Mech Pilot who sends you a short wave message before retreat: “this ain’t over -”
It used Leone's voice, tapped into her particular speech patterns, and yet something was entirely different about the way its borrowed words carried across. It was clear, straightforward, pointed.
"This ain't over, Saints. The Bunch will not last."
And then the Beast-in-Crimson bolted away nimbly, running straight ahead and paying no mind to the city it had been driven from as it ran past the surprisingly-intact outskirts, feet trampling power lines and barely missing a couple of general stores as the titan made for the mountains.
"FFffuck..."
So this was what their game could really do. Parker, out of breath and frazzled, fumbled around her seat weakly, having no luck finding the shutter release before giving up and slumping back, watching the Beast disappear into the distance. She should've stuck it in her pocket, she thought, or anything else so at least it wouldn't be dangling who-knows-where around the -
Whrrr-kchk!-kchk!-kchk!-rrrrrrrhhh.
Three instant photographs dropped from the ceiling and right over Parker's face, quickly developing captures of the Beast's escape and the destruction it left. Eyes squeezed tight, she awkwardly flailed them off, left arm grazing one of the arm-clutches and causing the weight of the Hope of Arrivals to shift just a little. Parker groaned in sync with the metal frame as the photos drifted down to Bernille's level, where they always seemed to settle anyway. As she opened her eyes and kind of pulled herself back upright before leaning forward, she saw Bernille holding the shutter release up.
"You... you needed this, Parks...?" She was looking up and back at Parker, eyes half-lidded and mouth pulled into whatever kind of grin she managed to pull from her exhaustion, tank-top stained with sweat. Parker leaned as far forward and snatched it away.
She fumbled her words around, trying to think of a response even despite her own tuckered state. "Bernie, I... uhm, umh..." Fuck, should she be quippy? "Didn't reali- um," no, not right, maybe surprised? ", how did you k-" wait, actually, no, she would know, fuck, what was she supposed to say?
Bernille's grin widened as her eyelids dropped a little more. "... Cat got your tongue...?"
Fuck it. Parker sighed, shaking her head and just settling for a smile as she leaned a little closer. "... um, what I meant to say... was... thank you, for that, Bernie."
Bernille, taking a deep breath, slid up and back in her chair, drawing her tired and sweat-drenched face closer to Parker's own. "What can I say...? I always get my girl."
Parker was practically slipping out of her seat by this point as she lowered closer and closer to Parker, her medium-length hair drooping to frame Bernie's face as the two looked at each other from opposite directions, faces drawing so close that they could feel each other's warm breath on their foreheads... but the moment was broken by an unfamiliar voice over the radio, slightly fuzzy but very audible.
"Unidentified operator, this is Blueridge Civilian Post. Er, operator, identify yourself - over."
The jolt of the broken silence caused Parker to lose the little grip she had on her seat, causing her to tumble forward, bonking Bernille's head on the footholds and tumbling into her lap, splayed and disoriented. Her weight dragged Bernie back into the seat, feet settling back down into the pedals and shifting the weight of the Hope further.
"ugh - fuck, sorry, Bernie," Parker said hurriedly. "I was just - it's just that -"
"Auuhhgh. No, no, it's - it's fine." Bernie shook her head, wince slowly fading from her face as she slowly looked down to her new seatmate. "Really. I, um, don't mind... sharing the space. Hey, are you gonna, like, respond to the request, or -"
"Oh um!" Parker shook her head as she scrambled from her lap-top position to yank at a coiled cable, jostling the hand-set it led to loose from its hooks, pulling it over and clicking a switch in. "Uh, hello, Blueridge fellas, this is - uh, this is civilian... auto-armor Hope for Arrival? We're not the lady that uh, said the Bunch thing, but we can explain."
Pause.
"... um, over."
Another pause. The two women looked to the hand-set expectantly as they waited for the response. Parker briefly worried she'd screwed up royally and now the nearby civilian post were going to get both their asses for committing a radio faux-pas - she'd installed the thing, but she was never expecting to actually have to communicate with any local militia. Mostly, she was hoping for hobbyists to chat with on the road and discuss sightings with.
"... Hope for Arrival, this is Blueridge Civilian Post, uh. Say again all after 'civilian'. Over.""
Parker turned on the handset again, sighing in relief that she probably hadn't screwed up too bad. "Uh, sure - hey, Blueridge, do I, um, look-i'm-going-to-be-honest this is my first time doing, um, this whole military radio thing and I have no experience, so can- can you-, uh, help me with the right words? Over?"
Bernie looked to the side. Gods, Parks could be hopeless sometimes.
There was a sigh from the other end as the op on the other line audibly shifted mental gears. "Hope for Arrival, Blueridge Civilian Post. Begin every transmission stating the target of your statement, followed by your designation. The proper response to a request to 'say again' is to state 'I say again', followed by your last statement. Over."
"Oh, um, Blueridge Civilian Guys, this is, Hope for Arrival. Like that? Um," she stirred her thoughts as she tried to recall what it was she said. "... Auto-armor Hope for Arrival. We're not the lady that... said the... Bunch thing. But we can explain, over."
"Hope for Arrival, Blueridge Civilian Post. Like that. Define 'auto-armor', please. Over."
... fuck. Parker took a deep breath.
This was going to be a long one.