Cookie Call

[Nimbus Tsura]

M7W4D5, at Willard's garage, open

---

Thanks to finally checking in with the Autobots, Nimbus has a bit of money. So he immediately thought, "What is the most irresponsible thing I could do with my money? I know! Buying a cookbook and cooking random desserts for Swerve! ...wait, which is human is Swerve, again?"

His train of thought wasn't actually like that. He can't fly anymore. He can't make his Energon Weapons or Energon Stars anymore. He can't see Mirage because Mirage is busy being Addison Payne, and... even if Addison didn't nearly give Nimbus mental breakdowns, Nimbus isn't actually interested in Addison the way that Skyblast is interested in Mirage. They are different people to him. He could focus on all the things he can't do, but what he decided would be more fun was figure out what he could do, instead.

So cookies are like Energon Stars, right? And Swerve liked Skyblast's Energon Stars, right? So maybe Nimbus can try out a bunch of different cookie recipes on Willard, figure out which ones are good, and make more of those to bribe his grumpy roommate and his roommate with migraines?

"Blast, this is shady," Nimbus comments aloud as he attempts to enter the garage, the varied types of desserts stowed away in plastic bags in his backpack.

[Swerve]

Nimbus earns more than a few sideways glances from several of Willard's neighbours. The grumpy mechanic who came out of nowhere has sort of become part of the neighbourhood at this point, so some of them are a little possessive. The younger children, especially, stare at Nimbus from across the street, wary of strangers as they are.

The bay doors are open when Nimbus arrives, as Willard is busy working. This time it's someone's pickup, needed for work, that broke down two weeks ago. Willard isn't in clear view, but he can easily be heard cursing from under the truck's bonnet.

"How the smelt did they shear off the flywheel?" he demands of his tool kit. The offending broken part comes free with the hair-raising sound of scraping metal.

[Nimbus Tsura]

Nimbus is not affluently dressed. He, in fact, looks rather ragged, dressed in paint-splattered mottled grey clothing. His nails have more paint under them. He took a bus to get here.

He suggests dryly, "Hardcore partying. I remember this one where I ended up throwing up one of my turbines." He sits down on the floor, out of the way. "You would have killed me if you'd had to repair that."

[Swerve]

Nimbus is nevertheless a Stranger. A fascinating one.

Except to Willard, who peers around the bonnet, scowling. Shirtless in the heat of the bay, he has grime and dirt up to his elbows, and an oily smudge across his cheek, under one anger-bright eye. He looks Nimbus up and down like he can't decide whether to throw a spanner at his head or chase him out with a tire iron.

"Who're you?" he growls. "And what do you think you're doin' in here?"

[Nimbus Tsura]

"I'm Skyblast! How many jets do you know who would throw up one of their turbines and then admit to it?" Nimbus says, a slag-eating grin on his face. He takes off his backpack, plops it in his lap, and rummages around inside. He pulls out one of the plastic bags and offers, "Cookie?"

[Swerve]

"Prove it," Willard snaps, ignoring the bag of cookies. He steps away from the truck and pulls an abnormally large screwdriver from his tool box. He could easily beat a man to death with the thing and he holds it like a weapon, his shoulders tense, his eyes wary and suspicious. "Prove you're really Skyblast or get out." He can't be too sure, after all.

---

OOC: And in fact the giant screwdriver is a real thing the mun has witnessed in a mechanic's shop before. It's about two feet long. It's ridiculous.

[Nimbus Tsura]

Nimbus pulls out his cruddy trackphone and says, "Well, I could call Roddy in the middle of whatever he's doing," probably Addison, he thinks unfairly, "but I don't want to use up my minutes. So, how about all those touching moments we spent together, you rummaging around in my insides to make an Omnicon out of me?"

Completely cavalier and carefree, he opens up the bag and has one of the cookies. Oh hey, these are the undercooked chocolate chip cookies. Nimbus likes them better than the burnt peanut butter ones, anyway.

[Swerve]

Willard doesn't stop scowling, though one eyebrow edges upward a little. It's a solid detail, one that he supposes only Skyblast would know. It isn't like he ever made a production of working on the jet, so unless Skyblast himself went running off at the mouth, it shouldn't be common knowledge. Grudgingly, Willard relaxes a little – and only a little bit. After all, he's still a bit testy and he's still talking to Skyblast.

"What're you doing here?" he asks again, watching the other man snack on his garage floor.

[Nimbus Tsura]

"Trying to feed you pastries and failing," Nimbus deadpans, and he holds out the bag of slightly undercooked chocolate chip cookies. He tried to make them look like gears, though the baking process means they don't really look like gears. "You have any allergies I should know about?"

[Swerve]

"Don't think so, but you sure picked a lousy time," Willard grumbles. 'I'm busy and this–" He points at the truck. "–Needs finishing." He wouldn't care about grabbing food regardless of whatever engine muck is on his hands, except that the last (and only) time he did that, he got violently sick. He has since decided that the human body could stand to undergo a few improvements if it can't handle a little motor oil. "So you just… I dunno. Just stay outta my way until I'm done." Which shouldn't take too long with the power of narrative editing.

[Nimbus Tsura]

Nimbus does not offer to help Willard. Willard's work is Willard's work. He does, however, stay out of Willard's way with a characteristic grace and aloofness.

Then when Willard is done...

[Swerve]

When Willard's done and the truck's engine can actually be made useful once he gets a replacement belt and installs it, he leaves the bonnet up but shuts the bay doors before retreating to the sinks at the back. The soap is strong stuff, orange-scented and gritty-textured, and stings in the little scrapes and nicks on his hands. He sort of likes it. Or at least his human brain finds it pleasant.

"In here," he grumbles at Nimbus as he wipes his hands dry on his jeans and heads for the door into the other part of the building.

[Nimbus Tsura]

Nimbus rises up in a fluid motion and follows Willard where indicated, bringing his backpack along with him. He doesn't have anything to say and so stays quiet.

[Swerve]

Willard's living space is less shabby than it was when Kate saw it. He's finished cleaning things up, taken down the old, faded posters, and via Autobot contacts, he now has a refrigerator and a stove. They're not grand, top of the line anything, but they're good. He actually has some food in the fridge – possibly more than he can eat by himself. He gets several female customers who like to bring him meals along with their cars and find excuses to mill about watching him work. He hasn't yet made the connection between their attention and his shirtlessness.

"Have a seat," he tells Nimbus and gestures at the table – there are still only two chairs, but at least the chairs have pads on them now – or the low couch and coffee table in the 'public' area in front of the counter. "Want anything to drink? I've got water," he pauses to open the fridge and look things over, "beer, and… milk," he says the last while squinting.

At least he's trying to be a reasonable host.

[Nimbus Tsura]

Nimbus sits himself down lightly on one of the chairs at the table, and he busies himself with pulling bags of cookies out of his backpack. He does judge his surroundings, but he keeps his judgements to himself. Nimbus props the fingertips of his left hand under his chin, and he thinks as Willard enumerates the beverage choices. Sorbet is the traditional palate cleanser, he knows from watching stars from afar. They need something with a clean, bright flavor that leaves little or no aftertaste. The milk is out.

In a move of bad judgment, Nimbus asks, "Can you do water with just a splash of beer in it?"