| abstract
| - Understanding is an amulet.
- This being one the first stories RaggedOak has ever put on the blog, she thought it might be a good idea to post it on the wiki too. She would love to hear what you all think of it.
- The only thing I have yet to understand Is how to understand Must I truly be doomed to be in ignorance Of how much I am in ignorance Obviously, Yes, I am! ~ Desideratus777
- Understanding was a Sainika Fighter technique which taught how to gain an all but supernatural awareness of their surroundings, rendering them impossible to surprise.
- The scrapyard is, in these vorns, a relatively quiet place. Well, barring the transorganic roving around, but she'd do well to stay away from Polyhex, no? And the twisted heap has a sentimental value for a certain green buggy, seen lazily parked in a nook of scrap, where 'lazily' means 'barely hidden at all'. It was where he eked out an existence while he figured out just what The Haps were on Cybertron, nearly ... what, a kilocycle or three ago? Just after he stepped on world after a few million years' vacation, at least. The rust, he found, made a nice backdrop for the corrosion of his military character. Like the part where Goa was too exhausted, after finally being left alone by the management, to drag himself to one of his more remote haunts. Robustus could be hovering along if he so wished, but the medic is walking instead. He hasn't been here in some time and is curious to see if anything has changed. He is idly humming a tune to himself as he takes those long strides of his, moving at a good clip. Silver optics taking in the piles of scrap with a keen interest in anything that seems different or out of place. A green buggy not quite hiding among the scrap would be one such out of place thing. He comes to a halt, hmming softly. Goa's engine grumbles, then he backs out of his improvised parking spot, and finally turns his front facing Robustus. "Hey Robber." The soldier's voice is a little depleted, but otherwise no more or less enthusiastic than usual. "Out onna walk too? Didn't think this place much of a tourist trap." On the other hand, the lack of cutting sarcasm could be a ... sign. A bad one or a good one, depending. Robustus spots the emblem and hears the voice, he smiles a bit to the fellow grounder. "Ah Goa, yes.. a little walk is good to clear the neural net." he notes, "I trust that the duty officer was kinder with his assignments with you than he was with me." "Was he?" The technicalities of Goa's transformation sequences flash his blades for a moment as he unfolds and stands up, observing the backs of his own hands, apparently. "Wasn't payin' much attention. I mean, you did sorta turn yourself in, buuut there wasn't any distinction in Megatron's words, was there?" He tilts his head. "Was there?" The mech is bitter, sure. But he's also aware he has neither the time nor the energon to be bitter. A good ol' verbal mince always helps. Especially to redeem himself after having it drilled into his helmet how dumb he's supposed to be a few dozen times. Goa approaches, a glare and a grin on his forward-hunched face, arms swinging relaxedly at his sides. "Sorry Robber. But you're a medic. Don't imagine the management has much to throw at you." Robustus hms softly at Goa's reply, the smile turning more into a neutral line upon his lips. "It is better to be an honest mech willing to take what fate wills to throw at him than one that lies to save himself and find out later it wasn't worth it in the end." he notes. "Megatron assuredly would have cannoned us both if he so chose to do so." then a pause as he considers his next words, "The duty officer doesn't care what I am Goa. He sent me to Cubicron more than once." then a little wave of the hand as if to dismiss what he just said, "What matters is we are alive and served our punishment just as much as Chimera being free instead of a prisoner." Goa stops and his antennae flip forward, his optics ridges -- as well as his helmet from its slouch -- rising in a taken-aback manner. Cubicron? Uh... Huh. Maybe he HAD gotten off easy, considering no one had sent him cavorting too far out. Well, except those couple cycles where it had been the getting-shot-at kind of far-out. He liked cool border patrol, not boiling hot firefight border patrol. He laces his hands together in front of himself, wrestling his thumbs against each other. "Oh." His antennae droop slightly, a little ... guilty? But then they quirk unevenly. "Got your point, Rob, but for a straight record, I don't lie. Got no death wish, just scruples." He crosses his arms. The usual smirk seems to be struggling to coalesce on his face. "And fate's a sly dreka, don't trust her far as I can throw her." After a few false starts, aha, the smarm is finally there. He uncrosses his arms. "Anyway, you're right. Hope you won't hold the part I played in that whole thing against me." Goa sure as the Pit held it against himself. Yet another proof that him being around other Cybertronians was not good for anyone's health. Oh, and scratch one on the list of mechs willing to help him when his mingling with neutrals (not to mention Autobots) inevitably goes horribly wrong. "Just lemmie know if