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

[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?

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"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.