Nature of the Beast

One-Shot: The New Girl in Town

It was strange, she thought as she drove her beat in the main city center, that she was now searching for two miscreants out of friendly concern for their welfare than out of annoyance and an adherence to her duty as a law officer. Had that thought crossed her mind in Iacon she would have thought her processor was malfunctioning, but now – now she didn't see it as so very peculiar. Altihex was not Iacon. Any standards of behavior or thought from her old city had to be properly adjusted. In Iacon and in her sister city, the a'almvi Skylark and Punchline were, though entertaining in her antics, considered to be a bit of a repetitive nuisance to the law. Here in Altihex, the a'almvi were seen as, as best she could guess from all the evidence she had gathered, wayward sparklings who just happened to get involved with the law through their playfulness, and the law here understood that. "A'almvus" and "criminal" were not quite so interchangeable as she had once assumed. Obnoxious some cycles, certainly – some of their antics required an inordinate amount of patience to handle, but they were not, when looked at through the scope of the Shifter's doctrine, criminal acts. Did one arrest a child for playing?

She was thoroughly convinced (had been for a while now if she was honest with herself) that she had been sent to Altihex for a reason that went beyond the law and her job. Ironhide hadn't sent her solely as a transfer to back up the second precinct. Altihex didn't need a small army of law officers the same way Iacon, Kaon or Praxus did. It had taken a few deca-cycles to figure it out, but she had begun to notice a code of standards unique to the city and its law enforcement. Give pleasant, get pleasant. Give respect, get respect. Judging by the fact there were only six precincts for the sprawling southern city, it apparently worked wonders. The worst she had seen to date on this transfer had been some outsiders to the city heckling some of the Predacon merchants in the emporium center, and they had been dealt with swiftly and, dare she say it, severely. Bigotry, ignorance, was not tolerated here. That had been made abundantly clear. She suspected it was because of that policy (and the large Predacon presence in the city) that most crime here never managed to get beyond relatively minor things such as drug infractions or speeding – or over-energized a'almvi doing something amazingly stupid that deca-cycle.

HOOOONK!

She swerved to the side and hit her brakes hard to avoid a sideways collision with a heavy debris hauler. The hauler, rather than go on, pulled to the side and drew up.

"You alright there, sister?" the deep female voice wondered.

"Fine," she gasped. "I'm fine. Just...I got distracted. Thinking."

The giant femme chuckled, "Just try to pay more attention next time, eh? Wandering thoughts mean a wandering wheel."

"Actually, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, sister. What'd ya need?"

"You seen either a'almvi anywhere rec –"

"WHOO-HOO!"

She looked up in time to see a flame-accented fiery orange and red mech falling from the top of the spire above her and grab hold of a Draconian flying by. The beast screamed in surprise and bucked like an Equinine and then rolled, the mech's grip slipping at the sudden movement and sending him tumbling towards the ground again. He hit ground about a quarter of a klick down the road. He lay there as if unconscious, but soon his arms flung up and he issued another elated cry of "YEAH-HA! WHOO!"

She sighed, though it came out more as a groan, "Never mind..."

Laughing uproariously, the other femme honked once and pulled back onto the main road to continue on her route.

Restraining the urge to sigh again, she made her way over to the mech on the ground in a quick run. He made to rise on his own, the stubborn, silly idiot, getting onto his knees to push himself up and revealing a few minor dings on his arm and abdomen. She hunched and offered her hand. His helm jerked up to reveal the ever beaming, ever burning reptilian optics and a broad smile. He took the hand and rose with it. Strange, she thought, that she'd never really recognized that smile until now – it never really changed, but her perception of it had. At one point she had seen it as a rebellious smirk, taunting her, but that was a far cry from what she saw now. It was a young, innocent but wise, ever excited smile, finding enjoyment in anything from jumping from buildings to caring for a sparkling as an odd job. She sorely wished she could smile like that more often, but as a cop she felt she didn't have that luxury. She didn't know if she even could. Knowing the darker undercarriage of society robbed that sort of thing from you. But he had gotten her to laugh before, truly laugh. Maybe there was hope.

"You alright?" she demanded. "You need me to get you to a medic?"

He smiled as he put a hand over his chassis, "Awww. You do care. I knew you did."