I need find a new medic." He chuckles, but there's a bit of a whine to it. Robustus listens and watches very carefully to every nuance that Goa is giving him. Taking it in, deciphering it, then deciding on his best possibly reply. "I did not say you did, it was a generality. As far as throwing fate, I think that would be ill advised. Best to keep fate close.. like a lover, so you can keep your optics on her. As for holding things against you, I have no need to do so. I am a forgive and forget type of mech, Goa. You admitted to your part just as much as I did and we are both alive because of that. To me that means more than holding it against you. As far as medics are concerned, I'll be touching base with every neutral medic out there. If you go to any of them, I'll know about it. I don't mind if you must go outside of Polyhex, however I would hope that eventually you will grow to trust me." Goa quiets down for a few moments as he pries into his own databanks. He hadn't had the energy or will to do so in a while ... he plays back the parts that bothered him most in his mind. Like the part where Chimera's escape was his fault, as far as he was concerned -- Robustus' cooperation was incidental -- and he should've been making amends for that himself. Not sharing the load like a weak sparkling. But Robustus HAD consistently tried to take the blame off of him, as he remembered it. "Got no reason to mistrust, Robustus." Goa shrugs. "Aren't missing chunks of your CPU. Least, I don't think so," Goa twirls a finger at the side of his helmet. Yeah, about that whole willingly-taking-the-blame thing... "Anyway, good to hear it..." His optics dim, again in thought, for a second. "So!" He claps his hands together and looks absurdly delighted. "How bad was it? Cubis give you much trouble?" He grins, shiny dental plates glimmering rust-red in the ambiance, "Syk barges got a pretty short attention span. Don't notice you unless you're all bright colors. Like me." Robustus had taken blame for the simple reason that he was in part to blame, sharing the blame was the honorable thing to do. Goa going down for both of them would not have sat well with him at all. He nods to Goa as he says he has no reason to distrust him. A chuckle to the cpu comment, "I'm all there Goa." he assures gently, then another chuckle, "Ah it was interesting to say the least. I usually avoid the place since there is a medic there. A femme called Swivel convinced me that the medic needed help since she had a long line of patients to see her. I offered my services and she actually accepted, much to my surprise." he pauses a moment, then nods. "Ah yes, there is a benefit to being colorless."
* CRASH*tinkletinkletinkle. A louder noise than usual emanates from somewhere in the scrapheap. "Ah, Swivel. Swivel. Interesting," A small cringe enters the green mech's smile. "I don't suppose you ran into anyone ... out of place?" Goa /has/ to catch back up with things outside. Especially after all this slag. Good a place as any to start. But ... he narrows his optics as he considers something. Swivel was tight-lipped enough, and he had little fear of anything about himself slipping that way, but what the slag, if he could trust Robber, why not try being unevasive? "... Lifeline was doing bad, bad for supplies last I saw her. Would ship scraps down to her, but uh... don't think that'd go down well. But she needs the help, yeah...." Seemingly at a loss for words, the grounder trails off. He stares into space blankly, but his antennae twitch like he's furiously triangulating something. Robustus hmms softly to the question, "No one out of place that I could tell. As I said I don't usually go there just out of respect of not crossing into another medics territory. " then a nod to that, "She is indeed. We talked when I went back there to thank her for allowing me to work with her and we now have a trade situation in place. Any Decepticons that go see her for repairs will be repaid via parts from Polyhex. I can easily write up those parts as going into the Cons that see her and no one would be the wiser." Ah yes the mech is shrewd and becoming a Con slowly isn't he. Then he hears the sound and hms, "Turbo rat perhaps." The mech there scrambled to his feet in surprise, startling himself in the process. Still out of sight, he looked one way, then another before bounding over the trash he upset and slamming into the side of the heap - causing the majority to slide over him, almost hiding him. Goa gives Robustus a curious look, half-frowning, momentarily freezing his scan. Cooperating, if not assisting in Chimera's jailbreak. Dragging him out of the fire, even if he generally brought grief wherever he rolled. Conspirating to bring supplies to the underground. Primus, Robber had to know what he was getting into when he signed up, so ... what. What was he trying to do? Damage control? Goa could certainly sympathize, but it didn't make much sense to him. "Fat turborat." His optics dart off to the side he's determined the sound is rattling from. "Gimme a tick." The short mech jogs quickly away, climbing up a piece of twisted, skeletal ship frame jutting from the heap like second nature, and perching atop for a good look