music: Michael Maas - Bittersweet
The morning dawned and shined it's obnoxious rays right into my slightly bruised face. Several seconds of bewilderment passed as I surveyed the strange room and then groaned as I remembered yesterday evening and last night. Urgh. Stupid sun. I hadn't closed the curtain over the window the night before because I hadn't even thought about it. Moaning and moving slowly, my body ached as I sat up. A wince flashed it's way across my face as I peeled my cheek from the pillow. Oooohhh, I do not feel good.
Yawning, I looked sleepily at the glowing orbs in the glass resting against my side. What a funny dream. It had been nice, so relaxing to just rest and feel safe. I'd no idea that constantly being on guard for the whole trip so far had left such a toll on me until last night.
'Knock knock'
A quick flashback and a sense of deja vu skittered across my skin as someone quietly tapped on the wooden door. Hissing at the bruising aches, I stood and stumbled my way over and pulled back the deadbolt with a clink. Carefully peering out showed only the woman from last night standing there with her hands on her hips. Opening the door wider, I tried to wake myself up some more and stand straight. I really wanted to lean on the door frame. Or go back to sleep. Whichever was easier.
After a few bleary blinks I finally spoke, "...Hello." My voice was still rough but sounded better than it had been. And only a slight bit of soreness pervaded my throat.
The dark haired woman just smiled, "I tried to wake you earlier but only heard snoring." Her voice sounded pretty, smooth and soft.
"I don't snore." I looked at her in surprise. At least no one had ever told me I snored. How was I supposed to know for sure when I was the one sleeping?
The older woman's white teeth gleamed, "Oh, I was joking. I actually didn't hear anything when I knocked earlier. Nice bed-head though." Her lips stretched wider and then she laughed while I put my hand up to my hair. It was a nice sound and I relaxed a little only to tense up.
"Um...thank you, for letting me sleep here. I'm afraid the sheets aren't clean now." My eyes glanced guiltily back into the room. I was sure there was dirt and probably other nasty gunk there. Who knows what all was on my clothes after that fight...
"Oh, don't worry about it." She waved her hand in a shooing gesture, "They'll get a wash. And you should get one too. Bathroom is right across the hall. Why don't you get cleaned up and dressed. I have breakfast in the kitchen...Unless you need clean clothes?" The woman paused, hazel eyes studying me.
My head shook sharply, "No, no. It's okay. There's some in my bag. It's...uh... thanks for grabbing it."
"Okay then. You get washed, dressed and come eat." She turned and started down the carpeted hall as I pursed my lips.
"I'm not a kid." Oh, why did I just say that? I probably offended her. Crap, that wasn't very considerate of me.
Surprisingly, laughter floated back, "I know honey. But everyone needs breakfast."
Huh. That was...interesting. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I retreated into the guest room and quickly grabbed my bag. After pulling out some cleaner clothes and picking up the cylinder, I tiptoed across the hall. Pushing open the door with my foot yielded an empty bathroom. I set everything down on the floor, and closed and locked the entry behind me. Then asked the universe why it was being nice.
Question it later. Yes later, when I was not filthy and had food in my empty pit of a gut. A glance in the mirror to the right revealed I did indeed have a bed-head. Hurmph, I could fix that. Greeting the lights briefly, I turned on the water and stripped. It was odd really, how I still didn't need to be touching the glass to feel them. Better to just roll with it. There weren't any problems because of this, so just let it slide.
The lights were happier this morning too. I was covered in bruises, my chest felt like it was on fire and I was really hungry; but they were happy and I was feeling much better. This was good.
I climbed in and hissed at the spray of warm water as it stung me. Annoyance worked it's way into my expression as I inspected myself. Oh joy. Blue, purple, gray?, more blue, oh that one's greenish. Yup, lots of bruises. The bandage on my neck came off when it got wet and I sighed as I felt the scratch running across the skin. I hadn't even felt the cut when it had happened. Shallow scrapes marred my midsection and legs. My bottom left lip felt swollen and every little movement sent pain down my rib cage. The only good things out of all of this was my throat didn't hurt as much and my ankle wasn't any worse. The skin there was pretty much all healed up. Hurray for small gifts.
A sigh of contentment slid past my lips and echoed slightly on the partially tiled walls as I scrubbed myself off. The water relaxed my muscles and I decided then and there that warm showers were heaven. I just had to figure out if the universe was trying to make up for yesterday's antics or if this was all a trap. And there's the paranoia...
