re_alignment_logs | The Things a Bot Does for Fashion [OPEN]

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The Things a Bot Does for Fashion [OPEN]

WHO: Slipstream and OPEN
WHERE: In and between Nexus Temple and Junkpile
WHEN Nowish; some time after Slipstream talks to Teddie.
WHAT: Searching for specific items in order to trade to Teddie, so he will construct the ~~spectacles to make her look smart~~accessory Slipstream might just want to have. Possibly also discussion of who might be able to repair sonic cleaning devices.
WARNINGS: Nothing right now.
NOTE: Slipstream is mod-authorized to find (apart from the usual no-permission-needed stuff) 1) Powell Brand Sound Wave toy, without organic-hypnotizing function; 2) sonic cleaning device(s) in parts or "rough condition". She'll also be looking for typical salvage in form of metal and glass to be used to make the glasses/spectacles.

Slipstream kinda wanted those glasses. Oh, she'd done her best to make her interest look casual to Teddie, when he demonstrated his curious ability to make optic-wear appear, but they did seem a useful accessory for a bot to have. Not that she wanted pointless junk, like certain bots. No, she hadn't inherited greed, exactly. She just had the idea that a pair of spectacles made a bot look more scientific. The bots she knew on Earth hadn't worn any, but it seemed a popular mod among humans. Plus, she seemed to have some vague data, transferred from her maker, that indicated there were Decepticon scientists who had optical mods. And, Decepticon science wasn't anything to sneer at; they'd developed cloning, among other things.

Slipstream left her quarters in the temple of Nexus Prime, where she still stayed, despite the bunker-like atmosphere that didn't offer many views of the sky. If humans could hide their aircraft in secret underground hangars, or inside sea vessels, she could manage. If Starscream could deal with close quarters on a warship, between jaunts into space, Slipstream could certainly tolerate rock-hewn chambers. She'd rather suffer with fewer points of egress than she'd like, than be seen as inferior to Starscream!

Outside, there were plenty of views of the sky, and even the occasional, spectacular meteor impact. She walked most of the way, carrying some tiny bear-scaled crates in one hand, then hovering where a crater interrupted the shortest path between temple and junkpile.

Some piles dwarfed even her warrior's stature. Though the items fallen through the Lambda and collected in these stacks weren't necessarily junk, the haphazard piles of discreet, heterogeneous, materials certainly made the area look like scrap awaiting the smelting pit.

Slipstream didn't like this area of the Haven. It reminded her too much of coming online here that first time, and how the small bits of debris had jammed her thruster. Loss of flight ability was never a good thing! Besides, remembering her own arrival made her remember Starscream would have ended his life in a trash heap, if not for that relatively small fragment of the AllSpark that got stuck in his head, and probably by chance. If not for that, she wouldn't have existed. A lowly start for a being seemingly created to rule the skies.

Without conscious command, Slipstream automatically put a hand over her cockpit canopy. As quickly, she realized her action and lowered her arm to her side. She had a mission before her.

There seemed no efficient way to search the piles, not if she wanted the search to also be timely. She hoped she might eventually convince some acolyte to assist, or perhaps find some small human to search the stacks, where Slipstream's own weight would be more likely to cause collapse. Until an opportunity presented itself, the best strategy seemed to start in one spot and search outward from there.

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Rocket was, frankly, already tired of being in this place. It was boring and there were too many robots--fark did he hate robots--so he'd been spending the majority of his time just snooping around and scooping out the entire place. Everyone seemed friendly enough, for the most part, and he'd been good--even if he'd never admit to that one farkin' ass that had told him to keep his guns down--and not gone around toting his laser pistols like a madman.

But he was a quick draw and was watching everyone. Closely.

The junkpile had become one of his favorite places to go, the guardian hoping that he'd find something he could use to maybe fix his passport or just something else useful in general. So far he'd really just found a whole lot of crap and nothing that really seemed useful to him in the least.

Figures really.

Scaling one of the larger piles, Rocket turned a piece of junk over in his paws, sneering at it before tossing it aside as his tail twitched, the raccoon freezing as his ears pitched forward. A second later he spotted one of the giant robots, red eyes narrowing as his ears fell back against his head. He eased back down the opposite side of the pile from her, moving around the side to peer around at her discreetly--

Only to slip as some of the junk shifted, sending the raccoon falling down the side of the pile in an ungraceful heap.

