This wasn't as much fun to type because there were less interesting things and more about Shay at home but ...eh. It was funny how far off the mark she was about what the sparks were. XD Also- super protective dad appearance.
I had no frickin' clue what this thing was. That much was certain. Sitting on my rug I contemplated the very odd object before me. Drying said container revealed nothing and while I wasn't an expert at technology, there were no buttons. Most devices had buttons, so I could probably rule that out. Which left a) a power source, b) an object of mass destruction, or c) some freaky lava lamp. I highly doubted it was the last one, it was completely ridiculous. I really needed a nap. But it was obviously important if that guy was going to trust a random stranger to take care of it over the possibility of a Decepticon getting ahold of the container. It would most likely be a very bad thing if the Cons got it. Maybe it really was an object of mass destruction. That seemed to be something they would go after.
But then, did they make it? Or was it a weapon the Autobots made? Were they fighting over it?
With a sigh, I leaned back against my bed. I didn't have the answers to these questions. Urgh.
I stared at nothing at all while I thought, gazing unblinking around the room. Books, papers and CDs were set in neat piles by the old stereo on my desk. Next to my dresser, shelves emerged from the wall. The top two held my books, from slim volumes of history and ancient worlds to slightly thicker pieces about plant species and how to books. How to plant a night garden, how to make quilts from scrap cloth, how to sharpen knives properly, how to make arrowheads. Many of the books had come from my father's collection but a greater number had been bought and found over the years. Only two folders on the shelf held important paperwork, the rest being downstairs in the office room. Just below was the shelf that held my two slingshots, worn and used over the years. A plastic tub of marbles rested by a basket of rounded rocks and a pack of steel balls. The last and lowest spot held pine-cones, chunks of quartz that were tiny in size, and leaves dried from months past. Dad grouched that we shouldn't have such things in the house but since they were in my room, he wouldn't toss them out, just complain about it. Eventually I'd put them back in the woods were I'd found them before collecting more the following Spring and Autumn. On the pale blue walls hung two posters. One showed the moon hovering over the ocean waves at night. The other above my bed was a forest scene at dawn with mist weaving between the trees, a down-shot from above.
Uuuaaaarrrggghh. Sitting here wasn't going to get me the answers. Rubbing my face with a sigh I poked the container with hesitance, the glowing spheres inside spinning closer to my hand. The other Autobots would know. And he said to take this to them. Giving it to the police wouldn't guarantee good results. He entrusted it to me, which means I have to get it to the Autobots. I scowled at the container. Why did he have to do that? I don't have a clue on what I'm doing. So I couldn't hand it to the authorities, and telling my father would most likely have bad results. He meant well, but wouldn't want us involved in this, whatever this was. He'd see it as dangerous and get rid of it as quickly as possible.
Laying on my stomach I looked at the object and ran my fingers up and down the glass, drawing the orbs into following my fingers, the blue glow playing across my face. Why couldn't I just do it? That Autobot asked me to take this to the others. Was I really going to go against a dead person's wishes?
Dangerous plan versus safe familiar home. Responsibility vs safety. Responsibility. Safety. Responsibility. Safety. Grrrrrrrr.
Well, guarding this and taking it to the Autobots was the right thing to do. I couldn't just hand it over to someone else! What if the Decepticons got it? And I don't really trust anyone else with this right now. This was my responsibility. I had to do this. I owed it to him.
With a sigh, I dropped my head to rest against the floor, "Sorry Dad, but I know you won't let me do this. And I really have to. I really hate being the perfect daughter all the time you know." I mumbled aloud, the wood muffling my words. "You're just going to have to let me do my own thing this time."
Ah, how to do this. It is tricky business to leave without just up and disappearing mysteriously. More planning was needed, I thought, looking up and eyeing the bright container. I would definitely have to take my slingshots.
I had made a quick list and planned out what to take, because I am the sort of person who likes to be prepared and usually tries to plan things out. Most of the time it was a mental plan, but if there was paper and pencil nearby, well that was even better. Tying my brown hair back and settling cross-legged on the floor once again, I gave the container (device?) a hard stare before starting my plan. The only response was a flickering glow that pulsed mildly brighter than the light on the ceiling. Through the window dark clouds tumbled across the sky. At least it had stopped raining.
A sigh.
supplies:
bag 1: food, water, clothes, wallet
bag 2: large bag- container
on person: knife, slingshot, steel balls
get keys and leave.
call Boss
sneak out of house
hit the road
I needed to get to the computer to find out where I would be going. That meant going downstairs and facing my father. Oi. This would be fun to deal with. Tiredly, I rubbed my forehead and hoped the recent soaking wouldn't cause a headache.
Cementing my expression into something neutral and altogether not worried, I quietly walked down the stairs. I had seen the truck in the garage, which meant he was home. Normally he'd be at work right now, seeing as it was Wednesday and I didn't work until tomorrow so he'd taken the truck this morning. But if it was in the barn then he'd probably got off early. Lovely. Coming around the corner I noted the water on the floor. Maybe I could get that up before he noticed...
