Lost and Found and Lost Again

There's a saying somewhere, sometime, from some planet, that you don't really appreciate what you have until it's gone. You may \*think\* you do, you may even think you're grateful for the bounty (if any) that you've been blessed with... but until you lose everything.../truly/ everything... you will never know for sure. Blast Off had already figured he'd lost everything... his job, his home, his assurance that all is well in his world, his very \*place\* in that world as a (relatively) unharrassed citizen- he'd lost everything except his body and mind itself. And there were recent times he wasn't so sure he wasn't losing his mind, either. Still, nothing as bad as being trapped AS a bodiless mind in a state of limbo for millenia in Garrus-1.

That said, while he wasn't a prisoner in Garrus-1 anymore, he certainly \*feels\* like a prisoner now... a prisoner in a wretched hive of scum and villainy (someone should have said that somewhere) and so completely way out of his comfort zone that he hardly knows which end is up anymore. He just knows as a wanted fugitive from the law he must lay low and stick to Kaon, the one place the police will have a hard time finding him. And a place he does NOT want to be.

He was here because of Shiftlock, who took him to a bolthouse to hide. He thought she was staying, but he woke up one morning soon after... alone. In a hovel. The elite shuttleformer has not coped well, and in fact began wandering the city trying at first to find Shiftlock and then to find any semblence of civilization. It has not gone well. The now totally /lost/ Combaticon is currently wandering the wastes, now looking for the bolthouse, Shiftlock, or any sign of culture or class. Something-or someone- to cling to- though he'd be too proud to admit such. He looks \*terrible\*. He hasn't bathed in a week, there are /nibble/ marks on his wings and some new gashes that indicate signs of a fight. He finally draws up to the corner of a new street and looks into the gloom, his violet optics glowing in the dim light. Right now... he's lost his WAY as well. He's nearly reached bottom and he's not quite sure how to dig his way out. But he's a \*shuttle\*... he shouldn't \*have\* to dig anyway! If there is any gratitude or lessons to learn from all this... he's not quite sure what they are yet. Perhaps the only lesson, he thinks to himself miserably, is just how hard and rough life can be... even to someone who used to soar among the stars.

Shiftlock has had... well let's say it's a lifechanging week. First and foremost a -Mutacon colony leader- -melted out of her body-. That probably deserves some kind of historical notation in levels of weirdness. Now coming to terms with what she was before the suspention of her mind, she's enjoying a kind of freedom she never had before. Oh sure, there's probably still a bounty on her head -too-, but maybe not as much of an imperative to find her as there was before. Without the shifter and without all the memories the shifter had, Ratbat has less of an inclination to worry about one dirty little nobody who has returned to being a dirty little nobody.

Then there's the matter of Hot Rod, Drift and the growing Gang Of Bad Decisions fomenting in Nyon. Shiftlock is very grateful to Hot Rod for trying to help her survive when she was demerging with Mercury, and as such she feels an obligation to repay her debts. Debts, favors and benefits are a stamp that working for her former boss has left indelibily on her mind and spark. The best thing Shiftlock can do for Drift and Hot Rod is to help keep them fuelled and healthy, and that requires money. Money requires a job. Her current criminal record and status as a disposable don't give her much in the way of employment opportunities (not any she'd want anyways), so she came to the people she knows have ways of acquiring necessities through less than legal means: The decepticon gladiators. There she met Rumble, one of Megatron's trusted inner circle, and there she found ... well, gainful employment is the most important thing she found, we'll put it that way.

Having completed her first data smuggling runs she's gone to find Blast Off. She didn't mean to leave him alone for so long, but SURELY someone of the high caste knows how to take care of themselves. I mean, they have enough money to do it, right?

Blast Off USED to have money. And therein lies his problem. He's so used to having gobs of shanix around and living the high society, comfortable life- even having a maid come and clean the habsuite every week- he's forgotten how MOST people live. Now that he finds himself forced to live like \*most\* people...well, not even that- the bottom dregs of most people- he's forced to remember patterns and skills from long, long ago. But even back then, with the Combaticons, Blast Off always found a way to remain comfortable. And as an elite-class shuttleformer, he had the money to do so.

Now he has nothing. On the run, his assets have been seized and he has nothing to his name. Nothing except that container of Element Zero stashed in subspace that cost him his freedom, his job, and very nearly his life.