Sullen poked me, questioning why I was feeling so content. Closing my eyes against the moisture, I dredged up all the warmth and blissful sensations I was getting from the water. It brushed against them and I could swear I felt something akin to a purr (or at least a light rumble) answer. Great, now they were cats. Snickering, I started rubbing shampoo into my scalp. Seriously, since when did mentally picking up emotions become normal? If this had happened a week ago then I probably would have been startled and not just a little scared.
It was a strange sensation I had gradually gotten used to over the last few days, yet the feeling was completely different than anything I'd ever felt. Unlike a physical touch, the emotions crept inside like a subtle shadow. There was boredom, I felt bored, but it was not from me. The closest I could explain was it had a tinge to it that gave away the presence of Mischief.
Speaking of, I had yet to find out what had caused the change in our communication. During a fight was not a good time to suddenly play 'mix up' with the rules. Unless it was because we were all in danger?
"Did you guys even do that on purpose, or are you as confused as I am?"
No reaction to my quiet whisper as I rinsed and got out. Now cleansed, my bruises stood in stark contrast with soft flesh. I had to turn the water on again to wash the diluted dirt and blood down the drain. With everything back where it was supposed to be, the bathroom looked just like it had been before with only the addition of warm steamy air.
Sighing out of habit, I tapped my fingers along the container as it rested on the floor. Mischief tagged along the invisible trails left by my hand and then spun in exuberant circles. Sullen remained steadfast near the center, projecting determined annoyance as if to state, 'I will not have anything to do with this idiocy'. It seemed someone didn't want to play.
"Ready to get some grub?" Sullen suddenly swished right up to the glass separating him from my hand and the outside world and then lunged back to the middle as if he'd never left. It was like a sleeping feline had nipped at me before retreating. A snort blew it's way out of my nose as the other sphere bounced faster, perhaps trying to prove he could do better. I just rolled my eyes and pulled on my once again last pair of clean clothes.
"Showoffs"
These guys were so weird. Either way, to the kitchen we went. After leaving my packed bag situated in the guest room, I crept down the hall with the cylinder under one arm. It was slightly awkward to ferry, being so large to me, but they weren't being left to themselves. Nope, not even in a most likely safe house with some friendly people. Strangers were strangers.
Not wearing my boots was the only precaution I didn't take. They had grime and a little dried mud on them, so I couldn't very well walk on the carpeted floor. So barefoot, wet haired, and carrying a very odd container; I crossed a simple wood paneled living room to the tiled kitchen I'd been in last night. This was a weird morning. I felt a twinge of guilt for the older couple.
The woman was putting bread in a toaster and looked up as I froze by the door frame, "Ah honey, I'll get a towel for you're hair. It's gotten so cold this morning." She bustled past me and into another room before I could say anything.
"That's unnecessary. I'm fine."
I tried to dissuade her when she returned with a fluffy orange towel. Ignoring my protest, the woman guided me to seat next to the marble top island and put the cloth on my damp head. Not knowing what else to do, I set my jar-like cargo down by my feet and wrapped the tangerine thing around my hair to bring out the moisture.
The husband sat across the tabletop and glanced over his paper while eating syruped toast and what smelled like strong coffee. I studied the both of them and the room. It was quite a pretty kitchen. Sunlight poured in from the skylight above and lit the chamomile scented space while the wife checked the toaster again and got out a jug of milk. The only sounds came from the hum of a refrigerator and a passing vehicle outside. Silverware plinked against a ceramic plate. Glancing toward the stove, I found it was almost ten a.m. A surreal feeling of being in someone else's kitchen left a bite of unease under my skin.
Hazel eyes that seemed neither very green nor very brown watched everything in the kitchen sharply and ignored my stillness. Darker pigmented skin with thick hair and fine lips made me think the woman would have fit in on a Mediterranean island. Looking only in her late-forties, it was evident that the woman was still beautiful and the crow's feet just starting to show on her face only gave a wise appearance. With brunette strand pulled back in a practical way, the only thing to undercut it all was the ridiculously patterned shirt she wore with beige yoga pants. The woman kept looking at my cargo curiously but remained politely silent.
I didn't think she was a threat. Hazel eyes practically radiated maternal instincts. Her man was a different story.
