maskormenacelogs | got a ride that's smoother than a limosine

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got a ride that's smoother than a limosine

WHO: "Lizzie" and Knock Out
WHERE: SOME STREET. a rainy one.
WHEN: evening
WHAT: accepting rides home from creepy autonomous cars, maybe
WARNINGS: probably not

[ It's raining, but that doesn't really bother him. Not in his own body, anyway. Humans might get damp, but an Aston Martin cruising down the dark of an evening street just gets shinier. Plus, Knock Out's enjoying himself. Since learning to make the transition between human and Cybertronian pretty much whenever he likes, there's nothing stopping him from heading out for a nice evening drive anymore. Or from cruising around until he finds a nice evening street race, either.

His headlights sweep over something that looks a little familiar, though, before he's able to find any race-happy young people. The banana stand. Hmm, he hadn't realized he'd headed in this direction. He naturally spares Lizzie a thought or two next — which might be the only thing that has him recognizing the human in question when his headlights sweep over her, next, headed down the sidewalk.

He slows from the easy cruise he'd been doing, engine dropping into a low (and possibly thoughtful, if you're used to thinking of cars that way) purr. He keeps her in his headlights, considering. ]

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[ Weather like this makes her think of London. She's been gone a week, now, almost two, and she still hasn't gotten over the exhilaration of being here: she's got duties back home, yeah, and she knows that worry over the state of things will soon enough overwhelm her excitement, but for right now she's still caught up in the intoxication of walking about without vigilance spheres nudging their uneasy way above her head, in the ability to talk freely with anyone without any consequence at all...There's so much here, so much knowledge at her fingertips. She feels powerful and brilliant; she's learning everything she can, and every day her world expands. She's bolder than Kitty Jones in London. Happier, more energized. More confident.

But sometimes, something will put her back in the London mindset. It's clammy tonight, and dark. The rain beats down miserably. She's not got an umbrella, and so she trudges down the street with the collar of her leather jacket turned up to her ears, trying to keep her head down and the rain out of her eyes. And that's enough to bring her back to her old instincts, enough that when she finds herself fixed in the beams of a headlight, she starts thinking of escape routes, how she can flee, what she has on her to fight with. She starts thinking of how much damage she can do before she goes.

And then she looks up with hard, wary eyes -

And then thinks she recognizes that car. She squints and raises a hand to her eyes, scowling into the light. ]

Edited 2014-12-01 01:32 (UTC)

[ Ah, he's been noticed. Aannnddd, recognized. ...He thinks. He better have been recognized, there aren't any other cars on the road that look quite as nice as he does.

He rolls nearer to her down the curb, lights blazing fiercely through the lashing rain, though he's polite enough to tilt them downward, lighting only the road and lower half of her body. She'd better appreciate that.

The passenger side window rolls partway down, displaying an ominous red-glowing interior and not a single human to be seen within. ]

You look like a... what's the phrase? A drowned rat? [ That deep voice comes from inside, but the exact source is difficult to pinpoint. ]

[ She relaxes as soon as she sees the empty interior. (Which is, perhaps, a sign of how mad her life has become since coming here - it's a comfort when there are cars, or Cybertronians, that run on some sort of spark of magic. They're familiar, after all.) The voice simply seals the fact that there's no threat here; she relaxes completely, and pushes her sodden hair out of her face before crossing her arms irritably.

Honestly, if cars can look smug, Knock Out looks smug. There's definitely something self-satisfied in the way his wipers are going. ]

I prefer a well-watered rose.

[ She shivers, and then says: ]

Well? Are you going to invite me in?

[ A sigh vents out from somewhere, heavy and exasperated as it ever was when he was in a more human-looking body. But after a few seconds, the window rolls up again as the passenger door swings outward. ]

Try not to track in any mud, won't you? And don't drip on anything.

[ The lighting, set in the dashboard and steering wheel, pulses in time with his voice. Otherwise, the interior looks just as inanimate as any other car's. ]

[ That's...honestly not really what she had expected. Honestly, she'd thought that he'd be affronted, or offended. She'd assumed that she wouldn't be worthy of that sort of thing - and besides, she is pretty horrendous at the moment, quite sodden. But he's still offering. She blinks in surprise, and does think over the risks for just a moment: after all, she doesn't fully trust Knock Out, as much as she likes him. But...She does trust him enough for this, she decides. He's not going to try to digest her or anything.

She hopes.

So, with mingled trepidation and gratitude, she slips inside, sits down, and closes the door after her. She's immediately glad she does, no matter the risks: it's warm in there, and it's nice not having that cold rain splattering down on her. In gratitude, she takes a moment to tuck her hair in as best she can under her turned-up collar, so that she doesn't drip. ]

It's really comfortable.

[ That's said with a little bit of surprise. ]

[ He's given a few people rides here so far, and as far as these things go... this isn't terribly unpleasant. She's taking care to do as he asked, for one thing, he can appreciate that. He even sets on the heater, in an unusual surge of generosity. ]

Of course. [ It's an obvious fact, but he still sounds pleased. ] I'm a luxury car, you know. It's not just a name.

