Day 10 - Just another busy day: 1/?
The ground trembles.
The tremor isn’t particularly powerful, but it’s still enough to rattle the window of the small, one-guest hotel room hosting Trestle and 20100, and make the water jug by the bedside table clink. A much greater amount of chaos follows as something slams the bed in which Trestle is sleeping from underneath, and a black blur shoots out of the cramped space yelling-
“Rumblers! RUMBLERS! Get your stashes and ruuuun!”
-all the while mentally broadcasting the same.
Trestle rubs his eyes, watching the panicking drone bump into furniture, turn over a chair, and finally get tangled in the straps of its massive backpack and somehow manage to end up upside down, all in the span of several seconds and one loud warning.
The backpack slowly keels over on 20100 and buries the drone underneath.
Trestle yawns, looks out of the window letting in the early morning sun, and stretches his legs.
“Are you okay under there, 20100?” he asks.
“That wasn’t a rumbler, was it?” a muffled reply comes from the imprisoned drone.
“No idea what that’s supposed to be, but to me it seemed like a weak earthquake, same as yesterday,” Trestle finally gets up, walks over to the backpack, pushes it on the side with a grunt, and reveals the tangled drone trapped underneath, “How did you even manage to get so messed up so quickly?” he shakes his head and starts fiddling with the metal buckles holding the straps together. It’ll be much quicker than trying to methodically release 20100.
“Heheh,” it chuckles nervously, “We panic easily. It helps with not getting eaten.”
“I strongly disagree,” Trestle taps on the prison of straps.
“Most of the time…” adds 20100.
Trestle finishes one buckle off, which leaves 20100 hanging in the air near the top of the backpack.
“Wheee!” the drone stretches its now free hind legs.
“Careful!” Trestle leans away just in case 20100’s excitement makes it kick a bit too far, “So, we still have about two hours before we have to clear out, did you think of that gift for 10013?”
“Yes, I did!” 20100 unsuccessfully attempts to nod, still tied up worse than an overzealous BDSM enthusiast, “Remember that moldable plastic sheet thingy you can paint on that we saw yesterday? The ones they said were for maps with all the pointy hilly bits. I’d like to paint High Score and make it -whatdidtheycallit- three dee. That way, 10013 can boop it.”
“Those things are notoriously difficult to paint on and the material doesn’t lend itself to painting details. If you’re really set on this then buy more of them, and be sure to buy some cleaner too, because I’m absolutely sure it’ll take a lot of attempts, even for you,” Trestle frees 20100’s head and the drone raises its forelegs, finally sliding under the last two straps crossed on its barrel.
“Phew! This did bring back super bad webby spinner memories,” 20100 wipes its forehead.
“Now you can enjoy putting this back on,” Trestle nods to the backpack and flicks the strap in his hoof, “I’ll pack my stuff unless you want to stay here until our time runs out.”
“Nu uh,” 20100 shakes its head, “We gotta go buy the stuff and head back to the resort. I want to start working on 10013’s gift as soon as I can.”
“Fine with me,” Trestle gets busy packing his stuff.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, the duo enter the shabby hotel’s lobby where several guests are gathered around the counter. Some guests hear their hoofsteps and shoot them a glance, but in turn 20100 and Trestle overhear scraps of the ongoing conversation:
“Look, the news on the island radio was that there’s nothing to worry about. The Ataraki volcano isn’t active, but there might be unforeseen gas leaks pocketing underground or something. Supposedly, some new Imperial seismologists have already arrived to the island with a massive drill and are already examining the situation,” the griffon behind the counter is explaining, “If it grows into something worth worrying about we’ll know way in advance.”
The guests slowly disperse as one painter and one massive backpack with tiny drone legs leave. After the final shopping for 20100’s supplies, as they walk through the streets towards the road leading across the island to the resort, Trestle says:
“It just dawned on me, since you’re bound to be busy with making that plastic painting, that this might be the last few hours for us to talk. Is there anything else you’d like to hear about? Maybe something regarding the history of painting?”
