trans_9 | Totally Singing Death Cab for Cutie Under His Breath Right Now. [Open!]

That one spaceship that Caden might’ve been staring at—you know, the sleek, tapered vessel, small and dark, her paneling halfway stained black to give it necessary weight, for otherwise she might be mistaken for something that could float if put into a large enough body of water—was, at the time, harboring a second crewmember on the opposing side. That bizarre, resin-like scent could’ve been the first thing to give this fugitive away, for he was still in the process of finishing that first protecting coating and had been working for several hours now. Also his thermos was open, empty of slop, resting tamely on the nose, suggesting that there was a visitor but not necessarily insisting that he was still present.

Not that Dustin was attempting to hide, for any reason, because he certainly had reasons to hide but he never found them important enough to waste his time with. No; it was mere happenstance that the Dart was in his way. He made himself present several moments later regardless.

A gloved hand and the mop of hair atop his head preceded the scrawny fellow as he reached for his mixing rod. An inch or so more and Dustin caught sight of an unexpected observer at the edge of his peripheral vision—unexpected not just because Dustin didn’t recognize him as a regular tourist of the Hangar and its inhabitants, but mostly because he didn’t recognize him at all, something that was a particular feat at this stage of the genius’s stay on the ship. Even the most reclusive crewmembers wandered around the City or the Mess Hall or the Library, even the newly revived ones, an event that Dustin did not often miss (and thus he found highly unlikely that this man was from such a recent group); and, so long as they were out in the open, there was a decent chance that Dustin had seen them at least once.

…So this was quite peculiar. It was, however, not peculiar enough to really pique the scruffy man’s interest and distract him from his art, therefore he regarded the stranger with a contempt sniff and promptly went back to brushing his child. Though, Dustin realized, he could be made useful so long as he was trapped up on this suspension cable and stepladder rig.

“Hey, you with the—“ a pause as Dustin peeked out from the side again, raising (with great effort) a shaggy eyebrow before returning, “—hair—Do me a favor and reset the track on the stereo system over there.”

The ‘over there’ direction was associated with a vague wave of the same gloved hand as earlier, though now it brandished an industrial wire brush.

Caden, being Caden, takes the emphasis on his hair as an insult and proceeds to run a hand through it self-consciously, a glare fixing itself onto his face. He doesn't particularly appreciate being ordered around by men who, by the looks of this one, haven't shaved in several weeks (unless they pull the scruffy look off, which this one doesn't, in his humble opinion), nor does he like being ordered around at all.

It is for these reasons that he stands his ground, folding his arms across his chest and studiously ignoring the shiny, shiny ship in front of him. Yeah, he'd been gawping at it a moment ago, but now that he knows an asshole owns it, he's not going to dignify it with his awe.

"Yeah, don't mind if I don't," he says, eyebrow quirking. Ooo, the Snark is strong with you, Caden. So strong.

And there was another pause, one a little more silent than the last because it was devoid of the scraping of material onto the smooth, metal surface of the scout in the center of this exchange. Very soon thereafter Dustin swung himself to the side, looking very much like the annoyed, abruptly-disturbed-from-a-particularly-pleasant-reverie scientist that he was, suspended fifteen feet above the ground and emanating all the condescending manly hormones he could muster in a single stare.

This was something that he had gotten quite proficient at with experience.

“Then what good are you?” came the almost scoffing reply, biting as per usual, “What a waste of flesh. Can’t even change a CD…Hmmph.”

There were actual reasons as to why Dustin wanted this music playing, mostly to deal with the fact that there was no immediate surface below him in which to rest his feet apart from the Dart’s curved plating, but this was irrelevant at the moment.

Caden chooses this moment to curse his years of inferiority complexes, because the manly hormones are way too tangible for his weak self-concept to hold together. God, he feels so gay sometimes...

"I'm not an idiot. I can change a damn CD," he says defensively, the arms across his chest tightening in an edgy manner. His tail would be twitching if he were in cat form right now. "I just... don't feel like it."

Okay, god, did he just say that like a pouty kid? Shit.

"I mean, Jesus, you could ask nicely. I'm not too fond of being addressed as 'you with the hair'."

Dustin was back to painting, though he found with a rather disgusted sniff that he was working the same area several times over due to these outside distractions. Why didn’t he just let the snarky idiot gawk and leave? He could’ve hauled himself down to turn on the damn CD-player…

No gratifying recognition was attributed to this fellow’s pouty muttering, at least not visible to the pouter in question. Dustin was definitely grinning behind his ship and painting rig, but he refrained from poking over the side, making unnecessary vocalizations—no need to get his hopes up, right?

“So you have a name, then?” was the eventual reply, unnervingly casual, “I guess I could call you by that instead. Or I could make up a name for you. ‘Shitface’ is already taken, unfortunately, so you’ll have to settle for something a little less classy…”

Ah, yeah. Gay and relationship-less, because why else would he make that face?

Shit, I need girlfriend...

"I'd prefer that you called me Caden, honestly. One unfortunate nickname is enough for a lifetime," he says, sounding rather distracted, and rather disconcerted. The twist of his lips speaks to his discomfort.

