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shatterverse2008-02-06 08:23 pm
vehicon-thrust.livejournal.com) wrote in shatterverse2008-02-06 08:23 pm
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So, Thrust thinks, this is a farm. Well, it's flat.
It's actually not impossible to keep a low profile if you're a big pink robot motorcycle, it's just tricky. It's particularly difficult when you're working on getting your refuelling station set up semi-permanently (Oliver had helped him move it somewhere out of the way, but Thrust is doing fiddly work, now, that he wouldn't trust to anyone else) and reliably running the way you want it to.
Really, being somewhere out of the way on the Cooper farm (at least Thrust hopes it's still the Cooper farm; he doesn't know where the territory ends) is only a marginal help. He is, after all, seven or eight feet of brightly-colored robot fiddling with a machine made out of part of a light pole with four rather small solar power panels, a pressure cooker, a toaster oven, and many other less recognizable small appliances securely welded to it. Further welded sections of light pole make up a sturdy square base. There are symbols carefully painted onto the pressure cooker-- one is pretty self-explanatory, even without the dialogue, but the other is a little more unusual. (Hey, it's technically a Vehicon refuelling station, even if it's a refuelling station in the same way a vending machine is a restaurant.)
Thrust fiddles with tubing and wiring and connections, now and then tossing a manipulatory-appendage full of organic matter (mostly grass, although with the occasional dirt clod) into the pressure cooker, then peering at the toaster oven before continuing to make adjustments.
He really wants just a vending machine, see, not a still.
The whole thing might look a little bit odd, to a passing human.
It's actually not impossible to keep a low profile if you're a big pink robot motorcycle, it's just tricky. It's particularly difficult when you're working on getting your refuelling station set up semi-permanently (Oliver had helped him move it somewhere out of the way, but Thrust is doing fiddly work, now, that he wouldn't trust to anyone else) and reliably running the way you want it to.
Really, being somewhere out of the way on the Cooper farm (at least Thrust hopes it's still the Cooper farm; he doesn't know where the territory ends) is only a marginal help. He is, after all, seven or eight feet of brightly-colored robot fiddling with a machine made out of part of a light pole with four rather small solar power panels, a pressure cooker, a toaster oven, and many other less recognizable small appliances securely welded to it. Further welded sections of light pole make up a sturdy square base. There are symbols carefully painted onto the pressure cooker-- one is pretty self-explanatory, even without the dialogue, but the other is a little more unusual. (Hey, it's technically a Vehicon refuelling station, even if it's a refuelling station in the same way a vending machine is a restaurant.)
Thrust fiddles with tubing and wiring and connections, now and then tossing a manipulatory-appendage full of organic matter (mostly grass, although with the occasional dirt clod) into the pressure cooker, then peering at the toaster oven before continuing to make adjustments.
He really wants just a vending machine, see, not a still.
The whole thing might look a little bit odd, to a passing human.
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Her laugh indicates that, being seventeen-or-so, she does get the humour. But she's not going to make an issue of it. "I'm Steph -- Stephanie Brown. Nice to meetcha!"
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If this is one of those continuities where a Transformer on Earth is basically required to have a court-appointed human sidekick, Thrust would be just about ready to pick this one.
"I think I heard about you yesterday-- somethin' about bein' a superhero?" He's sure he heard about her yesterday, actually, unless there's another Steph around.
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Thrust would totally remember Mel or Sokka. Mel's hair is recognizable as a proper color, and... well, Sokka would probably make an impression.
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But Thrust shakes his head. "I should be good-- it's workin' fine, it's just-- uh, compared to local tech, it's been making gasoline when I run on diesel." Speaking of which, he ducks down to check how things look in the toaster oven portion of the contraption.
Still pinker than he wants. Tubing gets pulled out and shortened. "Wouldn't mind, if it didn't slag up my processors the next day."
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What? 'Stuff' is a very useful word!
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It's not that Thrust is unintelligent-- far from it-- so much as that he hasn't had a lot of room or time to really sit and make this work. (He could have done, but once he was sure it was running, he didn't stop to test it. Being hungry or the equivalent and wanting to keep moving wasn't really conducive to beta-testing.)
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A quick grin.
"Human food, though, I can cook like a pro. A slightly out-of-practice pro."
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Thrust sort of lacks a mouth.
But at least he's good-natured about it at the moment? "So what's the cooking process for?"
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Think, Steph. Convert into mechanical terms. Go on.
"Oh, I know! To convert raw material into edible form. Sort of. I mean, you can still eat stuff that's raw sometimes, but it's way nicer cooked."
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"Might turn up anyway, if you're invitin'."
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"Your party?" Hey, just trying to be clear. "And thanks."
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"... What else do you need for a human-style party?" Thrust asks. "Maybe I can make myself useful."
For a given value of useful. Meanwhile, he pulls a very small energon cube out of the toaster oven-- it glows, even in sunlight, patterns shimmering in a pale, almost white purple.
If the look Thrust gives it is frustrated, it's because that's still not quite what he's looking for-- hard cider when he wants apple juice, even if it's a lot better than the applejack he was getting before.
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That didn't happen to this Steph though, 's OK.
"Alcohol," she says thoughtfully, and then shakes her head. "Nah, I don't want to get people all mopey about the worlds we've lost. Fizzy drinks, though, totally. And candy. And music."
Steph can has a PROJECT!
"I'll get Angelo to find me that boombox, it'll be awesome!"
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There, now this one has heard it, too, if under slightly more preferable circumstances. Because she's talking to the Vehicon infiltration forces (okay, okay, and also air strike and ground assault forces) general, here. He'd know. The closest they had was Jetstorm, and 'class clown' does not necessarily equal 'morale officer.'
"Only thing I can think of is lights, but holos were all over the place back home." He'd offer use of the van, but it's probably not clean enough to handle food-hauling, having handled horse-hauling for fifteen hundred miles. Thrust can't smell it, no, but he has picked up that humans need clean food. "Or... I dunno, banners?"
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She totally approves of being told things like that. It makes her determined to live up to it and really make it a good party.
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If it wasn't so true.
She cartwheels towards her bike, beaming, and waves goodbye before rocketing off Smallvillewards.
... poor Smallville.
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