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Characters: Stormgear | @jazz Location: Base Corridors Content Warnings: N/A Plot Summary: As Jazz wanders the halls, a curious Stormgear follows him around. Does she get caught? Or does she get away with her curiosity...
It had been five minutes since Stormgear had left the control room, only to indulge herself in yet another stroll of the hallways. Stormgear looked down at her servos, looking at some diagrams. This was her idea of multi-tasking. She wanted to get better at it, so her programming skills were multi-functional. She clearly wasn’t satisfied with her advanced knowledge at an early age. She was never satisfied. She wanted to be a great scientist, doctor, or hacker when she got older. The best of the best, major league. And frankly, Stormgear was sure nobody would try to stop her..
Today had been a little more entertaining. She’d discovered a human website known as ‘Youtube’ and indulged herself in funny cat videos and human politics. The organic lifeforms were strange, so diverse. It was fascinating. Some of their wars were over the stupidest things, or were involved for the silliest reasons. The cybertronians had no room to talk there, there race had been at war for YEARS. And destroyed their planet in the process.
As she walked slowly, she had no clue what events were about to unfold..
Just off the hallway there was a large storage bay that held what supplies the Autobots of Omega Outpost-1 had amassed. Anyone approaching would hear the loud music being blasted from within, at a volume that was just loud enough to provide suitable background noise for a bot to work while still being quiet enough to think. The origin of the music was Jazz, and he was stocking up on supplies that he and his conjunx Prowl had run low on during their long journey to this little blue mudball.
There had never been a dull moment since they’d arrived on Earth in The Sigma. Prime’s team was vastly outgunned and outnumbered by the Decepticon presence on the planet, especially considering the pit-damned flag ship of the fleet itself circled the globe like a cybershark. Jazz and Prowl went where they were needed and helped where they could, glad to be once more amongst allies after centuries on their own, and thus it wasn’t until now that Jazz had had the opportunity to take inventory on their ship and come to stock up on whatever they didn’t have.
“... Yo, I’m jus’ like my country, I’m young, scrappy n’ hungry, an’ I’m not throwin’ away my shot!” Jazz sang to himself as he worked. He was incredibly careful in what he took; as it turned out, the Autobot base here was woefully understocked itself, evidence of a long holdout against the ‘Cons. Most of these bits and pieces were scraps and sub-par human technology, but Jazz was no stranger to making things do in a pinch.
Even with the music blaring, his sensitive audios picked up the quiet sound of pedes tip-tapping against pavement, and he paused momentarily in his work to consider it. Much too light to be Prowl (and he’d know if his conjunx were near, anyways) or Ratchet, come to scold him for the loud music… ah, well. He’d find out soon enough, if they were coming to talk.
“I’m not throwin’ away my shot,” he hummed, and shrugged.
Stormgear hadn’t noticed the music until she’d neared the storage bay entrance. Her good audical picked up the music with ease, which made her light shuffling pause. She silently placed her datapad in her subspace, and creeped towards the door. Who was playing that music? She liked the beat of it, which created a thin smile across her faceplate. What made her smile widen was someone’s attempts to sing. Unlike the mech-like tone in the storage bay, her tone was like a dying cat. She attempted to sing to herself in her quarters. Maybe that’s why her left audical was damaged. Hah, your humor is slowly growing, Stormy.
Stormgear approached the door frame and peaked inside, half of her faceplate filling the door. She spotted a black and white mech singing to himself as he worked, his backplate to her. The music wasn’t as loud as she thought it was. Maybe that was why Jazz’s voice was easy to pick up.
In an attempt to be stealthy, Stormgear crept behind a box to sneak into the room. Her curiosity was getting to her, no doubt. Why didn’t she walk up to Jazz and ask him what he was doing? Why didn’t she go and congratulate him on having an okay singing voice? It was simple: She didn’t want to bother him. He looked busy enough. Stormgear peaked over the box and watched him work, listening to him sing. And primus did her smile grow by the minute...
“I got alotta brains but no polish, I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal…”
There it was again -- a slight shuffling noise from the hallway. Even with the music turned up the volume it was, he heard it. Jazz hadn’t been appointed Head of the Autobot Intelligence for nothing, after all, and he was very good at his job. It was good to know that centuries wandering the galaxy after Cybertron went dark hadn’t dulled his abilities to pick up little details in his surroundings.
Whoever it was, they seemed to be on the shy side, leading Jazz to figure that this was one of the newer arrivals to the Autobot base. He hadn’t been around all that often to meet many of them, so he supposed some might be a bit wary of his presence. Whether or not they knew of his reputation or not, he could not say, but when it became apparent this newcomer pat-pat-patted in creeping steps into the room (small and slight of frame, judging by the quiet footsteps) but was not going to introduce themselves, Jazz had to smile; so that was how it was gonna be? Well, that was alright. He didn’t mind having a silent mission supervisor has he boxed up the various bits and bobs he figured The Sigma would need.
