Ep. 1 - Catching Up
Sept 1, 2012 23:08:18 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 1, 2012 23:08:18 GMT -5
Quarters! Real, proper quarters.
It had been a while.
It was a sparse room, at the moment dimly lit, but it would do. With his hands on his hips Smokescreen stood in the middle of his suite and looked about himself in satisfaction. He couldn't think of the last time he'd been given a hab suite of his own to live in. For two weeks he had bunked down in a variety of underground parking lots scattered across Vegas. Before that, he'd dozed in roadside camping sites as he made his way across the country from his landing site on the east coast. This was much, much better.
And before that... well, the dropship had been private, but hardly a comfortable place to cycle down into sleeper mode. He'd spent most of his trip to Earth fixated with piloting the ship, surrounded by the pinpoint lights of avionics and fanning multifunctional displays that glowed like crystal in the darkness. His most recent orders had churned restlessly back and forth in his mind, until he had given up even harbouring the notion of resting.
And before that?
Best not to go there.
He left his possessions in his new quarters - mostly just his rifle and a few small mementos - before dimming the lights and stepping back out the door. The flat white tablet-shaped packet he left affixed to his back by its mag-clips, where it lay snug between his doors. It was fine where it was. It wasn't hurting anyone. Ha. Ha. Ugh.
The base seemed quiet at this time of night. His footsteps rang along the floor. Once again Smokescreen was aware of the density of the air, of the subtle creak and tick of strong old metal walls. The familiar tang of oxidation. He frowned as he touched the side of his head and brought up what rough map of the base he had been able to find. All right, rec room. Where were you hiding.
He wanted to sleep. He really did. A lack of fuel and the persistent weariness that had haunted him for months dulled his thoughts and dragged at his limbs. But even more than that he wanted to say hello to a particular Autobot. An Autobot that he had not expected to see again for a very long time. It was good to hear that he was still wearing the red badge. It made him smile to think it.
It was with some navigation and a lot of luck that he eventually wandered his way down to the rec room. Smokescreen peered through the doorway, amusedly taking in the signs of what looked to have been one hell of a party. Just his luck to have missed it. In a soft voice he called out, "Jazz...? You still here?"
It had been a while.
It was a sparse room, at the moment dimly lit, but it would do. With his hands on his hips Smokescreen stood in the middle of his suite and looked about himself in satisfaction. He couldn't think of the last time he'd been given a hab suite of his own to live in. For two weeks he had bunked down in a variety of underground parking lots scattered across Vegas. Before that, he'd dozed in roadside camping sites as he made his way across the country from his landing site on the east coast. This was much, much better.
And before that... well, the dropship had been private, but hardly a comfortable place to cycle down into sleeper mode. He'd spent most of his trip to Earth fixated with piloting the ship, surrounded by the pinpoint lights of avionics and fanning multifunctional displays that glowed like crystal in the darkness. His most recent orders had churned restlessly back and forth in his mind, until he had given up even harbouring the notion of resting.
And before that?
Best not to go there.
He left his possessions in his new quarters - mostly just his rifle and a few small mementos - before dimming the lights and stepping back out the door. The flat white tablet-shaped packet he left affixed to his back by its mag-clips, where it lay snug between his doors. It was fine where it was. It wasn't hurting anyone. Ha. Ha. Ugh.
The base seemed quiet at this time of night. His footsteps rang along the floor. Once again Smokescreen was aware of the density of the air, of the subtle creak and tick of strong old metal walls. The familiar tang of oxidation. He frowned as he touched the side of his head and brought up what rough map of the base he had been able to find. All right, rec room. Where were you hiding.
He wanted to sleep. He really did. A lack of fuel and the persistent weariness that had haunted him for months dulled his thoughts and dragged at his limbs. But even more than that he wanted to say hello to a particular Autobot. An Autobot that he had not expected to see again for a very long time. It was good to hear that he was still wearing the red badge. It made him smile to think it.
It was with some navigation and a lot of luck that he eventually wandered his way down to the rec room. Smokescreen peered through the doorway, amusedly taking in the signs of what looked to have been one hell of a party. Just his luck to have missed it. In a soft voice he called out, "Jazz...? You still here?"