2017-12-17 It's Like 3 AM Trailbreaker

From Transformers: Lost and Found

2017-12-17 It's Like 3 AM Trailbreaker
Date 2017/12/17
Location Whisper and Trailbreaker's Habsuite
Participants Whisper, Trailbreaker
Summary Whisper meets the new suitemate. It's awkward all around.

It has been a time of change and portent. Whisper has accumulated few belongings in the time of her traveling aboard the ship: a laser rifle, a few small mementos in a box, a few datapads, and that's it. No decoration, no wall art. Her side of the hab she shared with Swerve was barren and quiet. Now, settled into her new hab assignment, there is little that defines the room as her own.

It's late. Very late. But Whisper's sleepless night has finally dropped into a fitful, restless recharge as she rests, stretched out, on her slab.

Trailbreaker wasn't especially close to Pipes, but it's hard not to think of everyone on board as a drinking friend of his by now. And he spent the night just seeing an empty chair, no matter how crowded Swerve's got. So he saw it as his duty to drink on behalf of Pipes too. This one was for him, and the next, and the next.

Which means he wasn't in when Whisper moved in, though she would have noticed his half was a mess of scattered datapads, notes, empty containers, souvenirs and scribbles.

And then there's a loud *THUNK* against the door, and a tapping on the side of it. "I...huh, okay, I could SWEAR I remembered this password. I'm getting it right. Whas' the deal?"

He's tapping the door instead of the number pad.

Whisper snaps with a startled alertness at the sound, weapons onlining as she jerks awake out of some shadowed dream of a memory. Her onboard weapons then hiss into quiet as her visored gaze sweeps around the room and finds it empty, but for the thumping against the door. She stares at it in blank alarm for a moment, sitting up on the slab with her wings bristling at high angles in the air above and behind.

Trailbreaker keeps tapping on the door with increased irritation. "It's like it won't...delockify." For a second he rests his foggy helm against the door, letting everyone spin around him and wonder if he's going to have to make another embarassed security call again. In front of a new suitemate, too. What a hell of a first impression.

Then he squints, everything stops doubling for a second and comes into focus, and...there. That's the number pad!

With a few presses the door slides open and Trailbreaker stumbles through it, his feet clanking heavily as he catches himself against his slab. "Heeey," he slurs as he looks over at Whisper.

She is a shadow in the gloom, a stark contrast of light and dark. Her biolighting glitters in sparks of white along the lines of her flyer's frame, and the yellow glare of her visored gaze is focused in his direction. Where once her chest would have been centered by the Decepticon badge, now it stands empty, but it's probably hard to tell one way or the other at this point, actually. She is clearly awake; she is clearly watching him. It does not appear to have occurred to her yet that it's now her turn to speak.

"...Uh." Big, unsteady Trailbreaker sits down on the slab, tilting his head and looking with a little confusion at the not-Decepticon on the other side of the room. He strokes his chin. He'd said hello, hadn't he? Fogged as his mind might be, he's sure he did that. "'re the new roomie, right? Sorry f'r the mess. I didn't wake ya up, did I?"

"You did," Whisper says in a slow, thoughtful tone. Her voice is quiet and deep, and these syllables are measured, without any particular judgment or reproof applied. She still watches him, and the cant of her head reflects plain uncertainty. Her feet swing down from the slab, their toes set lightly against the floor as she drops her hands to her knees. "Your mess does not trouble me. It is not mine."

"...Oh. Good." this person annoyed with him and not showing it? Is she okay with things? This level of reservation is something Trailbreaker has trouble reading when he's sober, to say nothing of now. But he doesn't want to be rude, so he resists the urge to pass out in recharge for a little longer. "Uh, I'm Trailbreaker. Good to meetcha." He tries standing up to offer his hand, stands up too fast and immediately has to sit back down, groaning and holding his head. "Sorry."

"Whisper." She offers the name in return and, when he collapses back to his slab, lets out a trickle of a noise in a whirring of fans as she rises from her own. Standing over him, she leaves the lights off, but investigates more closely the signs of a level of overintoxication that she has not witnessed in a very long time. "Do you require medical?"

"No, no, I'm fine!" Trailbreaker isn't; he suspects he's made himself a little sick from overcharge he'll have to burn off in his sleep. But he doesn't want to hear a lecture from Ratchet, see Knockout's eyeroll or just try to discern if any of the nice medics are pitying him or annoyed with him and hiding it well. "They got enough on their plates. I'm like this sometimes, s'fine." He leans back against the wall. "Sorry I woke ya...I'll try to be more considerirate."

Whisper makes a neutral noise, but does not pressure him. She returns to her seat on the slab, folding herself down with a dip of her wings and a slow shake of her head. "No matter."

"Nah, I mean, it's not fair to you if I wake you up or interrupt your night." Trailbreaker feels like he has to fill the silence somehow. "You wanna drink?" He digs under his bed and pulls out a sealed container of Nightmare Fuel.

By Whisper's body language, she is about to refuse -- her hand lifted, her head ducking. She pauses, a deep cinch reflected across her brow. She looks at the slab, at Trailbreaker, at the container. She looks back at his face again, and then holds out her hand, open palmed.

Trailbreaker smiles a little at this. He knows that expression when someone just needs it. So he reaches over and hands her the bottle, then yawns. "Just put it back when you're done. I have a feeling I'm not gonna be awake much longer," he admits. "But s'nice to meet youzzz...."

Well, he made a valiant effort to stay conscious for that long.

The container is definitely nowhere to be found by morning. Presumably, she drinks it. HE MAY NEVER KNOW.

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