Knock Out obligingly folds down his seat so Rogue can climb into the back once she returns, laughing silently in remembrance of that night at the Swear-In when he'd tried to help her and ended up dumping her into the backseat rather ungracefully. Probably she can use her coat as a pillow; the night is warm and Knock Out keeps the cabin temperature neutral, so she won't need a blanket.
Once she's settled, he pulls back onto the highway. The road sign tells him Quincy, IL is coming up a ways ahead, if they stay on Route 61 and keep heading south, which he does. He slips back into conversation, but it's idle and one-sided so she has something to fall asleep to, and once she does, he stops.
Knock Out keeps the radio low, a bare murmur just enough to blend with the tire hum and the air flow slipstreaming around him. The highway has minimal traffic at this hour, the roads are good (better, even, than he recollected - apparently 2023 had their construction priorities straight) and the weather is clear. Outside of the cities, even the occasional oncoming headlights can't dismiss the brightness of a three-quarter moon and a starry sky.
He rounds St Louis and it's 3:30 in the morning. He listens on the police bands but they're quiet.
It's 4:17AM when his security algorithm finally cracks encryption and links up with the satellite network. Everything starts updating, terabytes of download in an instant, including his geographical data.
He swears. Quietly, and in Velocitronian, but he does.
Sunrise comes just before 6AM but Rogue is still sleeping, so he drives. He's picked up Interstate 64 which they can follow all the way to Virginia, but it traipses through the Appalachians so it's not exactly a straight shot.
When he finally feels Rogue beginning to stir against his seat, he checks against his new data and finds them a truck stop where she can get whatever she needs, including a shower and a change of clothes. Attached to the truck stop is Pamela's Old-Tyme Diner, and he hopes that will suit her for breakfast.
"Good morning," he says, when her vitals indicate she's actually awake.
no subject
Once she's settled, he pulls back onto the highway. The road sign tells him Quincy, IL is coming up a ways ahead, if they stay on Route 61 and keep heading south, which he does. He slips back into conversation, but it's idle and one-sided so she has something to fall asleep to, and once she does, he stops.
Knock Out keeps the radio low, a bare murmur just enough to blend with the tire hum and the air flow slipstreaming around him. The highway has minimal traffic at this hour, the roads are good (better, even, than he recollected - apparently 2023 had their construction priorities straight) and the weather is clear. Outside of the cities, even the occasional oncoming headlights can't dismiss the brightness of a three-quarter moon and a starry sky.
He rounds St Louis and it's 3:30 in the morning. He listens on the police bands but they're quiet.
It's 4:17AM when his security algorithm finally cracks encryption and links up with the satellite network. Everything starts updating, terabytes of download in an instant, including his geographical data.
He swears. Quietly, and in Velocitronian, but he does.
Sunrise comes just before 6AM but Rogue is still sleeping, so he drives. He's picked up Interstate 64 which they can follow all the way to Virginia, but it traipses through the Appalachians so it's not exactly a straight shot.
When he finally feels Rogue beginning to stir against his seat, he checks against his new data and finds them a truck stop where she can get whatever she needs, including a shower and a change of clothes. Attached to the truck stop is Pamela's Old-Tyme Diner, and he hopes that will suit her for breakfast.
"Good morning," he says, when her vitals indicate she's actually awake.