All of this was worked out in moments, and without any outward indication that the spec ops bot even knew that Stormgear was even there.
“-Just tryn’a reach ma goal, my power of speech: unimpeachable…”
That was it, the curiosity was going to kill her. This mech, whom Storm still didn’t know, hadn’t noticed her. Not that she wanted to be, but she was curious who he was. She also wanted to know what he was doing, due to the abundance of supplies the mech was gathering. She quietly stood up. Alright, just walk up to him and say hello, or just a peep. she thought quietly. She removed herself from cover quietly, walking towards the mech’s workspace with unsure steps.
"Why are you sorting through the supplies?" Her voice was nimble, which was strange of Stormgear. She had always been a chaser, not afraid to be loud. But this place was much different than home, the exploration frigate she’d known for so many years. She’d known the small crew, the medical staff, and her adoptive father. Being thrown into a base with new people was intimidating, which made her worry about everything she did. One mistake, and she might get booted. Maybe that’s why she’d avoided meeting the fabled Optimus Prime.
"I mean, I don't want to be rude. When I came in here to do a supply count yesterday, we were really low on supplies."
Unlike other bots who might have been uncomfortable with knowing that they were being spied upon, Jazz was quite content to keep working under the optic of this strange bot. Being that his job included watching people himself (first as a cultural investigator, and now as a SpecOps operative, though he’d not gotten practice lately), so he was mostly immune to the stagefright others might feel when they knew their every move was being noted.
The air patterns over by some of the stacked storage boxes shifted, and he once more heard the tell-tale tap-tap of feet against the concrete floor. Ah, the shy one finally speaks!
“Hi! I didn’t see y’there,” Jazz turned to face the newcomer with a friendly smile, his doorwings perked up in honest curiosity. “I’m the one that should be apologizin’ for bein’ rude n’all,” His makeshift supervisor was apparently a rather small femme with skinny looking arms and a visor similar to the one he himself wore. “I’m sortin’ it all to figure out what things I can take without leavin’ you bots high n’ dry. You guys are low on supplies, but my partner n’ I are even lower. We gotta restock what we can.”
Because the femme (and she looked young, barely old enough to have seen the beginning of the Exodus - a child of war, though those were few and far between nowadays) looked so concerned over it, Jazz then gave a beckoning nod of his head. “I’m only takin’ bare minimum, ‘cos y’all really are low on supplies. See?” He tipped the bin he was loading up so that she could see inside and confirm that yes, he was indeed taking only what he needed. “You gotta name, kiddo? My name’s Jazz.”
Last Edit: Jun 16, 2016 16:42:59 GMT by Counterklock
As soon as the mech turned around, Stormgear studied his font-side. His visor looked similar to her’s, and he was massive, compared to her at least. Stormgear had to angle her helm upward just to look at him. His build looked like a scout build, someone known for stealth and intelligence ops. Had he noticed her spying on him? As soon Jazz said ‘Hi! I didn’t see y’there’, she speculated he had noticed her, but didn’t share the information. She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it, but she made a mental note of his skill.
Turns out the mech wasn’t sorting supplies, but taking little to none. Stormgear eased for a second, her shy persona slumping over a bit. She was never good at telling people to stop doing her job. Well, not even ‘job’, just something to do. As a youngling, there wasn’t a whole lot to do. Most of the time it was sitting around, but she tried to make the best of her situation. Hopefully, if she gets to know Ratchet, she can beg him to let her work in the medbay. Last she checked, there were only two-or-so medics. And she had more than enough medical experience. Perks of having a medic as a father.
When Jazz tipped the container over to reveal the tiny quantity of supplies he was gathering, she scanned her gaze over it for a second. She then looked back up with a small smile. However, she still looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I see. I was just curious, I hadn’t seen you around the base.” Stormgear’s tone was as quiet as ever. “Im Stormgear.”
Jazz. She liked that name, it was so much cooler than her own. She felt like she’d heard of him before.. But she could touch on where...
“Nice t’meet ya, Stormgear,” Jazz greeted cheerily with a good-natured grin. “Y’probably haven’t seen me around ‘cause my partner an’ me aren’t really around much t’begin with. We hop between here an’ Crown City in our ship.” He and Prowl had done a lot of hopping lately, helping wherever they were needed and taking missions when Team Prime or Team Bee couldn’t, so there hadn’t been much time for visiting anywhere. Now, though, there was some downtime, and Jazz was glad to take advantage of it by getting caught up with all the new faces around.
