maskormenacelogs | little robots in ringback tones.

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little robots in ringback tones.

WHO: danger & YOU!
WHERE: various locations around heropa and cape canaveral!
WHEN: 05/01-05/03.
WHAT: robot lady adventures in spicy food and terrorists!
WARNINGS: tbd.

a: local park (morning/organic form)
[ Danger's organic body was, truthfully, not as different from her mechanical container as one might have imagined. There were certainly stark contrasts-- but this body required maintenance, just as much as her armored chassis did. Besides, when the recent attempts on her psychiatrist's life, she'd had a lot on her mind, to say the least. She needed time to herself to think. So she took her human-like form out to run, early in the morning before the heat and the sun became too harsh. Her path took her through the Heropa's residential area, out to the local park.

But she wasn't doing much running at the moment. A progressive pain in her right leg had grown intense enough that even the self-titled war machine needed a moment on a bench, hands kneading the muscle as she attempted to assess herself. Analysis was easier with a computerized brain-- the kind of brain that didn't feel pain to begin with.

It could end up being a long (limping) walk home. ]

b: food truck (afternoon/organic form)
[ It had been easier to force herself to experiment with foods when she'd had a companion with a more adventurous palate-- but with fellow robot Steve counted among those lost between this universe and the last, science and progress had to be the motivation for what Danger had come to think of as tests. Despite having lived in her organic body on and off for months on months now, she was still gastronomically inexperienced, so to speak. Partially through her own unwillingness to put anything too unusual into her mouth. Taste was one sense she was still adjusting to. It was still new.

But after the incident at the house-- the one where a sadistic housemate had decided to serve weaponized tofu for dinner-- she had become determined to adapt. To educate herself. To increase her tolerance through trial by culinary fire.

Danger stood outside an Indian food truck with a styrofoam container full of curry, staring into its depths as though she might be able to pick it apart with her mind if she stared long enough. In her human-like body, it was impossible to ignore the strong smell (foreign to her, and burning ever so slightly at her sinuses). This was the being that had single-handedly thrown half a dozen of the finest X-Men around like rag dolls, facing off with a cup of spicy curry as though it were an unstable nuclear reactor.

Finally, she lifted a spoonful to her mouth. For a long moment, she didn't chew. Or swallow. Or do much of anything besides stand there. Still. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Seconds ticked by-- and unceremoniously, the unknowable and infinite entity that called herself "Danger" parted her lips to let that spoonful of curry slowly fall from her mouth onto the sidewalk. ]

c: cape canaveral streets (night/robotic form)
[ This situation was not ideal. Of course, being a robot, she was calculating and considering any number of possible resolutions to the circumstances at hand. Though it was complicated by the fact that her suspect-- a man in a hoodie, average, tachycardic, body temperature rising-- was currently holding a handgun to the head of a homeless civilian, who in turn looked approximately two seconds from passing out. ]

Stand down.
I am a government agent, and I am authorized to negotiate on your behalf if you release the hostage.

[ Though it was getting more likely that if the suspect didn't quickly bend to her demands, she would be forced to utilize any number of the weapons at her disposal to neutralize him. That would mean paperwork later, and dealing with politics. This was, after all, Homeland Security she was working for. There were some liberties she could take, certainly, but still.

It needed to be dealt with as cleanly as possible. It was lucky enough that the late hour meant there wasn't a gawking crowd about, even exposed out on the street like this. ]

Drop your weapon.
I will not repeat my request again.

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Going for a walk: slightly less terrible than anticipated. He's discovered that this body, just like his usual body, starts to get antsy if he doesn't go out and do something with it, so he's taken to walks. Walks while it's still cool enough for this body to be comfortable, of course. Heat effects it differently, and he doesn't feel like dealing with the lethargy it brings.

So that's about when Danger comes into sight. He recognizes her easily, and smiles to note that he's approaching from more or less behind, and is currently out of sight. He keeps to it, even stepping off the sidewalk to approach over the grass as the path starts to curve toward her. When he's close enough, he leans to fold his arms over the back of the bench, not far to the side of Danger.

"Troubles?" He asks it with a smirk, like he's pleased with himself for something. But when isn't he pleased with himself for something.

She'd never particularly liked being surprised-- especially in this body, vulnerable as it is. It would've been hard to sneak up on a machine, with all those fancy sensors and a mind capable of processing the world unfiltered. But like this, distracted by the throbbing pain her leg, Danger doesn't notice him until he's right beside her. The sound of his voice makes her head turn sharply towards him, eyes narrowed as if a threat is the first thing she considers.