around. Robustus finding him out here was unlikely enough, so a third disturbance of a transformer-sized nature ... Robustus looks toward the second cascade of sound from the scrapyard not too far away. He nods, staying put but keeping his optics on the other grounder, wouldn't do if the mech got hurt if it turned out to be more than a turbo rat. Reliquary stayed very very still, optics black lit so that they wouldn’t reflect light as he feels Goa climbing closer and closer... nearly stepping on his hand. Dont move... don’t move... tick tick goes a bit of a leak. Goa glares down at the scrapheap below him. There might be some kind of metaphor here for an angstier sort, but he's too busy searching with his optics to notice any sound that seems out of place in the endemic metal groaning of the junkyard. With a snort, he swings down to the ground, feathering his landing with a quick plume of after burn. Still not used to his antigravs, it would seem. "Pardon that," he walks back toward Robustus, "You know how it is. Anyway, you were sayin'? About tradin'?" Could swear his optics light up a little. Robustus watches on and smiles a bit to Goa's words, "If Lifeline does work on a Decepticon, she'll inform me of who and what was done. In exchange I trade some parts to her that she needs." he explains, "Why such an interest?" Reliquary stares straight downwards, every gyro locked against the strong urge to tremble like a leaf. He relaxed, but only a little bit, having no way to go until they went away Goa's enthusiasm deflates. "... Just miss my old job. Not going to be..." He almost groans. Right. Candidness. "Smuggling again, not before I'm scrapped, but doesn't help I know what I'm missing. Not like half these just-built 'Cons strutting around. Lucky slaggers..." He peers over his shoulder again suspiciously. Come to think of it, he did /not/ put it past Chimera to hunt them down again so soon. Robustus hms softly and says, "You dealt with trading then? Hmm, that may come in handy actually. You still have contact with any of your old trade associates?" he asks. "Uhhhhh." Goa's fingertips seem to magnetize together. "A few. Most 'em capitulated with the war. Nowadays? Not much useful..." His antennae lay out to the sides plaintively. "'Specially not now, what with me disappearing decacycles on end. And." His steepled fingers come up to his face so he can thumb at his beard awkwardly, staring down at it. If the gangs knew he'd ratted them out to the Autobots ... they'd had plenty of chances to show Goa as much. Hmmm. "There anything in particular you were looking for? Robustus nods a bit to the reply, cocking his head slightly as he studies the mech before him. "I see. Well worth asking at any rate." he muses, "Though if you are a mech of any compulsions at all, I'm sure you would get new connections. After all I have my own connections from the medical community, but assistance getting harder to acquire parts would be a good thing to have someone to go to that could provide the means to get said parts." then a pause, "Not at the moment, no, just thinking about the future and trying to plan ahead." "Yeah. Compulsions." Was that an insult to his competence too? Goa couldn't really tell at this point. His burst of nervousness seems to have abated now. He returns the appraising look over his hands regardless. "Got just about too many connections on this rustball, that predicament with Chimera being any indication," He releases his beard and sequesters his hands at his back, "But you, lemmie know. You need a part, will have it within the cycle." Maybe not wise to promise that. "Owe you that much." But appropriate. Robustus watches you quietly for a long moment, thinking that over, taking into account all the movements Goa goes through, the inflection in his voice. He nods once, sharply, "What you owe me, Goa, is a chance to show you that repair bay in Polyhex is not a place to be feared. But i will take your offer to spark and if a part comes up that I cannot get my hands on through my connections, I'll certainly come to you." he then offers Goa his hand. Goa is, though he's perhaps not been around the medic enough for a full character analysis, more unsure, cautious, slow in his demeanor than he normally would be. Though that could be the low charge. Or that he hasn't had a drink in longer than he cares to remember. Which isn't that long. And there's the part where his sentences started getting more and more thrifty with words over time. "Fear?" He scoffs and waves a hand mockingly. "Decepticons fear nothing. The word for that is dread." Snickering, he accepts the handshake, grip overwrought as ever. Though his fingers twitch like he's trying not to. "I'mma find a place to recharge 'ere's less forecast of cosmic rust, I think," He flips right out of the handshake into his vehicle mode, "Probably be seeing medbay in a cycle or so." Robustus accepts the handshake in whatever way it comes to him, showing no sign of pain this time around should the grip be too much. He nods to you, "Right. You take care Goa, and I will hold you to that." he notes with just the barest hint of a smirk. Watching the grounder transform, he offers a wave and walks toward Polyhex.
