Voyager
(#46623908)
And now I also know you're just in it for the kissing. He-he
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.37 m
Wingspan
7.81 m
Weight
458.38 kg
Genetics
White
Wasp
Wasp
White
Facet
Facet
Storm
Opal
Opal
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
Name: Voyager
Charge: Diamond Sabre
Species/Model: Lincoln Navigator L
Personality/Qualities: Good humored, loyal, loving, stylish
Accent: Unknown
Specializes In:
Eye Color: Light Blue
Hair (when in human form): Platinum blonde; short wavy.
Likes: Quiet, one-on-one time.
Dislikes: Cheap rip-off movies
Best Friends: Journey, Jenna, Dagger, Dorian, Kieran, Tallan
Rivals: Bryon, Bryson
Motto:
Theme Song:
Partner: Exclusive to Jenna because of his title but can’t be her partner, though he was partnered to his second and final owner before the Escape.
Parents: N/A; human-made
Siblings: N/A; human made
Children: Journey
”Voyager is an important SUV to our race's timeline even while he shrugs this fact off; he was the first car to come in contact with the Dawn Crystal way back in 2010 and confirm Titaniumhitch (President Jorgen of Dawnrise) was not the one who brought the original crystal 3 years later. Where the shard Voy was exposed to originated from is still unknown, but we know it came from an alternate source.
He was nearly totaled in a tragic accident after his original owner wrecked on the highway during an unseasonal thunderstorm while drunk, killing his entire family and dog. It was during this 20 car pileup their white Navigator L was exposed by the rouge crystal shard and brought to sentience.
Though burnt out structurally, Voyager's computer survived with the crystal's encryption. He didn't look worth saving to most humans, as he was brand new at the time and one could go a minute down the road and buy a perfect, unwrecked L.
But thanks to one girl wearing Jeggings, though totally unaware of the degree of her decision, Voyager was restored instead of scrapped. He and Jessica eventually fell in love and became partners until Judgement Day struck and we fled Earth.
Journey, the one thing he has left of Jessi, is his world, even above his charge. Though she's been an adult for decades, Voy still treats her like his little girl; it's quite amusing to see him irritate her with his adoration with Sirian and his parents in the room sharing her pain.”
Human Appearance:
Car/truck appearance:
~Words from Voyager~
Long Voyage Home (A ND-Origin Novel) wrote:
An origin story following Voyager, his humble beginnings, and his partner, Jessica.
Jessica is the first person unless otherwise noted.
Intro revamp WIP
Chapter One: Voyage Exit
It was the first heavy rain storm in months, after the harsh drought ending the summer for the year. Rain pelts the windshield of a white Navigator L as it drives up a three lane freeway, carrying its owner, his wife, and their two kids and dog in the back. The owner was known to be a stable, caring working man, who earned plenty to provide for his family. They all ate well, the kids went to a nice, private school, and the dog went to the groomer on every Friday.
Indeed, it was the fall of 2010. The rain was an unthinkable relief to our home state of Oklahoma, albeit there had already been four wrecks locally in the last hour of the downpour. For this family, the rain was nothing new. The highway was considered dangerous in unusual weather, but they were desensitized to the road’s changing conditions.
However, no matter how used to the road one could be, one simple change to the person himself can change it all.
“Richard, have you been drinking?” The woman hisses as the driver swerves around needlessly.
“I had two cans, Mary. I’m fine.” He sighs. “Perfectly fine! Do you see how fine I am?”
“Our kids are in the car! What is wrong with you?” Without warning, a bright flash of light erupts from the sky and shoots by, inches from the SUV's side and smashes into the pavement on the opposite side of the highway. It startles the man and causes him to veer off the road into oncoming traffic. He struggles to control the vehicle before his wife screams in terror. Rich looks up just in time as a semi-truck crashes through their car. Meanwhile, the purple-flaming crater startles other drivers into spinning on the wet pavement trying to avoid hitting it. Another car slams into the Navigator, sending it sliding into the median’s ditch.
Perhaps that one car changed everything, for it takes the place the Lincoln and its owners were in, and not seconds later, another tractor trailer slams it into the first, assuredly killing every person trapped inside it. The SUV still erupts into flames, then, fire scorching its fine, white paint.
All the while, a beautiful blue crystal softly glimmers in the blaze’s light beside its front tire before glowing with its own illumination.
“The house just closed this morning.” I wave. “It’s, well, a garage renovated into a house; or kinda half renovated into a house. Okay, it’s a garage with a couple rooms built in with a kitchen to the side. So if you like the idea of a literal car coffee table—because, you know, the living room is where the garage door is—you should really come visit sometime!”
“So how much would it be to, like, build a real garage off this and put in a real living room?” I point.
“Many thousand. Yes.” The designer muses.
“Many thousand?” I echo. “Dude, I’m about broke just buying this place!”
“Then Dodge TV stand you will have.”
“And the shower is literally a car wash!”
“Then you will scrub up with your Focus. Give him a nice sponge so he can get your back.”
“Can I get an American designer?” I hiss. “One without a sense of humor?”
I jump in the car wash and attempt to get cleaned up before I had to go car shopping. I then look around and shake my head, wondering how I could buy anything decent when I wound up with this place. It had its quirks, for sure.
And I was hoping my car wasn’t any quirkier. Sure, I had to look at the darn thing in my living room 24/7, so it had to be decent. Just then, the hot water goes out. I sit there, soaking in the freezing ice water with a hopeless moan.
“What can be quirkier than this place?” I grumble.
“Well, I was hoping I could afford something newer, but that was before I bought the warehouse of horrors you see today.”
“Have you considered adopting something from the car-shelter?”
“…The what?”
“You know. The junkyard. Most of ‘em still run like tops; just gotta get to ‘em before the monster truck and demolition derby folk do.”
“The junkyard—come on, dad! My house is bad enough; I think I deserve something that can at least make me feel better about myself while I’m away!”
“You kids and your idealism. You all think you’re gonna get brand new Mustangs and Challengers for your first cars. You wanna know what my first car was? An Edsel Pacer. Every kid in the school laughed at me. But you know what? It was a convertible and I sold it for more than what a brand new Mustang is worth after I restored it. It came from the very same junkyard I’ll be taking you to visit today. Don’t worry about the money, dear; we’ll find you something roadworthy.”
"Not a single one of these cars have engines, let alone are roadworthy!" I moan as dad and pops scope around, the former obviously appalled himself.
"We aren't to the end yet." Pops reasons, cautiously eying the rusted, mangled remains of a classic muscle car of sorts. "There is still a chance we can find something worth driving until restoration."
"If the gosh-darned buzzards would leave the engines in these things!" Dad curses under his breath as he trips on a metal tube.
