rogue. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theycalledmeacurse) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fateandfortune2020-01-21 10:35 pm
theycalledmeacurse) wrote in fateandfortune2020-01-21 10:35 pm
psl.
the mutant and the machine.
the mutant and the machine.
He ex-vents, his expression one of faint exasperation but not ire. Carefully and slowly, giving Rogue plenty of time to move or otherwise tell him to stop, he cups his other hand under her and lifts her off his leg. There's an effortlessness in the movement; she weighs so very little compared to him, but his digits never tighten beyond a gentle pressure.
Rather than setting her on the floor however, he folds his arms together across his torso, just below where the armored part of his chassis ends. The planes of his forearms press together, making a relatively flat place that's big enough for her to curl up in.
"A compromise," he pronounces. "I'm not... there are surely more comfortable places, but..."
Rather than setting her on the floor however, he folds his arms together across his torso, just below where the armored part of his chassis ends. The planes of his forearms press together, making a relatively flat place that's big enough for her to curl up in.
"A compromise," he pronounces. "I'm not... there are surely more comfortable places, but..."
The way he moves her — not for one second does she feel even an ounce of fear. He picks her up so carefully and she lets him do it, trusting him without hesitation. If anything, his action makes her feel safe, protected... especially when he settles again.
Shaking her head at his words, she just gives him a soft smile and lays down in the space he's provided, tucking an arm under her head for a pillow. "This is perfect," she assures him, already drifting into that foggy half-asleep world. "Thank you, Knock Out."
Shaking her head at his words, she just gives him a soft smile and lays down in the space he's provided, tucking an arm under her head for a pillow. "This is perfect," she assures him, already drifting into that foggy half-asleep world. "Thank you, Knock Out."
A week of being holed up in that warehouse wasn't exactly the most comfortable situation she'd ever been in, but Rogue never once even considered complaining. If she wanted, she could stay in a hotel with a proper bed and a bathtub and even television; Knock Out had no trouble getting funds for whatever she needed. What she really needed though was just to be with him. It's not something she'd explicitly spelled out for him at any point, but somewhere along the way they've both accepted it as fact. They were together in this, no arguments. (At least, not yet.)
But as cozy as that warehouse was starting to seem (a sure sign they'd been there far too long), it was time to move on. They'd held out hope that all of this was just another in a long string of Porter flukes and now reality was setting in. They had to face facts and that meant getting back on the road. Which would be a whole lot easier if she hadn't accumulated so much stuff.
"How the hell did there get to be so dang much of it?" she grumbles mostly to herself while trying to roll her clothes into even tinier balls so she can cram just a few more items into her overly stuffed backpack.
But as cozy as that warehouse was starting to seem (a sure sign they'd been there far too long), it was time to move on. They'd held out hope that all of this was just another in a long string of Porter flukes and now reality was setting in. They had to face facts and that meant getting back on the road. Which would be a whole lot easier if she hadn't accumulated so much stuff.
"How the hell did there get to be so dang much of it?" she grumbles mostly to herself while trying to roll her clothes into even tinier balls so she can cram just a few more items into her overly stuffed backpack.
The week had seemed paradoxically ages long and over far too quickly. It was easier to look at each day that passed as a collection of smaller tasks: acquire food for Rogue, visit the stores for supplies they would need, monitor the media and police frequencies for anything that might raise an alarm (nothing, thankfully, had come up). Return to the warehouse and wait out the rest of the day until it was time for sleep, begin again in the morning.
And each morning brought a little more confirmation that this was no ongoing Porter glitch, until it was an unspoken acceptance between them. Which meant it was time to decide their next move; not a step that would simply occupy their time while they waited and hoped for this to wear off, but a concrete step toward making this their new normal.
But, priorities.
"Surely you don't have to carry all of it at once," Knock Out said absently in response to Rogue's grumble. He'd produced a polishing cloth from somewhere and was scrubbing at a stubborn stain he'd picked up while moving some of the old warehouse equipment out of the way during their stay. The oily residue was not lifting easily; he scoured harder.
"We'll just get a crate or something for the excess."
And each morning brought a little more confirmation that this was no ongoing Porter glitch, until it was an unspoken acceptance between them. Which meant it was time to decide their next move; not a step that would simply occupy their time while they waited and hoped for this to wear off, but a concrete step toward making this their new normal.
But, priorities.
