i think i’ve seen other systems talk about this but it’s funny when I leave work where i remember a sense of exhaustion if nothing else definitive about the experience and then getting home and it’s like i’ve woken up properly for the first time and i have a bizarre amount of energy.
Had a rat problem we needed to deal with. Took out a good portion of our corn, so needless to say, Stanley's pissed about it. You shouldn't laugh at your CO's pain, but I did tell them so... just between us, it was pretty funny
I'm trying to keep this updated, 'Wings, really I am. But, you know, fighting for my life and all. I've managed to not kill anyone yet, but it's getting me kinda chewed up. Oh well, more scars to add to the litany.
Jonah's here, for some reason. He's talking about helping me escape. Gets sour when I insist that I'm not leaving without Beryl and the others, and that I want to make sure this whole situation stops, whatever it takes. He keeps insisting it can "just be us," whatever that means, and if I hadn't been restrained, I'd have punched him. Damn keeping it quiet, I'm not going anywhere without my friends. Even if this wasn't the mission you'd set me on, the… The quest you'd given me, so to speak, I wouldn't go. Not without them.
I'm glad for the medical attention, but I don't like how my brain gets blurry around him. Beryl's convinced I'm into him but... It's the wrong kind of blurry for that. It's -- you're not going to see this anyway -- it's not like the blurry I get around you.
There's a girl here, barely eighteen. She does lightshows -- little bursts of sparkles and glitter, balls of light, fire without the burn. She could probably pull off some hellacious illusions with the right tutors. Her name's Jyoti. She's a good kid. There's a speedster here too. His name's Trenton -- Trent for short. No apparent connection to Wally or the others. Not at their power level yet, either. He doesn't talk much about his life on Earth or how he got here, just says it didn't have anything to do with the Weavers, and he's really lost. He's got a baby sister back home. Her name's Audra, and he misses her like hell. I can relate.
I'm taking them home, come hell or high water.
Queen Bitchypants is baying for my blood, too. Keeps setting me against bigger and nastier fights. Apparently she's pissed off that I scuffed up her latest toy -- She and Warren are definitely an item.
They're keeping us separate from the rest of the gladiators. I think it's 'cause Earth has something of a reputation for being full of wildcards and rabble-rousers. Sue us, I guess. But rumor has it that somewhere else in the complex is the niece or cousin or whatever that Bitchypants deposed. There's a rebellion in her name, from what I convinced one (rather skittish) guard to tell me. We're the circuses keeping the people in the walled city distracted and happy. But the people on the outside? They know this place is a house of cards. If I can find this Princess, if I can get her to her people… Political chess games aren't my thing, but I can't not do something, especially if it helps get me and mine home. Besides, the more people I bust outta this joint, the better, right?
I miss home. I miss Katie. I miss Nelle. I miss Maebh and Starry and Roy and Jason and their kids. I miss Phoebe and Aiden. I hope they're not too worried. I hope you filled them in on the whole thing, now that I'm out here and they can't follow or stop me. I knew this plan was reckless and dumb, and that Maebh would be pissed at me for it. I know the plan was to extract me and the others when they took me. And I know none of this has gone according to plan.
But that's the lives we signed up for, yeah?
… But I can't help but wonder. Are you looking for me? Are you sleeping? Eating? Do you even know I've left the Sol system? Are you worried about me?
I hate that I don't know the answers. I hate that I don't know what I want the answers to be.
I've been thinking it over. I don't like that our last conversation ended in a huge argument. I know I was mad at you over petty crap, but you know acting like that pisses me off. And then you go and bring up the whole thing with Phoebe and Portia out of the blue. Compared Jason to Portia, of all people. When you know what she did to me and Phoebe. Whatever Jason's crimes against you and your brothers, I really doubt "tried to drown the four-year-old in the backyard pool, twice" is among them. I know you don't know the whole story there, but… You know enough to know that would have made me deck you if you were anyone else.
Was that what you were trying for? That's the only conclusion I can come to. We were being watched, and the Weavers were never gonna grab me if I had backup. I had to be alone. And we'd been meeting up often enough to renew the biotracker after it died that… Well, I can see why they'd think something was happening that wasn't. Especially with me crashing at your safehouse that night. I slept on the couch, but they don't know that. Gods, you were annoyed with me about that. Worth it.