- Jeff Ryan disembarks from the IND Saviour's Haste. Martine exits the shuttleport, a bag slung over her shoulder, briefcase in the other. It seems she has more work than personal items on hand, but that's the way it usually is for the Masquerade's captain. The majority of 'people' around the spaceport aren't people at all, but jelly-like beings floating around the place. One of the few humanoids in the landing pad is running in the direction of the shuttle pad. Martine pauses, taking a quick glance around the area. She notes the approaching humanoid figure, and gives a laugh, setting down her bags and opening her arms. "I've missed you, love!" She exclaims. Jeff Ryan slows, as he approaches, but not too much, the way he picks up the smaller woman probably isn't good for her lungs. And the kiss says he missed her more than words can. Martine returns the kiss just as fiercely, despite most of the wind being knocked out of her. She clings close, her arms slipping around his neck comfortably as she just enjoys the moment. Slowly the kiss ends, and she rests her head against his shoulder. The man is grinning and he doesn't seem keen on putting her down, not quite yet, "It's good to see you girl." Still holding her, he glances down at the briefcase, "I hope to keep you away from that." "Mmh, you know I have to keep up with things." She responds with a soft smile, glancing down at the offending briefcase. "I got mostly caught up, but I can't promise I won't." She doesn't seem to mind the fact that her feet aren't touching the ground. Jeff Ryan finally sets those feet back down onto the ground, and he looks slightly abashed. Perhaps strong displays of emotion aren't really his style, "We'll see." He's still smiling though. "How long have we got?" "A good thirty six to fourty eight hours, it depends on if anything happens that requires my attention." She reaches down and grabs her bags, then glances back up at him. "Shall we go onto the ship, love?" Jeff Ryan glances in the direction of the Haste, now a small brick over there. Giving the woman the time to pick up the bags. He frowns, "Sure you don't want me to carry those for you?" "Why don't you take one?" Lydia suggests with a smile, offering the briefcase. "Chivalry's all well and good, but so is sharing the load." She winks, and takes his arm. "Besides, now I can do this." "I'm surprised you know that word," says Jeff laughing taking the offered briefcase. "Not many people seem to these days." When she takes the arm, he uses it to pull her closer. A few of the centaurans peer at the pair, or in their case, slow and hover as they pass. "I used to do a lot of reading, when I had the time." Lydia admits with a dimpled smile. "Now I hardly have time to myself." She heads in the direction of the ship, not minding the closeness in the least. Jeff Ryan nods smiling, "Well we need to make the best of what we have. Easy night on the Haste? Want to see the sights? Or leave that until tomorrow?" Eventually they're approaching the boarding ramp to Ryan's ship. "Mmh, I'll leave that up to you. I'll try to do all my work tomorrow morning, so we can have the day and evening free." She hefts her bag a little, and waits for you to start up the ramp. Jeff Ryan has to let the woman go as the board the ramp, needing an arm free to type in the boarding code to the ship. The airlock opens and the head aboard the Dasher. "Dinner tonight on the ship and maybe try one of those bottles?" Martine boards the IND Saviour's Haste. Martine has left. Jeff Ryan boards the IND Saviour's Haste. Corridor - IND Saviour's Haste - The short corridor runs along the portside of the ship, lit from a set of recessed fourescent fixtures hidden withing recessed ceiling coves. The corridor ends in two hatchways for and aft, and halfway along the inboard wall there is a third, more elegant, doorway. Last, outboard, a heavy pressure door accesses the ship's small airlock. Fri Mar 17 13:09:17 3006 Contents: Exits: Martine Docking Collar Main Cabin Stateroom Cockpit Jeff Ryan boards through the ship's airlock. "That sounds perfect." Lydia replies with a smile, then nods her head. "All right, we've got that settled. Where shall we go drop my things off?" She inquires, glancing around. "You can leave