The Element Zero IS actually of some value- but only if you know who to sell it to without getting caught. Which he doesn't. Swindle comes to mind unbidden, and Blast Off feels a twinge of loneliness again.... wondering if his fellow Combaticons are well- or even functional at all. Onslaught's the only one he's seen since his release from prison, and he doesn't even know where the one-time Combaticon leader went, either. Right now there are only two people in all of Cybertron Blast Off trusts at all... Arcee and Shiftlock, and he doesn't know where either is. He doesn't dare try to radio Arcee- who knows how she might be being monitored these days. And Shiftlock? He's too proud by this point to radio her and ask... for help. No, he's a shuttleformer...best of the best!!! He'll manage!!! That's what he keeps telling himself, at least, as he stumbles over yet another piece of debris and then continues on his way as some hungry looking empties watch him pass by. He does his best to ignore them.

Shiftlock unwittingly spares him the indignity of having to ask her for help. Maybe she should have let him, sometimes eating humble pie is the cure for a lot of misery. Nevertheless, the happy little (non)Empty radios out to Blast Off searching for him. << YOooooo~! Blast Off, hello, mr. shuttlebutt, ten-four good buddy! You out there? Radio me back! I've got some good news! >>

Blast Off takes one step, then nearly falls over as he receives the radio message from Shiftlock. OH THANK PRIMUS HE'S SAVED! A wave of relief washes over him. Then... now that a light has suddenly come on in the darkness, and Shiftlock has spared his ego from having to ask for help... that relief is quickly joined with a wave of irritation. The shuttleformer draws up stiffly and demands, <<WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!?>>

Shiftlock homes in on the signal, her copper and black speeder form streaking through the rusty terrain with careless ease. She enjoys the feel of pushing the limits of her speed and taking the more dangerous routes toward Blast Off's location. Playing it safe? It's not as FUN.

<<I had a little trouble that required medical attention. You could say I was literally beside myself.>>

Blast Off's engines rumble- again in irritation. Now that a lighthouse has appeared on the shore of his pysche, he's throwing a nice little fit of pique. <<That's NOTHING COMPARED to WHAT I'VE ENDURED! I have seen things... endured things... this place is a slagging wilderness of CUTTHROATS and RUFFIANS! I EVEN...>> He stops in mid-rant and his optics flicker. A little more calmly, with just a touch of confusion now and not quite ready to let go of his temper-tantrum, he radios, <<....Medical attention? Beside yourself?....What? What are you talking about? Where are you?>>

<<Halfway to your position. Stay where you are if you're safe. If not I'll rendezous with you in two turns of an engine.>> Shiftlock runs out of road across a broken bridge in the distance. If Blast Off is watching, he'll see something that looks like her ramp right off the edge and sail over an open space, landing with a \*thud\* on the remains of the roadway on the other side.

<<I was forcibly combined with a Shifter. I'll explain more when I get to you. How's your tanks? I brough fuel. Triple filtered, nice and clean.>>

Blast Off crosses his arms as he listens to Shiftlock over the radio. WELL. Let HER come to HIM. HE'S just fine. He's not in a hurry. It's not like HE'S bothered by being alone or anything. NOPE. He sets his jaw and waves a hand to no one in particular. <<Of course I'm safe. I'm FINE. This is ME we're talking about, after all.>>

His resolute stance lasts about a breem, then his head turns to catch sight of... is that her? Despite himself, he's in the air, anti-gravs carrying him towards her possible location. <<You were WHAT?!>> Then... she mentions fuel? Blast Off is \*starving\*. He hasn't had any fuel for a week- certainly nothing to write home about, at least. All nasty lowgrade given only through the kindness (or other intentions) of strangers, and he shudders at THAT thought. He says almost dismissively, <<Well... I suppose I'm a /little/ bit hungry. Been on a walkabout.>> Not lost and starving, no.

Shiftlock meets Blast Off halfway, transforming out of a full drive and scooting forward on her feet, turning them to the side like a roller skater to stop. "Yeah, it's weird." She explains to him about how she was a defected empty culled from Polyhex with promises of fuel, then used as a containment vessel for none other than Mercury, leader of the Mutacons at the neutronia colony. Mercury is gone, leaving Shiftlock behind to try to find her way. "So Mercury basically told Hot Rod to look after me but at this point, I think I'm gonna have to look after him instead. The guy has the common sense of a lamp post." Says the femme that randomly inferfaced a minicon she met in a bar. "So I have a job now," she says as she opens a storage compartment on her legs to hand Blast Off a can of fuel. As she stops gushing about everything that happend to her, the shuttle's sorry condition finally dawns on her. "... dude you look like -slag-."