[ The door closes after her with a snap, but he's at least kind enough not to snake the seatbelt on around her like he has for other passengers. Something does really have to be done about that dripping umbrella, though... A slender rod extends from somewhere in the dashboard, with a simple silver claw at the end, which folds open expectantly. ]

Umbrella, please.

[ She might potentially under normal circumstances balk at handing over her umbrella, but she's so delighted by the cleverness of that mechanism that she doesn't even think twice. She passes it over, and then leans forward to examine the claw avidly. It looks like it's fashioned from silver, which might mean that Knock Out isn't powered by magic - unless it's not genuine? How completely fascinating. ]

It's like a little hand. You're controlling it?

[ The three digits of the claw fold over the umbrella, and since she's examining it, it keeps still for a few seconds longer than it might usually. Why not. ]

It's not a hand, it's a servo. And yes, I'm controlling it. [ He's waited (and let the umbrella drip) for long enough; it folds away again, taking the umbrella with it as it as it tucks into the dashboard. ] There, better. Now, where were you headed?

[ Home, truthfully. But she's vacated her government-given flat, and certainly hasn't told anyone her new address as of yet; it's a small place, functional, across town from where most heroes are housed. It's a long walk, but it's isolated, and it's cheap. It would be nice not to have to trudge all the way back on foot - but she should probably keep it secret. Right?

Well. She could do both. ]

There's a bookshop on 12th and Elm that I wanted to look in. I was going there.

[ And - ]

Do you control everything in here?

[ 12th and Elm. Doable. The car starts forward smoothly, gliding forward with minimal effort. HIs lights pick up again as his speed increases, and in the dashboard display a map pops up, with 12th and Elm highlighted. ]

I am everything in here, actually. [ Humans have so much trouble with this concept sometimes... ]

[ She thinks about that a moment. He is everything. Okay. She turns that over, then asks: ]

And it's not creepy, then? Carrying a person around in you. I don't find it creepy; I just want to make sure you don't, either.

[ He makes the verbal equivalent of a shrug as he takes a corner — which, of course, he utterly fails to slow down for. Slowing down for corners just isn't something he does. ]

I am an automobile, after all. I won't say it's pleasant to carry around a fleshie, but there are worse fates if they keep all their limbs and fluids to themselves.

[ She lurches to the side, hurled by the centrifugal force of him taking that corner so sharply. Far from being irritated, she just makes a little noise and says - ]

Well, it'll be easier for me to keep my limbs to myself if you don't toss me about like that.

[ And then she leans forward to look at things a little bit more closely - ready to take action if he slams on the brakes or something. She doesn't want her head slamming into the dashboard. ]

How fast can you go?

[ That gets a laugh. Not much of one, just a low chuckle — but it's answer enough by itself, really. ]

Faster than you're liable to get a chance to see on the way to 12th and Elm.

[ Which sounds, if anything, like an open ended invitation. After all, his plan for this evening had already been to cruise around and find roads that he can tear madly down... ]

[ Oh - this is a bad idea. She knows that going caroming around is dangerous, especially when she doesn't know how well he actually drives. And she doesn't trust him, right? And there's a level of danger inherent in going somewhere with someone you don't trust, and there's much more danger inherent in going somewhere you don't know with someone you don't trust. She'd be a complete idiot to say yes. But this is only her third time in a car, and her second time in a car when she's not being arrested, and her first time in a car when she has any say whatsoever where they go or what they do -

Oh, no. She can't resist it. ]

Well...I'm not in any real hurry.

Good answer.

[ The words are underscored by a rev of his engine, and this time it's not just for show. The speed picks up as his headlights dance over the wet pavement ahead of them, and "12th and Elm" on his dashboard display disappears. According to the ever-changing map there, they're headed further out of town now. ]

Just what sort of a world are you from, Lizzie? [ His voice is a drawl, lazy and confident as the speed picks up still more. ] What sort of cars did you have? If any.

[ She knows she ought to be nervous and on-guard. She ought to be watching for the least sign that something's going wrong, or that he's about to do her harm. She ought to be picking out the most delicate parts of him that she can threaten to wreck in case he proves dangerous. She's lived this long by being cautious, and she just doesn't forget that cautiousness. But...But they're going so fast. She's never gone this fast before. She's just trudged along in buses, or made her miserable crowded way in the dreary lurch of the subway, or she's gone by foot. She's never witnessed this before - the way the force of acceleration hits her in the pit of her stomach like a jolt of adrenaline, or the way that faces and lights whip past through the lane, or the low confident hum of the engine, and even though she ought to be figuring out how to keep herself safe instead she's just overcome with wonder and excitement.

It takes her a few moments to answer. When she does, it's a little absent. ]

I don't know. I know we had Rolls-Royces. But that's the only sort of car I ever paid attention to.

[ Which is maybe too much information - enough, maybe, to tie her back to Kitty Jones. But she's hardly paying attention to that. ]

No one I knew had one. Cars weren't for commoners.

