A Coach for the Queen
29th of October 2006 A.D.
Metal parts like silk under the kiss of arcane welder's torch, black carbon sand is wrought into shape under pressure to match the cold ocean's depths, the art of small things made great: honeycomb patterns wrapped round and round, fit one inside another like the rings of a tree, all pulling together, all pushing as one. Its future bearer well in mind this is to be a saloon car, grand as she is to be silent, a queen upon any mortal road she might be set and like any queen she is to be silent, heralded only by the weight of her presence. No gouache engine roar here but the hum of shackled lighting dancing in copper wires and metals rarer still. Rare earths for a rare creation, as thrifty with its energy as it is luxurious to its passengers.
"I think this is called regenerative breaking dad, see how you use the waste energy to recharge the batteries..."
Your father, all bundled up against the cold that gives you greater purpose nods along, clearly interested in all this new green tech, but without much to add. Electrical engineering isn't really his thing, but he knows his run-flat tires, suggesting a self-sealing as opposed to the more common self supporting tires so that the car continues to run smoothly in the event of a flat tire. It is one thing after all to keep rolling when someone has just shot out the tires and quite another to go
smooth.
Of titanium you craft the body, its lines elegantly etched as patterns of swirling snow yet tough enough to shed small arms fire Then there is the glass... good thing dad's around or you would be swearing at the darned glass. Getting a polymer that is both electrochromic and bullet-proof is a nightmare like trying to unicycle down the blade of a knife with shit shading on one side and brittle garbage on the other.
"Sample B looks good," Dad says as he holds up the test pane in question up to the sun to the curious looks of passersby.
"Not for f... their eyes," you barely swallow out the word 'fey', remembering that you are in public. It would look like an eight color rainbow at high noon unless the driver were intentionally lowering the accuity of their eyes to human levels and then what's the point. "Nano layers, nano layers of C with B sandwiched in between..." you mutter to yourself.
When it comes to the mirrors mundane glass no matter how finely name will not do...
Moon bright above, face ever-changing,
Reveal thy an eye of the world unflinching
Shadows bright in star-strung night
Never tarnished seeker's light
After clearing out the mercury fumes with the newly installed high power fans you call dad back in to see the mirror you made. So it does not look like much just set on the workbench like that, but this thing
bounce automatic fire unlike the glass which will only take a few shots so the driver will always be able to see behind them. If you had a few weeks you could make all the out of hand sized hexagonal panes every bit as tough as this. All it would take is playing with the reflection coefficient a bit until you got something transparent enough to see through and reflective enough to magically shed damage.
Alas...
It takes you a moment to realize why dad is looking at you expectantly. Getting close to six, mom will be expecting you home for dinner soon. "Maybe don't mention the mercury, it was in acceptable limits for me."
"OSHA approved was it?" dad laughs and you can tell he's just teasing you now.
"I'm not an employee," you fire back. Being able to ignore most mundane poisons is a hell of a boon when trying to speed run industrial processes you have to admit, but there is no way to say 'open flame enamel cooking' and sound safe.
***
30th of October 2006 A.D.
Adding night vision to the car of the Queen of Air and Darkness is kind of redundant you have to admit, but you don't know what kind of driver Mab prefers. Maybe she likes to make humans do it for a laugh. In any case you have to do the last of the assembly in the Chicago Synthetics building at a balmy 55 degrees, but that does nothing to detract from the simple joy of your work, as it all finally comes together hinges clicking, glass panes clicking into place, engine humming on for the first times onboard computer sparking into being you are as proud as a kid on Science Fair day who knows she's going home with that blue ribbon. You can just imagine people wondering what kind of Rolls Royce this is and eventually figuring out no such model exists, a vehicular urban legend fit for the Courts of Faerie. The car weds the Old World charm of the brand with internals on the bleeding edge of science and just a hint of sorcery.
"Well dad..." you ask stepping back from the sleek and silent white coated predator of a car. "What do ya think?"
"If I had to pick out Queen Mab's car out of a lineup, that is definitely the one I would choose," he chuckles. "Great job Molly."
"Hey now, you helped too," you counter quickly.
"As your father I think that's
my line young lady," he says, all mock-serious for just long enough to get the words out before a wide, proud smile shows itself. Maybe this wasn't all about Mab, you admit to yourself. It's nice to put your skills to something more mundane than diamonds and chainmail.
As though in willful contrast to the thought Clippy speaks up:
"Incoming Call: Known/Surreptitiously Obtained Number. Conjuncture: Lara Raith."
Since you only know the number from hacking into another vampire's call at the auction for the car which would come to embody Black Rider you could ignore the call without giving offense. Given who else you are meeting tomorrow maybe you should, but on the other hand you are curious as to what she might want with you, or for that matter where she had gotten the number from. Thomas wouldn't just give it to her would he?
What do you do?
[] Answer the phone
-[] Pretend you do not know who it is
-[] Greet Lara by name
[] Don't answer, let it go to voicemail
OOC: Given what you rolled I'm glad I had an update to describe the car.