"Shay," Aurgh. No such luck. I turned to see my father taking a sandwich out of the microwave. Maybe you find it odd that I still live with my father even though I'm an adult, but I think there are others who do it too. We don't have a ton of money lying around and my Dad's happy with me staying with him for a while. Sometimes life sucks. Deal with it. I'm working on the situation, I just don't know where I want to go yet. Don't judge me because I don't have it all figured out.
"There's water by the door." A voice that is deeper than my own- slightly scratchy but warm, it always reminds me of the house, although I don't know why. I nodded in his general direction before turning right around and grabbing an old towel from the laundry room to wipe up the liquid. When I got back to the kitchen I looked at the clock and then him eating the grilled cheese. The blue numbers on the oven said one-forty five. He never ate lunch when he was supposed to, or breakfast or dinner for that matter. I didn't really either but at least I tried to eat at the right time.
My father was on the taller end of the scale but still slim. Darian Carpenter could have passed for someone younger than thirty-five except the graying hairs and slightly grizzled chin gave way to his real age of just over forty-seven. Darker hazel eyes studied everything with a tired but meticulous air. Like my own, dark crescent hung under them and never left. While my skin wasn't dark, it was tanned from the hours spent outdoors. Dad's was paler, as he worked indoors at the bank and didn't tend the garden as I did. The ways we looked similar were in our broad facial features and deep set eyes, as well as the same shade of sun-streaked brown hair. His fell just past his ears, mine half-way down my back. My hair was one of my only vanities and that is the only reason it wasn't shorter. It got in the way far to much.
A word on my father, Darian is a man who likes to make sure everything is the way it is supposed to be, at least in his eyes. He was very protective of me (paranoid) and wanted the best, my only problem being he tended to be a bit too involved. He cares, he really does, but I can not stand things that hold me, and his hold is very strong. Don't take my word for it please, as much as I've tried to remove myself from the situation to study it, my opinion is slightly biased. I want to be left alone a little, to gain some space, but he's always trying to help me or make me better.
I have to do things on my own because, while he says learning not to be dependent on anyone is good, he will step in at the first mistake and fix it for me before spending half an hour explaining what I should have done. Often followed by another half an hour of useful advice on life in general or society or something or other. Growing up wasn't bad, I always had one parent to rely on. But people make me itchy and as comfortable as I am around him I usually need a break after interacting with my father, just to relax. There is a reason my room is somewhat sparse, (at least compared to others). The more things he knows about me, the stronger his hold. If I left all the things I liked the most in my room, then he would eventually see them and try to get me more, to make me happy. I suppose I'm a very weird person, not wanting attention and presents from a parent, but I'm an adult, even if he tends to forget that. Gifts just make me guilty, that I don't want them and that I always have to find a way to pay them back.
But as I said, he tended to make sure everything was in it's place, so it was no surprise when he asked what I had known was coming, "Did you get the groceries in town like I asked?" a polite question that could have been a curiosity but in reality, was a hand grenade under the rug. He leaned back against the counter as he munched his food, one arm folded across his waist. I mimicked him with my arms crossed and stood straight in the middle of the room. A slight sniff before I answered. That sandwich smelled good. The normal kitchen smell didn't help my hunger either. Cinnamon and bread scents were delicious. Traitorous stomach, I thought as it gave a faint rumble.
"I was going to but the storm rolled in earlier than the weather man said. I turned back and ended up soaked anyways." I replied with a bland tone and a bored expression. As much as I would prefer not to admit this, I can lie well enough when needed. The best poker faces come from many years of practice. Faking calm, I stood still and relaxed my stance a bit. Dad frowned and his brows furrowed.
"You didn't get the food? Do you have a good idea for dinner then? Because I was gonna make french toast." Warning tones underscored his words. If I were lucky no one would notice the bread, eggs, cheese and other foodstuffs lying next to the road. And if they did, then hopefully they wouldn't mention it to my father or the fact that I'd been in town. Unfortunately, I would have to pull fifty or so bucks out of my saved money to cover the missing cash. Damn.
"There's leftovers in the fridge. I'll think of something and go tomorrow... French toast? Aren't you eating bread right now?" My face shifted into an 'are you serious' look with one eyebrow higher than the other.
Darian shrugged and gave a faint snort, "Eating bread never harmed anyone. Besides, it's healthier than the sandwiches they have at all those fast food restaurants." I nodded as expected, used to hearing his healthy eating lectures, "Oh Shay, the price of eggs went up. You'll have to take some more money tomorrow while you're out." Practice kept me from rolling my eyes. It wasn't his fault, really. But I already knew the price had gone up. I did actually pay attention. There was no reason for me to be irritated just because he was telling me something I already knew. He was trying to be helpful. Be nice Shay. Ignoring the inner voice I focused on Dad again, as he was still talking.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," He had gotten up and moved to ruffle my just dried hair. Face to face, hazel eyes watching blue, my father was only a few inches taller than me with the top of my head level with his nose. A smug smile graced his features, "Kaitlin offered to sell us eggs at half price because of the porch you helped her with." Ms. Atalaid was one of our closer neighbors who had been painting her porch a couple months back and I had offered to help, seeing as I hadn't anything else to do at the time. She also raised chickens on her farm. But Dad was always smug when he found a way around money problems. I didn't really care anymore as long as I eventually saved up enough for my own vehicle, like we'd been trying for the last few years. I technically had enough to get a cheap apartment around here but trucks were a bit more expensive and I needed a way to get around. My bike just didn't cut it sometimes.