"Surely you don't have to carry all of it at once," Knock Out said absently in response to Rogue's grumble. He'd produced a polishing cloth from somewhere and was scrubbing at a stubborn stain he'd picked up while moving some of the old warehouse equipment out of the way during their stay. The oily residue was not lifting easily; he scoured harder.
"We'll just get a crate or something for the excess."
"A crate?" she questions with a glance up at him, a discernible element of exclamation in the words. "I can't carry around a crate every time you're in this form, especially not if we have to move quick."
Coming to the unfortunate conclusion that it's just not going to all fit, Rogue removes a few shirts from the bag, debating for half a second before setting two aside. She's survived with far less, she just feels a bit guilty for having wasted the money in the first place. She should have been thinking of this problem from the beginning instead of allowing herself to become comfortable in their situation.
Coming to the unfortunate conclusion that it's just not going to all fit, Rogue removes a few shirts from the bag, debating for half a second before setting two aside. She's survived with far less, she just feels a bit guilty for having wasted the money in the first place. She should have been thinking of this problem from the beginning instead of allowing herself to become comfortable in their situation.
Knock Out frowns in genuine puzzlement at Rogue's opposition to the idea, not connecting the issue she was presenting. He paused in his attempted buffing to give her a perplexed look.
"But you can't fit everything you need into that little bag," he disagrees. "We'll get a crate, something with a lid that's secure. Why would you need to carry it around? Just leave it in my trunk, I'll subspace it when I transform and just take it out if you need something."
"But you can't fit everything you need into that little bag," he disagrees. "We'll get a crate, something with a lid that's secure. Why would you need to carry it around? Just leave it in my trunk, I'll subspace it when I transform and just take it out if you need something."
apparently I only write tags on Sundays at like midnight whoops
theycalledmeacurse
2020-06-15 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
Rogue is certain that he can hear her mental gears grinding as she tries to process what he's just said. If he has any ability at all to read human expressions, there's no missing the utter confusion written across her face.
"Subspace?" she questions, looking down at the shirt she's still holding as if it might give her some answers. It, of course, does not, and her gaze quickly moves back to him. "What the heck are you talking about, sugar?"
"Subspace?" she questions, looking down at the shirt she's still holding as if it might give her some answers. It, of course, does not, and her gaze quickly moves back to him. "What the heck are you talking about, sugar?"
Rogue's evident confusion turns the metaphorical light bulb on for Knock Out: she has absolutely no clue what he's talking about. Only in retrospect does he realize that the topic has simply never come up between them, like so many things they may be unknowingly taking for granted.
"Subspace is non-linear," he explains, abandoning his futile scrubbing and coming over to stand next to her. "Like a layer sitting just outside normal space-time. All Cybertronians have a... hm. Pocket, I suppose would be best description... attached to us. It's where we shunt the mass we're not using when we shift between forms. You've heard of the law of conservation of mass?"
Knock Out gestures to his bipedal form. "Like this, I weigh nearly six tonnes. The Aston Martin doesn't even weigh two, so the extra mass has to go somewhere. We call it 'allocational' subspace, and different mechs have different amounts of it. Those with a large variance between their root and natural alt modes have more. We don't all turn into vehicles — if your alt mode is a data stick, or a microscope, or a handgun, you need to displace a lot more than someone who turns into a tractor. And it goes the other way too... Astrotrain is standard heavy-class in root mode, but he turns into a shuttle large enough to ferry a dozen mecha at a time."
Belatedly, Knock Out realizes that was probably more context than Rogue either needed or probably wanted, so he strives to actually address the core of the original confusion. "But you never occupy 100% of your allocational subspace, so most mechs use the remainder as personal storage. Again: pocket."
He turns slightly so that more of his side is facing Rogue, and reaches up to the side of his chassis. For an instant it seems like his hand is just going to collide with the red metal, but then it abruptly passes into nothingness, disappearing from view. He presses it inward until half his arm appears to phase out of existence, and with a small rummage, pulls out his medical kit in its sturdy hinged case and sets it on the ground next to her.
"See?"
"Subspace is non-linear," he explains, abandoning his futile scrubbing and coming over to stand next to her. "Like a layer sitting just outside normal space-time. All Cybertronians have a... hm. Pocket, I suppose would be best description... attached to us. It's where we shunt the mass we're not using when we shift between forms. You've heard of the law of conservation of mass?"
