fateandfortune

"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.

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."

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?"

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?"

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."

"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?"

psl.

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apparently I only write tags on Sundays at like midnight whoops

always worth the wait!

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