Recognition, a moment later, doesn't ease the tension from her face.

"Knock Out," she acknowledges at length, scrutinizing that smug smirk before glancing away. Her tone becomes a bit pointed. "Are you inquiring out of concern, or because you imagine some elaboration will amuse you?"

"I'm inquiring," he says, with exaggerated patience, "Because I'm a doctor. I could help, if there were an issue. Oh, sure, I don't know as much about these organic bodies, but what sort of medic would I be if I didn't make the attempt to learn?"

Most of that is a lie. He's looked into things enough to be able to take care of himself, but the question is definitely for his own amusement. His smile looks downright pleasant by now though, and says none of this.

Truthfully, her recent experience with doctors has been varied and only partially medical, so the fact that Knock Out is, apparently, among their number receives an internal mixed review. She glances at him again, eyes still narrowed with something either skeptical or suspicious. Obviously she isn't sure she believes that he wants to be helpful to her.

She certainly doesn't smile back.

"You have my invitation to inspect and assess, if you wish," she finally answers. "Though I somewhat doubt you could do much to aid me that I could not do for myself."

[ Lunch was a literal run down the corner and Levi moved with a purpose down the sidewalk to the sundry caravan of food trucks. With the station kitchen spared his down to the grout ablutions until it was Levi Approved clean he refused to eat there. An understanding superior and some overfed higher ups that did the same any given chance opened whole new horizons from which to broaden his understanding of cuisine. Like anything new, he had his reservations.

He would be perfectly content with the bland European fare he lived on his entire life when he could actually afford it. Only a demanding group of firemen that 'adopted' him as their rookie and responsibility left him little room to argue. Today it was going to be Indian, because their EMT wouldn't shut up about it, and rice was fast becoming a staple in his diet.

Spicy curry splashed off of the side and onto the toe of his steel-toes as he moved away from the truck with his styrofoam cup of green curry over jasmine rice. Plastic fork dropped into the cup and Levi watched the boots he had just spent scrubbing out with kiwi polish for the last hour get splattered by pungent curry and saliva. ]

Are you fucking serious?

[ Food trucks are a significant step down in terms of Karla's dining preferences. Not for the past few years, of course -- she's spent those in halfway-incarceration -- but, you know. Given the choice. This pushes her limit in the pedestrian (in, ah, both senses) and hipster-y departments.

But she's doing overtime, basically, to get a sense of her new surroundings. Fingers crossed, she's here in this dimension for some time. Eating out of a truck while standing's not such a high price to pay for some situational awareness.

She's scanning the handwritten menu in the window -- probably for what's least likely to spill and stain, honestly, at this point -- when the, um, curry situation Danger's experiencing catches her eye.

Tall woman. Interesting... hair. Another imPort?

Karla leans over, raises a brow, looks pointedly at the mouthful of curry splashed on the sidewalk. ]

So I should go for the pakora, then?

Well, at least he's used to people being skeptical and suspicious of him. Really, if they weren't, there would probably be something wrong.

"We won't know that until I see what the problem is, will we?" he drawls, but the tone is still cheerful. Knock Out pushes off from his lean against the back of the bench and circles around to stand in front of her. "Now, a few standard questions, bear with me — what were you doing at the time of the malfunction?"

It probably doesn't help at all that she's become instinctively distrustful-- but either way, she lets him come stand in front of her without attempting to escape or attack him. That must be a plus. Instead, she just continues to eye him.

"I was running. Approximately ten miles per hour. Distance to current location from starting point, roughly one and a half miles," she responds with very little inflection. "The pain progressed until I was forced to stop."

[ Admittedly, she was still not very good at coping with strong flavors. She disliked digestion as a general process from start to finish-- she found it unpleasant in any number of ways. Even now, trying to force herself to adapt was a labor. Her tongue still tingled with a slight burning feeling that made her more irritable than anything else-- enough that when she was confronted for letting her food drip onto someone's shoes, her first response was to glance with narrowed eyes.

She shut her mouth. And stared pointedly for a long moment, sizing the stranger up blatantly. They were probably a strange looking pair-- her, unusually tall, and him, precisely the opposite.

Finally, in a nearly deadpan voice: ]

Clarify: Am I serious about what?