Knock Out gestures to his bipedal form. "Like this, I weigh nearly six tonnes. The Aston Martin doesn't even weigh two, so the extra mass has to go somewhere. We call it 'allocational' subspace, and different mechs have different amounts of it. Those with a large variance between their root and natural alt modes have more. We don't all turn into vehicles — if your alt mode is a data stick, or a microscope, or a handgun, you need to displace a lot more than someone who turns into a tractor. And it goes the other way too... Astrotrain is standard heavy-class in root mode, but he turns into a shuttle large enough to ferry a dozen mecha at a time."
Belatedly, Knock Out realizes that was probably more context than Rogue either needed or probably wanted, so he strives to actually address the core of the original confusion. "But you never occupy 100% of your allocational subspace, so most mechs use the remainder as personal storage. Again: pocket."
He turns slightly so that more of his side is facing Rogue, and reaches up to the side of his chassis. For an instant it seems like his hand is just going to collide with the red metal, but then it abruptly passes into nothingness, disappearing from view. He presses it inward until half his arm appears to phase out of existence, and with a small rummage, pulls out his medical kit in its sturdy hinged case and sets it on the ground next to her.
"See?"
For a brief moment while listening to Knock Out explain about subspace pockets and conservation of mass, Rogue can't help but think of how much Hank McCoy would have loved to hear all of this. It would have left him with a hundred questions he'd have rattled off at her friend at top speed, each answer spawning another question or three. She can almost hear the tap tap tapping of his keyboard as he took copious notes.
But Hank isn't here, not in that way. It's just her and Knock Out and his... pocket, which she watches his arm disappear into to retrieve his kit. Her eyes are wide as she looks from it to him and back.
"Well, that's all kinds of useful," she finally announces, a grin spreading across her face. "I wish I'd just asked about the situation sooner, I've been worried about keeping it to the bare necessities for days."
But Hank isn't here, not in that way. It's just her and Knock Out and his... pocket, which she watches his arm disappear into to retrieve his kit. Her eyes are wide as she looks from it to him and back.
"Well, that's all kinds of useful," she finally announces, a grin spreading across her face. "I wish I'd just asked about the situation sooner, I've been worried about keeping it to the bare necessities for days."
"And it never occurred to me to elaborate," he said apologetically. "So yes... we'll get something to pack away the extra in. For now, just use one of the plastic bags and put it in the rear seats." If anything, he hoped that would be one less worry she had to endure.
Once Rogue had gotten everything together, and Knock Out had tucked his med kit back away in his subspace where it belonged, he gave one final stretch and prepared to shift back to his alt mode.
"Time to hit the road?"
Once Rogue had gotten everything together, and Knock Out had tucked his med kit back away in his subspace where it belonged, he gave one final stretch and prepared to shift back to his alt mode.
"Time to hit the road?"
The route they'd decided on took them well away from the coast, meandering through the mountains before picking their way northward. Rogue's astute observation that they would need to be careful what areas they traveled due to his memorable alt mode had led them to changing the route he'd originally planned on their way to upper New York State, where they were headed. The changes had lengthened their trip by several days, a mix of highways and smaller roads, but it was a smart precaution and he'd agreed with it.
Knock Out was currently picking his way along a hilly two lane road somewhere in West Virginia, slower than he would have liked, but the evening had turned chill and conjured a heavy fog that had settled in all the low areas of the road. While he was not limited to purely visual navigation — his sensors picked up much more than what could be seen by the naked eye — the forest on both sides of the road was host to all kinds of wildlife. The last thing Knock Out wanted was to accidentally run over something trying to scurry across the pavement.
It was late, just after midnight. Rogue had fallen asleep a while ago, and he'd thought he might as well drive through the night and get them that much closer to their destination. He'd clicked the radio to mute, made sure his cabin temperature didn't reflect the dampness outside, and settled in to monitor their route. The frequent changes in the road's elevation had his engine working stronger than usual, especially on the uphill climbs. While he didn't lack for power, this alt mode wasn't exactly built for mountainous terrain.
Knock Out was currently picking his way along a hilly two lane road somewhere in West Virginia, slower than he would have liked, but the evening had turned chill and conjured a heavy fog that had settled in all the low areas of the road. While he was not limited to purely visual navigation — his sensors picked up much more than what could be seen by the naked eye — the forest on both sides of the road was host to all kinds of wildlife. The last thing Knock Out wanted was to accidentally run over something trying to scurry across the pavement.