"Farkin' piece of crap stupid thing!" he snapped, rubbing his head as his tail lashed angrily.

The noise of sliding scrap first drew Slipstream's attention. And when she heard the angry words that sounded a lot like cursing, she stopped and scanned for their origin.

The rapid movement of some furry appendage gave away the speaker's position. Finally her optics distinguished a little, fur-covered - she wasn't sure if it were truly a biped or quadruped.

Things like cats, dogs, squirrels, and birds she knew. They were as common in Detroit as automatons. Slipstream wasn't sure this was an Earth creature, talking or not. It definitely wasn't Cybertronian.

"What are you supposed to be?" she asked, and not too kindly.

"A farkin' robot--what the bloody hell do you think I am?" Rocket snapped as he rubbed his left ear, glaring at the flier without any hesitation. He didn't care about size, didn't care about potential threat--nothing scared Rocket Raccoon after all.

The guardian got to his feet, dusting himself off and checking his pistols, all the while watching the robot out of the corner of his eye as his ears fell back against his head.

"Didn't realize robots had gender."

"How the slag should I know? You could be some beast from a beast planet! What are you, like a space fox or something?"

She hadn't seen a raccoon before. Many Earth animals she knew only from text description or television, and then sometimes they were just puppets or cartoons.

Slipstream vocalized wordlessly, a scratchy, grating sound, which she knew to stem from annoyance. Her wings lifted and fanned outward, to make her look even broader. "Who said anything about gender!?"

Edited (tense shift) 2012-10-07 23:40 (UTC)

What was it with others calling him a fox lately?!

Rocket sneered and clenched his fists, glaring at her as his tail lashed about behind him.

"A fox?! A bloody fox?! How stupid are you farkin' robots that you can't tell the difference between a fox and a raccoon?!" he snapped, throwing his hands up and turning away for a second, muttering curses under his back before whirling around as she made some weird noises at him. His own growl like chitter escaped him and he glared darkly at the flier, jaw clenched as his ears pressed flatter to his head.

"You're a female aren't you? Or is it just normal for the weaker robots to have a slimmer, curvier frame?" Rocket sneered.

"Right, because 'raccoons' are renown throughout the galaxy! Turbofoxes have been known to exist on Cybertron. Retro-raccoons?" She shook her head, slowly; that wasn't even a thing!

Slipstream seethed at the 'female' question. It was bad enough on its own, but worse, now, for the fact she'd discussed the matter with Rung and Elita recently. The shutters about her optics closed in, narrowing the visible lenses to glowing, red, slits.

"What's so female about me?" She demanded, voice graver than usual. "There's nothing fraggin' weaker about this body type. There's none of your fluid glands or weird pins and sockets, or cables that only connect one way, or whatever raccoons have!"

For all that Slipstream thought she knew about organic sex and gender - at least on Earth - she didn't always understand the details very well. And, the data was gleaned mostly from bad romantic comedies she claimed not to like.

"A bot has a few different curves and different canopy tint and you just assume they cook indoors and guard protoforms and complain about not getting promotions?!"

At least one of those things Starscream did, and he got away with being 'He'.

"Maybe not in this galaxy or yours, you farkin' fool, but in mine they are! I travel the galaxy--I'm a Guardian of the Galaxy, thank you very much you bloody wench!" Rocket shot back, taking a half step forward as his paws twitched, going for his pistols like they always did when he was feeling particularly agitated.

As she ranted, Rocket had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, ears pitching forward before flicking and falling back, red eyes narrowed still as he rested his paws on the handles of his guns.

"Feminist to boot. What the fark will you robots throw out next, huh? I didn't say any of that! All I said was that you looked and sounded female you farkin' wench!" the raccoon growled, claws curled around his guns, itching to pull them free in case he needed to.

That and he just kind of liked to.

"If you want me to gender stereotype giant metal beings I gladly will. You're the one jumping to conclusions and looking for a fight!"

Slipstream didn't very much like that twitch toward the pistols. And, she didn't thing 'Gaurdian' was necessarily a good thing. For all she knew Guardians kept their galaxy safe through strict elimination of undesirables or some dystopian thing.

