Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: just my OC's & the plot.
LEMONS & CHERRIES
Prologue
England, Falmouth: 9:13pm:
"'Tis quiet out there on th' wat'er tonight" the old sailor said offhand as he took a big swig of his cider.
"Aye, right unusual; usually see a lot more visitors than this" the captain replied as he looked out of the window.
The night was warm and still. Not a breeze was stirring as the sun slowly dipped below the tops of the houses and the evening star twinkled over Gyllyngvase bay: the town slowly and quietly turned in for the night as the revelers and holiday makers were steadily making their way back to their B&B's and hotels; sun-kissed skin and pruned fingers had given way to heavy eyes and tired feet. And little by little every family was bedding down while the older, more mature tourists were soaking up the quiet ambiance of the evening in the various restaurants and cafes that lined the water's edge.
Falmouth was a town of character, a gem among working harbors; with its thriving docks and marinas packed with sea-going visitors from up and down the country, tonight was unusually quiet. Most peculiar: but a welcome change for the town's residents as they too enjoyed the summer's warmth in the local pubs and inns that were tucked away in the coziest corners of the harbor.
One such pub: The Chain Locker, situated in the corner of the tiny Custom House Quay, was every Cornish sailor's most coveted watering hole for miles around; every sailor, mariner, diver, and fisherman who worked the waters of the Fal estuary and its surrounding coast, called this place home away from home, as well as every local who favored the company of his neighbors and fellow Cornishmen.
And tonight was as lively as ever: while the fisherman chatted, laughed and compared stories of who landed the biggest catch, the Gig racing team were busy celebrating their latest victory over their rivals from Fowey; the ladies from the Arts guild were whispering their latest gossip in the corner, and by the bar a big stout fellow was trying shift his Irish wolfhound that had fallen asleep in front of the entrance to the kitchen.
All in all, a pleasantly regular evening for everyone.
...Except one.
At the far end of the pub, sitting in the small alcove next to the big window that overlooked the Quay, away from the hubbub and noise: the captain sighed as he took another sip of his drink, and watched the flat glass-like sea as a cormorant swam along through the water, bobbing up and down in between the boats.
He was old; as old as some of the old codgers who frequented this place, and tonight was one of the few times he felt his age catching up to him. Straightening out his legs for a more comfortable position, he felt the ache in his right knee ('must see the doctor about that, he reminded himself) and the stiffness in his lower back. The long years of working through rough weather and bitter cold were starting to show their toil on his frame: and it made him sigh with exhaustion.
"Guess it'll soon be time to pack it all in I guess?" he said to himself as he downed the last of his drink.
"...You did always say you wanted to give carpentry a try" a voice replied
Nearly jumping out of his skin, the captain turned around, and saw standing behind him a man much older than himself. Recognizing who it was, he stared at the stranger in a mix of surprise and bewilderment, not quite believing it was him.
"...Good God..." the captain breathed in astonishment, "...It's you..."
"...May I please join you?" the stranger asked, and without hesitation the captain pulled up a seat for him. The strange man was not like anyone else in the pub, or from around here for that matter; he was somewhat of a hermit or a homeless beggar. Dressed in the scruffiest dirtiest clothing: he wore old jeans with sandals that were practically falling apart off his feet, a baggy tie-dye T-shirt that was four sizes too big for him, and with enough holes to outdo a block a Swiss cheese; over that he wore a long red woolen poncho, and a grey tatty fleece cape that was draped over and around his shoulders like a shawl. Slung over one arm he had a big back-pack which was barely holding itself together, and no doubt filled with his only possessions, while in the other hand he carried a tall walking stick made of Ash, and was topped with a small jewel set into the wood. One glance at it and one could easily mistake him for a wizard of some kind.
The rest of him was just as bedraggled underneath his garments: he was tall with a thin frame, but lean enough to suggest he was in good health. His tanned skin was etched with wrinkles and calluses on his palms (the sign of a hard worker): his face reflected the long years of his life, with worn tired eyes, pronounced cheek bones and long unkempt white hair and a beard. He certainly looked like he was over the hill.