It was late, just after midnight. Rogue had fallen asleep a while ago, and he'd thought he might as well drive through the night and get them that much closer to their destination. He'd clicked the radio to mute, made sure his cabin temperature didn't reflect the dampness outside, and settled in to monitor their route. The frequent changes in the road's elevation had his engine working stronger than usual, especially on the uphill climbs. While he didn't lack for power, this alt mode wasn't exactly built for mountainous terrain.
It's funny how sitting in a car can be so exhausting. It wasn't something you normally thought about, but Rogue had certainly begun to notice it as the days stretched on. Their brief stay in the warehouse had given them both a reprieve from life on the road, but they're both aware of how dangerous it would be to stay in one place too long.
She'd tried to stay awake, assuming they would stop somewhere and properly rest before continuing on in the morning, yet night had fallen and taken her with it. With the seat tilted back slightly, the miles passed while she slept, and before long the dreams set in. Like so many other nights, memory blended with fantasy, both borrowed from others and borne of her own mind. She was back at the mansion in her first year there, laughing and pretending life was normal. Bobby was there, laughing with her, attempting to be closer, to touch her... The dream blurred without her notice and suddenly he could touch her, his lips and hands on hers and so many other places.
Her heart rate increased slightly as she slept, the vibration of his engine helping to ease the dream along in a very pleasant direction. She shifted in the seat, lips parting as her breath quickened just a little, and then a little more. It was at a particularly climactic moment in the dream that she woke, her consciousness bobbing up to the surface and struggling to catch up to the real world. With the darkness and quiet around her, she didn't quite realize where was she, and then an uphill climb sent that vibration right through her so all she could do was sigh perhaps a bit too loudly and shift again in the seat.
She'd tried to stay awake, assuming they would stop somewhere and properly rest before continuing on in the morning, yet night had fallen and taken her with it. With the seat tilted back slightly, the miles passed while she slept, and before long the dreams set in. Like so many other nights, memory blended with fantasy, both borrowed from others and borne of her own mind. She was back at the mansion in her first year there, laughing and pretending life was normal. Bobby was there, laughing with her, attempting to be closer, to touch her... The dream blurred without her notice and suddenly he could touch her, his lips and hands on hers and so many other places.
Her heart rate increased slightly as she slept, the vibration of his engine helping to ease the dream along in a very pleasant direction. She shifted in the seat, lips parting as her breath quickened just a little, and then a little more. It was at a particularly climactic moment in the dream that she woke, her consciousness bobbing up to the surface and struggling to catch up to the real world. With the darkness and quiet around her, she didn't quite realize where was she, and then an uphill climb sent that vibration right through her so all she could do was sigh perhaps a bit too loudly and shift again in the seat.
For Knock Out's part, he was already looking forward to reaching New York where, assuming they had no trouble gaining access to the mansion, there would be privacy to move around in his normal form. It was nothing he would say to Rogue, of course... nothing to cause her more worry, or worse, guilt. But he held the possibility in high anticipation.
It was not that he intended to surveil her while she slept, but there was some element of inability not to when she was ensconced in his alt mode. Before becoming an imPort, he'd barely deigned to let anyone ride in him like a common carriage — reserved mostly for kidnapping hostages, to be honest — and even in the Porter world Knock Out had been extraordinarily choosy about whom he let do so. Rogue had been among that handful.
As a medic his scanners were essentially permanently engaged, and in lieu of having an EM field read for humans, he generally maintained a low level audit on her and thus was aware of any major changes in her physiology. Especially in this displaced world, where an honesty between them was needed that they hadn't quite managed to attain yet, it helped him learn and hopefully, do better.
Besides... Rogue's dreams, like his own, were never reliably peaceful.
This, though. Absently he'd registered her heart rate ticking upward, her pulse increasing, and thought at first it was a reaction to some illusory threat. But then she'd started moving against his seat like she was seeking something with soft breathy sounds, and as he started another uphill climb and his engine once against dropped from overdrive to gain torque— oh.
Oh.
Mirth and mischief bloomed through his own field, though she had no way to feel it. When it seemed like she was properly awake, he remarked coyly, "I'd ask how you slept, but I believe you just told me."
It was not that he intended to surveil her while she slept, but there was some element of inability not to when she was ensconced in his alt mode. Before becoming an imPort, he'd barely deigned to let anyone ride in him like a common carriage — reserved mostly for kidnapping hostages, to be honest — and even in the Porter world Knock Out had been extraordinarily choosy about whom he let do so. Rogue had been among that handful.