So you staged a fight. It needed to look real, so you turned around and cut me as deep as you could. It's… Very you. But I wish you'd trusted me enough to stage that fight with you. Were we not doing this as a team? I'm a decent actress, especially when I have a good partner to play off of.
That's also why they grabbed me so suddenly. No time for us to "reconcile." No time for me to call anyone else and cry after our "breakup."
I can follow your logic. I do not agree with it. You don't have to act like that with me. You don't have to lie and manipulate. That was mean, and I'm going to expect an apology when I get home.
...If I get home.
Despite my better judgement
Despite the warning signs
For the watercolor promise
Of your perfect hand in mine
I stepped off of the edge
I gave up what was safe
You asked me for a leap of faith
The concrete hurts but I like the taste
"-Cliffjumper, I promise not to get any closer to the action-"
"Cliff."
"-and if the action comes closer to me, I will roll out to a safer distance-"
"For frag's sake, Cliffjumper, I am not Miko."
Hurtling over bumpy ground, the red car abruptly spins and comes to a halt, seatbelt tightening reflexively around the human teenager inside. "I know," Cliff says quietly in the sudden silence. "But Ratchet said the groundbridge isn't working in this area, and if something goes wrong, there's no quick exit for you to take."
Sierra takes a breath, and braces one hand against his dashboard. "Right, so quit worrying about me, and go help the others win this fight before anything does go wrong."
With that, she clicks open her seatbelt and opens the door. As soon as the kid is clear, Cliffjumper transforms to root mode, kneeling next to her. Over the next ridgeline, they can both hear the energon blasts and shouts of a major Bot vs Con battle. "Just, promise me."
Small flesh and blood fingers wrap around a grey metal thumb. "I'll stay safe. Now go."
In seconds, he's gone.
Boots shifting on the rocky ground, Sierra waits until she catches the characteristic whoop as her partner leaps into the fight. And then - holding to her promise to keep a safe distance - she starts to jog towards a visible pillar of stone standing out against the sky, maybe a mile, mile and a half away.
She won't get anywhere near the fight.
But she can go find a better vantage point to watch it.
Because as much as Cliffjumper might be anxious about her safety, Sierra's just as worried about his, too. And if anything blows up in Team Prime's faces, she wants to be in the know right away, to call Ratchet or Agent Fowler for whatever kind of help they can give.
(It never once occurs to the girl there might be someone else around, also trying to avoid the battle currently going on...)
Yesterday the episode I wrote and acted for the Tiny Terrors Halloween Special was released! This technically marks my official debut and I could not be more thrilled to have been given this opportunity!
Thank you so much to @taytayheyhey for editing my script :D
Please take a listen and catch up on this last whole month of incredible content!
Hiiiii @agents-of-virtue! Happy New Year. I’m so excited to be your Secret Santa because I also have really strong opinions on latkes, wrt your Roanoke Winter post. This was really fun to write.
Bekah checked her watch for the ninth time. December 16th, but just barely… She understood why 12:30 AM was the right time for a secret meeting in the middle of the woods, far off from any trail or manmade light source, but it was still cold and dark enough to increase the distance from home.
At least it wasn’t snowing. That she was able to hold onto, as well as the multiple handwarmers stuffed into each of her pockets.
12:31.
12:40. At this point, Bekah unscrewed the lid on her thermos and took an indulgent first gulp of hot chocolate.
At 12:41, a thin branch snapped directly northeast of her. A figure stood perfectly still, boot-clad foot held precisely at the point of the noise. It had a large, waxed canvas coat on with a hood drawn close, wisps of warm breath barely escaping a woolen scarf. The figure raised its mittened hands and lowered its hood, revealing a face both exhausted and relieved.
“Annabelle,” Drew sighed, marching forward through the brush and giving her a hug. Though they had little time for pleasantries in such a sensitive mission, it had still been three months since anyone had seen him.
“You’re eleven minutes late,” Bekah chided, “I was going to turn around.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Was too.”
“Was not!” Drew stifled a laugh, drawing his attention to a bird having awoken from the commotion.