WHirrr-clicK - A panel rose from each of her gauntlets to reveal laser blasters. She didn't go for target lock or anything, but they were there, along with the blasters mounted on her arms.

"It's not feminist, either, because there's nothing female or feminine about it! It's not male, for that matter!" She stomped one thruster heel out of anger. "Robots using 'he' or 'she' isn't the same. There's no sex or gender to stereotype."

As soon as he heard the click, Rocket had his pistols out and aimed, not caring that she hadn't taken aim of her own. It was a protection thing for him, and maybe a bit of a 'I won't stand for your shit' gesture as well.

"How the fark am I supposed to know that?! It's not like I know what the bloody hell you lot are! You don't exist in my universe, not that I've ever seen!" he growled, tail lashing as a claw twitched around each trigger of his laser pistols. "What the fark do you call the differences then, huh? Styles? Is that what it is?"

He was the one who brought-up gender! But, fighting the same point over and over seemed a pretty ineffective way to go about things. So, Slipstream managed to overrride her volatile emotional subroutines and speak more calmly - not that her voice was exactly pleasant in either case.

"Maybe it's fair to say neither of us should have known about alien cultures from another universe." She made a sort of bow, which was all grand and sweeping, because tendency for melodrama and over-acting was something all Starscream's clones probably inherited.

"But, for you future information, Cybertronian bots having different styles of the same body type model, or translating their pronouns into languages that employ gender is like one of those idiot expressions." Was that right? Well, the phrases were idiotic, too. "The concepts are only roughly analogous. You can't make literal translation."

Slipstream wasn't sure whether space raccoons understood Earth analogies, but she didn't think one would be any more likely to understand Cybertronian ones.

"Let's just say some of us ended up with the optional trim package."

"....Right," Rocket muttered, slowly lowering his pistols and tucking them back into their holsters, petting them in a fond like manner. "So, the differences are just outward differences, or whatever. Fair enough I guess."

They were all robots after all.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rocket eyed the flier up and down a bit, taking in all of the differences now that he wasn't in a fighting match with her, still counting her as a female in his book but whatever. No reason to piss her off any further right?

"Is that the case in all the farkin' universes that you lot come from?"

Slipstream responded in kind by retracting the gauntlet lasers, but she still had the arm-mounted blasters. She wasn't about to go anywhere without them.

After taking a moment to determine for herself whether the raccoon might be any further threat, Slipstream bent to the nearby pile of lambda-spewed oddities. She fully intended to begin a search for the items on her virtual list, but her talons froze in position as she processed that last question.

"No." She said this softly, which wasn't very typical of her, but seeing as how ranting hadn't seemed too effective in this conversation, she chose to under-react. "There's this universe with the boxy, red, 'decent' Starscream." She moved both hands to make quote fingers, expressing her cynicism on how decent any Starscream could be.

"And there's a pink Arcee," And a crazy phychatrist, and a grounder who had arrived covered in rust, and other just weird characters, except Wing seemed all right; but that was beside the point, now. "It's been said she's female."

And she didn't really want to talk about it again, so she attempted to redirect the conversation. "You searching for anything in particular out here?"

Since the seeker was going back to her junk picking, Rocket decided to do the same, gaze lingering for a second more before he was scampering back over a pile of junk to start looking at everything that may be useful to him.

"Gotcha," he mused, figuring she was done with that line of conversation given her reaction to it--which he'd caught before returning to the junk--and the change in topic suddenly. "Nothing in particular, just something that might be farkin' useful I guess."

The raccoon peered at an object then tossed it aside, tail snapping as his foot tapped a bit, the raccoon looking for something else that might catch his eye.

"You?"

Slipstream saw the potential to recruit aid for her own task.

"A lot of this scrap needs some repair or cleaning to be useful." Slipstream picked up a plastic bottle with a scratched label, screwed off the lid, then held it near her face to capture the scent. With a shrug, she decided the contents were good enough, and set it aside, near her little crates.

"I wouldn't mind some devices that use sound waves for cleaning."

Edited (tense shift) 2012-10-09 21:30 (UTC)

"Sound waves?" Rocket repeated, tail twitching in a curious sort of manner as he paused in what he was doing--digging through junk of course like the animal that he was at core--ears flicking then perking a bit. "And I doubt they call this place the junk pile for nothing, flier," he added with a bit of a scoff, straightening up and sliding down the pile a bit with careful skill.