As a medic his scanners were essentially permanently engaged, and in lieu of having an EM field read for humans, he generally maintained a low level audit on her and thus was aware of any major changes in her physiology. Especially in this displaced world, where an honesty between them was needed that they hadn't quite managed to attain yet, it helped him learn and hopefully, do better.
Besides... Rogue's dreams, like his own, were never reliably peaceful.
This, though. Absently he'd registered her heart rate ticking upward, her pulse increasing, and thought at first it was a reaction to some illusory threat. But then she'd started moving against his seat like she was seeking something with soft breathy sounds, and as he started another uphill climb and his engine once against dropped from overdrive to gain torque— oh.
Oh.
Mirth and mischief bloomed through his own field, though she had no way to feel it. When it seemed like she was properly awake, he remarked coyly, "I'd ask how you slept, but I believe you just told me."
Reality has a nasty way of crashing in at exactly the wrong moment, doesn't it? Suddenly very awake and all kinds of flustered, Rogue jerked upright and fumbled with the control to right the seat as well. Her face flushed and she really hoped he wasn't able to see her turn bright pink in her embarrassment.
"You're hilarious, sugar," she remarked a bit breathily and with little amusement of her own, her pulse racing from the rush of being caught in this particular predicament. And, perhaps, for other reasons as well.
"You're hilarious, sugar," she remarked a bit breathily and with little amusement of her own, her pulse racing from the rush of being caught in this particular predicament. And, perhaps, for other reasons as well.
Rich laughter rolled from the dashboard, but there was no trace of mockery in the sound. Rather than a spoken reply however, he abruptly dropped to a low gear and accelerated hard, and the combination reverberated like a wave up through the seat, strong enough to make the interior panels tremor.
The laughter should have given her a heads up about what was coming and yet, it didn't even occur to her. Of course, he'd realize what might have caused her predicament, but—
"Knock Out!" she whined in a higher pitch than her usual voice, those strong vibrations cranking up the fire in her by three notches. Her hands clutched at the door and center console, knuckles turning white as she tried to resist the sensations pulsing through her. "Stop that!"
Part of her really doesn't want him to stop, but this whole situation is strange and awkward and lord but why does that have to feel so damn good...
"Knock Out!" she whined in a higher pitch than her usual voice, those strong vibrations cranking up the fire in her by three notches. Her hands clutched at the door and center console, knuckles turning white as she tried to resist the sensations pulsing through her. "Stop that!"
Part of her really doesn't want him to stop, but this whole situation is strange and awkward and lord but why does that have to feel so damn good...
The intense vibration dies immediately, replaced once more by the normal gentle sound and feeling she'd come to recognize as he tried to discern if she was genuinely displeased by what he'd done. The effect it had had... was plainly obvious though.
Well, it wasn't like he didn't appreciate the reverb of a nice engine, too. Still...
"That might have been... inappropriate." He considered the road's course ahead of them, but there were steep hills for miles yet and he couldn't exactly keep himself in smooth high gear the whole way.
"Would you prefer I pulled over?"
Well, it wasn't like he didn't appreciate the reverb of a nice engine, too. Still...
"That might have been... inappropriate." He considered the road's course ahead of them, but there were steep hills for miles yet and he couldn't exactly keep himself in smooth high gear the whole way.
"Would you prefer I pulled over?"
Might have been?! Rogue holds back a few choice words in response to that wildly understated observation. Might have been inappropriate. If she didn't know she'd hurt her hand in the process, she'd probably give him a good smack for that little stunt.
"Lord, yes, please," she answered, releasing her grip on the door and console and leaning forward to press a hand against the dash and give him a gentle pat. She might be irritated as hell at his shenanigans but she wasn't angry at him for it.
"Lord, yes, please," she answered, releasing her grip on the door and console and leaning forward to press a hand against the dash and give him a gentle pat. She might be irritated as hell at his shenanigans but she wasn't angry at him for it.
Knock Out slowed and pulled over to the side of the road where there was a small grassy shoulder. His headlights splashed a curve of light partway up the trees, reflecting off the low laying fog, creating a small bubble of light that lit the immediate area. They hadn't passed another car in over an hour, and at this time of night were unlikely to see anyone, but he stayed in his alt mode, idling quietly.
