What Doesn't Kill You

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Goa Torque
Goa zips down the freeway, at a fast clip. Though the Decepticon always seems to be in a hurry, it's a constant hurry today. Not rushing interspersed by lazy ambling. He pulls up to the body shop with a creak of brakes, scanning first for any sign of the resident mechanic. It was never his luck, but maybe, after the bad luck earlier... "Torque?"
"Alright, alright! I'll order some more next cycle." The familiar voice of Torque is heard as the femme exits the office portion of building, the crotchety voice of a drone heard grumbling and cursing to itself, likely her boss. She finally turns after closing the door with a bit of force, pausing a moment as she spots Goa pulled up and asking for her. "Hey there Goa, what's shakin'?" Her demeanor melts into a more casual, relaxed state. that signature smile lighting her face as she adjusts her hat.
The Decepticon transforms and stands in place, hunched with an unease that, while also typical of him, is exaggerated, the way he's looking around so much, leaning backwards instead of forwards. Less like he's afraid of being seen, more like he's not sure he wants to be here. Or maybe it's just that he hasn't been by in a while, and his tics are forgettable. Are they? "You're here," the smile seems to put Goa a touch more at ease, lowering his shoulders, infecting him with a tentative smile as well. "Oh, you know. The... usual." That smile pauses, accompanying an awkward silence. "You need help with anything down here?"
Torque is definitely aware of his posture and the presence he gives off, making her smile shrink slightly as a look of concern began to move in. "Not really. Boss is on my aft about inventory, but it's no big deal. ...You okay? You look kinda.. off." She fixes one of her suspenders back into place before walking over to the mech, a concerned hand reaching to rest on his shoulder.
Goa sort of grins, sort of bares his teeth. "I usually am a little off, right?" His head rises, though still looking straight forward, apparently surprised by the hand to his shoulder. Slag it, maybe he'd never get used to that. "... is Shark well?" An interesting way to put it. A stupid one. He winces, if not for that, then for even having the idea run through his processor to ask -- to care. Maybe she'd buy that as all he was worried about. He rattles his head side to side quickly, then looks straight at Torque. "Sorry. Was just wondering if you had a free slot for some body work." He IS pretty dinged up ... nary a plate of armor without a dent, and paint scraped off to match.
Torque raises a brow slightly at the odd question, "He's.. fine.." She obviously didn't buy the sudden concern for her boyfriend, giving Goa a momentary look of scrutiny before sinking back into her usual manner. "Of course. Always have time for a friend. C'mon in and I'll fix yah up." She smiles softly, giving the same shoulder a few reassuring pats before leading him into the shop.
Goa catches the brow, the slightly deformed nasal ridge. He shakes his head a little... no, no. A friend? Goa couldn't be friends. He follows the femme uncharacteristically blindly inside, looking off to the side as he thinks. They're weaknesses. Any attachment and he folds like a sheet of scrap. Or ... maybe it was the expectations placed on him. That to this point, he was, and was seen as, Decepticon /second/. Petty -- "Oh, course." He realizes how long he'd been standing in one spot, and has a seat. Maybe... honesty. Words were his thing, after all. No one expected it to be, but it was. Fighting certainly wasn't, much as he'd like. That was to kill or be killed, not for sport. The Decepticon stares and twiddles his thumbs.
"So how'd yah get all banged up? Tron games?" Torque asks idly as she grabs her tools from the counter, pulling her wheelie stool over to sit and get comfortable as she immediately starts taking off pieces of armor to mold back into shape.
Goa's optics stay hazy as he replies. "That? Yeah..." It looks like someone's already hammered out the worst of the damage ... the rest of it, just a matter of the plates not being smoothed over, of Goa not quite looking like he just rolled off the lot. Well, if he can ever look like that again, that is. His ill-polished gunmetal roof isn't helping the image. He smiles a little. "You wouldn't believe who I fought." The smile quickly goes flat again. No, /honesty/. Not comfort. Not again. Relinquished of parts of his armor, incidentally, Goa doesn't look much better off. But at least he ... /seems/ operational. "Torque," He stops thumb-twiddling and laces his hands together, "Say you have problems down here, with 'Cons, you know I can't help. Right? No pressure?"
Torque's surprising strength lets her smooth out the dents and creases with ease on each plate, working at a gradual pace. Antennae perk slightly at his first question, making her glance up, "Hm?" Though he appeared to have dropped that question as quickly as he'd said it. Something didn't seem right, especially with those next words. Torque paused a moment, trying to pick her words carefully, "Yes, I know that. I wouldn't want you dragged into my mess, if I had one, and get hurt." She stops her work, placing hands upon her knees as she leans forward slightly, looking him head-on. But it wasn't a harsh look. Instead her face held the minor creases of concern, though it was more evident in the dull blue optics peering at him from beneath her brim. "...What's up with you, Goa? You're usually not like this. If you need to talk about somethin' then you can tell me. We're friends, right?" A genuine smile softly highlights her face, hands calmly lacing into one another as she looked at him.