Blast Off sees Shiftlock and it's like sighting water in the desert. The shuttle's optics brighten for a moment and he even forgets to look aloof and unhurried, making his way to her with the speed and agility he CAN muster when he so chooses to. "Shiftlock!" Then he remembers himself, and stops to stand straight and tall once more.

The shuttleformer listens to Shiftlock's story, optic ridges furrowing as she mentions Mercury. He says nothing for a long moment. "You... are no longer a shifter? No longer... spaceworthy??" His look is a mix of pity and disappointment. She... is just an low caste empty? Part of him feels a twingle of disdain at that...his high society snobbiness is quite ingrained in his psyche. However, in his poor condition he can't afford too much caste prejudice right now. Shiftlock's still one of the /very/ few friends he has, and that hasn't changed.... has it? "I am.... sorry."

He nods at the mention of Hot Rod. "I see you contacted him, then. Yes, he does not strike me as one who looks before he leaps. Still, he did finally listen to me.... at least a little. I think."

Blast off's optics brighten again at the sight of fuel, and he moves to grab it quickly as well- until once again remembering himself. He finishes by slowly taking the canister and oh-so-refinedly sipping it, despite his intense hunger. He WON'T let this place take his dignity from him... at least any more than he can help. "A job? What kind of job?" Then Shiftlock strips even the dignity away, alas. He winces at the mention of his condition. Glancing down at the wings with \*bite marks\* on them, he stares morosely then looks back up to the femme, attempting a haughty sniff. "I... am simply trying to blend in." He lies.

"Well, that'll do to a degree," Shiftlock grins. Oh yes, 'camouflage', right. "I'm a data courier now." She reaches out to try - gently - to put a hand on Blast Off's shoulder. "For what it's worth - Mecury knows who you are, since... well, she was with me that night, y'know? She wanted me to let you know that when you get back into space, to come see her again."

"Now, let's get you out of here. I've secured a home in Kaon. It's not much, but it's clean, it's got a washrack and I've got energon for you. I might also have an opportunity you'll want to take advantage of."

Blast Off tilts his head slightly. "Data courier? For who?" Though he figures he probably already knows the answer. When her hand comes to touch his shoulder, there's a slight instinctive flinch... but then he relaxes and lets her place her hand there. It's a testimony to the fact that he's learned to (mostly) trust her. And that's all of two, maybe three people in this entire world that he does. Plus, well- speaking of that night... he's learned \*her\* touch isn't all bad. Ahem. He nods at the mention of Mercury, this whole deal with the shifter-or lack thereof- still strange and new to him. And.... there were \*two\* of them that night? What's that make HIM? The mech who scored with /twins/? He blinks and shakes that rather UNCOUTH thought from his head. AHEM AGAIN.

"How... did that work? I mean.... were you both aware of things at the same time? You really can't shift shapes anymore? Can you \*fly\* anymore? That's... got to be quite a loss."

At the mention of a home... He stops and just stares at her. It's the look of someone trying really hard NOT to look as desperately hopeful as he's feeling. "A....\*real\* home? Like..." There's a twitch of wing elevons. "....With lights? And... cooling? ...And a LOCK?" Another wing twitch. "...Opportunity?"

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes too high, it's in Wreckage Row." Shift removes her hand from Blast Off to give him his personal space back. "However, it's -clean-. I keep it that way because I remember what it's like to have a place in the better parts of the planet. You're welcome to crash there until you can figure out what you want to do with yourself. As for that opportunity, well..." She grins skewly. "Ever heard of the pit fights?"

Blast Off seems to wilt slightly, but only for a moment. Then he's collected himself together again and his more dignified look returns. He seems destined to be stuck in the pits of slag for awhile.... but a clean place would be far better than wandering the streets, lost and getting nibbled by Insecticons. He shudders briefly at the thought. Then her hand is gone and he glances at it before looking away again. He's almost... confused, but he's not sure why, exactly.

The Combaticon nods, "I... thank you. Yes, that would be.... appreciated." Look, even he can learn a little bit of gratitude after all. "Just... you and I?"