Except for his eyes; of all the features that spoke volumes about his person and lifestyle, his eyes stood out from everything about him, for they were the most radiant shade of blue anyone had ever seen: in a way they looked almost unnatural, as if they were almost glowing. As he gazed down at the captain, they seemed to shimmer with the fading twilight, and the silvery light of the full moon as it arched high over the sea.
For a long moment neither of them spoke: as the captain studied his face, trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming or imagining things, and likewise the stranger simply sat there with an understanding smile; waiting until his friend was ready to speak.
"...It's been a long time" the captain finally said
"Yes. It has" the old man nodded
"...Where've you been all this time?" the captain asked nervously
"Here, there and everywhere" he shrugged, "Where the wind and the tides take me I suppose?"
"And they finally bring you back to these shores" the captain smiled
"Indeed: but this time, not without purpose"
"Got something important to do?"
The old man hesitated a little, before looking the captain straight in the eye and replying: "...Yes, and I need your help"
"Oh?"
"Does your brother still fly charter flights?"
"Of course: why? You need to go somewhere in a hurry?"
"I need safe passage to America. I have to get to California within the next seventy two hours" the old man stated
The captain blinked in surprise, and then dropped his gaze with a look of concentration, as if considering if it was feasible or not.
"...Any other time I would travel by the usual means, but I wouldn't ask unless it was absolutely necessary..."
"...How serious is it?"
"Dire. Or at least it will be. Lives are going to be at stake, and if I don't get there in time I fear the consequences with have repercussions that will stretch far beyond just me; and them ...."
Hearing that last word, the Captain stilled, and looked up at the old man with a sense of mild alarm.
"...Them? ..." he breathed softly, "You mean- ... Is it, nearly time?"
The old man regarded his friend with an unreadable look, and then slowly nodded with a look of wiry exhaustion in his eyes: "...Yes, it is nearly time" he softly replied, "...All I spoke of before, will soon become real: and I have so much left to do before my time finally comes. If I'm going to do one thing absolutely right, it will be this..."
A long moment of silence stretched between them as the captain contemplated his friend's request, before he sighed and nodded in agreement.
"...Give me ten minutes, I'll go and give him a call: see if he's got any jets to spare..." the captain replied as he stood up and headed for the pay-phone at the end of the bar.
Moving closer to the window, the old man pulled back part of his poncho, and gazed down at the strange cybertronian tattoo's that covered both his arms. Suddenly, some of the patterns began to glow in a soft blueish aura; he quickly rubbed his hands up and down his forearms, and the glowing subsided until it was gone.
Pulling the poncho back over his arms, he gazed over at the harbor and sea beyond the Estuary's mouth; as he let his mind drift, thoughts of the future and how it will play out began to swim around his mind...
Elsewhere, in a place far beyond this plane of mortal existence, beyond time and space, and the ebb and flow of the universe itself; Alpha Trion watched the old man in the orb of his staff, and stroked his 'beard' as he pondered on this strange human.
Hey! New Story Time!
And this one starts of with yet another cryptic scene; the setting for this particular section of the saga is kinda personal for me, as Falmouth is my favorite town to go and visit whenever I have the chance; hence I was able to put a lot of substance and depth into the scenery description with very little difficulty. It's also going to be featured in a future story so keep an eye out. :) Curious? check out Falmouth online, or better yet, on Google Earth if you've got it. It's very pretty :)
A/N: This story kinda takes a break from the bots and focuses more on Darren and his cousins, and the new femmes that will be joining the gang; the bots and other humans will be getting a look-in, but they'll be mostly secondary characters for this particular story: just letting you know in advance so you don't think I've neglected them ;). Hopefully the story won't run too far away from the original draft, but there might be one or two additional edits made here and there for the sake of making sense and keeping it all real.
It must be noted: there is a serial killer staring in this story so there will be a bit of blood and guts, and it will get a tad gory with scenes of torture in later chapters; I will post warnings nearer the time, and this story is rated M for good measure. So if you've got a bit of a delicate stomach, feel free to skip those chapters :)
Other than that, what follows will be a whole load of silliness, family squabbling & fluffiness, and teenage attitude coming out the wazoo XDDDD : you have been warned, continue at your own risk!