“Sure!” 20100 nods, “But I could use some advice on painting someone whom I know how they look but it’s in a position I’ve never seen them in.”
“Huh?” Trestle smiles and his voice gains that lecturing tone which 20100 knows well by now, “That’s easy. You can always find someone else with the right proportions to pose for you. If you want to paint a changeling like yourself then it’s even easier because you look extremely similar in general. Some painters use poseable ponnequins, but I doubt we’d be able to buy one of those here. As for the painting process itself, you can always start with making a sketch of the general pose using some easily removable marker, possibly building a full body out of geometric shapes, and then start connecting those and layering the body over it from skeletal structure-”
20100 just listens with a smile, absorbing both the teachings as well as the love for his art which weakly seeps out of Trestle.
***
A similar awakening follows the tremor felt in the resort. However, since the other drones are grouped up and in a familiar territory, their hive mind links synchronize and they instinctively absorb the situation with only raised heads and puzzled looks around.
*SLAM!*
“Ow…!”
With the drones’ habit of sleeping under things, the synchronicity spreads into both the impact and the dazed reaction as most drones crawl out of their respective nooks and crannies, rubbing their heads or narrowing their eyes at the floor in suspicion in case of Smiley.
“Another rumble?” asks 36658, looking around.
“Seems like it,” replies 99380, unbothered and unharmed at all due to its armchair sleeping spot, “The radio lady talked about it earlier and said that it’s nothing to worry about and that some griffon sees-more-logics came to check it out.”
“That does not sound good,” the worried comment comes from 10101 who spent the night simply sitting by the whiteboard covered in diagrams.
“How come?” asks 10013.
“For three reasons,” replies 10101 and walks over to the radio, nodding at 99380, “May I borrow it?”
“Umm, sure. Why?”
“Reason number one - my seismology records read that there should be zero natural activity,” the mechanical limb slides out of 10101’s chest again and the robot begins dismantling the radio’s chassis at a rapid pace, “Reason number two - even though this island is dedicated to being a playground for the important and the rich, a tremor like this one wouldn’t warrant such an immediate dispatch of a seismology team,” when the chassis is gone, the thin tip of the limb lights up, and 10101 touches the circuitry, making it spark, “Remember, according to the radio news, the team arrived overnight, which means before the second tremor,” it takes several components from the boards and examines them, “Reason number three - even if the seismology team was somehow ready for this event, the travel distance from the Empire makes it impossible to traverse the sea in one night,” 10101 fiddles with the components before rearranging them and soldering them back to the board, “This makes me believe that whoever arrived from the mainland is related to the griffons who are already here in secret. From our records, the level of technology of the Imperial Intelligence Service is usually several decades ahead of the general public, so if the griffons have the ability to transport personnel that quickly it would be them,” 10101 fits the chassis back onto the board, “I looks like I must ask you for assistance once again, changelings,” it looks at 10013.
“What with?” asks the leader.
“I need an escort back to the facility, the service entrance. If my suspicion is correct, the tremors could be related to the griffon attempts at breaching the istrium sarcophagus and triggering security mechanisms.”
“Didn’t you say you had a lot of time before they’d be able to do it?” asks 36658, immediately looking for inconsistencies in the story.
“I did. Some variable must have changed,” 10101 nods, “I have modified the radio to receive a specific frequency if you leave the knob set to its current position. There will be a high amount of distortion because I can’t modify the antenna on the roof, but it’ll be sufficient for reception as well as let you listen to the station you enjoy. It might be necessary to contact you from the lab.”
“Does that mean we get to go inside your super high tech place?” 99111 immediately perks up, “Can I go this time, 10013? Can I can I can I?”
“Hmm,” 10013 rubs its chin and shrugs, “I don’t see a problem with that. All you have to do is cover 10101 while passing by someone. Just listen to 10101 when it says to not touch anything. I know that will be the hardest part. You shouldn’t go alone, though. To be able to cover 10101 from more sides if nothing else. Three drones would be the best.”
