Engineering - [open]
The classic ancient car sat, looking oddly forlorn (if one was inclined to anthropomorphizing such things) and small in the depths of the Enterprise. A behemoth in its day, it was now dwarfed both in size and technology. It had served its function, apparently, though how and exactly why were still unclear
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So its response to the wondering hand, while invisible, was immediate and positive. This new person was unfamiliar, but he wasn't kicking its tires or keying its paint job and there were no canines in sight. The Buick had no objection to being touched, even if it had no say in the matter. Especially when it was done so reverently, a warm point in that vast cold space.
It no longer felt alone, and that was good.
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He carefully and gingerly paced around the car, taking it in like only a former salvage yard mechanic could. Fully appreciating that this one didn't need salvaged. There were some minor dings and dents here or there, but nothing awful ( ... )
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All Buick Rivieras shared the designation, of course. But when the human spoke it aloud, somehow it heard itself named for the first time, as something unique and desired. Suddenly it felt less a lost stranger and more a brave wanderer, with a purpose perhaps not yet fulfilled.
Of course, it could communicate none of this. It merely sat. But inside, it compared the feeling to being opened up for the first time on the highway, fear and exhilaration mixing like gasoline and oxygen.
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After making sure that the owner of this impossible machine wasn't going to come after him with a cricket bat, he opened the drivers side door and slid into the driver's seat, resting his hands on the steering wheel automatically. It smelled good, inside the car. Like some half-forgotten, fond memory that he never got to experience, but could feel regardless.
"Ach, lassie," he said, absently petting the steering wheel one handed; it was solid, and smooth, and thrillingly real. "Ye belong on a road, nae here."
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It just didn't know what next. But this was a good start. The keys were in the ignition, forgotten by De in his understandable confusion, and it nearly ached to feel them turn, to purr to life around him, to show him what it could do.
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And his fingers were itching to turn the keys, too. He looked out through the windshield, then down at the gear-shift, then around the car. Maybe just... a minute. See how she ran. Maybe listen and see if she could use some TLC.
He pressed in on the clutch, recalling the steps in his mind; made sure the Riviera was in neutral, made sure his other foot was on the brake, just in case, and turned the key.
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And then... yes. Something. Something faint, something unworthy of its otherwise pristine condition. Something, it must be said, very possibly calculated to be heard by one looking out for it, in the barest of hopes it might keep that one occupied and nearby. Nothing major, nothing to threaten the junkyard or topple faith in its awesome majesty, perhaps just a loose belt or jiggling bolt.
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Still, it was such an amazing sound. He could feel the engine right through his hands on the wheel, and he probably would have given his eye-teeth for a long stretch of road, on a sunny day.
Something didn't sound quite right, though he wasn't entirely sure what. He turned his head a little, listening; a squeak, like a belt with a minor slip. Still in neutral (he'd let off the clutch), he revved the engine up for just a second. The squeak went away, and he let off the gas again. It came back.
Frowning to himself, he turned the key back and shut the engine back down, then went to looking for the hood release.
[[OOC: Yes, I made your car a manual transmission; dunno if those were optional, but dammit, blame the Shatnoy magic ( ... )
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[[OOC - It means you're amazing and I adore you. It's manual, by the way, we've established. Plus I love driving manual.]]
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Alas, there weren't. Scotty frowned, leaning in once the hood was up to get a good look at the belt. There was room for a tensioner in there, but he had no clue where he could get one...
Unless he made one. This ship had fabrication labs. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to go that route. He pulled his pen out of his pocket and used it to actually draw through the hole for the tensioner, to get the proper dimensions on his palm. He also noted the sizes of the bolts and what types of proper spanners he would need ( ... )
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And yeah, standard makes me feel like I'm doing something, and I like that.]]
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