"Guh! If only the used car section at a dealership was a valid option in this family...!" I rage before I walk passed a charred Navigator. For some reason, I pause and look over at it. Its hood and fenders were blackened, and the fuel tank had obviously exploded. Its rear end was smashed in, along with its driver’s side. It was one sad SUV, once a well taken care of, expensive luxury-liner. Though I really didn’t like Lincolns whatsoever, even my heart was saddened to see the L’s condition. It didn’t even appear to be a year old yet, an apparent 2010 and all.
"Well, it's got an engine." Pops beams, tapping its bumper with his cane.
“That was the car that caused the twenty one fatality wreck last month.” One of the scrap yard keepers wistfully sighs as he walks passed. “There’s a wrecker coming in to pick it up for parts. If it has parts left to salvage, that is.” The Navigator’s lights and front end didn’t seem to be damaged, preserving its signature, smiling appearance, almost like it was still able to smile even after everything it’s gone through.
“…Is it worth trying to restore?” I wonder.
“Restore? I’m no restoration expert, but I wouldn’t be the one to try.” He admits. “It was a nice little car, but it’s not like it was a ’68 Mustang Fastback. You can get a perfect one right down the road at the Lincoln dealership, probably cheaper than trying to save this one, too. Though it’s in the best condition of all the cars in that wreck, it’s still a lost cause, in my honest opinion.”
“Have you looked it over at all?”
“Me? Naw. My boss did, though. He says that he could get an appraiser in to weigh the costs of repairing it if someone asked. Do you really want to know?”
“Sure. Why not?” I agree. So the appraiser comes in with her team and look over the car with scrutinizing effort. It takes an hour before they all wrap up.
“It doesn’t seem to have any real structural damage.” The lead explains. “The interior is scratched and the electrical is a lost cause, but the Lincoln does have a couple strong points contributing to its possible resurrection. KBB might help, but I think that if one would want to put in the effort, this car could be restored, yeah.”
“A scrapper, you say?” I point. “…I’ll give you a hundred more than what they offered for it.”
So I became the girl in school known as “The Idiot Girl and Her First Car, the Drunk Killer Lincoln.” Also known as the girl who picked the most worthless car known to man and car-kind as her first wheels.
Little did they know, I didn’t technically even have my first wheels since the Lincoln’s tires burnt up in the fire.
Freak my life, I know.
For the moment, they had the lucky Lincoln off the lift and had a Cadillac car up, working on an oil change. The light glints off the chrome strip on its trunk. I wistfully sigh. People with their perfect lives, and perfect circumstances. Yeah, you’ll probably trade it in next week, won’t you? It’ll be outta here before you can even think about what an imperfect, middle-class life of having the same car for 12 years would be like. Nevertheless, perfect or imperfect, I was proud of my rescue rig. Maybe with my help, it would at least be able to take a second chance at life even if I did take it right over to a Caddy dealership upon completion. I stand for a moment, admiring my find, trying to picture myself finally driving it after it’s finished.
But I knew I wouldn't do that to the truck. I couldn't. There was just something about it that brought me an amount of joy to my otherwise melancholy life. I wasn't saving a life, but I was saving something, and something was pretty much the same thing.
A few days into the restoration, I take time off work and bring my friends over to meet my rig.
“So what did you get?” Dave pleads.
“You’ll see when you get to it.” I chuckle.
“Must be pretty cool if your dad is helping pay to get it restored!” Monica breathes.
“It’s hotter than it is cool, to be honest.” They follow me around the corner and look up at my rescue on the lift.
“…That’s it?”
“Yup.” Their faces looked to be in a mixture of disdain and disbelief. “Well, it’s still a 60 thousand dollar car, before you rant me out.”
“It’s a piece of scrap-bound charcoal! You’re fixing this thing? It’ll kill you; how will it not be an electrical nightmare?”
“Don’t worry; I found the best technician I could find. It won’t have any issues.” They look back down at me for a moment.
“So? Did you name it?”
“Name the car? You laugh about it enough already.”
“Come on, Jess! A car like this deserves a name.” Monica reasons before jokingly smiling. “We could call it Flamer.”
“Or Short-Circuit, or Pinto.” Dave agrees.
“Stop making fun of it.” I hiss, guardedly glancing over the incomplete L. “I’ll name it Voyager. That was the exit it wrecked at and it’s had a long journey in its short life, so there. Keep your prissy Bug and your classy Trans Am; Voyager and I will have great fun. And by the way? Pintos didn’t explode any more than other cars of the era did!”
“Voyager. Because it’s a land-boat.” Dave giggles. “Face it, Jess! Aren’t you a GM freak?”
“I am. Always and forever.” I assure. “I always dreamt about my first car and I assure you that it wasn’t nearly this big or clunky. But expectations meet reality this time. Though neither expectations nor reality told me to expect a burnt out Navigator L. While all you dumb kids are racing your Mustangs; I’ll be here, hauling groceries and making frequent gas station trips. But I don’t mind, for some reason. Funny how it’s not even an ESV and I still don’t mind. I just kinda saw it and fell in love.”
“With a charred Lincoln. What exactly strikes love?”
“It sure does strike a flame, however.” Monny snorts. The two giggle to themselves. I give the poor car a pitying look before almost being able to swear it looked to be desolately crouching. I awkwardly side over to it as the two hold hands and wander off. I hesitate to make sure they were gone before nonchalantly laying my arm on its roof and leaning on it.
“Don’t mind them.” I grumble. “They’re no fun anyways. I mean, he’s from a Chevy family, right? Yeah, I know.”
“I talked to my first car a lot.” The lead mechanic admits, popping up on the other side of the Lincoln. I jump, surprised. “Hey, he was good company, that ’78 Nova. Now look at me; I’m more successful than any of the cool kids that didn’t want me around.”
“When I wake up one day and my Navigator tells me I should be a mechanic, I’ll call you.” I shiver.
“Voyager, eh?” He continues, giving the L a quick glance over before nodding, impressed. “Fitting. Mine’s name was Champagne. You know; the song? No? Fine, then." I continue to self consciously glare at the mechanic even after he pops the hood and looks inside. “I can sense you have poor social skills. No offense, because I’d be offending myself too. As silly as it may feel, by all means talk to whatever makes you feel better. Talk about your day. Tell it about your childhood. Doesn’t matter if it’s your car, a rock, a dog; just talk to something. As a person with the same anxiety, it helps.”
“…Thanks?” I blink, not feeling as awkward as I slowly sit on the polished concrete floor. “I’m Jessica, but everyone calls me Jessi.”
“Darren. But I was known by Four Eyes in school.” He pointedly taps his glasses. “Didn’t let them make me hate myself or my specs, of course.”
I glance around the shop. Nobody was paying me any mind. So I quietly climb onto the car lift and easily balance on it with one leg. Before, I never realized what cool of a parkour gym a garage could make. I carefully tip toe down the tire rack before doing a couple back flips. I do another scan only to find nobody else was watching me—other than my creepy Lincoln, that was parked grille towards me. I blink, thinking about how it was just hatch turned towards me a minute ago. I just shrug and continue my gymnastics practice.