"What are you collecting all this junk for anyway? You can't bloody just be cleaning things," he muttered as he started searching through the pile again...maybe attempting to find some useful looking items to split with the flier.

"The sonic devices don't use large amounts of water," she said. "Not too many buildings were designed with small organics in mind; they don't always have enough plumbing." This was true, but so was the fact that Teddie had agreed to make her glasses, in trade.

Whatever raccoons might be expected to be, this one was light and nimble. He navigated the slope of a scrap pile without any apparent difficulty.

"Salvage doesn't have to be about finding what's useful to you, if you can find what's useful to someone else."

Slipstream plucked a vessel from the pile and turned it about in order to view all its sides. "You know what this is? Is it for beverages?"

When he didn't have anything else to do - which, frankly, was far too often for his tastes - Thundercracker wandered the Junkpile. Sometimes he found something. Sometimes he found something useful, or just something with which he could amuse himself for a few hours. He'd found various books and videos - Cybertronian, human of every language and culture he'd ever heard of, and some of origins he'd still not yet identified. Sometimes it was people he found, like when he met Four. That experience made him mindful now any time he went to the Junkyard, watching his steps and being careful about any piles of detritus he disturbed - for Four's sake or any other unfortunate who might get caught out here. Most would be able to call out and he'd know they were there.

Four couldn't.

Hm, that could be a problem. He wondered if he shouldn't find the tiny stitchpunk a . . . whistle or something, something small enough that the little creature could carry it with him and not be encumbered too much.

With that thought, the Seeker crouched down, carefully picking through a section of debris that looked promising - lots of apparently Earthen garbage. It wouldn't do, for instance, to hope to find a human whistle in a heap of Cybertronian parts.

As intent as he was on his search, the Seeker was a soldier first and foremost, and far too long a war veteran. Especially out in the open like this, he was careful to keep at least half his attention on his surroundings, so when he heard someone approaching suddenly, he was only a little surprised. At least he managed not to bring an arm rifle to bear (habit and long experience - he had no intention of breaking that, but he could learn to curb it) as he looked up to see who it was.

The femme. Searching his data banks for their last conversation, he realized he still didn't know her name. Not wanting to give away that bit of ignorance, he shifted to face her a little more, still crouched, and offered a nod of greeting.

"Thundercracker," Slipstream said, recognizing the somewhat boxy bot. From their previous conversation, she'd determined that though he shared a name with her brother, he lacked the egotistical personality, thus far. His deco was a little different too: light blue and white, rather than her brother's royal blue and silver.

The similarities, however, and general Seekerness and faction markings, were enough to convince Slipstream that this Thundercracker could make a suitable ally and companion so long as she was here.

So, she stepped carefully over the low-lying debris to the pile he searched, then dropped gracefully into a crouch to be nearer his level.

"You looking for anything in particular here?"

Thundercracker studied her for an instant, trying to determine how much to tell her. Likely, she’d ridicule him if he told her the truth. On the other hand . . . what he sought was so miniscule, he could probably use the help. If she were so inclined to offer.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he decided that truth was best. “A whistle. Or some other noisemaker. Self-contained and only about this big.” He showed a nearly-nonexistent (for a Seeker) space between thumb and forefinger. Let her question or chide him for it. “You?”

Slipstream glanced at Thundercracker's gesture to gauge the size. Tiny, but she didn't really think it odd, given she was looking for some items specifically to trade to others.

"I guess I could tell you if I see one. I wouldn't mind finding some kind of sonic cleaning devices in a fairly small scale."

Yes, she was looking for something to help the bear wash, he was going to make her some glasses, if she did. It wasn't weird at all, and more efficient, in her calculation, than holding a gun to a neighbor.

Generally so, yes. Thundercracker would have more or less agreed if he knew. He nodded at her comment.

“Organics’ size, you mean? If I find something, I’ll let you know.” His browridge creased a bit as he thought about it. “Can organics use sonic cleaning? Wouldn’t it damage them?” Not that he actually has any clue one way or the other.

"You could say that." Though she was really not sure about Teddie, being he seemed some kind of bear, but didn't look very natural.