your things in my room," he realises what he's said and blushes slightly. "Of course, I'll em... I'll take the main cabin of course, I wasn't... I wasn't suggesting anything," the lunite stammers. She smiles, but doesn't laugh, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "Darling, don't be silly. I know you weren't suggesting anything, but you know it's perfectly normal. Nothing has to happen, that's not why I'm with you. But it might be nice not to sleep alone for once." Jeff Ryan goes bright red, he grips with the hand she squeezes and with his free hand fingers his earlobe, "I.." His voice, fails him, so he tries again, "It might be." And he almost runs into the Stateroom. The hatch slides to the left, allowing access to private stateroom. Stateroom - IND Saviour's Haste - There is an air of quiet simplicty which frames the room, bringing the subtle touch of elegance to the finely appointed quarters. The far wall is dominated by a single window, a long narrow band of clear polycomposite glazing reaching from the carpeted floor to the latticed ceiling above. Beyond its crystal pane the stars slowly pass, looking out to the sable depths. Outboard is a recessed bunk and storage units, an efficient array of elegant casework. The bed is neatly made, its single pillow set square at its head. Sheets and bedding are the finest satin, falling in fancy pleated folds. The bed is set into the wall of exquisite millwork. Above, below, and to the sides the cabinetry becomes a paneled grid of polished ebony and mahoghany, trimmed with mother or pearl inlays. Some panels are doors, some for storage cubbies, and others are displays, monitors and commlink, the pragmatic links to the officer's world. Inboard is a workstation, flanked by a pair of fine mahogany and leather chairs. The workstation wraps the far corner of room, its data display and workpad set flush in the finely polished desktop. Upon the screen is traced a lattice of coloured lines and scrolling shipping schedules, as well as readouts repeated from the ship's bridge. Fri Mar 17 13:17:46 3006 A storage locker is here. A suit of kevlar armor is here. A suit of kevlar armor is here. A suit of kevlar armor is here. Contents: Exits: Out Martine enters from the corridor. Martine has arrived. Martine seems a bit bemused by the reaction, but doesn't comment, not wanting to make things worse. She finds a spot and sets down her bag, then tilts her head curiously. "You all right?" She finally asks. Jeff Ryan starts to recover himself, almost by instinctive reaction he's heading towards the most worn of the two leather chairs. As she asks him, hand on the chair, he turns round, nodding, but letting out a breath he says, "I am." And he smiles to prove it, "I'm just not used to personal em... relationships." The man was married for god-sakes. "It's not that I don't... I mean..." Still fingering his earlobe, "I'm just old-fashioned." By a couple of millenia. "It would be nice having, somebody." "I'm somebody." Lydia responds a bit mischevously, then follows, not sitting down quite yet. "I guess I'm a little better, but not by much, to tell the truth. So let's just take this as it comes. It might be the blind leading the blind, but at least we're not alone." She reaches out and tugs his hand away from his ear, and encloses the larger one in both of hers. "We'll figure it out eventually." Jeff nods, smiling as she takes his hand, he encloses them with his other, "We'll have to." He glances towards his locker, "I have those things you asked me to pick up, maybe we can hire someone to help you back with them." "I'm sure I can handle it. I'll just need an extra bag." Lydia says with a small shake of her head. "I'm pretty sturdy despite how small I am, you know." She gives a little grin. "Despite how easily you picked me up." Jeff Ryan grins and nods, "I'm not suggesting you're not strong enough, they're bulky though." Not letting go of the hand he moves to sit down on his chair. "It's been murder this week, I don't like hiding." Lydia perches comfortably on the arm of the chair, and nods. "I can imagine. I hope at least what little communication we've had has helped." She leans down and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I've been madly