After taking a moment to collect herself, Rogue popped the door open and stood on wobbly legs, taking deep breaths of the cool night air while leaning carefully against the open door. It helped... but only a little.
"I'm sorry, sugar," she apologized quietly, staring at the way his lights reflected off the fog. "I didn't know that... that would happen." She felt embarrassed by it all and also frustrated beyond measure.
"I'm sorry, sugar," she apologized quietly, staring at the way his lights reflected off the fog. "I didn't know that... that would happen." She felt embarrassed by it all and also frustrated beyond measure.
"Why are you sorry?" Knock Out sounded genuinely perplexed by the apology that seemed, to him, to come from nowhere. "For being overclocked? Everyone has to deal with that sometimes. I didn't—"
He'd almost said I didn't mean to make it worse, but in a way, that had sort of been exactly what he'd done even if he'd meant it as a tease.
A longer pause and then conscientiously he offered, "If you'd want some privacy, you only have to say so." He could... well, not go too far, but at least make the effort, if it would make Rogue feel better.
He'd almost said I didn't mean to make it worse, but in a way, that had sort of been exactly what he'd done even if he'd meant it as a tease.
A longer pause and then conscientiously he offered, "If you'd want some privacy, you only have to say so." He could... well, not go too far, but at least make the effort, if it would make Rogue feel better.
His confusion at her apology is confusing in turn, pinpointing what she can only assume is another difference between their cultures. Sure, this whole thing might be a completely normal problem to have to deal with, but dealing with it while with someone was a different matter altogether.
Another deep breath, two, and she rubbed her hands over her face. "Thanks, but I'll be okay," she said with a shake of her head. "I just need to... calm down."
Which was, of course, infinitely easier said than done.
Another deep breath, two, and she rubbed her hands over her face. "Thanks, but I'll be okay," she said with a shake of her head. "I just need to... calm down."
Which was, of course, infinitely easier said than done.
He feels her stimulation where she's in contact with his open door, radiating off her like heat. A quick reflexive check of his scanners told him that she was not, in fact, anywhere near calming down. But her reaction just moments ago to him causing the effects to intensify momentarily stall the offer that he isn't even sure he should make.
Knock Out, ever meticulous about monitoring his own frame, does not miss the incremental rise in his own temperature in simpatico response. Still, the silence yawns another moment or two.
"What if then, not privacy, but an assist..."
Knock Out, ever meticulous about monitoring his own frame, does not miss the incremental rise in his own temperature in simpatico response. Still, the silence yawns another moment or two.
"What if then, not privacy, but an assist..."
Those words, as unexpected as they are, cause her to go very still. Was he actually offering... The how escaped her reckoning as much as the why, but it's an offer she was strongly considering, nonetheless. It had been an awfully long time since she'd felt anything this good, and even longer since someone else had had any interest in participating in such activity in any way with her.
It wasn't proper southern manners to talk about such things, but... Well, screw southern manners.
Her hands grip his door a little tighter and her voice wavers slightly as she quietly asks, "Are you being serious right now, sugar? Because I trust you a whole lot but I don't think I could take it if you were teasing me about this."
This is a big step for her, a leap that she is so willing to take — so long as she knows she can trust him in this too.
It wasn't proper southern manners to talk about such things, but... Well, screw southern manners.
Her hands grip his door a little tighter and her voice wavers slightly as she quietly asks, "Are you being serious right now, sugar? Because I trust you a whole lot but I don't think I could take it if you were teasing me about this."
This is a big step for her, a leap that she is so willing to take — so long as she knows she can trust him in this too.
"I'm being serious," he replies, sounding faintly wounded by the accusation. "Why would I tease about helping you?"
He bumps her, ever gently, with the edge of his open door to move her enough to get clearance. The glow of his headlights wink out an instant before he transforms; a subtly different sequence than normal, longer but that leaves him knelt rather than standing. The crisp white light from his high beams is replaced by the muted red glow cast by the biolights which contour his frame, narrowing the lit area to just the two of them.
Knock Out's expression is intent on her. "Come here," he says, beckoning with one hand.
He bumps her, ever gently, with the edge of his open door to move her enough to get clearance. The glow of his headlights wink out an instant before he transforms; a subtly different sequence than normal, longer but that leaves him knelt rather than standing. The crisp white light from his high beams is replaced by the muted red glow cast by the biolights which contour his frame, narrowing the lit area to just the two of them.
Knock Out's expression is intent on her. "Come here," he says, beckoning with one hand.
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