The little femme -- Stormgear -- seemed to relax upon seeing just how little he was taking. Didn’t want her thinking he was robbing the base blind or anything. “Prowl and I, we’re used’ta makin’ do with what we got, but I gotta fix up The Sigma’s long-range sensors so we can see where the ‘Cons are. We won’t be able t’see The Nemesis, ol’ Bucket Head’s got it too well-cloaked, but if I can get ‘em runnin’ we’ll be able t’see where his seeker patrols are. Plus, there are a few issues with th’ engines I need t’take care of, too.”
But he was only taking what he absolutely needed, because Team Prime seemed to be running on scraps and resources stretched thinner than ever.
After a few seconds of delay, Stormgear finally pieced everything together. Her optics brightened, this was thee Jazz, the one that had discovered the last energon reservoir with Cliffjumper during the last days on cybertron. She had so many questions: Did Cliffjumper actually see an ancient map of the solar system? Did Jazz actually fight off an insecticon hive? Was this the Jazz that had defeated Bruticus on the Arch while escaping Cybertron?! She wanted to ask about his adventures on cybertron, but that would have been weird. And creepy. However, it was a good discussion for later..
When Jazz talked about the Sigma’s long-range scanners, Stormgear slowly became less shy, and more.. her. The half-energetic kid who wanted to do something. And this ship stuff was the best chance she could get! Dont mess this up, storm. “So the scanner is outdated? Or shot? Your scanner input-transmitter might be outdated, or needs to be replaced.” Stormgear yapped curiously, forgetting that this mech may already know what’s wrong with the equipment. She did some forms of maintenance back on her home-ship. She watched some of the technitians work on control frames, and even witnessed a mech strip down a shield processors, and put it back together with new parts! She’d had enough practice that she knew more basic, and some elements of ship-tech. To her, long-range scanners were a cake walk. She hoped at least.
“If your ship is here, may I assist you in fixing the scanner and engine? I haven't done anything in days. And maybe it will make up for interrupting you.” By now, she looked up with drawing optics, more interested now. In her processor, she hoped she didn’t freak the mech out. After all, she was way advanced for her age.
Ever since Cybertron had gone dark and Vector Sigma had stopped producing new sparks, the creation of new life for their peoples (Both ‘Bot and ‘Con) had been rare and something to be treasured. It had been a long, long time since he’d seen a youngling this… well, young. So many lives had been lost during the War, and even more during the Exodus, lost to the ravages of time and fallen prey to species who took advantage of the Cybertronian civil war.
Jazz studied her, as he studied all who crossed his path and analyzed her. Shy, but growing more confident by the second. Certainly eager to help out and lend a hand, and definitely had some knowledge in that little helm of her’s. “Ding-ding, kiddo! You got all three right,” He laughed, “The scanner’s outdated, shot, an’ needs to be replaced, but I’ve never been able t’find a replacement, so a patchjob is all I can really do.” Judging by the age of most of the hardware, The Sigma was older than the oldest antique, and he always marvelled at how she still managed to keep on trundling along.
“Yeah, we got The Sigma parked closeby - it’s a bit of a ways, had t’make sure it wasn’ too close, y’dig?” Which was the truth; they parked the ship just far enough away that, if it were discovered, wouldn’t give away the location of the Autobot base proper. His gaze softened at her eager volunteering - poor kid probably had been cooped up here too long. “But - yeah, I got no problems with you comin’ along for an assist. Just lemme finish gettin’ things together an’ we can go together, yeah?”
He hurriedly scanned over the rest of the bits and bobs that remained unsurveyed, checking for specific parts he needed not only to fix the long-range scanners but a few other things as well - mainly, a couple of the oscillators in the hyperdrive sounded wonky, and the gear shaft didn’t look all that hot, either. How he’d fix everything with what amounted to scraps he had no idea yet, but he looked forward to the challenge. Besides, his specialty was winging it, so he figured he’d find a way.
“Yo, Stormgear, got a preference between drivin’ or usin’ a ground bridge? I’m cool either way.”
She wasn’t surprised that she was right, but she was shocked by the condition of the scanner. She managed to cover her thoughts of horror by keeping her smile. How does this thing work?! Then again, she was no expert, perhaps there was a logical explanation to the scanner’s perseverance. When Jazz said she could help, her optics filled with glee. Oh my god he said yes!!
Perhaps her questions would be answered later..
As Jazz scanned the shelves a last time, Stormgear propped herself on top of a box. Despite her physical handicaps, she did it with a hastful ease. She then watched patiently. She had some tools on her from her previous work in her quarters. She was re-assembling her handgun to upgrade it. Surely Ratchet wouldn’t mind her keeping them longer than she had promised. “Uh, well, you do have a bunch of stuff to haul. Perhaps a ground bridge would be easier?” She calculated. When she was suppose to make a decision, she thought so much about it. Examining every fact in order to make a logical decision. Habits, she supposed.
