went down into a squat, both forearms on his knees as his servos hung between them.

"Ya must be the newcomer they were goin' on'bout a bit ago. Jazz's the name, doin' it with style is the game."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

The human peered at the piece with curiosity, noting the resemblance of it to a guitar. Her hesitance melted away, and she inched closer to get a better look. When Jazz squatted to get a better look at the woman, she side-stepped and gave him some space, still looking up at him despite his reduction in height. She wasn't a tall thing, maybe about 5'4" at most.

"A pleasure to meet you, Jazz," said the woman. "My name's Cassandra. Cassandra Cassidy. Most people call me 'Butch', so you can call me that, too." She took a drag of her cigarette and breathed it out to the side, away from Jazz's face. Her fingertips were stained with tobacco, body marked with faint scars and freckles of all kinds. Her long, red hair was tied up in a bun, and she wore a blue jean jacket over a white halter-top. A pair of wrinkled cargo pants in olive green were marked with dirt on the knees and a wet edge on the ends. She smelled of her cigarette and cleaner, as well as something fouler, fainter, more organic. It wasn't as noticeable as the cigarette scent, though.

"What kind of button do you need?" Butch asked. "I could help you look around for something. I'm on break at the moment." If Jazz looked up, he might see an empty bucket and a mop in the corner Butch had been standing in, attached to a janitorial cart. There was a wet floor sign near the human section of the rec room, where a freshly-mopped floor glistened in the harsh electric lights.

[Jazz]

"Butch, then."

Some of their kind having the standard senses, whereas many of them had specialized sensory packages unique or even rare. Jazz's electric and radio wave transmission sensories were fine tuned to a point where he had some special tweeks others did not. Scent was one of those strange things, with some having it, others not, and even more just trying to distinguish things. Jazz's sensors were focused on the human before him, the scent that lingered around her something he was not unfamiliar with. There were things that Jazz remembered fondly, and far more things that he remembered in far less so. The smoke that Cassandra- Butch- blew out were one of the latter. He didn't have the optics to give away his poker face in regards to it, but he did visibly lean away and restood as not to draw attention to it.

"It's less about the kind, and the... specifications, but also more than that. I've been fabricatin' instruments for as long as I have been able to move my digits, so it's kind of a feel thing if that makes any kinda sense. I guess the best way to describe it is that you can order a shirt online cause it looks good, but when ya get it, it just doesn't feel right."

Best he could come up with.

"Thanks for the offer, but it's just gonna have to be one of those things I hunt'round for myself." Plus it gave Jazz some time to focus on something other than the annoying thoughts on his processor. His attention darted elsewhere, thought didn't expect that this previously unexplored room would really provide him with what he needed.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"You make instruments?" Butch asked. Her brow furrowed with interest. "What kind of instruments?"

The mech may have had other thoughts on his processor, but Butch's were now wholly on his bass. She stepped forward more, leaning to look better at the neck of the guitar-equivalent. It had buttons all along its length, and was made piecemeal out of various parts. Some of them Butch recognized, and some of them she didn't. She took another drag, blowing smoke out through her nose and letting it curl up over her face.

Butch was tempted to ask more questions, but then she saw Jazz's attention was elsewhere. Not wanting to disturb him, she walked back over to the human area instead, grabbing something off the counter of its small kitchenette. It was a small whiteboard, with a list area scribbled on it for the wants and needs of the base. The woman put it on the refrigerator in the corner of the kitchenette, then took another puff of her cigarette. She began to putter around the coffee machine, grabbing a bag of grounds from the cupboard and a strainer to put into the device.

If Jazz wanted to speak or do something, he was free to do so. That included answering the human's question, if he felt like talking. Otherwise, Butch was going to make coffee for the base's adults.

[Jazz]

"What kind? Uh." Jazz thought about it for a moment. He'd never actually taken the time to think just what he'd made, since going way back prior to the war wasn't something he did very often. At least, not before...