The mech's optics are dim, like he's not had a full recharge in a while. Dim red, not rust. His antennae move -- he's listening ... but not really doing much else as Torque speaks. Friends, right? Right. Of course. Until there was something more important. Before, that'd only been himself, his own aft. Now, there were apparently more things. His engine makes a sort of muffled backfire behind his vocalizer. "They convicted me of treason, Torque. I have a black mark in the database that will never go away. You know how long never is?" He looks straight-on at Torque now, blood-red optics striking down the green nose. "I was /supposed/ to be /killed/ then. But he didn't. I don't know why, and I know I'm always sticking my fragging fingers in to know stuff I don't oughta, but that scares me, alright? I could be a walking dead mech. I might not. Only way I'll know, make some reason I shouldn't be." He jerks his face back away, straight forward, slightly downturned. Hands on his knees, slightly hunched. "Starscream. They pit me against Starscream." A slight turn of the helmet, so Goa's expression is visible to Torque -- a smirk. "I lost. Fought like a mental case though."
Torque is quiet as she listens, her face straight and unbiased. Once he finished, her expression would relax, maybe even looking a little lopsided in an 'Oh Goa' manner. "Do you believe it was treason? Or do you believe you were doing the right thing?" She goes back to undenting the armor, though she continues the conversation. "You're lucky he didn't kill yah. And so am I. You give me some good business." She smiles, clearly playing with him. "But what doesn't kill yah makes yah stronger, right? I wouldn't worry about it. It he's lettin' yah live then I say run with it." Torque finishes another plate, setting it back on him before taking another, a bright grin growing as he spoke of Starscream, "Heh, losing or not, I hope yah gave him a good beating."
"It wasn't treason. I never intentionally spited the Decepticon Empire, not for the sake of it. It was ineptitude, treasonous ineptitude..." Goa charges his vocalizer for another few words, but stops there, awkwardly holding his tongue. He ... actually believed his I-was-playing-Depth-all-along story, on some level. And he was defending it. Desperate. "Yeah, I'm stronger for it." He could believe that point. "Just out of strikes. Next one'll kill me for sure, and then won't be stronger for anything, mm?" Run with it...? Hmm. Well ... he was good at running, it would seem. He raises one antenna slightly at Torque's last sentiment. "You do?" He furrows them. Grins, his tense frame relaxing just a bit. Gets something from his subspace, takes the femme's hand next it's close enough, and sets a red panel of metal in it.
"Guess you'll have to be more careful then." Torque smiles softly, finishing off yet another panel and attaching it to Goa, which gives him the opportunity to grip her hand. She blinks in surprise, looking down to the thing placed in her hand, which of course immediately makes her chuckle softly. "Ha! Well aren't you a crafty mech? I see yah got a little trophy from that crazy aft mook." She holds the crimson piece of metal up to the overhead light, admiring the smooth gleam before handing it back. "By the way, you want a buff and some paint or somethin'? Lookin' a little chipped."
Goa takes the plate back, flips it over his fingers, and this time stashes it in his cab instead. Okay, finally, a genuine smile. His hackles are down. "Please." Chipped is an understatement and he knows she knows it. But ... more careful? The gears are going in his head now. If he'd made his intent known, not made up the load of slag about Depth infiltrating the system ... he /could've/ gotten by, a trusted agent. (Or so he thinks.) His optics get dim and soft again.
Torque nods, her mood picking up as she works to finish off the rest of the armor. "No problem. Shouldn't take long for me to be done with these dents...." Her voice trails off a bit, looking absorbed in her thoughts as hands smoothed the metal in her hands. She'd have this look for a short while, as if contemplating something before finally looking up to him. The femme would lean forward, plate placed aside as she moved to embrace Goa in a hug while saying softly, "Sorry.. but you looked like you needed somethin' like this... Just get outta that head of yours for a while. Don't let this stuff get to yah..." Her voice was smooth and calm, relaxing even as she spoke, her eyes dimming somewhat as she hugged him.
The Decepticon's arms flop out to the sides awkwardly, like he's not initially sure what's going on. Then he snaps back to, laying his antennae suddenly back as he stares at the side of Torque's head, and ... tentatively returns the motion, the gauntlets over his arms clacking against her back as he sort-of pats. Nope, still not used to it. Primus ... he couldn't pull this Decepticon bad-aft stuff, could he. He's too much the lazy, backstabbing type. As he demonstrated so tenaciously in the pit. Goa actually squeezes the femme slightly, then let’s go. "No one saw that," he remarks. But the way he has one brow raised, he's ... joking about it, maybe? Just a little? "Talk like I've got scraplets or something, I'll be fine. I make it through fine. It's what I do, huh?" A shift of his back shakes his cargo, as if to remind Torque where Goa comes from. "Now am I gonna have to go mix the color again?"
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