“I can go,” 99526 raises its foreleg, “I’d like to stretch my legs after being in the GIL for so long. I’m not sick at all anymore.”
“99380, 36658?” 10013 looks at each drone.
“I’d rather not,” 36658 shakes its head, adding mentally, “They probably won’t get into any trouble that my help could fix. Besides, this is one of the final chances I have to gain some points to stop 99111’s nonsense.”
“I… can I stay here and listen for 10101’s message?” 99380 asks quietly, “My thinky ball hurts real bad from all the remembering and hive minding. Wait, 36658 got any of the big agonyslayers?”
“If you have a headache, you need to stop your head from processing stimuli,” interjects 10101, “My advice is going outside and finding a quiet place instead of relying on mind-altering substances. The most important things in training biological brains are repetition and recovery. Listening to the radio all day would only make things worse right now. I can give you several basic tips regarding meditative states before we leave. There is a limit to what I can do without connection to the facility’s databanks.”
“You heard the smart mechanibug,” says 10013, “Which means that I have to stay here and listen in case of trouble. Smiley, you wanna go for a walk?”
Processing.
Processing…
Smile.
[yes]
Everyone’s jaw drops.
“Smiley, you can talk now?!” 10013 recovers first.
[? :) ?]
“Well, slow and steady,” 10013 walks over and pats Smiley’s head, “Go with 10101, 99111, and 99526, and help them with anything they need, okay?”
*Happy face!*
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Name it smile about town
Yes, No, Is that all you can say?
Oh dear, the griffins have trackers on the facility and noticed it accessed so theyre going in, and currently it aint looking too good for them?
Looks like it might be back to usual for those poor drones as well.
And then 20100 proceeds to do it precisely correct and without any issue on its first try.
Oh, is THAT their cover story for it? They need a better one then, because I saw through THAT pretty much instantly. But then again, I also know what else happens to be on this little island.
I can already see what that's inevitably going to lead to.
"Paint me like one of your Prench drones!"
"Okay!" *proceeds to paint drone with a beret, curly mustache, and a baguette*
Could probably find the griffon equivalent though. What would you even call those? Griffequins?
Actually, these imperial griffons probably could stand to see more logic overall in their lives.
You underestimate how easy to panic and quick to demand explanations the important and rich can be, 10101.
It appears Smiley has learned how to use changeling binary!
Put that gun away, Chekhov.
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I would have to understand what that means.
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It's doomed. It's all doooomed!
11567241
- You can read me like an open free low tier fanfiction e-book. Alright then! 20100 fails so hard the entire island explodes. You asked for it, everybody dies.
- Pretty sure nobles would be happy someone reacted that quickly, civilians definitely won't complain, and GIL members won't ask questions when a black and gold/silver jacket gives them an order.
- "There's room for only one of us on this floating door, 10013!" *Blub blub* All Ds transform into having floaties all over while Chrysalis surfs the waves on the door.
- There are some show expressions I never tried to expand the usage of, and this one needs to be taken behind the shed and- and- stop looking at me like that, 65536.
- Logic is relative. As in, for the nobility it's entirely logical to screw all their relatives in varying senses of the word.
- Gas pockets. What drill? You see any drill? Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?
- *happy face* / *sad face*
11567262
I have successfully moved the subtlety level to Chekhov's nuke, or at least a sawed-off shotty.
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https://www.dictionary.com/browse/man-about-town
:)
11567587
I might rename it if I figure out a way to utilize Smiley more.
Finally caugh up once again!
I really loved how you potrayed my boy Trestle here in the last few chapters. If this is his last apperance I am more than statisfied but who knows.
You really know how to write, I could never think up to connect his apperance to the dutchess and make it as interconnected as you do.
P.S
I am totally working on other coverart too
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It's my first attempt at writing an NC character that's not my own
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Tbh I'm just happy I didn't completely mischaracterize him