“Okay, car. This is what I practiced today.” I point, realizing it did feel better to pretend the car was actually listening. It was better than nobody. “You’d better give me a ten, dang it. I’m great at this routine.” I pull a double front flip before doing a one hand stand and flex to catch myself. Afterwards, I do a perfect vault and land on my feet, flawlessly. “My parents never really wanted me to be into gymnastics; they always wanted a softball scholarship for me instead. So they never acknowledged my passion. Instead, they doused it with water.” I glance over—or should I say under—my shoulder as I walk down the lift rail on my hands and smile. “Still a deadbeat with a scholarship and a lack of communication skills. Thanks, mom.”
“Soon you’ll be just as good—better, even—as any of those other factory fresh stinkin’ Lincolns.” I sadly smile and pat its side-view mirror. “Because you’re mine. And that alone makes you better than any of those other guys. I mean, look around.” I crouch hood-level with the Lincoln and point at a rusty Cavalier nearby. “Check him out. If rust and dents are love, that guy is married somewhere, yeah? You’re already repainted; think about all the dudes your age and how they’ll look like him long before you do.” I lean my head against the fender, wondering if the car would be amused if it could feel emotion. “If I annoy you, get over it; we have a long life of idiocy ahead of us, big boy. Or girl; I don’t discriminate.”
“It’s a guy.” Darren jokes, pushing a cart by us. “Two words: man cold. It was equipped with a faulty tire pressure sensor before we found out and I swear that thing screamed at me in agony and betrayal pulling it around to the lift this noon. It was the most pitiful noise a car could make. I was about to bring him some chicken noodle soup and a heated blanket and change the TV to a soap opera for him.” I stand back up with an enthused head shake.
“Take him home with you and watch some wrestling. You got me anthropomorphizing vehicles now, so thanks.”
“We took it out this morning to make sure all was working well.” Mick explains as I softly run a hand down the car’s now shiny, polished chrome rack. “It’s finished, I do think.”
“It looks great.” I breathe, amazed how well the Lincoln had pulled through. It was like nothing ever happened. It looked like I had just bought it off the show room floor.
And somebody was on their way to scrap the darned thing.
“The electrical is brand new, the interior is new, we powder coated the underside; it’s pretty sound, now.”
“I guess this is the part when I hear about the cash I need to fork over.” I wince.
“20K is a fair price. Your father covered the rest.”
“Sure it is.” I sigh, pulling out my wallet and grabbing what was left of my house fund I didn’t need to use the first time. “I knew I shouldn’t have told him what I had left over from the house.”
“Heck, I can almost hear that one song playing; you know, the one with the ukulele and says something about soul sisters?” Instantly, the radio tunes into another station—and with the song I was talking about playing. “…Huh. Neat. Voice activation? Cool.”
“Okay, so, here’s my house.” I wave as I pull in. “It’s an old mechanic’s garage half-renovated into a house. So look; not only do you have a garage, you’ll kinda live in a house, too!” Of course, the car has no reply. I hopelessly sigh. “I’ve truly resorted to talking to cars, now. I guess this is just my life now. If I didn’t have enough of a lack of friends, now the friends I did have think I’m nuts for giving a hopeless case a chance. It’s just you and me, car.” I drive into the garage/living room. “See? The garage is also the living room! The idiots that built this place, right?” I flop on the couch with a grunt and turn on the TV. Meanwhile, as I try to relax, I get the feeling I was being watched. I cautiously glance over at the creepy Lincoln with its eternally smiling front end and realize maybe I was nuts as I notice it looked a couple inches closer to me than it was when I first pulled it in. I shrug and look at the TV again. I watch it for a minute or so before I hear a faint squeak and look back over at the Lincoln again. I stare, confused. It was definitely a few inches closer this time! “What? How? Did I not put you in park or something? Did they screw up your emergency brake? Do I need to file a lawsuit?” I watch it for a good several minutes and decide it wasn’t moving at all. I finally let out a hopeless moan and stand up to make some lunch in the open concept kitchen, where I could see the entire living room (and garage). I turn my back to it so I could grab some bread and a couple eggs from the fridge. Juggling the white orbs, I shut the door to the fridge and turn back around to find the Lincoln in my kitchen, parked grille towards me, like it was patiently waiting for something. I scream and drop all three eggs. I continue screaming as I run passed the crazy, possessed Navigator to grab the phone. I guess it decides the jig was up since it slowly backs up, turns around, and drives right towards me as I feverishly dial 911. “AAAAHH!! Stay away from meeeeee!! HELP!! My car is haunted!!” I shriek, picking up a decorative statue and slinging it at the car. It simply jumps backwards to avoid the flying artwork. Smash! It hits the concrete floor in front of the truck and shatters harmlessly. The Navigator then continues coming at me, slowly but surely prepared to murder me! Surely! I back into a corner, waving the phone at it in a threatening manner. “Back off, bud! You don’t want to mess with me! I’ll have you back in that scrap yard before you can lay a… er, a tread on me!” Seemingly untroubled, the car simply drives around the couch. I try to dodge around it, but it opens a door. “D-don’t hurt me! I s-s-saved your creepy hatch from certain destruction! Voyager!!” Finally, it pauses, though not in a hesitant way like my words made it second killing me. It was like it was just playing around and trying to get me to say the name I gave it all along. I heave, terror ebbing, as it closes its door and backs off a little. “…Voyager. I named you that didn’t I? Before I knew you were possessed or whatever. You like that, don’t you?” Voy lowers its front end, almost submissively. “Hoo. Hoo, man. Thanks for not killing me! I mean, I did save your life, didn’t I? I know you know I love Escalades, though. You could still get me for that, after all.” I blink, terror gone and curiosity growing, and reach my hand out, slowly. “I-I’m Jessica. In case you d-didn’t know, yet. Can I call you a ‘he’ or are you a she-Lincoln? I know we joked about the man cold thing last week; sorry if I offended you."
"I am a guy congratulations, and I have no shame. I can't be offended; it's physically impossible." A voice chuckles from his front end in amusement. I jump and gape, amazed.
"You can talk?"
"Sure can! That can be either a good or bad thing for you, though." I stand there, unable to look away from my astound. Somehow, I could always sense he was more than just a normal car. Maybe that was why I had to pick him. "...Are you scared, or-?"
"No. No. Not scared. I'm confused, yeah! Amazed, even. I-I have so many questions, man!"
"I was just checking to make sure. I'm not good at reading emotions; you humans are really complicated beings. You talk to me easily one minute, and the next you act like it's a cursed thing to do."
"Oh. Ah, geeze. So you, uh, heard all that, right?"
"You wanted to be a gymnast but your parents wanted you to get a softball scholarship and doused your dreams with water? Of course."
"What's worse; the fact I told you that or the fact you remember that from 2 weeks ago?"