Giving the expected small smile at the gesture of affection finished our family ritual and he turned toward the living room, heading down the hall, "Hey," I called after him, "You didn't tell me why you're home early." You aren't the only one who gets all the useful information around here buddy.
Dad didn't turn around, "Got off early. Off for the next two days." Huh, I'd called it. And as soon as no eyes were upon me my smile dropped and I returned to my normally blank face. Now that that was taken care of, I could get on to the things that needed done. Dinner didn't need to be started until later. Which left getting the materials I required for leaving and a quick search for the location. On to the computer it was. Our house was two stories but it wasn't that large, meaning there were only so many rooms. Besides the two upstairs bedrooms, there was a closet and a bathroom. Downstairs lay the kitchen, laundry, living room, a short hallway and office. Neither of us really cared for a dining room. I tended to eat in the kitchen or my room, unless my presence was required in the living room were Dad usually ate. Down the hallway I went. Once in the office room I booted up the computer (one of the few newer and working things we actually had) and started searching. In a few moments I had my answer to where I would be going. It was no secret to where the Autobots were.
Mount St. Hilary; Portland, Oregon
I was on the road, finally. Sneaking two bags (one carrying the container) out to the truck and hiding them had been relatively easy. Seeing as one of our uncles from Canada had made his monthly call and Darian would be on the phone for an hour or more, I'd had plenty of time. Fixing a makeshift dinner and them calling my boss had been simple as well.
"Hi, you've reached Donna Briar. I can't get to the phone right now, so please call back or leave a message and I'll try to get to you." A beep signaled that the phone was now recording. The corners of my lips turned up. Leaving a message would make this easier.
"Hello Donna, it's Shay about work. You've been telling me to take a few days off for awhile now so I've decided to do that. I just wanted to give you a heads up." She would be grouchy about the short notice but she had other helpers and it wasn't like we were getting a ton of people over at the shop right now anyways. I wasn't really needed all that much. Ending the message and turning off my phone, I made sure my knife was inside my sturdiest jacket. Tying up the laces on my recently cleaned leather work boots and grabbing one of my slingshots, I was almost set. A quick nap and one more thing.
The last thing to be done before leaving was to check something. This wasn't essential, and it didn't really need to be done, but it would make me feel better. An inner voice worried that I was wasting time. I grumbled back that I couldn't leave till Dad went to bed anyways. If I tried to leave now he wouldn't let me take the truck, especially to go on a road trip halfway across the country. No, it would be better if he didn't know I was leaving. The risks of this little adventure failing before getting started were too high otherwise. Although it wouldn't surprise me if he called the police to report me missing, regardless of the note I was going to leave.
One last thing to do before going.
The rusting shovel scraped the last layer of dirt away to reveal dented metal beneath. Brushing away the loose wet soil, I pulled the old toolbox out of the shallow hole where it had been buried. Under a tiny rock overhand and out of the sun guaranteed no plants would set their roots down around my hidden box. I wiped away a bit more of the crumbly sediment before pulling a small key from my pocket and unlocking it. Lifting the dirty blue lid revealed the treasures inside.
Three beat up and dog-eared notebooks full of copied poetry, a stuffed brown cat, a carved wooden bear the size of my hand, a small knife with a handle made of bone, a silver chain hair net with turquoise drops and a matching necklace, a few old journals and paper flowers that were fragile with age. At the bottom between everything else sat little clusters of shiny amethyst chunks and acorns. Broken chips of stained glass and a single flint arrowhead rested in a neat pile in the corner.
I smiled in delight, seeing my treasures. Perhaps I was a little too old to be hiding things in the woods like a child, but I had been doing it for so long it had become habit. One I couldn't, nor wanted to, break. Relieved that my secret things were still here, I sniffed carefully to make sure nothing smelled like rot and checked for cracks. All I got was a whiff of woods, dust and old paper. Carefully I leaned back on my heals instead of the wet ground, pondering the thought of taking this box with me. Mulling it over I shoved away the twinges of unease. Leaving them unguarded made me twitch, but no one knew they were here, and the probability of my things being found while I was gone was very slim. I had to travel light. Taking my box was not only unnecessary but risky as well. I could not allow it's loss. It would be safer here.
Quietly I listened to the evening birdsong as the toolbox was once again locked and placed in the soggy ground. Now covered with dirt and a few damp Autumn leaves scattered under the ledge perfected the image that nothing was out of the ordinary here. Sighing, I stretched and made my way back through the trees. As long as I could come back to my treasures, I would be alright.
And now I was on the road, headlights in the mirror peeling back as I drove away from my familiar town and west into the night. If someone was out there listening, maybe they heard my whispered request for safety and luck. With the windows cracked open to bring in humid chilly air and the radio silent, I put my foot on the gas and started the insane adventure that I was sure was going to get me killed.