"I've made everythin' from percussions to aerophones, harps, so on and so forth. Can't really remember all of 'em. Right now I'm workin' on my old gal here." Jazz turned his head enough to gesture to the neck on the couch. "That there is a portion of the neck to what's called an Aghartan electro-bass. It's similiar to your Earth-based string instruments, but right now she's only workin' at a fraction of her glory. She ain't been operational in..."

What was the right word?

"... a long time."

Good enough.

[Cassandra Cassidy]

Aerophones? Harps? Percussions? Butch immediately set down the coffee and walked back around to listen to Jazz better. Even if his explanation was casual, she hung onto every word of it. The woman devoured cultural and natural knowledge as a thirsting man would drink from an oasis in a desert. She leaned against the counter, sticking her cigarette in the side of her mouth.

"What makes it an Aghartan electro-bass?" she asked. "And why is it only working partially? Would the button you're looking for fix that?"

She couldn't find the button he needed, but maybe she could help with something else. The instrument's parts she did she were huge, and she wondered if she could help speed up its repair by fetching smaller pieces. Then again, it seemed he was very attached to the instrument, and Butch knew from knowing musicians that a piece could be someone's baby. She'd rather not push on messing with it unless Jazz was open to the idea of help.

[Jazz]

"It's a style of Cybertronian bass, beautiful when full operational, sounds like somethin' outta your dreams when played correctly. I learned how to make things that produced sound to relay my emotions when I was in my formative years. Grew to far more complex items as I got older. It was always just a cool pasttime to have, ya know?"

Jazz would have questioned her if she were completely nuts with asking why it was only partially working, and as if only a button would make it completely function again, though he didn't hold it against her. She was human, she didn't know of what Cybertronians had- heck, even most Cybertronians didn't know what one instrument to another was, let alone how to make one.

"It... ain't just a 'button problem'- honestly, a button is the least of her issues. She's very specific, custom designed electro-bass that I've had far longer than this war has been goin' on for. It'll never be able to be to her full glory cause there just ain't the resources on this planet to make everythin' I need to completely recraft her. It takes... Cybertronian tech."

Jazz vented softly.

"That part was the only piece I managed to salvage from my home before I left Cybertron to come here. The buttons help to resonate various pitches if it's not stringed, kinda like one of your planet's old keytars, but without the other three-fourths she'll never be the same. At least I'll always remember how gorgeous she was, though."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

Though they were two entirely different species from entirely different worlds, the problem Jazz explained was one that was very human. He was an artist, and his instrument was broken. Not only that, but it was so custom-made, it would never have the right sound again. It could only be partially repaired, and it was sentimental to him. There was loss there, just like Crescent had experienced loss, and Butch frowned.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "It sounds like you and her had a lot of good times together." The cleaner took another puff of her smoke.

"What drew you to music in the first place? What did you like to play on your bass?" she asked. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I can see that it meant a lot to you, and I don't want to pry. I'd rather not be an elephant's child."

Another puff of the smoke. It was burning down to her fingers, and she soon would have to put it out or get another one. Jazz's discomfort with her cancer stick still hadn't registered to her - if it had, she would've quit smoking in front of him.

[Jazz]

"To be honest, the 'good times' were few and far between. I only really played her when I was happy, so I didn't taint her music. Like I said, my emotions, my expressions, were directly in tune with what sounds I made. Guess ya can say it ties into my special ability."

Jazz looked at the human again, eyeing the smoke still rising from that stick she held. He never thought that something on this world would remind him of his old life- a life he would much rather erase in the same way Ratchet had done. Instead of narrowing his optics as one would do, his visor dulled some and he shifted from one pede to the other.

"The city where I was born had a bright music scene. It's how I got my designation, actually."

Jazz then cleared his throat- or made the sound of it, as he finally made his current request known since the smoke stick looked pretty much ready to be done anyway.