"Sorry, I would have said something then, but it was just too funny! And then I actually scared you while I was trying to find a way to brave up and show you my sentience. You, the person who saved my life, the girl I love and dream about, the kind soul that gave me a name and claimed me even in my hopeless state, thinks I’d hurt her! And yes, I remember everything from the second that meteor brought me to life. I remember my family, the crash, and how much I love my name. And how you stood up for me that day you and your friends - not friends, by the way; just being brutally honest - came by to check my progress. You’re special to me. You're my second chance; my redemption.” He then drives up to me and rubs his fender on my side, almost lovingly. "Nothing bad will ever happen to you, Jessi. I promise I'll protect you with my life. I couldn't save them, but the world could never take you." I blink, still stunned.
“…Hi, there, then.” I breathe, slowly petting his hood. “Welcome to my life, Voyager. Apparently I’m really welcome in yours.”
I hear the tone of the station’s motto from the kitchen, signaling a program change. I grab my dinner and head to the living room, ready to watch my favorite show’s new season debut.
That is, until Voyager happily trots by and stops dead in front of the TV.
“…Uh, Voyager?” I hint, trying to look around his lardo-hatch. “You’re kinda in the way, dude.”
“This is so cool!” Voy pleads, continuing driving around to curiously nudge things with his grille as I sit on the couch, trying to hear the show. “I’ve never been in a house before!”
“You don't say.”
“No! Never! I mean, I had a garage, but I wasn’t allowed inside, you know.”
“Why do you think that is?” I continue as I turn the TV up.
“I don’t know. I loved my family, but I wasn’t their dog I guess. Though I loved them more than that ankle nipping Myna-Mutt did. Anywho! But is this really our house?”
“It’s my house, yep. And you get to park riiiight over there.” I point over to his parking spot.
“…Pfft! I’m not parking there. Why when there’s a nice, happy open spot right here? Where I can be with you instead?” He parks right beside the couch—indeed in an empty spot.
“Your previous family had a point. You’re not a dog.” I heave a sigh. “Maybe they were better Lincoln parents than I am.”
“Parent. Yeah, that one’s funny. You? My mom? Why don’t you trade me in for an Escalade while you’re at it?” I slowly look over to squint at him. “…That’s, uh, not something you’d do, right? Like, I was being sarcastic. I wasn’t suggesting anything?”
“An Escalade would have less of a mouth on it.” I hiss. “See this screen here? I know you’ve never seen one of these in your life, but this is called a television. And I’m kinda trying to listen to this magical television. Not you. Be a good, normal car and please park there and say nothing at all!” Voyager’s idle slows to a rather disappointed sounding purr.
“…Oh. Okay. I guess I can be, you know, not special. I have a life, but I’ll pretend I wasn’t blessed with an owner I hoped to love me as the unique freak I am.” He even slumps back over to his dark parking spot. “See? I’ll even take the burden of my special presence to the darkness of my own sad world! Is that better? Are you happy now, master?” I throw up my hands and whip around.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I plead, guiltfully. “You don’t have to sulk off! I didn’t realize you’d be so… Sensitive.” He turns around from being hatch facing me. “Come back over here, dude! Don’t go cry in your corner of shame! Come on!”
“A-are you sure I can come watch your television?” He sniffles. “O-or is that something only people are allowed to do with their people friends?”
I sigh as Voy happily purrs away, rooted up under my arm.
“What is this program coming on?” He lightly wonders.
“It’s just a show about doctors.”
“Just about doctors?”
“And their patients. And things the doctors do together.”
“Yeah, like, kissing?”
“Ah-huh. Have you seen it before?”
“Well, I saw that dude and that other girl kissing on the commercial a bit ago.” I cringe.
“Well thanks for the spoiler!”
“It was a commercial! You were bound to see it eventually. And now I also know you’re just in it for the kissing. He-he-he…” I roll my eyes.
I wake up at 3 AM for no apparent reason. I yawn and roll over on my side, facing the doorway. I blink open my eyes before jumping up. Voyager was parked in the door, half of his front end visible from the wall. “Voyager? What’s up, dude?” Half jokingly, I add, “You want some midnight oil?”
“I keep hearing weird noises.” He whispers. “I don’t like them.”
“It’s probably the building settling.” I assure, sliding into bed again. Voy falls silent for a moment before continuing in a sad whimper.
“Will you come out and love on me?”
“Voyager.” I sigh. He idles, hopefully for a moment before I shake my head and stand up with my pillow. “Okay! Come on. You’re a wimp.” I drowsily flop down on the couch as Voyager pulls up beside me and lets me slowly pet his fender. “Listen. I hear them, too. That’s just the wind.”
“You’re sure? It’s pretty loud.”
“Yeah. You’re just fine, doofus. This building is old and made of cinderblock; a tornado wouldn’t harm it.”
“Don’t say that! What if one decided to rip through here after you said that?”
“Weather doesn’t work like that, Voy. A tornado won’t happen just because I said it could. That would be irony, and yeah, irony works like that, sure.” Voyager whimpers and leans into me, worriedly. “Dumb hatch, I’m just teasing! I’m not going to let the big, scary winds hurt you! Go to sleep; I’ll be right here.” I start nodding off after a few minutes before Voyager jumps.
“Wh-what was that?!” He gasps. “I think a lightning bolt struck the tree out back!”
“Voyager—” I impatiently reason before I see the orange glow. “Oh crap, I think you’re right!”
“I hate being right!!” The fire was too far from anything to be harmful, but the fire still burns at the tree, eerily. I watch it burn slowly, imagining poor Voyager in that accident, not for the first time. “…The fire. It won’t get us, right?”
“No.” I assure, though mildly shaken. “It won’t.”
The next morning!
I wake up and go to stretch before realizing that there was a car grille pressed up into my face. I scream, surprised and roll off the couch.
“What?! What?! I’ll murder it!” Voyager shrieks, obviously the grille’s owner. “I’ll take the scary thing and stomp it to death, my love—oh, hey, there. Bad dream.” Apparently, he spots me laying on the floor and pauses. Despite myself, I tilt my head.
“You can dream?” I echo, incredulously. “About what?” He continues to idle facing me.
“…Anything, but nothing in particular.” Voy whistles. “You? Good dreams, too? Okee.” I cover my eyes and shake my head.
“You’re a guy in every aspect.” I moan and finally stand back up.
“Who—what says I meant th-that?”
“Jessie! Jessica, baby! Come look!” Voyager pleads, wallowing me with his tire. I numbly swat at his feverish bouncing.
“Stop it. Stoooop. I’m trying to sleep and you should, too!” I hiss, drowsily.
“You have to see this! Hurry!” He yowls before hurriedly backing off the bed. I sigh and jump out of bed, too.