“How long do we have?” Bekah took a seat on a mossy log that had escaped most dampness from evergreen tree cover. “I brought you some first aid, painkillers.”
Drew sat down on the ground, some of his natural playfulness overriding his carefully constructed gruff demeanor. “I have never wanted an Ibuprofen more in my life.”
Bekah drew out a small box that had a ribbon tied around it in a bow, “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Drew admitted, “Just to have. Just in case. How did you know?”
“You know I just know.” Bekah passed Drew the box, and he dug out from a secret pocket on his jacket a makeshift file folder with hand drawn maps, journal entries, and whatever else he could squirrel away.
He reached deeper into the pocket still and brought out a small burlap sack. “Something else?” Bekah asked warily, concerned about the potential of Drew stealing an artifact or item of power from a cult so difficult to be stationed in.
“Yeah, something else.” Drew unceremoniously dumped the total contents of the bag onto the ground and dropped his mittens on top. A handful of woodchips, a lighter (precious contraband brought on the last supply run), a cast iron pan the size of his extended palm and fingers, a vial of oil the size of his pinky, a small box labeled ‘CANDLES’, and a damp bag of something that smelled vegetal.
There needed to be few words spoken to understand the task at hand. Bekah held the flame to the woodchips and gently coaxed an ember out as Drew gathered twigs and pushed stones into a circle.
“I put salt and pepper in with the potato,” he explained as he rummaged through another pocket, “And I tried to bring some condiments, but everything’s kind of limited out here…”
Bekah’s stomach sank. Above the mission, the deep trust they kept to maintain Drew’s secrecy, the greater ambitions of the Roanoke cult surveillance program, and even the biting cold itself, this moment would be the ultimate decider of Drew’s allegiance, whether he knew it or not.
“Okay,” he sighed, “So I had a few leftover eggs, so I whipped up the whites with the last dried garlic bulb-”
“Mayonnaise,” Bekah interrupted, “You brought-”
“Aioli,” Drew pleaded, “Garlic aioli.”
“Fine, aioli. What else?”
Drew palmed another vial. “Vinaigrette from the fall. I spiced it myself. One of the better downtime activities.”
“For latkes!?”
“Okay, but get ready for the shocker. I was on contraband duty last week, and I couldn’t believe it… Everything is in the notes, but there were these two new guys, and…” He held a small packet between his fingers.
“Barbecue sauce.”
“From Arby’s.”
“Barbecue sauce from Arby’s.”
“Isn’t it incredible?” By now, the single latke sizzled on the tiny cast iron. Bekah offered her knife to flip it with as she processed the… uh, sure, incredible experience.
By 1:00, the latke was crispy on both sides. Bekah split it down the middle.
“What’s it like back home?” Drew asked, melting the bottoms of seven candles to the log.
“Same as it ever was,” Bekah joked. “We found kittens in the garage.”
“Are you serious?!” Drew paused his work to check her expression, “How many?”
“Five.” Noticing Drew’s well-intentioned menorah spread, she nonchalantly palmed the lighter from Drew’s hand and melted down one more candle to finish the line. “They’ll be bigger when you’re back, but they look like aliens right now. Little fuzzy aliens.”
“Little fuzzy aliens,” Drew remarked back. He dug one more candle out of the box and handed it to Bekah.
Bekah lit it and murmured under her breath as she lit the row of candles.
“Sorry you’re on assignment on night eight.”
Bekah couldn’t hold her laugh any longer. A trio of birds flapped away. “I lit candles at the motel before heading out. You didn’t have to do this.”
Drew shrugged. “It’s still a taste of home.” He peeled away his half of the latke and coyly squeezed half the packet of barbecue sauce onto it before taking a bite.
Bekah took a breath and held it. She glanced away at the departing birds, and checked for any sign of human life in range of hearing or seeing them. She exhaled and held out her hand for the rest of the sauce. “This,” she sharply warned, “Does not leave the woods. We do not tell anyone back home. Not ever.”
“I always have room for another secret,” Drew agreed. They ate as the candles burned all the way down and the fire had been smothered. By the time Bekah turned on her flashlight, Drew was gone again.
