[rd][fic][Transformers] Texture 3/6
Jun. 5th, 2008 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76The challenge this was for is over, but I'm going to try to finish it anyway.
Texture 3/6 - Fishnet
by K. Stonham
prereleased 5th June 2008
The hooker wore fishnets and couldn't have been a day over fifteen. Jason kept his expression level and his thoughts to himself. The girl should have been at home studying for a math test, not turning tricks under streetlamps. But he didn't know what she'd been running from; maybe it was something she thought was worse than selling herself for money. And he couldn't just drag her in for standing on the sidewalk. Not until...
Ah.
He slipped out of the Vic and into the shadows, watching as a white Mercedes slowed down and pulled over just past the girl. She perked up and trotted over to the expensive car, just a touch wobbly on her spiked heels. Bending over, she discussed something through the passenger window, and Jason could just make out the sum "three hundred a night." She was shot down with derisive laughter and glanced across the street where a man loitered. Her pimp, maybe? "Two hundred," she offered instead, sounding somewhat lame.
He had evidence of solicitation. That was all he needed.
"I don't think you wanna be doin' that," Jason said, melting out of the shadows. He already had the car's front plate memorized. "I think you'd all better come with me."
The girl stepped backward, surprised, and Jason expected the car to take off in a screech of peeling rubber. Instead a hand with a gun appeared and his vision narrowed to that one point as the pimp across the street produced a piece as well. There was a shriek from the girl, shots rained out even as he tried to roll back into the relative safety of the alley, and a metallic crunch as Faithful's brakes failed and it rammed into the front of the Mercedes from the slight slope of the street, Jason sheltered behind its bulk.
*
Somehow he'd ended up only scratched and scraped, which was good because Jason was a notoriously bad patient and worse at being stuck on desk duty. The pimp had disappeared and so had one of the johns, but the hooker--Tina--had surprised him by tackling the other john and managing to pin him until Jason could get the cuffs on. She'd been turned over to the station's counselor and was probably on her way into a foster home until her family could be contacted and evaluated.
Ignoring the station that sat square behind him, Jason approached Faithful, who wasn't even scratched from the encounter with the johns' car. The Mercedes, on the other hand, had had its engine block crumpled in and would never run again.
Lucky was one thing. That tough was another. It spoke of inhuman construction.
There was no symbol on the car, though. Not the familiar, friendly Autobot symbol, and even more definitely not the mark of the Decepticon faction.
"Look," Fanzone had told him bluntly, "you think we've never thought of that? We've checked every inch of that car over at one time or another. There ain't no mark. Heck, we even wired the Autobots at one point, asking if they were maybe missing a soldier. Whatever that car is, they ain't heard of it."
"Robots in disguise," Jason muttered to himself, running a hand over the roof and opening the door. He sat down and looked at the center of the steering wheel. At the radio. At the dash. Nothing.
Running a hand down the control panel, he jerked as a blue spark suddenly snapped at him from the open power outlet. He cradled his hand for a moment, fingers of the other running over it to check damage. There was none, so he reached carefully back and snapped closed the outlet's cover. He sighed and slumped back in the seat, hands on the wheel.
"Maybe Fanzone's right," he said to no one. "Maybe I'm seeing things." He thought for a moment, about the totalled Mercedes. About all the other lucky coincidences he'd heard about. About the blue spark that hadn't hurt him at all. His eyes narrowed. "Or maybe not," he said. He nodded and got out of the car again. "I'm going home," he said, addressing the interior of the car. "I'll see you tomorrow. Whoever you are." He closed the door and walked away.
Sometime in the middle of the night an engine turned over quietly in the middle of the police parking lot, then fell quiet again.
Texture 3/6 - Fishnet
by K. Stonham
prereleased 5th June 2008
The hooker wore fishnets and couldn't have been a day over fifteen. Jason kept his expression level and his thoughts to himself. The girl should have been at home studying for a math test, not turning tricks under streetlamps. But he didn't know what she'd been running from; maybe it was something she thought was worse than selling herself for money. And he couldn't just drag her in for standing on the sidewalk. Not until...
Ah.
He slipped out of the Vic and into the shadows, watching as a white Mercedes slowed down and pulled over just past the girl. She perked up and trotted over to the expensive car, just a touch wobbly on her spiked heels. Bending over, she discussed something through the passenger window, and Jason could just make out the sum "three hundred a night." She was shot down with derisive laughter and glanced across the street where a man loitered. Her pimp, maybe? "Two hundred," she offered instead, sounding somewhat lame.
He had evidence of solicitation. That was all he needed.
"I don't think you wanna be doin' that," Jason said, melting out of the shadows. He already had the car's front plate memorized. "I think you'd all better come with me."
The girl stepped backward, surprised, and Jason expected the car to take off in a screech of peeling rubber. Instead a hand with a gun appeared and his vision narrowed to that one point as the pimp across the street produced a piece as well. There was a shriek from the girl, shots rained out even as he tried to roll back into the relative safety of the alley, and a metallic crunch as Faithful's brakes failed and it rammed into the front of the Mercedes from the slight slope of the street, Jason sheltered behind its bulk.
Somehow he'd ended up only scratched and scraped, which was good because Jason was a notoriously bad patient and worse at being stuck on desk duty. The pimp had disappeared and so had one of the johns, but the hooker--Tina--had surprised him by tackling the other john and managing to pin him until Jason could get the cuffs on. She'd been turned over to the station's counselor and was probably on her way into a foster home until her family could be contacted and evaluated.
Ignoring the station that sat square behind him, Jason approached Faithful, who wasn't even scratched from the encounter with the johns' car. The Mercedes, on the other hand, had had its engine block crumpled in and would never run again.
Lucky was one thing. That tough was another. It spoke of inhuman construction.
There was no symbol on the car, though. Not the familiar, friendly Autobot symbol, and even more definitely not the mark of the Decepticon faction.
"Look," Fanzone had told him bluntly, "you think we've never thought of that? We've checked every inch of that car over at one time or another. There ain't no mark. Heck, we even wired the Autobots at one point, asking if they were maybe missing a soldier. Whatever that car is, they ain't heard of it."
"Robots in disguise," Jason muttered to himself, running a hand over the roof and opening the door. He sat down and looked at the center of the steering wheel. At the radio. At the dash. Nothing.
Running a hand down the control panel, he jerked as a blue spark suddenly snapped at him from the open power outlet. He cradled his hand for a moment, fingers of the other running over it to check damage. There was none, so he reached carefully back and snapped closed the outlet's cover. He sighed and slumped back in the seat, hands on the wheel.
"Maybe Fanzone's right," he said to no one. "Maybe I'm seeing things." He thought for a moment, about the totalled Mercedes. About all the other lucky coincidences he'd heard about. About the blue spark that hadn't hurt him at all. His eyes narrowed. "Or maybe not," he said. He nodded and got out of the car again. "I'm going home," he said, addressing the interior of the car. "I'll see you tomorrow. Whoever you are." He closed the door and walked away.
Sometime in the middle of the night an engine turned over quietly in the middle of the police parking lot, then fell quiet again.
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Date: 2008-06-06 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-14 12:29 am (UTC)