“What? I'm coming, sheesh!” I grumble, stomping after the crazed Navigator. He opens a door, so I jump in. We drive out of the house, down the drive way, and up the road. “Okay, so where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I think you’ll like this.” We pull into a field and drive to the middle of it before he opens his door again. I slide out and look up. The stars glitter in the sky intensely, around a huge, silvery moon. I could tell it was a super moon, too. I climb up onto Voyager’s roof and lie on my back, still gaping upwards. “Impressed?”
“Yeah.” I breathe. “That’s cool.”
“Right? I drove outside to close up everything for the night and saw it.” The moon glints on his shiny, chrome rack as he pauses. “And you were the first thing I thought of. I didn’t think about how beautiful it was, or how extraordinary it was; I saw you. I thought about how you were as special as the super moon’s glare, and how if you never saved me, I would have never seen this night.”
“What was it like, losing your family?” I wonder. “If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t.”
“No, I can talk about it.” He assures, glumly. “But losing my family… And then going to that salvage yard awaiting my end… That was the emptiest feeling in the world. I was for sure I would never be wanted again; never be loved again. But now I’m more loved than I ever could have dreamed, let alone expected. I’m so in love with you, Jess. I could never say thanks enough times to show you how I really feel. What we have is so rare, it’s one out of one. It's okay if you never feel the same; people hate what they don't understand and I don't want to make them harass you."
Jessica is the first person unless otherwise noted.
Intro revamp WIP
Chapter One: Voyage Exit
It was the first heavy rain storm in months, after the harsh drought ending the summer for the year. Rain pelts the windshield of a white Navigator L as it drives up a three lane freeway, carrying its owner, his wife, and their two kids and dog in the back. The owner was known to be a stable, caring working man, who earned plenty to provide for his family. They all ate well, the kids went to a nice, private school, and the dog went to the groomer on every Friday.
Indeed, it was the fall of 2010. The rain was an unthinkable relief to our home state of Oklahoma, albeit there had already been four wrecks locally in the last hour of the downpour. For this family, the rain was nothing new. The highway was considered dangerous in unusual weather, but they were desensitized to the road’s changing conditions.
However, no matter how used to the road one could be, one simple change to the person himself can change it all.
“Richard, have you been drinking?” The woman hisses as the driver swerves around needlessly.
“I had two cans, Mary. I’m fine.” He sighs. “Perfectly fine! Do you see how fine I am?”
“Our kids are in the car! What is wrong with you?” Without warning, a bright flash of light erupts from the sky and shoots by, inches from the SUV's side and smashes into the pavement on the opposite side of the highway. It startles the man and causes him to veer off the road into oncoming traffic. He struggles to control the vehicle before his wife screams in terror. Rich looks up just in time as a semi-truck crashes through their car. Meanwhile, the purple-flaming crater startles other drivers into spinning on the wet pavement trying to avoid hitting it. Another car slams into the Navigator, sending it sliding into the median’s ditch.
Perhaps that one car changed everything, for it takes the place the Lincoln and its owners were in, and not seconds later, another tractor trailer slams it into the first, assuredly killing every person trapped inside it. The SUV still erupts into flames, then, fire scorching its fine, white paint.
All the while, a beautiful blue crystal softly glimmers in the blaze’s light beside its front tire before glowing with its own illumination.
“The house just closed this morning.” I wave. “It’s, well, a garage renovated into a house; or kinda half renovated into a house. Okay, it’s a garage with a couple rooms built in with a kitchen to the side. So if you like the idea of a literal car coffee table—because, you know, the living room is where the garage door is—you should really come visit sometime!”
“So how much would it be to, like, build a real garage off this and put in a real living room?” I point.
“Many thousand. Yes.” The designer muses.
“Many thousand?” I echo. “Dude, I’m about broke just buying this place!”
“Then Dodge TV stand you will have.”
“And the shower is literally a car wash!”
“Then you will scrub up with your Focus. Give him a nice sponge so he can get your back.”
“Can I get an American designer?” I hiss. “One without a sense of humor?”
I jump in the car wash and attempt to get cleaned up before I had to go car shopping. I then look around and shake my head, wondering how I could buy anything decent when I wound up with this place. It had its quirks, for sure.
And I was hoping my car wasn’t any quirkier. Sure, I had to look at the darn thing in my living room 24/7, so it had to be decent. Just then, the hot water goes out. I sit there, soaking in the freezing ice water with a hopeless moan.
“What can be quirkier than this place?” I grumble.
“Well, I was hoping I could afford something newer, but that was before I bought the warehouse of horrors you see today.”
“Have you considered adopting something from the car-shelter?”
“…The what?”
“You know. The junkyard. Most of ‘em still run like tops; just gotta get to ‘em before the monster truck and demolition derby folk do.”
“The junkyard—come on, dad! My house is bad enough; I think I deserve something that can at least make me feel better about myself while I’m away!”
“You kids and your idealism. You all think you’re gonna get brand new Mustangs and Challengers for your first cars. You wanna know what my first car was? An Edsel Pacer. Every kid in the school laughed at me. But you know what? It was a convertible and I sold it for more than what a brand new Mustang is worth after I restored it. It came from the very same junkyard I’ll be taking you to visit today. Don’t worry about the money, dear; we’ll find you something roadworthy.”
"Not a single one of these cars have engines, let alone are roadworthy!" I moan as dad and pops scope around, the former obviously appalled himself.
"We aren't to the end yet." Pops reasons, cautiously eying the rusted, mangled remains of a classic muscle car of sorts. "There is still a chance we can find something worth driving until restoration."
"If the gosh-darned buzzards would leave the engines in these things!" Dad curses under his breath as he trips on a metal tube.
"Guh! If only the used car section at a dealership was a valid option in this family...!" I rage before I walk passed a charred Navigator. For some reason, I pause and look over at it. Its hood and fenders were blackened, and the fuel tank had obviously exploded. Its rear end was smashed in, along with its driver’s side. It was one sad SUV, once a well taken care of, expensive luxury-liner. Though I really didn’t like Lincolns whatsoever, even my heart was saddened to see the L’s condition. It didn’t even appear to be a year old yet, an apparent 2010 and all.
"Well, it's got an engine." Pops beams, tapping its bumper with his cane.
“That was the car that caused the twenty one fatality wreck last month.” One of the scrap yard keepers wistfully sighs as he walks passed. “There’s a wrecker coming in to pick it up for parts. If it has parts left to salvage, that is.” The Navigator’s lights and front end didn’t seem to be damaged, preserving its signature, smiling appearance, almost like it was still able to smile even after everything it’s gone through.
“…Is it worth trying to restore?” I wonder.
“Restore? I’m no restoration expert, but I wouldn’t be the one to try.” He admits. “It was a nice little car, but it’s not like it was a ’68 Mustang Fastback. You can get a perfect one right down the road at the Lincoln dealership, probably cheaper than trying to save this one, too. Though it’s in the best condition of all the cars in that wreck, it’s still a lost cause, in my honest opinion.”
“Have you looked it over at all?”