At the mention of the pit fights, Blast Off's optics flicker a little uncertainly. He answers slowly, raising an optic ridge at that smile of hers, "...Yees. Why?"

"Well you're a seasoned soldier, right? You could make a killing in the pits!" What she's just said dawns on her and Shiftlock begins to laugh.

Blast Off notices Shiftlock doesn't answer his first question. Oh great. They're going to be in some huge communal home, aren't they? He's going to share a bunk with Bucktooth McRuffian, he just knows it. "What's this home, exactly?" He asks again. Then she mentions fighting. He's not sure how she knows he's a seasoned fighter, since he's always kept his past "close to his vest"... but with all the Fugitive posters and bulletins out there, that information may have slipped.

He grumbles almost imperceptibly before answering, "Well... yes, I suppose I am a good fighter.... despite trying to keep that quiet." His ego kicks in and he adds smugly, "One of the best sharpshooters around, in fact, if not THE best. But... a pit? How much \*room\* is there to fly?" in other words, he's afraid he'll get stuck on the ground and pummeled to stardust before he can even get off a shot.

"Home is a tower apartment pretty much like anywhere else, but maybe not as well maintained as it should be. Not enough money to keep it painted and polished," Shiftlock explains. "It'll be you and me for the most part, until you wanna get your own place, but I have friends that might come visit for awhile." She turns and waves him on to follow her. "You've never seen one of the matches then, have you?"

Blast Off would breathe a small sigh of relief if he breathed. Whew, no Bucktooth McRuffian. Well, except maybe the occasional friend, but he can deal with that. The shuttleformer relaxes slightly, feeling better. Though that's only because no Bucktooth McRuffian, not any other reason, right? "That will... suffice." This is Blast Off's idea of a compliment.

He starts walking behind her and rolls his shoulders a little- more stress relief and possibly just loosening up after a long cold night. "Well... I... have been too busy." He shrugs, trying to look important. "Why? Have I been missing something?"

"The arena's huge, dude! They have full on demo-derbies in it! You have room to fly around and shoot, heck, they take in flying combatants too," Shiftlock giggles. She decides to push the limits of Blast Off's polished behavior and asks, "Do you have anything against data slugs?"

Blast Off lifts an optic ridge at that information. "Oh? If there's room to fly, well..." He sniffs importantly. "My opponents wouldn't stand a chance." At the mention of data slugs, those ridges furrow down. "You mean... the low caste? The disposables?" He can't quite hide the disdain in his voice, but then remembers where he is. The disdain fades. "I suppose that's most everyone here, though. Data slugs? I haven't met many, to be honest." There was that one little blue guy that one time, but he can't even remember his name right now- if he ever even knew it at all.

Rumble enters from Wreckage Row to the northeast.

Shiftlock can pick up the disdain. He'll have to be careful, because around here, that'll get punched out of him in short order. "yeah, I had to ask. See, one of the friends that might be coming over is a minicon, and we're kinda dating."

Blast Off looks fairly aloof- up until the point she mentions dating a mincon. The shuttle blinks, and for some reason his ventilation systems hitch up and stutter for a moment. He stares at her. "....Dating?" Another blink. "Kind of?" That weird confusion he's been feeling is just growing now.

There's a small, somewhat nondescript auto approaching the pair, although still in the distance.

"Yeah, I like him," Shiftlock says, turning around to make sure Blast Off is following. "We agree on a lot of things, and we have a lot of the same interests. I mean, isn't that what dating is all about?"

Blast Off blinks again, coming to a standstill. That uneasy feeling is quite strong now, but his mind hasn't caught up with his body yet. He keeps staring for a moment, then thinks to mumble, "Uh... yes, of course." Like HE has dated a lot before or something. Yeah.

The smallish vehicle approaches, then transforms into a certain unemployed miner minicon. "Hey babe, how's it goin'??" Rumble greets Shiftlock with a fond grin. Blast Off gets a glance of faint recognition from the little mech. "Hey, ain't we met someplace before?"

"Oh not bad, I'm just getting Blast Off here out of the sticks and into some place a little safer, now that he's a wanted international criminal." She looks over her shoulder at Blast Off with a teasing smile and a wink, before focusing on Rumble. "You're looking better. Get patched up?"

