Ep. 1 - Las Vegas Area - New Wheels - Closed
Oct 25, 2012 19:37:20 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 25, 2012 19:37:20 GMT -5
It was starting to feel a little more like home.
Smokescreen stood at the door of his quarters with his fists on his hips and surveyed the small room with a critical eye. Cracked a smile.
Yeah. Felt pretty good.
There was little he had brought with him from Cybertron, from the places he had visited on missions across the civilized galaxy. But a few items had miraculously survived everything that had happened between the Exodus and now. They were carefully placed about his quarters, simply to make the old and rusting space a little more friendly.
Like a holographic picture slide in a cracked projector. Or a miniature model of the Hotblack, that fantastic star-racer with the cluster-sink drive that had won him the equivalent of twenty-thousand shanix in the Egleena system races. Two suite cards from that ill-fated Lombardo game where he had lost it all in one bet. Half of a tattered flag from Doss, god only knew where the other half had ended up...
And on the flat shelf where he did his work, a tiny vial, no bigger than his thumb. A crumb of blue light floated in the centre of it, like a star, like a speck of sand suspended in the middle of an hourglass.
Smokescreen regarded it silently. Pensively.
He turned and slid the door shut behind him.
By the time he had reached the main base his mood had considerably improved. Smokescreen strolled to the ground bridge controls with a cheery spring to his step. It was hard to feel glum when he was about to meet with a femme - a newly arrived femme. He knew little about her, only her name and the fact that she was in need of an Earthen alternate mode.
Earlier that morning he had sent her a friendly comm, extending the offer of his assistance to help her find a vehicle that would suit her frame-class as well as her tastes. He had a good idea where to start looking. His unpaid debts to certain alleged bookies had nothing to do with his choice in location. In any serious way.
Smokescreen leaned over the railing and brought up the targeting field for the ground bridge. He tapped in co-ordinates, but did not activate the portal yet. Instead he leaned back against the railing on his elbows and waited, contentedly. Crossed his legs at the ankles. Lounged like a champ. He was in no rush. Being able to sit back and wait was a luxury after years of urgency, strain, and uncertainty. Of silent, covert warfare.
Yeah. This was much better.
Smokescreen stood at the door of his quarters with his fists on his hips and surveyed the small room with a critical eye. Cracked a smile.
Yeah. Felt pretty good.
There was little he had brought with him from Cybertron, from the places he had visited on missions across the civilized galaxy. But a few items had miraculously survived everything that had happened between the Exodus and now. They were carefully placed about his quarters, simply to make the old and rusting space a little more friendly.
Like a holographic picture slide in a cracked projector. Or a miniature model of the Hotblack, that fantastic star-racer with the cluster-sink drive that had won him the equivalent of twenty-thousand shanix in the Egleena system races. Two suite cards from that ill-fated Lombardo game where he had lost it all in one bet. Half of a tattered flag from Doss, god only knew where the other half had ended up...
And on the flat shelf where he did his work, a tiny vial, no bigger than his thumb. A crumb of blue light floated in the centre of it, like a star, like a speck of sand suspended in the middle of an hourglass.
Smokescreen regarded it silently. Pensively.
He turned and slid the door shut behind him.
By the time he had reached the main base his mood had considerably improved. Smokescreen strolled to the ground bridge controls with a cheery spring to his step. It was hard to feel glum when he was about to meet with a femme - a newly arrived femme. He knew little about her, only her name and the fact that she was in need of an Earthen alternate mode.
Earlier that morning he had sent her a friendly comm, extending the offer of his assistance to help her find a vehicle that would suit her frame-class as well as her tastes. He had a good idea where to start looking. His unpaid debts to certain alleged bookies had nothing to do with his choice in location. In any serious way.
Smokescreen leaned over the railing and brought up the targeting field for the ground bridge. He tapped in co-ordinates, but did not activate the portal yet. Instead he leaned back against the railing on his elbows and waited, contentedly. Crossed his legs at the ankles. Lounged like a champ. He was in no rush. Being able to sit back and wait was a luxury after years of urgency, strain, and uncertainty. Of silent, covert warfare.
Yeah. This was much better.