"There's a difference between sonic weaponry and sonic cleaning, right?" Slipstream asked. She didn't strictly know, either, but she guessed there was some kind of difference in a sound measurement of some type.

She was till going to look, and reaching for some particular debris along the surface of the mound, lifted away an empty cardboard container. Slipstream peered beneath and something shiny reflected the light.

Thundercracker shrugged, nodding. “Volume. Frequency. Hmm . . . yeah, those mostly. That I’m aware of. Still…” Again, he didn’t know, so even though it still didn’t sound like a good idea for squishies to use such a thing, who was he to make that call, so he let it drop.

The glint caught his optic. “Find something?” Something useful, of course, his tone implied.

Slipstream reached slender talons into the void in the lumped-together junk. When she withdrew her arm, there was something tiny and metal, hanging from a cord.

"Not really," she said, gazing at the tiny spinning thing. "What do you call these things? Harmonica?" She wasn't certain that was the right word. As well as she understood English as spoken in Detroit, from the Earth media she'd assimilated, Slipstream didn't always recognize objects and idioms that were in less than frequent usage.

"You want it for anything?"

Thundercracker's optics brightened a bit. If that was what he thought it was . . . huh, maybe he should have the femme search the junkpiles with him more often, if she had a tendency to find things that fast. Handy. He approved.

He shrugged, putting his hand out under it to catch it when - or maybe if - she let it go. "Sure. That might work." He'd have to double check that it was, in fact, a whistle. Or harmonica. Or something Four could use.

Slipstream dropped the whistle into Thundercracker's waiting hand. No loss to her, and gifts usually helped keep others on friendly terms. At least, that's how things worked on Earth.

She looked toward Thundercracker, trying to read his expression, or gain some insight into his personality. "Did your faction go to Earth? The planet."

She wasn't sure if other universes held the same connection between Cybertron and Earth, if there were parallel timelines in which other groups of Cybertronians chased artifacts to Earth.

That was how things often worked with the Decepticons, too. At least his version. But he wasn’t worried about being indebted her a little over such a minor thing. Besides, she was a fellow Seeker. That fact alone won her at least some respect and cooperation from him. Even if he wasn’t overt about it.

“We did, yes. About four million Earth years ago, initially.” Briefly, he told her about the Autobots’ ship leaving Cybertron, their chase and attack, how both ships had gone down on a previously-unknown planet, and how a volcanic eruption had served as the catalyst to everyone’s revival after so long in deep stasis. “That was two solar cycles ago, by Earth’s standard orbit. We’ve spent the time since then re-establishing a link and a means of return travel, and trying to gather the energy we need to go back and revive Cybertron.” Not to mention conquer it and Earth, Life, the Universe, and Everything – at least, according to Megatron’s plan – but he didn’t feel like going into that side of things just then.
\

Slipstream remained crouched at Thundercracker's side, as he explained how his faction had come to Earth. There were definite similarities with what she knew of Cybertronians arriving on the planet.

She stood then, and stretched her servos as it were. The heels and points of each foot-like thruster closed slightly, to increase her height by a slight amount.

"That's not completely different from how it happened in our 'verse," she said casually. Slipstream wasn't actually certain how much she should share with anyone,or Thundercracker in particular.

"The first landing was in the 22nd century. Optimus and a team were on a ship, like your Ark, but it was a surviving Omega Sentinel. Decepticons followed on the warship Nemesis, but only Megatron made it onto Prime's ship. Starscream stayed with the Nemesis until he accidentally crashed it on the moon. They ended up in stasis for 50 solar cycles, not millions."

Slipstream poked at some piled scrap as she spoke. A novelty trailer hitch cover in the shape of a skull fell and scraped her arm, before dropping lower.

"Autobots hold Cybertron, and a Commonwealth of systems maintained with their space bridge network. Decepticons have built an Empire in the Outer Rim."

"Do the organics know about you?"

"The Autobots have space bridge technology?"

Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. It was only a matter of time, probably.

"The 22nd Century, huh? Hm. I think the humans considered ours the 20th. And . . . " Here, he can't help a slightly wicked smirk. "Yes, they know about us.

"So the Autobots have taken Cybertron, huh? Hm, I've never been to the Outer Rim. What's it like?"

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The Things a Bot Does for Fashion [OPEN]

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