Blast Off blinks again as Rumble suddenly approaches and... wait a minute, THAT's the little blue mech. And Shiftlock likes ///HIM?!//// The shuttle just continues to stand there, his fuel tank seeming to do a flip on him. The shadow of a reason WHY touches upon his mind, and Shiftlock's smile and wink just makes that feel worse... but he shoves the thought away. He denies it. He mustn't think it. This leaves no time for words, however, and he stands there silently. No one ever said he was good at social stuff anyway.

"Yeah, an' the 'roomie' has returned. I gave him the new passcode." Rumble smirks playfully at Shiftlock. "Then we went to go get patched up, but he's still jealous. Can't say I blame him much! So what trouble are you gettin' into here in the bee-yoo-ti-ful an' polished city of Kaon, hm? A wanted international criminal?? How's this place eeeever gonna harbor someone who's been doin' evildoer business?" He chuckles, not minding the awkward way Blast Off's looking at him. "You need a place to hide out for a while? It ain't gonna be pretty, but I got a few places you can use if you want."

"Funny enough, so do I, which brings me to something I wanted to share, Rumble - I was an espionage agent for the senate, and during my time I managed to stash some shanix, supplies and even weapons. I'm willing to give you and the boys a hand, because I -know- what those creeps are capable of, and we're all gonna have to watch our grills from here on out," Shiftlock confides to both of them.

Blast Off stares at Rumble now, not knowing why Rumble's roomie, whoever that is, needed a new passcode and-OMP he doesn't want to know either-he suddenly decides. There's a wing elevon twitch. The staring continues until he suddenly realizes he's being spoken to and it's going to look really strange if he keeps up his silence. "I..uh, no...I.." He glances at Shiftlock, "I think I have a place to stay..." That shadowy reality tries to surface again and he forces it down. He just nods at Shiftlock, working hard to keep his ventilation systems on an even keel.

"Somehow, this don't surprise me," Rumble admits to Shiftlock. "But it \*is\* very impressive, an'...yeah, the group itself is TOUGH, no question, but that don't mean we can't use the assistance. We gotta grow the network to expand all the other stuff! Specially if we're gonna branch out into other cities. So I guess what I'm tryin' to say is...you're wonderful an' we need your hand. Er, your help." Rumble grins, then glances over at Blast Off. Something about the aloof mech doesn't sit right with him, but he isn't sure what it is. "How bout it, you in? I mean sure, you can go it alone, but...maybe you better reconsider."

"All right, I'm gonna get the apartment ready. Blast Off, I'm going ahead, I'll give you the coordinates asap. Rumble, feel free to join me. I got digs in the same tower as you! Makes visiting a lot easier." With that, she transforms and drives on ahead.

Blast Off is trying very hard to deny his feelings- something he does a lot of, actually. But at the slip of the "hand"... and Shiftlock talking about "visiting" Rumble... that shadowy presence flickering at the edge of his mind rears up, and he finally realizes two things.

#1) Blast Off has feelings for Shiftlock. He's had them since... that night. It's probably not surprising. Shiftlock may or may not interface casually, but... there's no such thing as far as Blast Off's concerned. He doesn't do \*anything\* casually... except maybe drink wine. He rarely lets people \*touch\* him, much less /interface/ with them.

This leads to realization #2). He doesn't like Rumble. At /all/.

As Shift transforms, he glances in her direction. "But I..." He listens about the coordinates but... he's not sure what to do about them now. He just watches her go. Then he looks at Rumble, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing imperiously down at the mech. His violet optics flash briefly, then he replies sourly, "I'd rather be alone." That...is not true, of course, but as usual he just can't bring himself to admit it. Especially not to THIS GUY. He lets out a long HUFFF. When he doesn't know what else to do, he does the only thing he knows- push people away. It's safer that way, right?

"Suit yourself," Rumble says to Blast Off, transforming to his vehicular mode and heading off after Shiftlock. "<< I'm on my way, toots! >>" he radios Shiftlock cheerfully. He just can't be unhappy when he's in such a great situation. Suddenly, his luck has changed, and he's feeling like...like maybe there's more to life than mining energon! Maybe there's also naughty encounters in cheap tenement buildings! And darn it, Shiftlock's just fun to be with. He can't deny that!

Blast Off watches him go, still putting on the full "haughty and aloof" front he usually wears- especially in defense. Then he just stands there, the wind blowing through the debris in the street- and seeming to blow right through him with a chill. Somehow, he's gone from lost... to found... to lost again.