of all odds and ends

[10_20_15_5_50]

Who: Dirge and Sam
What: Two recent arrivals run into each other while wandering the Warehouse
Where: The Warehouse
When: ‘Bout a week since these guys arrived
Warnings: Dirge. Dirge, and possibly language.


Lemons, a horseshoe, a feather from a rooster which could no longer crow. A bottle (glass, which was important) with a bit of cork to serve as a stopper, supplied by a restaurant within the Hub---like the little marker, so startlingly a Sharpie.

Scrabble tiles. Would wood blocks work?

White wax. Struck from the list---not that there was one written---over an hour ago, when Sam had stumbled across shelves (upon shelves!) of ‘standard’ emergency supplies. Flashlights, foiled blankets, flares, and blessedly (!) right to the left of the last, candles. She’d pocketed four before spotting one which was queerly coiled, but had shrugged to herself, pulled the candle from its stand, and slipped it onto an arm. With the wax, she had almost everything.

But the book---

The book would be a while. Which it was didn’t matter, as long as it was an epistolary novel, but in English alone there were stacks to search through---paperbacks and hardbound books, pamphlets and periodicals. Finding a title which would work would be the work of an afternoon, at best. At worst…

“Weeks.” The word was a low talking-to-myself mutter, though what followed was a little louder, aimed at the comm drone hovering a few feet from the adept’s elbow.“If anything I’m after is in here.”

Comments

[dirge]

"Anything I want? Anything?"

The confirmation of this by the drone manning the warehouse had swiftly brought Dirge to hitherto unknown heights of anticipatory joy.

...And the deepest depths of indecision. What to grab first? How much could he reasonably carry? Where to take it all? How long would it take to pilfer the entire warehouse? The teal jet stood there so long, frozen by the deluge of questions, that he actually had to reboot his processor once or twice to get moving again.

Just do it by instinct. Touch everything. Grab whatever looked the most valuable first. Try not to worry about taking everything at once. He could do this. It was just like doing inventory.

Thus he was able to hear the muttering of a familiar voice in a nearby isle. Huge teal claws prodded aside enough items on the shelf for him to peer through to the other side, giant red optics focusing on Sam.

"I wouldn't worry about that," he commented. "Eventually all of this will be mine anyway."

[10_20_15_5_50]

Sam looked up, surprised, thought Son of a bitch, spare me the Soylent Green stuff, and stepped back to better see the bot. To her credit, she managed mild exasperation in answering, “Not worrying isn’t exactly an option.”

Especially since you’ve shown up. The situation had been less than ideal before, what with the dearth of diaries, but if their first conversation was indicative of anything… there was no telling what would come of this encounter. That uncertainty was a cause for some concern, but no worse than worrisome---the ground on which they stood wasn’t quite as uneven as it appeared.

“Besides, I’m not overly interested in eventualities---not now. Now, it’s what’s within ‘weeks.’” Sam crossed her arms, shrugging. “And even someone with your stride would take weeks to see everything they have here.”

[dirge]

"Weeks? You have some sort of deadline?" Intrigued, the jet clone abandoned the peephole and stepped around to her side. He'd located a large sack somewhere of a burlap-ish material and the bag was already bulging with items. Slung over his shoulder, it might have given him the appearance of a bizarre Santa or even a cat burglar, if it weren't for the state of his cockpit.

Even more items were shoved into the relatively narrow space in his chest, pressed up against the glass, so much so that the latch was visibly straining to keep his cockpit shut. As it was, he just looked overall bizarre.

"Just to see it all...." Dirge gazed down the isles, feeling a migraine coming on. Could there be too much stuff here even for him? No, impossible. The very thought forced a pout to his lips.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"No, just an optimistic estimate for the time it'll take to find what I want." Sam peered up at the seeker, squinting slightly, stance the same. His size alone was sort of intimidating, but its effect was undermined by the haul he had---he looked like the kid no-one could convince to quit trick-or-treating at ten, eleven, or twelve o'clock.

He's even stuffed himself.

One corner of her mouth twitched towards a smile at the thought. Though the comparison could've been considered unkind, she couldn't unsee certain similarities.

"...is there something in specific you are after?"

[dirge]

His attention was briefly caught by something new on her side of the shelves- a tiny transparent globe that he reached for above her head and plucked from its spot. It was quite small, probably around the size of a human hand, requiring him to pinch it between two talons and bring it up closer to his optics to properly examine.

"No. Well, yes. Things of value for the most part," Dirge replied, sounding distracted. "But I'd like to own it all as soon as I can."

Shaking the little globe caused a carpet of white particles to swirl up from the bottom, twirling rapidly around in the liquid trapped inside.

"What are you looking for? Something common and replaceable, I hope?"

[10_20_15_5_50]

Sam watched the while, trying to make sense of the mech’s emotional atmosphere when she wasn’t wondering what he might see and seize next. Since it seemed the sensible thing to do---and only courteous, to answer a question---she spoke on.

“Well, yeah, if not quite as common as I’d like. Normally, I could find at least one of the books I want in any second-hand shop, and probably pick from four copies for next to nothing.” Dracula was almost a standard staple---her last copy had cost her a quarter, and the book had been so battered she’d been able to black it up and pull pages with a clear conscience. “Any one book among all these, though… it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. And I’m only after an epistolary novel over here.”

[dirge]

A couple of words in her answer were quite unfamiliar to the clone. Books? Second-hand shop? Haystack? Epistolary? He frowned and shook his head as if to clear tiny white snowflakes from his processor. Wait, maybe he did know about at least that first one.

"Books....those are your data pads, I think. Yes. Very small with no buttons," Dirge mumbled, trying to envision them clearly.