"Ya mind not lightin' another one? The smoke kinda fogs up my sensors."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"Your special ability?" she asked. She didn't press on the few good times he had. This one, she's started to realize, might not have had the best life back on his doomed home planet. Her questioning wou;dn't follow that train of thought, then.

"Cybertronians have jazz?" was her next question instead. It didn't surprise her that an advanced civilization like theirs had music, too, but jazz? Like on Earth? "Huh. I thought it was eerily similar enough when I found out you guys had birds." At the request to not light another cigarette, Butch immediately looked down at her light.

"Oh, sure. You can tell me any time not to light up." She lifted her foot and snuffed out the cigarette, then went over to the sink and wet the stub. Satisfied it wouldn't smolder, she threw it in a nearby trash can.

[Jazz]

"Actually, we call it a Manga March, it's a type of harmonoic band that my city was famous for, outside of it's shipment yards, that is. It translates to Jazz, though, so... here we are. I used to love to listen to it- still have some old music files from Cybertron in my datafiles as well, but I ain't gone through them in a long time outside of handin' off a few discs to Bee so he could do whatever with'em. We may be made of metal, but we ain't monsters. Some of us are cultured, just like some of us listen."

Some, cultured without choice. But the listening? That was what killed their planet.

"As for my special ability? I produce odd sound frequencies that can disrupt sensors in a way. Hard to explain, easy to do. I just know that Soundwave hates it, and I ain't above rattlin' that mech's cage for his contribution to this war."

Jazz watched her as she dealt with the cigarette and vented in relief. Those were memories he didn't exactly care for. Honestly, what difference would it make if he devised his own little purge of his processor? Would that really be so bad? He'd been thrown into it against his will from day one, and his crack between keeping one optic on a life without conflict and his duty to Prime was starting to get far deeper.

"Birds? We got all kind'a critters. We also have rain, though we'd never be able to stand in ours like we can yours cause... well.. acid rain."

[Cassandra Cassidy]

"I'd love to hear it sometime, if you'd allow me the pleasure," Butch said. "I don't listen to jazz very often, but I'd be interested in hearing your world's interpretation of it. It might be good for background noise when I'm cleaning."

Odd sounds? Now that was intriguing. And who was this "Soundwave" that he seemed to dislike? So many questions were on her mind, piling up like leaves on the ground. "Can you show me?" she asked, leaning up a little from the counter. "If that doesn't mess anything up on the base, that is. It's just...your species is incredible. The diversity, the abilities, the culture...I have a thousand things I want to ask. It's just...I'd rather not be prying." Especially after causing Crescent grief, which she hadn't forgotten.

The vent of relief didn't escape her notice. Immediately she felt bad, and made a mental note to check the rooms for Jazz before lighting up in the future. Did everyone have trouble with their sensors and her smokes, too? No one had said anything, but Cassandra would make sure to ask. She didn't want to somehow mess up anything important on base.

"You had...acid rain?" the cleaner asked next. "As in actual acidic rain?"

[Jazz]

"I'd have to do some deep divin' for that stuff. It's less the context, and more of the rest of the stuff I'd have to unlock in there that I'd rather not. Maybe one day when I'm in a little better off to sort through all that."

Jazz watched her body language, how intrigued she was by her own words, as if just saying them made her questions answered. The curiousity that she had reminded him of the young bots that entered the Academy not really knowing what they were up against, fresh optics that had never seen battle nor been tarnished by the war.

"Yeah, actual acid rain. Awful to get caught up in."

He turned his back to the wall and leaned there, arms crossed as he gave Butch his full attention now.

"Playin' music is one thing, but the sound waves that I produce from my system can actually cause avalances if I hit the right pitch. Definately ain't a good idea to do that in here, and far less recommended out there where there's a high probability that I'll attract some really unwanted attention. They're meant to cause damage and do harm, unfortunately."

The war fine tuned him to be a professional killer.