A Rolls-Royce is no automobile to scoff at... [ He speaks smoothly, almost sounding like he's launching into a lecture. It contrasts with the ever-increasing speed, and the smooth swerves he makes to pass slower cars on the road. ] There's a certain elegance and class to them. But they'll never compare to an Aston Martin, I can tell you that for a fact.

[ They disappear into a tunnel. Lights whip madly by on either side as the rain cuts off abruptly, and Knock Out comes up fast behind a semi truck that's doing a good job of hogging the lane. Knock Out doesn't look ready to slow down in the slightest, despite the bulk of it ahead. ]

Edited 2014-12-01 16:22 (UTC)

I've heard.

[ That's said with bitterness, and a more than a hint of old anger. But she doesn't dwell on that. Instead, she leans forward - ]

Look out - that lorry there.

[ If Knock Out notices that, it's yet another thing not to care about. There's a race on, even if the other cars on the road haven't yet noticed. ]

Passenger-side driving is appreciated, but not necessary.

[ He presses forward until the truck's red rear lights flood his interior even more than his own dashboard lighting had done, and then swerves suddenly around it. There is, of course, a pair of white headlights bearing down on them immediately from the oncoming lane. Yet another thing that doesn't bother Knock Out, who only laughs. He slams forward, flying past the truck next to them, as the headlights ahead draw nearer and nearer. Horns start to blare, echoing madly along the tunnel walls.

It's as close a call as Knock Out will allow to his precious paint job; at the very last second one more burst of speed has him swerving neatly into place ahead of the truck, and the incoming car rushes harmlessly past. ]

[ Kitty's brave, but she's not fearless. She wishes that she could say that she faced that oncoming car with stoicism, nothing but a coolly raised eyebrow and a confident crossing of her arms. Or that she'd leaned forward and egged Knock Out on, laughing powerfully and ferociously. Instead, honestly, she'd seen it coming, and been sure they'd crash, and she'd let out what could charitably be described as a squeak and covered her face, the horns sounding in her ears -

And then a lurch to the side, and they're fine. Knock Out is laughing, and they're completely fine, racing headlong through the tunnel, and oh, she wants to be furious, she really does. But as soon as the danger's past, as soon as she's lowered her hands and seen that they're alive and powering out into the night, a ferocious sort of gladness seizes her. She feels intensely, intoxicatingly alive. It's her old recklessness, her revolutionary's spirit, that she's tried so very hard to suppress these past few years. It's her love of danger, her love of action - like throwing herself into a fight. But this time, for the first time in her life, when she's in the fight she's not at a disadvantage. Knock Out is strong, and fast, and he knows what he's doing, and so she finds herself giddily, breathlessly laughing as well. ]

Don't you dare get me killed.

[ Well, she'd reacted better than most. A squeak isn't very dignified, but it's certainly better than a shriek or an open panic. And besides, if she's never dealt with cars before, Knock Out can be a little lenient.

He's still chuckling when they fly out of the zipping lights of the tunnel and back out into the rain. ]

If you can trust anything in this world, it's that I am not about to get so much as a ding in my paint job.

[ He eases off on the speed, content with his own daredevil actions for now. He's still well above the posted limit, true, but that's just a constant fact. And how else is he supposed to attract reckless human youths to a race? ]

Yeah, well, don't fling me about, either. Remember if you've got to stop suddenly, I'll probably go flying and then there'll be blood everywhere in you.

[ But even though she wants to sound like she's scolding him, there's a wild grin on her face; her heart's beating hard, and she's still breathless and excited and exhilarated. A hand goes through her hair, shoving it away from her face, and she leans forward, into the quick-approaching landscape. ]

How fast are we going?

Oh, please. I think I've considered that.

[ Now comes the seatbelt. It zips around Kitty to press her back into the seat, safe and contained. ]

Buckle up for safety, as they say. [ And with that done, he highlights the speedometer, over on the driver's side of his dashboard. It's a digital display, currently hovering between 50 and 60 MPH. ] 55.6 miles, currently. Not bad for a speed zone of, oh, 30?

[ It's a mark, perhaps, that she's much worse at being on-guard and wary and combative than she wants to be that - instead of immediately fighting back the moment that cord snaps around her - she just surges forward with nervousness. And then, within five heartbeats, she's seized the cord, and is tugging it, and feels how it yields, and that's enough to reassure her and smother her panic. She's not familiar with seatbelts: they'd not made her wear one on her way here from Cape Canaveral, and magicians certainly didn't have them in their limousines. Her instinct is, of course, that it's something to ensnare and entrap - but this cursory test demonstrates otherwise, and so she settles back.

Twice as fast as they're supposed to be going, then. That's also got the thrill, then, of civil disobedience - something pointless, but something good for her frustrated spirit. Though her conscience does tug at her, and she does admonish him - ]

And you're careful of other drivers, too, right? You give them enough room, and don't scare them off the roads or anything of the sort.

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