“Me? Naw. My boss did, though. He says that he could get an appraiser in to weigh the costs of repairing it if someone asked. Do you really want to know?”
“Sure. Why not?” I agree. So the appraiser comes in with her team and look over the car with scrutinizing effort. It takes an hour before they all wrap up.
“It doesn’t seem to have any real structural damage.” The lead explains. “The interior is scratched and the electrical is a lost cause, but the Lincoln does have a couple strong points contributing to its possible resurrection. KBB might help, but I think that if one would want to put in the effort, this car could be restored, yeah.”
“A scrapper, you say?” I point. “…I’ll give you a hundred more than what they offered for it.”
So I became the girl in school known as “The Idiot Girl and Her First Car, the Drunk Killer Lincoln.” Also known as the girl who picked the most worthless car known to man and car-kind as her first wheels.
Little did they know, I didn’t technically even have my first wheels since the Lincoln’s tires burnt up in the fire.
Freak my life, I know.
For the moment, they had the lucky Lincoln off the lift and had a Cadillac car up, working on an oil change. The light glints off the chrome strip on its trunk. I wistfully sigh. People with their perfect lives, and perfect circumstances. Yeah, you’ll probably trade it in next week, won’t you? It’ll be outta here before you can even think about what an imperfect, middle-class life of having the same car for 12 years would be like. Nevertheless, perfect or imperfect, I was proud of my rescue rig. Maybe with my help, it would at least be able to take a second chance at life even if I did take it right over to a Caddy dealership upon completion. I stand for a moment, admiring my find, trying to picture myself finally driving it after it’s finished.
But I knew I wouldn't do that to the truck. I couldn't. There was just something about it that brought me an amount of joy to my otherwise melancholy life. I wasn't saving a life, but I was saving something, and something was pretty much the same thing.
A few days into the restoration, I take time off work and bring my friends over to meet my rig.
“So what did you get?” Dave pleads.
“You’ll see when you get to it.” I chuckle.
“Must be pretty cool if your dad is helping pay to get it restored!” Monica breathes.
“It’s hotter than it is cool, to be honest.” They follow me around the corner and look up at my rescue on the lift.
“…That’s it?”
“Yup.” Their faces looked to be in a mixture of disdain and disbelief. “Well, it’s still a 60 thousand dollar car, before you rant me out.”
“It’s a piece of scrap-bound charcoal! You’re fixing this thing? It’ll kill you; how will it not be an electrical nightmare?”
“Don’t worry; I found the best technician I could find. It won’t have any issues.” They look back down at me for a moment.
“So? Did you name it?”
“Name the car? You laugh about it enough already.”
“Come on, Jess! A car like this deserves a name.” Monica reasons before jokingly smiling. “We could call it Flamer.”
“Or Short-Circuit, or Pinto.” Dave agrees.
“Stop making fun of it.” I hiss, guardedly glancing over the incomplete L. “I’ll name it Voyager. That was the exit it wrecked at and it’s had a long journey in its short life, so there. Keep your prissy Bug and your classy Trans Am; Voyager and I will have great fun. And by the way? Pintos didn’t explode any more than other cars of the era did!”
“Voyager. Because it’s a land-boat.” Dave giggles. “Face it, Jess! Aren’t you a GM freak?”
“I am. Always and forever.” I assure. “I always dreamt about my first car and I assure you that it wasn’t nearly this big or clunky. But expectations meet reality this time. Though neither expectations nor reality told me to expect a burnt out Navigator L. While all you dumb kids are racing your Mustangs; I’ll be here, hauling groceries and making frequent gas station trips. But I don’t mind, for some reason. Funny how it’s not even an ESV and I still don’t mind. I just kinda saw it and fell in love.”
“With a charred Lincoln. What exactly strikes love?”
“It sure does strike a flame, however.” Monny snorts. The two giggle to themselves. I give the poor car a pitying look before almost being able to swear it looked to be desolately crouching. I awkwardly side over to it as the two hold hands and wander off. I hesitate to make sure they were gone before nonchalantly laying my arm on its roof and leaning on it.
“Don’t mind them.” I grumble. “They’re no fun anyways. I mean, he’s from a Chevy family, right? Yeah, I know.”
“I talked to my first car a lot.” The lead mechanic admits, popping up on the other side of the Lincoln. I jump, surprised. “Hey, he was good company, that ’78 Nova. Now look at me; I’m more successful than any of the cool kids that didn’t want me around.”
“When I wake up one day and my Navigator tells me I should be a mechanic, I’ll call you.” I shiver.
“Voyager, eh?” He continues, giving the L a quick glance over before nodding, impressed. “Fitting. Mine’s name was Champagne. You know; the song? No? Fine, then." I continue to self consciously glare at the mechanic even after he pops the hood and looks inside. “I can sense you have poor social skills. No offense, because I’d be offending myself too. As silly as it may feel, by all means talk to whatever makes you feel better. Talk about your day. Tell it about your childhood. Doesn’t matter if it’s your car, a rock, a dog; just talk to something. As a person with the same anxiety, it helps.”
“…Thanks?” I blink, not feeling as awkward as I slowly sit on the polished concrete floor. “I’m Jessica, but everyone calls me Jessi.”
“Darren. But I was known by Four Eyes in school.” He pointedly taps his glasses. “Didn’t let them make me hate myself or my specs, of course.”
I glance around the shop. Nobody was paying me any mind. So I quietly climb onto the car lift and easily balance on it with one leg. Before, I never realized what cool of a parkour gym a garage could make. I carefully tip toe down the tire rack before doing a couple back flips. I do another scan only to find nobody else was watching me—other than my creepy Lincoln, that was parked grille towards me. I blink, thinking about how it was just hatch turned towards me a minute ago. I just shrug and continue my gymnastics practice.
“Okay, car. This is what I practiced today.” I point, realizing it did feel better to pretend the car was actually listening. It was better than nobody. “You’d better give me a ten, dang it. I’m great at this routine.” I pull a double front flip before doing a one hand stand and flex to catch myself. Afterwards, I do a perfect vault and land on my feet, flawlessly. “My parents never really wanted me to be into gymnastics; they always wanted a softball scholarship for me instead. So they never acknowledged my passion. Instead, they doused it with water.” I glance over—or should I say under—my shoulder as I walk down the lift rail on my hands and smile. “Still a deadbeat with a scholarship and a lack of communication skills. Thanks, mom.”
“Soon you’ll be just as good—better, even—as any of those other factory fresh stinkin’ Lincolns.” I sadly smile and pat its side-view mirror. “Because you’re mine. And that alone makes you better than any of those other guys. I mean, look around.” I crouch hood-level with the Lincoln and point at a rusty Cavalier nearby. “Check him out. If rust and dents are love, that guy is married somewhere, yeah? You’re already repainted; think about all the dudes your age and how they’ll look like him long before you do.” I lean my head against the fender, wondering if the car would be amused if it could feel emotion. “If I annoy you, get over it; we have a long life of idiocy ahead of us, big boy. Or girl; I don’t discriminate.”