busy, or I would have written you more." The man laughs and nods, "It's helped. Having the Jackals over yesterday helped too. Malion seem to be coming around, can't blame him for what he thought of me though." His face has cooled down somewhat by now, he glances up at her fondly. "He...he has some issues. He actually threatened one of my crew. Told them he'd tattle on them to me for being 'rude'. Can you imagine such a thing?" She seems a bit disgusted. "I tell you, that completely reversed my opinion of him. What a low thing to do to a poor girl. And she's only just started, the poor thing was terrified that I'd fire her." Ryan looks bemused, "So my opinion of him is going up, whilst yours is going down. We'll probably meet somewhere in the middle." He nods, "The boy has some serious problems, in the past he's been quite disagreeable, though he tends to behave himself around me." With a small chuckle, Lydia shakes her head. "I don't pretend to understand him. I was never like that, even at his age." She laughs openly. "However many aeons ago that was." His hand slides around her waist, "Any gossip from the Masque?" "The usual," nods Ryan with some sympathy. "Probably nothing compared to what it was like in the Senate though. We couldn't agree that water was wet." He glances towards one of her bags, not the briefcase. "I had some nice meals on Castor." He grins, "Which reminds me..." He picks up a file on the desk, underwhich is a small paper bag with a little ribbon, "For you." Lydia blinks in surprise, then smiles slowly. "You shouldn't have." She says, though she opens the bag quickly enough. "Oh...it's beautiful." She breathes softly, reaching in and drawing it out by the 'chain'. "Whereever did you find it? It's absolutely lovely." "Castor," says Jeff grinning, happy she's happy with it. "I figured a third bottle of honey wine might not go down so well after the first two." He grins, "The leaf shape comes from those banyan trees I was telling you about." "Honey wine is nice, but it's heavy." Lydia agrees, then gives a little laugh. "You know, that's kind of funny..." She trails off, then holds up the necklace. "Help me put it on?" Jeff Ryan takes the necklace in his hands and he fumbles a moment with the fastener. He stands up and as she lifts her hair up, fastens the chain round the neck, closing the fastener he lets her adjust it herself, "Beautiful." He smile approvingly. It's not the chain he's looking at. Lydia blushes softly, then shakes her head. "It matches my shirt, too. That's kind of funny..." She pauses, then laughs. "You know, this kind of makes what I brought for you seem kind of silly, almost a copycat. But I was struck by it a while ago, actually, when I'd gone in to see the tailor to get my costume made. You know I have a degree in fashion design..." She pauses. "I'm rembling. Anyway, it got delivered last week. It's in my bag, would you like to see?" Jeff Ryan's grin spreads as he glances towards the bag, remembering he's no longer eight, he nods once and with a mock-seriousness says, "I would." Martine hops down from the chair, releasing his hands, and nods. She goes for her bag, and unzips it, retrieving a small black box, a jeweler's style container. She hefts it, then tosses it towards Jeff. "Catch." The lunite is taken by surprise, but just manages to stick his hand out on time, the box falls into his hand, opening the lid. He raises an eyebrow, and lifts the chain up from the box he smiles at the pendant, "It's perfect." "I was talking to father, and I remembered, that was one of his favourite sayings. It seemed to fit you." She smiles, moving back over to take her seat on the edge of the chair. "I try," says Jeff nodding. He seems almost overcome with emotion and gives her a hug, "I definitely try." Holding her, she won't notice for a moment, not until the tears drip from his cheek onto her own. She smiles, and lets her arm slip around him as well. "I love you." She says with a simple, unabashed sweetness, then laughs quietly. "And I didn't think I'd be able to say that, but it's true." "I love you too," says Jeff, still holding her, the tears continue to fall. And he's not crying for Lydia. He cries for himself.
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