"If I find you one of these, will you leave?" An idea was starting to form, one that will help him reconcile with the enormous amount of effort it would take to transport all of this stuff somewhere else.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Mostly paper, usually rectangular? Those are the things." The adept cast a curious glance up at his face as her strange acquaintance muttered, but shrugged and shifted to stand with her hands clasped behind her back. "If it's one from my wishlist? Yes."

She'd be back to search for Scrabble, alphabetical blocks, or---for the sake of a long shot---the little lettered beads so frequently found in friendship bracelets, but she'd leave and busy herself preparing the publication. Blacking out every verb and proper noun could take a terribly long time, even if it wasn't wearisome work; she'd leave and be gone the better part of a day.

"Are you asking for want of uncontested claims, or...?"

[dirge]

"Give me your list of wishes," came the impatient reply, followed by a huge be-taloned hand descending and making a 'come on' gesture. Dirge was not only eager to see her gone, but also to start enacting his plan.

But this human was just so full of questions. She never stopped asking him things. He was pretty sure it was because she was not entirely afraid of him.

"Why else would I be asking? Out of a desire to make you happy?" he snorts, laughing derisively at the very thought of it.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Okay, sure." Sam snorted at the strangeness of the situation, flicking her own hands up in concession. Anything that could conceivably shorten the time she spent scrounging was worth a shot. "Dracula, by Bram Stoker. The Diary of Anne Frank. The Diary of a Wimpy Kid. The Perks of Being a Wallflower. The Colour Purple. House of Leaves. Ah, Carrie, by Stephen King. Any one of those, and maybe, just maybe, to be alone and inpecting what's available without any distractions."

Since you do seem to be particularly prone to this and then that taking your attention. There's evidence before my eyes suggesting as much, and so very strongly.

[dirge]

Entries into a mental list were added as he was given the titles of what he assumed were the books she was looking for, all of them very strange things to call a data pad in his opinion.

"Do these contain information that interests you?" Dirge was not at all sure he understood why this human wanted these if they were so common. Was she trying to trick him? Maybe they had little monetary value, but what if they had valuable information in them?

The jet shifted the huge sack from his shoulder, lowering it the ground with a rattle of objects hitting the floor. Pulling it open, he reached inside and began to remove items from it, looking them over for a few moments before ...

...putting them back on the shelves?

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Now? Not really. I want them for their formats." Under other circumstances---say, being at home and having an afternoon open---she would've considered the titles interesting enough to skim for fun, but now they were merely means to an end. From means to meanings---what was the meaning of this? Some of the books were bricks, with the right bindings, but even the biggest would've been 'very small' beside the bot and his bag.

[dirge]

Dirge's processor worked at that answer, taking it apart and trying to analyse it from his twisted point of view. What value did their formats have? Was she merely collecting things of the same type?

"I don't understand," he said finally. Half of the bag was now empty.

[10_20_15_5_50]

"Those books are all written a certain way, which makes it easier to repurpose their paper." As an explanation, it was bare bones... but, Sam felt, still serviceable---it made more sense than the ritual in its entirety, at least outside the occult underground. "I'd like a little, and 'plain' has no appeal."

She watched the Seeker continue to work, wondering (with a creeping concern a pulse in his aura did nothing to quell) what it was he had in mind, and at the admittedly eclectic array of items he had already unpacked.

[dirge]

Repurpose. That made some sort of sense. Taking one thing that was common and turning it into something more unique. Yes. A very good idea, actually.

Dirge stroked some of the items lovingly before putting them back- the common element amongst them being eye-catching qualities, such as shininess, richness of color, or intricate designs. These he seemed very hesitant to part with and are placed higher up when returned to the shelving.

"I see. You can leave then. I will find these items and then find you."

[10_20_15_5_50]

Oh.

She'd assumed, upon first hearing his offer, that he'd help find one of the books, and then be rid of her. This...

...worked just as well. Though the possibility of sending a message home was some substantial motivation, Sam was tired of searching the shelves and had to admit to herself; a break would be wonderful. Perhaps she'd see if she couldn't find a craftsperson willing to fashion wood tiles for her, so the time wouldn't be wasted if the Cybertronian was simply saying whatever he had to to have her go; perhaps she'd say screw it and see whatever there was to see in the city. She hadn't seen a whole hell of a lot since touring with Wing---she'd been too busy casting about for components to do any independent exploring---but there were people back on Earth who would ask a lot of questions of her, when (or if) it was established they could.

"Alright. Good luck with your looking."

She stretched and started down the aisle, limp slight despite the stiffness from so much standing still. Her comm drone followed, and did not beep but bleeped when she stopped abruptly to half-turn and ask,

"What's your name, anyway?"

[dirge]

"Mm. They will be found. I intend to stay here.... pretty much indefinitely," Dirge answered with a small nod. And thus was the genius of his plan- why spend the nearly endless effort of moving everything somewhere else- when he could just move himself here. Then he could spend his time doing a full inventory instead, and at his own leisure. Brilliant.

"I'll trade you for yours. It's Dirge." The jet glanced back at her, having mostly finished restoring the items to the shelves.

[10_20_15_5_50]

The reshelving of all those items suddenly made sense. Sense of a very specific sort, but still… sense, and it was just off-the-wall enough Sam had to make an effort to avoid an amused snort. She succeeded, and what was more, managed to stay straight-faced.

“Sam. Nice meeting you properly.” The words didn’t follow from force of habit---as her first face-to-face meeting with the avaricious seeker improved upon all expectations, she spoke sincerely even as she again began to walk away. “Have fun treasure-hunting.”

[dirge]

"Sam," the clone repeated, filing that away for later use. He grinned wide as he turned back to surveying the seemingly endless rows of objects.

"Oh, I will," he purred.