“It’s a guy.” Darren jokes, pushing a cart by us. “Two words: man cold. It was equipped with a faulty tire pressure sensor before we found out and I swear that thing screamed at me in agony and betrayal pulling it around to the lift this noon. It was the most pitiful noise a car could make. I was about to bring him some chicken noodle soup and a heated blanket and change the TV to a soap opera for him.” I stand back up with an enthused head shake.
“Take him home with you and watch some wrestling. You got me anthropomorphizing vehicles now, so thanks.”
“We took it out this morning to make sure all was working well.” Mick explains as I softly run a hand down the car’s now shiny, polished chrome rack. “It’s finished, I do think.”
“It looks great.” I breathe, amazed how well the Lincoln had pulled through. It was like nothing ever happened. It looked like I had just bought it off the show room floor.
And somebody was on their way to scrap the darned thing.
“The electrical is brand new, the interior is new, we powder coated the underside; it’s pretty sound, now.”
“I guess this is the part when I hear about the cash I need to fork over.” I wince.
“20K is a fair price. Your father covered the rest.”
“Sure it is.” I sigh, pulling out my wallet and grabbing what was left of my house fund I didn’t need to use the first time. “I knew I shouldn’t have told him what I had left over from the house.”
“Heck, I can almost hear that one song playing; you know, the one with the ukulele and says something about soul sisters?” Instantly, the radio tunes into another station—and with the song I was talking about playing. “…Huh. Neat. Voice activation? Cool.”
“Okay, so, here’s my house.” I wave as I pull in. “It’s an old mechanic’s garage half-renovated into a house. So look; not only do you have a garage, you’ll kinda live in a house, too!” Of course, the car has no reply. I hopelessly sigh. “I’ve truly resorted to talking to cars, now. I guess this is just my life now. If I didn’t have enough of a lack of friends, now the friends I did have think I’m nuts for giving a hopeless case a chance. It’s just you and me, car.” I drive into the garage/living room. “See? The garage is also the living room! The idiots that built this place, right?” I flop on the couch with a grunt and turn on the TV. Meanwhile, as I try to relax, I get the feeling I was being watched. I cautiously glance over at the creepy Lincoln with its eternally smiling front end and realize maybe I was nuts as I notice it looked a couple inches closer to me than it was when I first pulled it in. I shrug and look at the TV again. I watch it for a minute or so before I hear a faint squeak and look back over at the Lincoln again. I stare, confused. It was definitely a few inches closer this time! “What? How? Did I not put you in park or something? Did they screw up your emergency brake? Do I need to file a lawsuit?” I watch it for a good several minutes and decide it wasn’t moving at all. I finally let out a hopeless moan and stand up to make some lunch in the open concept kitchen, where I could see the entire living room (and garage). I turn my back to it so I could grab some bread and a couple eggs from the fridge. Juggling the white orbs, I shut the door to the fridge and turn back around to find the Lincoln in my kitchen, parked grille towards me, like it was patiently waiting for something. I scream and drop all three eggs. I continue screaming as I run passed the crazy, possessed Navigator to grab the phone. I guess it decides the jig was up since it slowly backs up, turns around, and drives right towards me as I feverishly dial 911. “AAAAHH!! Stay away from meeeeee!! HELP!! My car is haunted!!” I shriek, picking up a decorative statue and slinging it at the car. It simply jumps backwards to avoid the flying artwork. Smash! It hits the concrete floor in front of the truck and shatters harmlessly. The Navigator then continues coming at me, slowly but surely prepared to murder me! Surely! I back into a corner, waving the phone at it in a threatening manner. “Back off, bud! You don’t want to mess with me! I’ll have you back in that scrap yard before you can lay a… er, a tread on me!” Seemingly untroubled, the car simply drives around the couch. I try to dodge around it, but it opens a door. “D-don’t hurt me! I s-s-saved your creepy hatch from certain destruction! Voyager!!” Finally, it pauses, though not in a hesitant way like my words made it second killing me. It was like it was just playing around and trying to get me to say the name I gave it all along. I heave, terror ebbing, as it closes its door and backs off a little. “…Voyager. I named you that didn’t I? Before I knew you were possessed or whatever. You like that, don’t you?” Voy lowers its front end, almost submissively. “Hoo. Hoo, man. Thanks for not killing me! I mean, I did save your life, didn’t I? I know you know I love Escalades, though. You could still get me for that, after all.” I blink, terror gone and curiosity growing, and reach my hand out, slowly. “I-I’m Jessica. In case you d-didn’t know, yet. Can I call you a ‘he’ or are you a she-Lincoln? I know we joked about the man cold thing last week; sorry if I offended you."
"I am a guy congratulations, and I have no shame. I can't be offended; it's physically impossible." A voice chuckles from his front end in amusement. I jump and gape, amazed.
"You can talk?"
"Sure can! That can be either a good or bad thing for you, though." I stand there, unable to look away from my astound. Somehow, I could always sense he was more than just a normal car. Maybe that was why I had to pick him. "...Are you scared, or-?"
"No. No. Not scared. I'm confused, yeah! Amazed, even. I-I have so many questions, man!"
"I was just checking to make sure. I'm not good at reading emotions; you humans are really complicated beings. You talk to me easily one minute, and the next you act like it's a cursed thing to do."
"Oh. Ah, geeze. So you, uh, heard all that, right?"
"You wanted to be a gymnast but your parents wanted you to get a softball scholarship and doused your dreams with water? Of course."
"What's worse; the fact I told you that or the fact you remember that from 2 weeks ago?"
"Sorry, I would have said something then, but it was just too funny! And then I actually scared you while I was trying to find a way to brave up and show you my sentience. You, the person who saved my life, the girl I love and dream about, the kind soul that gave me a name and claimed me even in my hopeless state, thinks I’d hurt her! And yes, I remember everything from the second that meteor brought me to life. I remember my family, the crash, and how much I love my name. And how you stood up for me that day you and your friends - not friends, by the way; just being brutally honest - came by to check my progress. You’re special to me. You're my second chance; my redemption.” He then drives up to me and rubs his fender on my side, almost lovingly. "Nothing bad will ever happen to you, Jessi. I promise I'll protect you with my life. I couldn't save them, but the world could never take you." I blink, still stunned.
“…Hi, there, then.” I breathe, slowly petting his hood. “Welcome to my life, Voyager. Apparently I’m really welcome in yours.”
I hear the tone of the station’s motto from the kitchen, signaling a program change. I grab my dinner and head to the living room, ready to watch my favorite show’s new season debut.
That is, until Voyager happily trots by and stops dead in front of the TV.
“…Uh, Voyager?” I hint, trying to look around his lardo-hatch. “You’re kinda in the way, dude.”
