Bonus post - Devices, Too part 6.

(For anyone new, the story starts with Appliances and continues with Devices, Too...)

Part 6 - Survive

'Beat took the direct route this time: the weather was cloudy with a hint of drizzle in the wind, the autumn leaves looking somewhat duller than before, limp until the wind dragged them from the trees and tossed them into the air. Not a great day for the scenic route.
     There was only one other car parked in the 'car park' when they arrived; Poppy wondered absently how the pub kept going, being so out of the way and with hardly any customers. Perhaps their evening trade was better. The same woman was behind the bar: she looked up and grinned a welcome as Poppy entered.
     "Ullo again! Back for seconds?"
     Poppy chuckled.
     "Thought I'd try your puddings this time!"
     The woman - the owner's wife, Poppy had discovered - nodded and reached for a half-pint mug, pausing to glance at Poppy.
     "Same again?"
     "Please." It was nice to be remembered, though it did reinforce the idea that not many people used the pub. Poppy took her cider and glanced casually towards the corner - then looked again, her face falling, and heart plummeting, at the large 'Out of Order' sign taped to the jukebox's front.
     "Oh! What happened?"
     The proprietress sighed.
     "We dunno, love. Switched her on yesterday evening, something went bang and smoke started coming out the inside. Had to switch her off. Lucky it didn't blow all the fuses in the place! Someone's coming to take a look..." she checked her watch. "Should be here by now..."
     And the door opened, and in came a middle-aged man in overalls, carrying a bag of tools.
     "Gotta problem wi' yer jukebox?"
     The proprietress nodded and held her hand out for his card, checking it as she pointed to the machine. Poppy watched from the corner of her eye as he pulled out screwdrivers and a torch and set to work removing the front panel.
     "What you fancy today, then, love?"
     "Mm? Oh..." Poppy ran her gaze over the proffered menu and opted for chicken and chips with a side salad. That should leave room for a dessert. She took her drink to the table near the jukebox where she'd sat last time and watched as the workman poked and prodded around inside the machine. She was no expert, but the burnt cabling and cracked components didn't look very promising. She bit her lip, expression anxious. Was Lightdance even still... alive?
     A light twinkled at her, very briefly. She blinked, gaze darting swiftly to the bar, but the proprietess was pottering around washing glasses and hadn't noticed. And the power cord was still clearly lying on the ground, unplugged from the electricity socket. She watched a little more intently as the workman tugged on wires and jiggled connections, finally shaking his head and pulling himself upright.
     "Nope, s'no good. No-one'll be able to fix that. S'too old, can't get the parts any more."
     The proprietress plunked Poppy's lunch on the table and sighed.
     "Well that's a damn shame. Are you sure?"
     "Yers. Whole thing's shorted out, destroyed half the whatchamacallit."
     Poppy nearly giggled, inappropriate as it was, at the wonderfully imprecise description. The proprietress grumped quietly for a moment, then shook her head.
     "I suppose it had to come sometime. She is very old."
     "You insured?"
     "Yes, but I don't think it'll cover wear and tear on an antique."
     "Shame, that." He tilted his head to one side, then said, "I could take it off yer hands. Come in useful for spares."
     "No!" Poppy half stood in agitation. They both turned to her, startled. "You said I could have first refusal..."
     The proprietress frowned.
     "But she's useless."
     Poppy nodded, thinking fast and apologising mentally for what she was about to say.
     "It's still pretty though. I could gut it and use it for... a drinks cabinet. Or a bookcase."
     The proprietress looked at Poppy, then turned her gaze to the workman.
     "Wellllll, I dunno..."
     "How much do you want for it?"
     A speculative gleam entered the woman's eye.
     "Oooh, let's see..." She eyed the workman. "What's she worth for parts?"
     He pursed his lips, then surprised Poppy by shaking his head.
     "Not much. S'all shot to hell. Maybe a couple hundred tops."
     The proprietress smiled at Poppy.
     "And what's she worth to you?"
     Poppy swallowed, then squared her shoulders.
     "Fifty quid more than he's offering."
     "She's worth more than that! Even just as a piece of furniture."
     Poppy nodded.
     "But how many people do you know who want an old jukebox as furniture?"
     The workman hissed through his teeth.
     "Mm. Course, you could always strip out the insides and replace 'em with a new system. Play them mp3 things..."
     Poppy could have kicked him.
     "Isn't that going to cost a lot? I mean, surely you'd be better off buying new."
     "True, that. Won't come cheap. New'd be cheaper.
     Poppy was seriously beginning to wonder whose side he was on.
     "OK. Two seventy-five."
     "Three hundred."
     Poppy winced - but then realised that NEST would reimburse her. Surely. Wouldn't they? Of course they would! Reluctantly she offered three twenty-five.
     The proprietress's gaze switched back to the workman, who frowned and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table.
     "Three thirty."
     "Three fifty."
     "Four."
     Poppy gritted her teeth. It was, after all, in the best of causes...
     "Four fity. And transport."
     The workman shook his head.
     "Nah, that's too much. Let the young lady have it."
     The proprietress grinned rather too triumphantly at Poppy.
     "S'yours, love. When can you collect?"
     "I'll try and get that sorted now." A little worried that the woman might change her mind, Poppy pulled out her mobile and rang Ramp, who immediately patched her through to NEST. Graham wasn't available, but his second-in-command, a Lieutenant Smith, was able to speak to her, swiftly authorising the transaction and organising a van to pick up the jukebox in about two hours, just before closing time. The driver would also bring the required cash. She sighed and relaxed, thanking the officer gratefully. The proprietress smiled at her.
     "All right?"
     "Yes. Be here in a couple of hours."
     "And payment?"
     "Cash. I'll need a receipt though."
     "O' course." She glanced at Poppy's lunch, now going cold on the table. "Want me to warm that up for you?"
     Poppy gazed down at the plate. She'd forgotten it was there in the stress of the last few minutes - and she hated cold chips. "Yes please."
     "Won't be a minute, love." As the woman disappeared through the door into the kitchen Poppy slumped back and finished her drink, gazing at the jukebox. Five minutes later her lunch was back - with freshly cooked chips and another half-pint of cider, on the house.
     She chose plums stewed in red wine for dessert. It was delicious, but the cook wouldn't give her the recipe.