‘Caden’, mm? Definitely not a name Dustin was familiar with—though, as I’ve mentioned, he would’ve been surprised if he had heard of this fellow and hadn’t met him formally yet. The reasons for this reclusion were also becoming more apparent the more he babbled; Caden’s social ineptitude was actually painful to experience, even worse when he masked it in messy layers of sarcasm and rehearsed snark. Dustin almost felt sorry for him. And that was only because of his time around Rick.

Speaking of which, his phone was beeping. Months and a healthy universe ago would’ve seen Dustin immediately reach for it and do a comprehensive scan of the area, then pull out a weapon and get to solid ground. The meatship, however, had dulled the scientist’s paranoia of the supernatural, not helped by the device’s inability to recalibrate to such a diverse environment; thus the warning was ignored and, after a few loud buzzes, silenced.

“If you insist,” Dustin replied with a nigh audible roll of his eyes, adjusting his rig several feet to the left, “Caden—do me a favor and reset the track on the stereo system over there.”

And inside one of the many, many spaceships contained in the hangar is Caden's roommate/best friend/prom date. Wyn is working on the console of one of the X-Wings, but she's not immediately visible from the ground. She's certainly audible, however. Her miniature jukebox is currently blasting an obnoxiously cheerful rock song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2By1X26GqE), and she's singing along at the top of her lungs.

"And I beat you
'Cause I'm awesome!
That's right!

They say I'm gifted, uh huh.
Well, I'm a certified prodigy..."

Okay, yeah, he knows that song way too well. And he also knows that off-key, falsetto-ish singing voice. So many headaches, so many headaches...

I always tell you how smart you are... He's singing in his head as he knocks loudly on the hull of the ship, because dude, this song. He hates it so much that it's awesome. Also, it's so much the epitome of Wyn that he really can't help it at this point in their relationship.

"Can it, Wyn! You're making the baby spaceships cry!"

Wyn makes a noise that might well have been 'meep' as she hears a loud banging on the X-Wing. Thankfully, the music was loud enough to ~~hopefully~~ cover the noise. She peeks out of the open canopy, then grins as she sees who was telling her to turn her music down.

"Hi, Caden!" Wyn says brightly, pushing her goggles of of her face and leaning very far out of the cockpit. (She's quite clearly enjoying being taller than Caden for once in her life.) "Music is good for babies' development! ... baby humans, anyway, and I don't know why it wouldn't extend to baby spaceships. Anyway! You want me to play something else?"

Lucky for her, Caden has very good hearing, so he snorts and raises his eyebrows at her little noise of terror.

"You sound like a rodent that's just been jumped on by a house cat," he says in an amused fashion, skating around the fact that he knows that sound as well as he does for a reason. He's a shapeshifter, man -- when in Rome...

"No. I don't. I was just suggesting that you turn your volume down so you don't disturb the flow of the Universe. Sound really can do a number on the physical substance of things, you know, especially when it's so similar to a dying cat."

Oh, man, that grin is never a good thing.

"That was a weirdly specific description of the sound I definitely did not make and I don't really want to think about how you know tha-- ooh, I didn't think I had it on shuffle mode!" Wyn says, abruptly cutting herself off as the Dollyrots fade out and familiar piano music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDWgsQhbaqU) begins to play.

"When I was a young boy,
My father took me into the city
To see a marching band!
He said 'Son, when you grow up
Will you be the savior of the broken,
The beaten and the damned?"

Wyn's voice is much better suited for this song than her previous one-- which speaks volumes about either her range or Gerard Way's singing-- and she's dramatically acting along with the lyrics, using a wrench as a microphone. Isn't it nice to have a best friend who's this much fun, Caden?

Caden gets very shifty-eyed at that statement, deliberately avoiding her gaze so as not to let on that yeah, he totally did the cat things several times and stalked, teased, and killed small furry things. It's not his fault that the whole shape-shifting thing tends to mess with his morals.

He stops trying when the song skips to... that, a groan coming from his mouth, because despite the fact that he would greatly appreciate this song if it weren't My Chemical Romance, it's My Chemical Romance, and he refuses to fall that far into the "Hey, I'm a jackass" hole.

"Hey. Wyn. Can I strangle you for you taste in music?"

Wyn doesn't even manage to like My Chemical Romance ironically, which might have made it better. She actually, honestly likes The Black Parade, which she's pretty sure is just a bunch of emo kids trying to sound like Queen and actually succeeding. (She could take or leave Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, though.)

"No, you can't. You know you love it." she says chirpily, grinning at Caden. She's just going to stay way up here in the cockpit, where she's quite safe from strangulation. The fact that the cockpit has the controls for the missiles and lasers is just a bonus, as is the fact that she's actually in the cockpit of an X-Wing.

"Well, that's news to me. Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that I had nothing but disdain for My Chemical Romance, as well as their followers. Apparently I hold an overwhelming appreciation for them now, though. How things change, dear Wyn. How things change..."

Yeah, that skeptical eyebrow-quirk he's sending you right now? Totally rendering everything he just said sarcasm on the level of potentially handicapping the recipient of said sarcasm.

Totally Singing Death Cab for Cutie Under His Breath Right Now. [Open!]

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