“This is so cool!” Voy pleads, continuing driving around to curiously nudge things with his grille as I sit on the couch, trying to hear the show. “I’ve never been in a house before!”
“You don't say.”
“No! Never! I mean, I had a garage, but I wasn’t allowed inside, you know.”
“Why do you think that is?” I continue as I turn the TV up.
“I don’t know. I loved my family, but I wasn’t their dog I guess. Though I loved them more than that ankle nipping Myna-Mutt did. Anywho! But is this really our house?”
“It’s my house, yep. And you get to park riiiight over there.” I point over to his parking spot.
“…Pfft! I’m not parking there. Why when there’s a nice, happy open spot right here? Where I can be with you instead?” He parks right beside the couch—indeed in an empty spot.
“Your previous family had a point. You’re not a dog.” I heave a sigh. “Maybe they were better Lincoln parents than I am.”
“Parent. Yeah, that one’s funny. You? My mom? Why don’t you trade me in for an Escalade while you’re at it?” I slowly look over to squint at him. “…That’s, uh, not something you’d do, right? Like, I was being sarcastic. I wasn’t suggesting anything?”
“An Escalade would have less of a mouth on it.” I hiss. “See this screen here? I know you’ve never seen one of these in your life, but this is called a television. And I’m kinda trying to listen to this magical television. Not you. Be a good, normal car and please park there and say nothing at all!” Voyager’s idle slows to a rather disappointed sounding purr.
“…Oh. Okay. I guess I can be, you know, not special. I have a life, but I’ll pretend I wasn’t blessed with an owner I hoped to love me as the unique freak I am.” He even slumps back over to his dark parking spot. “See? I’ll even take the burden of my special presence to the darkness of my own sad world! Is that better? Are you happy now, master?” I throw up my hands and whip around.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I plead, guiltfully. “You don’t have to sulk off! I didn’t realize you’d be so… Sensitive.” He turns around from being hatch facing me. “Come back over here, dude! Don’t go cry in your corner of shame! Come on!”
“A-are you sure I can come watch your television?” He sniffles. “O-or is that something only people are allowed to do with their people friends?”
I sigh as Voy happily purrs away, rooted up under my arm.
“What is this program coming on?” He lightly wonders.
“It’s just a show about doctors.”
“Just about doctors?”
“And their patients. And things the doctors do together.”
“Yeah, like, kissing?”
“Ah-huh. Have you seen it before?”
“Well, I saw that dude and that other girl kissing on the commercial a bit ago.” I cringe.
“Well thanks for the spoiler!”
“It was a commercial! You were bound to see it eventually. And now I also know you’re just in it for the kissing. He-he-he…” I roll my eyes.
I wake up at 3 AM for no apparent reason. I yawn and roll over on my side, facing the doorway. I blink open my eyes before jumping up. Voyager was parked in the door, half of his front end visible from the wall. “Voyager? What’s up, dude?” Half jokingly, I add, “You want some midnight oil?”
“I keep hearing weird noises.” He whispers. “I don’t like them.”
“It’s probably the building settling.” I assure, sliding into bed again. Voy falls silent for a moment before continuing in a sad whimper.
“Will you come out and love on me?”
“Voyager.” I sigh. He idles, hopefully for a moment before I shake my head and stand up with my pillow. “Okay! Come on. You’re a wimp.” I drowsily flop down on the couch as Voyager pulls up beside me and lets me slowly pet his fender. “Listen. I hear them, too. That’s just the wind.”
“You’re sure? It’s pretty loud.”
“Yeah. You’re just fine, doofus. This building is old and made of cinderblock; a tornado wouldn’t harm it.”
“Don’t say that! What if one decided to rip through here after you said that?”
“Weather doesn’t work like that, Voy. A tornado won’t happen just because I said it could. That would be irony, and yeah, irony works like that, sure.” Voyager whimpers and leans into me, worriedly. “Dumb hatch, I’m just teasing! I’m not going to let the big, scary winds hurt you! Go to sleep; I’ll be right here.” I start nodding off after a few minutes before Voyager jumps.
“Wh-what was that?!” He gasps. “I think a lightning bolt struck the tree out back!”
“Voyager—” I impatiently reason before I see the orange glow. “Oh crap, I think you’re right!”
“I hate being right!!” The fire was too far from anything to be harmful, but the fire still burns at the tree, eerily. I watch it burn slowly, imagining poor Voyager in that accident, not for the first time. “…The fire. It won’t get us, right?”
“No.” I assure, though mildly shaken. “It won’t.”
The next morning!
I wake up and go to stretch before realizing that there was a car grille pressed up into my face. I scream, surprised and roll off the couch.
“What?! What?! I’ll murder it!” Voyager shrieks, obviously the grille’s owner. “I’ll take the scary thing and stomp it to death, my love—oh, hey, there. Bad dream.” Apparently, he spots me laying on the floor and pauses. Despite myself, I tilt my head.
“You can dream?” I echo, incredulously. “About what?” He continues to idle facing me.
“…Anything, but nothing in particular.” Voy whistles. “You? Good dreams, too? Okee.” I cover my eyes and shake my head.
“You’re a guy in every aspect.” I moan and finally stand back up.
“Who—what says I meant th-that?”
“Jessie! Jessica, baby! Come look!” Voyager pleads, wallowing me with his tire. I numbly swat at his feverish bouncing.
“Stop it. Stoooop. I’m trying to sleep and you should, too!” I hiss, drowsily.
“You have to see this! Hurry!” He yowls before hurriedly backing off the bed. I sigh and jump out of bed, too.
“What? I'm coming, sheesh!” I grumble, stomping after the crazed Navigator. He opens a door, so I jump in. We drive out of the house, down the drive way, and up the road. “Okay, so where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I think you’ll like this.” We pull into a field and drive to the middle of it before he opens his door again. I slide out and look up. The stars glitter in the sky intensely, around a huge, silvery moon. I could tell it was a super moon, too. I climb up onto Voyager’s roof and lie on my back, still gaping upwards. “Impressed?”
“Yeah.” I breathe. “That’s cool.”
“Right? I drove outside to close up everything for the night and saw it.” The moon glints on his shiny, chrome rack as he pauses. “And you were the first thing I thought of. I didn’t think about how beautiful it was, or how extraordinary it was; I saw you. I thought about how you were as special as the super moon’s glare, and how if you never saved me, I would have never seen this night.”
“What was it like, losing your family?” I wonder. “If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t.”
“No, I can talk about it.” He assures, glumly. “But losing my family… And then going to that salvage yard awaiting my end… That was the emptiest feeling in the world. I was for sure I would never be wanted again; never be loved again. But now I’m more loved than I ever could have dreamed, let alone expected. I’m so in love with you, Jess. I could never say thanks enough times to show you how I really feel. What we have is so rare, it’s one out of one. It's okay if you never feel the same; people hate what they don't understand and I don't want to make them harass you."
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