Poppy was beginning to get twitchy: the closing time bell had already been rung twice and the transport hadn't arrived. The proprietress was beginning to give her dubious glances.
     Then to Poppy's relief a head poked itself around the door and grinned at her.
     "Poppy Moss?"
     "Yes?"
     The young man sauntered to her table, inconspicuously flashing an ID and handing over an envelope.
     "Sorry I'm late. Traffic snarl-up in the town centre."
     Relieved, Poppy took the envelope with a smile.
     "You got here in the end." She gestured to the jukebox. "Need a hand?"
     He eyed it narrowly then shook his head.
     "No. Got a sack truck in the van - should do the trick. Be right back."
     As he ambled off, Poppy handed over the cash to the proprietress, who counted the notes then handed over a receipt, hand-written on pub notepaper.
     "Good luck with her."
     "Thank you." Poppy carefully stowed the receipt in her wallet, then helped steady the jukebox as the young man eased the wheeled trolley under its base.
     "See you again, love?" The proprietress inclined her head as Poppy headed to the door.
     "Oh, I expect so. You've still got some puddings I'd like to try!"

Outside, the young man - who introduced himself as "Second Lieutenant Philip Collier, but please just call me Phil" - was easing the jukebox carefully into the back of the white van parked beside 'Beat. He grinned as he climbed into the van's driver's seat.
     "I'll follow you back."
     "Thanks. It's not far." Poppy slid into the Mini and let 'Beat take over the driving. The drizzle had turned to rain, though it wasn't too heavy, and the afternoon turned overcast: the sooner they got home the better.
     But first she had to have words with 'Beat.
     "Did you know he was out of order?"
     "Yup - tol' me when we got here. But's jus' pretendin'. Easiest way t'get out."
     "You could have told me! I thought he'd died!"
     'Beat was silent for a few moments, then sighed.
     "'M sorry. I forget y're not one of us, sometimes."
     Poppy wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. She decided flattered was less hassle.
     "Well, that's nice, 'Beat, but I can't read your mind. Or your internal communications. You have to tell me these things in future, please."
     "Oh, all right."
     A few seconds of silence, then, "He really is just pretending, isn't he? All that damage looked very real."
     "'E's fine. Give 'im a mo to transform an' it'll all be back t'normal."
     "Oh... good..."

All was quiet back at the house: the transformers were understandably a little wary of strangers after the energon incident. Phil wheeled the jukebox in and settled it against the wall, then saluted Poppy, politely declined her offer of a coffee, and headed back to his base. As he drove off she called out "All clear!" and her charges made their way swiftly into the lounge. Even 'Beat squeezed in, careful not to damage anything, and seated himself on the floor, knees pulled up to his chin. Poppy smiled at the jukebox.
     "Welcome, Lightdance. You're among friends..."
     For a moment there was silence, then the newest arrival performed that wonderful twisting, transforming dance that always had Poppy transfixed, and suddenly there was a new individual standing (a little shyly, she thought) before them. She opened her mouth to speak...
     'Spin flung himself forward as Chill lunged for the newcomer, hands outstretched and frighteningly sharp 'claws' extending from his fingers, the washing machine catching the fridge around the waist and preventing him from colliding with the jukebox. Poppy stumbled back a pace or two, eyes wide in shock, as the fridge began shouting, his usually fairly blank, expressionless face contorted with what could only be fury, though since he was bellowing in very fast Cybertronian she couldn't understand a syllable of it. With 'Spin also speaking loudly, trying to calm his friend down, and TeeVee and Blue shielding Lightdance, who was shouting back at Chill (but without trying to attack, as far as she could tell), and the smaller transformers scrambling to try to hide behind various bits of furniture, the lounge was a scene of pandemonium. Poppy jumped onto the coffee table and tried to make herself heard, but was completely ignored - until 'Beat sounded his horn, loud enough to rattle the windows and leave Poppy deafened for a few seconds. Everyone went still, and the Mini stood, looming over them all. His own Cybertronian was deep and sounded angry, but whatever he said at least had them all calm a little - although Chill was still snarling. Poppy glanced gratefully at 'Beat and managed to grab back control.
     "Chill - kitchen. NOW."
     "Poppy..."
     "Save it. I'll speak to you later. 'Spin, go with him. I don't want to see either of you in here until this is sorted." As 'Spin shoved the fridge in the direction of the kitchen, Poppy turned to Lightdance, who was glowering angrily after them. "You, over there." She pointed to the corner furthest away from the kitchen door. "Not a word until I say." She scowled after him as he obeyed, slowly and reluctantly. Then she turned to 'Beat.
     "Right. Translation please."
     With Lightdance grumbling an almost inaudible, incomprehensible counterpoint from his corner, 'Beat began the sorry tale.

© JAT Nov 2011

Labels: fanfic, Transformers