“Do you need help carrying anything? Or am I over exaggerating the quantity of your load?” She asked.
With an amused quirk of his brow-plates, he glanced down at the woefully empty container he had in his hands and then to Stormgear at the offer of help. Definitely an exaggeration of the quantity of his load for sure. “Naw, I’m good, but thanks anyways. Nice a’ya to offer, though.” Besides, with such skinny arm struts and a tiny size, he wasn’t entirely sure she could actually handle a heavy load.
Once Jazz’d gotten everything he thought he would need to make the repairs (or some of them, at least), and was reasonably sure he would actually be able to make said repairs (his mind was already buzzing with ideas, planning just how he’d jury-rig the ship even further) he meandered to the control room at a slow enough pace that his new little supervisor could keep up, where whoever was on duty could bridge them through.
“Let Prowl know I’ll be at our ship, yeah? An’ don’t worry ‘bout th’ kid, I’ll keep an eye on her and keep her outta trouble,” He promised, before turning to Stormgear. In front of them, the whirling green energy portal bloomed to life. “Ever been through one of these? Kinda weird the first time round, but y’get used to it.”
Jazz lead the way through at a leisurely speed, completely used to the odd sensation of having one’s pedes not touch the ground and yet still meet resistance. As they passed through the event threshold, he gave a little shake of his shoulders -- he always got a strange tingling feeling zip through his body, a mild electrical current born from the intradimensional nexus of groundbridge travel. They popped out at the other end about twenty miles from the mesa base, in a well-sheltered canyon far enough away that no native lifeforms would go poking around. Sitting in this canyon was a rather beat-up old disc-shaped ship, which had certainly seen better days and noticably lacked a communications dish.
“Hey, baby, how we doin’?” He called to the ship as they approached. The Sigma’s docking ramp jerkily lowered in response to his voice to allow them entry, and he looked especially pleased. “Aw, yeah, good to know that still works! Means I ain't gotta fix it. Stormgear, meet my ship. Ship, meet my new assistant mechanic.”
Note to self: groundbridges affected the abdominal area prior to entry. It was the weirdest sensation ever, making her thankful for the ground after she exited. She took a moment to collect herself, hunching over and planting her servos on her knees. “Ya, uh, thanks for the warning.” She’d piped up. After a second, she pulled herself upright and walked off the odd feeling. She rested her opticals on the sigma. “What.. how old is this thing?” she asked. She couldn’t hold back her expression of horror. There were so many things wrong with this ship. But at the same time, so many things to fix. If Jazz turned to look at her, her nerd-nut side was kicking in. “Poor junkheap must be dying for mass repairs..” she mumbled as quietly as possible.
As she entered behind Jazz, she was perplexed by the mech’s attitude to the ship. This guy has some sort of attachment issue with this thing. she speculated. She’d produced a timid look after he’d introduced her to his ship.. She wished she could take back her previous statement. He’s gonna be so pissed..
By the looks of it, the poor kid hadn’t ever been through a ground bridge. Ah, well, first time for everything. Jazz watched the youngling hunch over with her hands on her knees and made a sympathetic noise. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass,” he reassured, “An’ it gets easier with time an’ practice.” He’d had the course of the war to get used to it, hopping through ground bridges as his SpecOpps missions required, but he was confident in his guess that she was far too young to even have seen the Exodus much less the War itself.
He let out a laugh at her horrified expression and horrified words as she took in his and Prowl’s ship for the first time. “‘Fraggin’ old is my best guess - an’ don’t go sayin’ that ‘round her, you’ll hurt her feelin’s! Sigma’s gotten us through a lot despite her shortcomin’s, an’ she’s always pulled through even with a servo in th’ scrapheap. Show some respect for your elders!”
Jazz decided then he’d cherish the look upon Stormgear’s face: she thought he was an absolute weirdo for talking about his ship like that. He personally thought it was hilarious. “C’mon, kid,” he called, climbing up the ramp into the main hold of the dingy ship before meandering down the long curved hallway to the cockpit. “She is dyin’ for repairs, though, y’got that bit right,” Jazz admitted, checking out a couple readouts from one of the displays as he walked in, setting down his box of meagre spare parts. “If I had th’ parts, I’d do a full refit, but I don’t, so I gotta make do.”
He thought for a moment, trying to decide what he ought to start with, before figuring the cockpit was a good a place as any to start. Jazz knelt down, popped an access panel and immediately set to work. “I wanna start with the sensor array. I’d be so much happier if I got those long-range scanners goin’ again. Got any experience in circuit-work?”
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