Flinty and cautious eyes studied me as I looked at every single movement in my peripheral vision. His skin was as light as his eyes dark and with short cut graying hair, I decided they looked very different in appearance. He had a time warn aspect, sitting hunkered in his chair like an old badger. I held my opinion of him back and decided to wait before deciding if I liked him or not. That would depend on his actions.
"Stop that." He stated in a rough grumble, looking at me.
I blinked, "Stop what?"
The lady turned with a confused frown to peer at her husband as he answered, "The staring."
Oh, right. I had a habit of just watching things silently when I was antsy in a place. I'd forgotten that it sometimes made people uncomfortable.
"Peter!" Hazel eyes admonished as I turned my gaze to the counter before me, sneaking furtive glances upwards. I did not like people telling me what to do, but they were helping me and I was making them feel awkward. Not to mention, it was their house.
The only movement I made was blinking and slight turns of the head. Setting a plate of toast in front of me and a little mug of syrup, Hazel eyes scowled at Peter. Slowly and carefully, I reached for the table knife and spread a little butter on the bread. I kept my eyes down and away, waiting to see what would happen. Taking a bite, I refrained from grinning like an idiot. Ooooohhhh, this was wonderful. Absolutely delicious. Dang, I was hungry.
"Orange juice, coffee, or milk, ma'am?"
"Milk please." I didn't bother trying to tell her I didn't need it.
"You sure you don't want coffee?" The woman asked in surprise as I looked up at her and then back down to continue scooping food into my mouth.
"Yes. I don't like it."
She turned away to get the milk carton, "Well there's a surprise. Most everybody's addicted to coffee or those mocha drinks nowadays."
A slim hand set a glass in front of me as I gave a quiet 'thanks' and then rested on a hip as she stood by my side, opposite of the lights. When the lady didn't move away, I paused in my chewing and looked up to meet her gaze. What was she waiting for? Had I done something wrong?
She didn't look mad though, "You're just fine looking around. Isn't that right Peter?" The last part wasn't said to me as she turned to tip her head in an authoritative way at her husband. He 'hurmphed' at me.
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Not used to people being in here this early." Peter looked in the direction of the flickering orbs for a good long thirty seconds before returning to his pages.
Finally, the woman turned away to grab her own food before pulling another chair over and sitting down. I wondered if I was in her usual spot. And if she purposefully or subconsciously picked the place that was neither too close to me or too close to her husband to keep me from being twitchy. I'd have gotten nervous if she'd sat right next to me, but also hesitant to talk if I had to face both of them across the island table.
A brief pause in the sun-warmed room and then, "I was very tempted to call my department." The graying haired man stopped his reading to set his paper down and folded his arms, watching me. As an unwilling participant, our staring contest began.
"Department?"
"Riverton Police Department."
My face froze into a slate of indifference as I prayed the blood wouldn't rush out of my head. Paling at the title would definitely give away something. The food in my lower section suddenly didn't sit right.
Hazel eyes intervened, "Peter stopped working as a cop two years ago." She sipped a honey colored drink that I assumed to be tea. I couldn't think of anything to say that would help and remained silent.
The husband continued in a wary voice, "Margaret convinced me not to and I only agreed because I've dealt with a lot of people who've been pretty darn bad...You don't seem like that." I gravely nodded my head in gratitude.
"Never met a criminal who was polite. Or had manners." Margaret chimed in.
"Manners have nothing to do with whether or not someone is a criminal." There were too many smooth talkers for that.
Surprisingly, Peter agreed, "She's right. Besides, you haven't met many criminals at all."
She thought about it for a second, "Alright. Point to you." A scrape of a fork across the plate as Margaret took another bite.
"Now."
That was all he said as the older gent gave me a hard stare once again. They waited patiently as I tried to decide what to say. Mischief and Sullen felt my faltering and gave off a wave of reassurance. I could do this. It just depended on how I explained.
After pursing my lips and taking a deep breath, I started, "I would...rather not involve the police. I don't see what point it would have now. I am only passing through."
Peter gave me a level look, "Was it a beat down or a mugging?"
A sigh, "It started as thievery but turned into a fight when I refused to let them take it."
Both glanced in the direction of my softly glowing cargo and looked at each other. Internally, I reminded myself not to use the term 'they' when talking about the container. It would clue them in that it was more than a lit up glass jar.
"This...," a gesture down at the lights, "is rather important to a friend of mine. It caught their attention and the thieves tried to take it." A white lie about the friend part, as I didn't know the yellow robot at all.
A grumble from Peter as the man took another sip of coffee, "What is it?"