[Here's another factor to add in, Danger: the former robot-turned-human skulking around Cape Canaveral who had been trying to sneak onto the base to look at the planes. Starscream just wanted to look at the planes without any interference, without any humans bothering him, just him and the planes. Because he had to admit, those were very nice planes--not as nice as him, of course, but he wanted to compare them to his own chassis.

Unfortunately, he had either forgotten or not realized that it's hard to sneak onto a military base. Especially at night. So, he ended up wandering the streets of the city after being ejected from the base. That was when he heard a decidedly inorganic voice coming from down the abandoned street. Turning to look, he saw Danger, looking at a man with a handgun to the head of some human he didn't care about. Truth be told, he didn't care about the gunman either.

But the machine...hello there.]

I'd suggest listening to her, [Starscream mused, as he walked up towards Danger, the gunman and the homeless civilian. With his dark purple hair and red eyes, Starscream almost instantly read as an imPort--albeit one that had terrible fashion sense, as shown by his bomber jacket that was a bit too Top Gun.] I'm sure we'd all hate it if something were to happen.

[But his tone was pure smarm--he didn't give a damn.]

"Mmhmm." He looks over her clinically, even the smirk dropping away as he falls into the bored routine that he's used on Vehicons for what feels like half his life. "And is this a recurring problem, or the first time you've dealt with it?"

[It was well after the display, well after the involved parties had engaged the murderous miscreant. Chilton observed, keeping to himself in the throng of bystanders and vulturing media personae -- he watched, denoting the efforts of Starscream (identifiable by voice), and analyzing how Danger interacted with any aid.

It was only after the tension had evaporated, only after the crowd of flesh and gasps had dispersed -- only when it looked as if Danger was about to take her own leave -- only then did he invoke her.

He clapped, slowly, sarcastically, offering a pointed sneer.]

Well done, Danger.

[ The words were words of praise-- but even with her limited social conditioning, Danger had long learned to recognize sarcasm when she heard it. It helped, of course, that she was accustomed to his antagonism and insincerity. She didn't so much as blink-- and not just because she didn't need to, in this mechanical form-- but the malleable metal of her face betrayed the slightest frown at his unexpected presence.

She let one hand find her hip, weight leaning to one side as she eyed him. That posture must have been learned from watching humans, a way of showing that she was ever skeptical and suspicious of him. Despite the soft mechanical hum of her voice, her answer comes with a pointed curtness. ]

Thank you, Doctor.
Is there something I may assist you with?

She doesn't like discussing this-- it's obvious by the look on her face, how she purses her lips at his questioning and frowns. It isn't that she has any issue producing the information, but talking about her injury feels too much like exposing weakness. This organic body of hers is inherently more vulnerable in some ways than her mechanical one, but accepting that doesn't mean that she likes it.

"I have had some mild pain and soreness in the past," comes her answer after a beat. Her leg still throbs, even as they speak. "But nothing I found to be unbearable. Usually it was relieved with rest."

[ Interference from another imPort was, frankly, the last thing that Danger wanted in this moment. It was just another variable to calculate in this entire mess, and as much as she might have appreciated having someone encourage obedience to her commands in another situation, this was neither the time nor the place for making new friends. Fortunately, her various sensors and systems allowed her a quick analysis of the stranger while she kept an eye on the gunman, who was now clearly agitated by the appearance of another party.

She put a hand out, a clear indication that she meant for him to keep his distance. ]

And I would suggest that you do not approach any closer.
This is a Homeland Security matter.
Your commentary is not required.

[ The gunman was observing their exchange, glancing from imPort to imPort, clearly trying to decide what to do now that he was officially outnumbered. Finally, crumbling under pressure, he shoved his hostage aside, pointing the gun at Starscream instead. ]

He nods, thoughtful, trying to remember everything he's studied about leg pains. Muscles cramping, that's probably what it is. And what did he read about that? He shifts forward, moving for the leg she'd been running.

"This one, I assume." His hand hovers above it, like he's asking permission — but really it's to work up to touching bare skin. He's still not quite used to the feeling of that. It's too squishy.

[Not approach any closer, his commentary is not required, please. Starscream instead takes a step forward, hands in his pockets, giving Danger a little smirk.] I know it's not required, but I'm offering it anyway.

[And oh. There's a gun in his face.

