Post by Emirate Xaaron on May 29, 2012 10:58:42 GMT -5
Month 8, Week 2, Day 7, Willard's side of town, open
It's late at night. Maybe Metatron should be getting some sleep. Maybe Metatron should be working on a meeting with Spike Witwicky. Maybe Metatron should be blackmailing the US government to give the Autobots and Maximals Johnston Atoll, since the US government signed a treaty saying that they would tender any information they had about Shockwave, which they did not. Johnston Atoll would make such an excellent Earth base, and the humans are not even using it for anything productive!
Instead, she is out prowling the night, alone, and Imp would surely disapprove. The thing is, there are Decepticons and Predacons and maybe even Vehicons out there. If Metatron catches one, she can have one of her Intel folks interrogate him or her!
Maybe Metatron just likes the rush that comes with assuming her powered form.
She pauses by an abandoned building where she thinks she saw movement. She definitely smells fresh gasoline, which is still peculiarly enticing for her. Metatron thinks it smells about as good as a nice lamb stew, which she knows a human should not. (She knows an Autobot should not think lamb stew smells good at all.) Metatron creeps closer. Pending arson?
Some years ago, this was a decent secondhand clothing shop. Or so Willard hears. It hasn't been open since the former owner died and her children have been half-hearted at best in their efforts to clear the place out since her passing. Too many other things going on. It's become something of an eyesore with its torn awning and decrepit, faded façade, and some punk teenagers have taken it into their heads that tonight is the night they'll fix it up their way.
They're inside with their gas cans and bottles of lighter fluid. Willard knows because followed them here. After an outing with Kate that, for timey-wimey reasons, hasn't happened yet, Willard has taken her advice. The guys in the fights haven't seen as much of Willard lately; he's been running around busting heads with a mask on instead. He pulls the mask – an Autobot-red bandanna with eye holes cut into it – from his jacket pocket and dons it.
The stench of gasoline is thick by the back door they kicked in; it stings his nostrils, makes his stomach queasy, but he likes it all the same. It's the smell of work, of home.
Inside, a voice: "Who's got the matches?" Willard takes that as his cue and rushes in, already swinging for the first body he sees in the darkness.
Post by Emirate Xaaron on Jun 9, 2012 21:04:44 GMT -5
Metatron hears the first sounds of conflict and feels a rising thrill inside. The back door is kicked in, and without the fear of a sensible person, she steps inside. The smell of gasoline is almost intoxicating. She fumbles for a light-switch. Could this decrepit building still have power?
By some fluke of the grid, when Metatron flips that switch, the lamps along the walls flicker on, dim and yellow with age. They illuminate a scene that's only slightly off typical for Willard: he usually fights adults, not kids, and he usually hits much, much harder. But he's out to stop them and send them running home with a few bruises to remind them what a bad idea this was the next time they think about spending a night vandalising the neighbourhood; he's not out to do them any lasting harm.
"Next time I catch you makin' trouble like this," he growls with one teen in a headlock and another by the scruff of his neck, "I won't be so nice!" A third – the one he punched on his way in – is on the floor groaning and holding his nose. Another pair have stopped in the middle of fleeing for the back door, which is now obstructed by Metatron.
Willard is about to turn so he can throw the kids toward the door when he hears an unexpected voice tell them all to freeze. The kids running for the door, already scared, stop cold in their tracks and even though he's disinclined to do as told, Willard's own body seems disinclined to move. He turns his head enough to see gold and silver, and the bright yellow eyes to go with that voice. And he doesn't know whether to laugh or start cursing.
The moment they're released, the teens scatter like leaves on the wind, though the two Willard still has in his grip get a tougher time of it than the others, shoving and pulling until he lets them loose. One of them shouts back as he hurries out that he hopes Metatron wipes the floor with the old cuss.
Willard stares for a couple seconds before, frowning, he crosses his arms.
"What're you doing here?" he grumbles. She sounded like Xaaron for a moment, and for that moment, he thought he saw the old showpiece. But, he reminds himself, there's a chance it could be some sort of trick. Right? "I had it handled just fine."
Willard continues to say nothing for a few seconds, just glowering. Aside from Kate and, occasionally, Nimbus, he hasn't seen too many of the other Autobots. Too much going on. For reasons he can't put a name to, that bothers him. Then, suddenly, Xaaron shows up out of the blue – and given what a stupid reason she has for just going in blind to who knows what sort of situation, Willard has decided she must be Xaaron – like it's any day of the week. It's kind of irritating.
He starts toward Metatron with one arm raised as if to punch her. She probably remembers this happening once before. He kind of feels like punching her. But if Metatron doesn't stop him, he wraps his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug instead as he muffles laughter in his jacket collar. She might annoy the static out of him like she always does, but he's still happy to see her.
Post by Emirate Xaaron on Jun 30, 2012 21:24:57 GMT -5
Metatron does not flinch and makes no move to stop him. Perhaps her eyes widen with just the tiniest bit of surprise at not being punched, but after a beat, she tries to wrap her arms around Willard, too, just as tightly. Metatron has missed holding and being held. Her reality was apparently huggier than this one.
"This where you've been?" Willard asks as he tries to hold Metatron at arm's length, hands on her shoulders, so he can look her over. His mouth twists into something of a frown, and behind his mask, his brow furrows. His tone, however, sounds less angry than it does amused as he adds, "…Not much of a disguise." He probably isn't one to cast stones, given his leather jacket-and-bandanna ensemble.
Post by Emirate Xaaron on Aug 12, 2012 9:02:13 GMT -5
Metatron looks left and right, allowing Willard to hold her at arm's length. Then the gold fades from her hair and skin, and the glowing yellow leaves her eyes. She's still in a generic superhero outfit, though. Metatron admits, "I do need to change into my civilian gear. I have been here in Detroit, yes. I am not sure how much of what I remember is real. It feels like someone tried to reformat my brain module and didn't do it right, leading to a partitioned system instead."
Willard has to wonder, hearing from Kup and now Xaaron, if waking up in a squishy human body but only remembering being a robot is an exception or something. Though he'd be downright raging if his own head had been messed with like that, so it's probably for the best that he has no human memories.
"Substandard work, I guess," he snorts at her assessment of the memory issue. It takes him another second to remember to let go, which he does abruptly, looking awkward. He crosses his arms and takes in the fuel-soaked shop as a distraction. "…Didn't bring anything to clean this up," he mutters. He'd figured on stopping the kids before they could pour much of anything.