"I can't tell you." I really couldn't because I didn't know what they were, "But it is nothing illegal." It had better not be.
"It is just very important to someone." Three sets of eyes watched each other across the breakfast cluttered space; golden-green, faded blue, and light onyx. Finally the husband took another gulp of his drink before pinching the bridge of his nose. That seemed to mean something because Margaret gave me a thoughtful look and then a faint smile dawned on her lips.
"Fine, fine. We won't pry. Just do yourself a favor and avoid bad parts of the city." The lady's smile grew at her husband's words.
I grinned as well, "Gladly..." then a pause, "You...never asked my name."
"We figured you would be comfortable sharing." Margaret said lightly, fixing her shirt a little as she stood to put her empty plate in the sink.
My chair scraped back as I rose, moving to assist the woman, "I'll help clean up. You can call me Brenna, if you like."
It was noon by the time we pulled up to the alley were the truck was parked. Remarkably, it was untouched. Maybe my quota of bad luck got all taken up yesterday evening. Carefully, I stepped out of the car and slung the straps of my bag over my left shoulder. It was slightly less sore than my right due to heavy bruising. A chill wind slid around us as the older couple got out as well. I was thankful that my hair was dry now.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Margaret popped open the driver's door on the dark vehicle after I handed her the keys. She held it as I tossed my pack inside and gently lowered the cylinder. Dang, bending over hurt like hell.
Standing straight again, I nodded, "Yes, quite fine. Thank you for another bandage by the way." Fingers ghosted across the thinly woven cloth on my neck, "And the food, and letting me sleep at your house, and the shower..." Uh-oh, I appeared to be rambling. They needed to be thanked for a lot though. I would have to find a way to repay them later.
An impish grin worked it's way across her face, "You needed a shower."
"Undoubtedly."
Peter stopped just behind Margaret and gave everything a once over, "Try to stay out of trouble."
"Yes-sir." I snapped a solute, straight faced while the other woman giggled. After a huff, the retired cop nodded his head and gave me a pat on the shoulder. As he turned back to his vehicle, I looked at Margaret, unsure what to do now. And then the older woman surprised me once more.
I suddenly found myself with two arms wrapped around me and a head resting next to mine. I was being hugged. After a few seconds of blank confusion, I hesitantly hugged her back. This was nice.
The dark haired lady straightened, "Do you know where you're going?"
As concern once again etched itself on her face, I clasped her warm hands, "Yes, I do. And I will be getting there, regardless of what it takes."
Soundwave would have preferred going after the weak signals himself, but his master ordered a couple of other cons to 'help' him. They were more likely to slow him down. At least this way the dark cassette player could let these two fight the Autobots, should it come to that. While they were busy trying to kill each other he could obtain whoever or whatever was giving off the spark energies.
"I don't see why I have to be here," a quiet rumbled complaint came from the jet standing only a few yards to the right. The con shifted to lean on one leg on the rocky overlook. The mid-day sun highlighted gold, blue and black metal. Dull carnelian optics looked out blandly as Dirge surveyed the land stretching out below them.
"Yeah! Why's he gotta be here? I don't need flyboy's help in busting up Auto-scum!" snarked a dissonant and almost Texan sounding voice.
The seeker leveled a glare at Wildrider as the Communications Officer spoke monotonously, "Fight: ill advised. Dirge: air reinforcement."
The pitch Ferrari grumbled and twitched, almost bouncing in place as he waited for the third in command. If the other Stunticons were here instead of these guys he would already be on the road and dealing damage. But nooooooooo, they were busy with other orders. Now the black and red con was perched on a craggy outcropping with Soundwave and Dirge as they stopped to check the signals movements. Retrieval missions weren't as much fun because they usually couldn't bust up the goods. Slag on that! This was boring!
For his part, the cobalt flyer hardly said a word as their officer studied the scans again. Finally he nodded, almost to himself, and put the tracking tool away in his subspace. Soundwave pointed West.
"Signals: on the move again. Decepticons: follow."
An odd metallic sound filtered through the open air as limbs pulled in and a tape deck landed in Dirge's open palm. Setting the officer in his cockpit, the jet transformed as well and took to the azure sky. Below, Wildrider let out a cackle.
"Whoo! Here I come Auto-dolts!" The sports car shot off and left a dust trail floating behind as he followed the seeker above him.
.
.
.
I have no idea where Margaret and Peter came from. They were just 'poof', there, personalities and all.