As the gunman pointed the gun at Starscream, he couldn't help but frown. He had his immortality, granted by that shred of the All-Spark stuck in his forehead--at least, according to the file, he did. But according to the file, he also had his robot form, which he was having an insane amount of trouble activating. And, he knew from experience, that dying really hurt.

So, out of all the answers, he quickly decided on the best one for him: covering his ass and making things up.]

Now you really don't want to do that, do you? After all, you don't know what superpower I have. I could...ah...blow up, or something like that, and we wouldn't want that to happen.

[ At least Danger has a particular way of looking less flustered than most people would with a mouthful of spice and their tongue slightly hanging out. There's just a certain flatness to her pupil-less eyes that makes her seem very serious about the entire affair, up to the little splatter of curry on the sidewalk. Those eyes glance up when she's spoken to, something pointed in her stare as if she feels a bit interrupted, but she straightens and closes her mouth to purse her lips at the stranger.

She tilts her head slightly, lips curving downward in a frown as she tries to decide whether or not she's being mocked.

At length, her response finally comes: ]

I would not consider myself to be an appropriate source of advice on the subject of food.

If she'd known what he was thinking, she would have sympathized. She remembered her first few days in an organic body vividly. It had been miserable-- more than miserable. Too many sensations, sensitive skin covering her entire body, all the smells, and having to eat. She's grown more accustomed to those things, but still. It never stops feeling foreign, not really.

"Yes," she confirms, watching him carefully as his hands move towards her. "You assume correctly." A beat, then perhaps a bit pointedly, she adds on belatedly, "Doctor."

I thought, perhaps, you would require assistance.

[He inclined his head towards the evacuated scene, indicating the events that have since unfolded. His posture, contrast to hers, mimicked enthusiasm -- his shoulders were upright and held back, provoking a broadness unnatural to his form.

He lifted upwards his chin, looking her over.]

In discussion, I mean. That was quite the event you've committed. Or should I say -- quite the spectacle.

I hardly consider that a performance for your entertainment, Doctor.
I was merely fulfilling my functions.

[ She eyed him in return as she spoke, observing his posture and dissecting his every move into ones and zeroes, data to be filed away in her infinite mind. From anyone else, she would consider such remarks to be compliments. But she knew Dr. Chilton to use words as his weapon, and she didn't trust any syllable that silver tongue wove.

She knew better. ]

If there is something you wish to discuss, I suggest you be upfront concerning it.

He takes a breath, lowers his hand, and sets it lightly on her thigh. And just manages not to shudder. There's something truly creepy about being able to feel the inner workings through the outer coverings.

"Right. Tell me if this helps, then." He squeezes carefully, determined to ignore everything about it that he dislikes. Relax the muscles via compression, hold and massage. He'd usually enjoy taking advantage of the intimacy of a move like this, but not when he's so unsettled by it all.

This had better pay off.

[ No, they wouldn't want that to happen.

Fortunately, at least one of them was still in their robotic form. Danger had nothing to fear from a simple handgun-- her chassis was armored, and capable of taking much worse than few bullets. Either way, it wasn't as if she could feel pain. There was no hesitation before she moved to protect him. With the hostage out of way, her suspect was exposed. It was simple enough to take advantage of her greater speed and ability to calculate, one hand catch the man's gun-wielding hand and swiftly snapping the wrist.

Bone yielded to her effortlessly with an audible noise. The man recoiled with a noise, releasing the gun to clutch his broken wrist. It was simple enough then, to just kick the weapon away and use her greater weight to pin him to the ground. Only then did she glance up again at Starscream. ]

I did warn you that your interference was not necessary.
Please confirm your status.
Are you all right?

She isn't very expressive, even in skin and bones-- but she isn't able to help a slight instinctive flinch when he touches her, just tensing under his hands when he squeezes, despite the gentle pressure. It's still painful at first, making her eyebrows knot slightly as she watches him work.

After a few moments though, it does seem to help. The bunched up muscle relaxes gradually, bringing her a little relief.

Still, she's noticed his discomfort- or maybe just suspects it, through her own experience, because when she finally speaks, she remarks on it quietly, "It isn't necessary for you to force yourself to do this."

"Obviously not. It isn't necessary for me to do anything." He doesn't look up from her leg until he can feel the muscles begin to unknot under his hand, and then he glances up to meet her eyes with a small smile. "But we inorganics should look out for each other, hmm?"

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little robots in ringback tones.

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