"No, seriously. Do you need a medic? You're hurt."

He laughed her suggestion off as if it were a good joke. It was just a few dings and scratches, he insisted. He'd suffered worse. He'd buff them out later. He had to be presentable after all, he said through a wink.

Her helm tilted to one side as a brow ridge arced, "Presentable for what? A job?"

He winked again through that smile, "You could say that..."

Whooping in delight, he transformed, bucked the front of his vehicle form, and joined the flow of traffic. Her instinct was to chase after him and demand further clarification about that statement, but she reigned that ingrained impulse in with an effort. He wasn't a crook, he wasn't a crook, he wasn't a crook she repeated to that impulse. She should be concerned about his welfare considering that Backdraft appeared to have little to no concept of personal safety. Strange indeed that someone like that could be so surprisingly level-helmed in any array of situations tossed his way, and humorous enough to joke about accidents and slip-ups afterwards. Problems slid off him like ice melt.

But that smile, she realized, while typically innocent and amiable, had been accompanied by a set of mischievously glittering optics. That, she decided, was a red flag. She'd seen that glitter a few times now, and it always spelled out one thing: Backdraft had "merry mischief" on his processor.

And she'd lost him to the flow of traffic.

Great.

"I wonder if chief will let me put a tracker beacon on him...?" she mumbled.

"You ready, bro?"

"Always."

"Sh! Here she comes."

The black and blue femme with her impressive Iaconian helm crest and handful of teal accents came down the corridor of the Altihexian Council Hall in a slow, nervous walk, her teal optics darting around as if worried someone might jump her. Her gaze never strayed up though, and so never fell on him or his friend, concealed on a supporting beam of metal that arced across the corridor to hold its simple vaulted roof up.

Hijinks waggled his haunches in anticipation as she passed nearer. He reached a hand over and forced his rump down. Not yet, he whispered.

She passed underneath.

Grinning, he motioned to his friend.

The Canipid leapt from the rafters with a yip, limbs splayed out like he was about to belly flop into a lake. The femme looked up just in time to fall beneath him, giving a squeak of surprise that probably could've been a scream but didn't quite make it out. She shrieked and squirmed as Hijinks happily licked her faceplates, shoving her hands towards him.

"Help!" she shrieked. "Help! Help me! Get it off! It's trying to eat me!"

He laughed hysterically at the sight, hands moving from their posts on the beam to his side. He realized his mistake one klik too late, and yelped when he tumbled off. The femme yelped as he hit the ground near her.

"What in the name of –" cried a familiar voice. "BOYS! What did I tell you about giving trouble to guests?"

He pushed himself off the floor, "We weren't giving trouble! We were just sayin' hi like the boss told us to!"

Screwloose arched a brow ridge as he strode up to the mess, "By throwing a Canipid at a Polyhexian?"

"Um," his optics darted over to the femme and Hijinks and then back to the Altihexian Councilor, "Maybe?"

"Get it off!" the femme shrieked again.

Sighing, Screwloose placed two digits over his nasal and shook his helm. Giving a quick, sharp whistle out of his neck vents, he then clicked his vocalizer and pointed to the ground beside the femme. Hijinks gave the femme one last lick and removed himself to sit in exactly the spot indicated, tail wagging still. The femme's optics dared to open then.

He knelt and offered a hand, "Sorry about them, Cyberwarp. They're good kids, I promise. They weren't trying to scare you."

The look she gave him was less than convinced, but she let Screwloose help her back up anyway. She eyed them in distrust.

"You don't have a'almvi in Polyhex, do you?" guessed the Councilor.

Her look changed in an instant. She stared at them, "You're a'almvi?"

He bowed, "Two of many! And busy!"

"Busy?"

Transforming, he bucked his front end and raced off back down the hall with a cry of "Nice to meet you!" Hijinks yipped back the same and bounded after him.

"Not bad for our first foray into politics!" he said to his friend. "Think we may have gotten to her?"

Hijinks barked over short-band that there was always the chance. But they should probably do a little more homework next time. Causing an inter-city incident with Polyhex wasn't high on his Well-list.

Just a little shortie with Chicane getting a little more open minded and relaxed and the boys being silly doofs. x3