Alright Partner, Keep On Rolling Baby. You Know What Time It Is.

[Tankita Bananas]

((Closed to Rayleigh))

Mud caked nearly her entire form. Her left tread sported a huge chip in it which got the tank caught up on larger rocks and got miscellaneous items stuck in her wheels. Her muzzle was dented as though someone took a hammer to the poor creature and her exhaust pipe peppered the air with thick, black, sporadic clouds. Tankita Bananas was hurt.

Tankita Bananas needed healing badly.

Of course, the Ai'Borne of the Citadel were a bit confused in their ways as to how they could heal a mechanical monster. The steel sentinel begged and pleaded with the healers of Radasanths most famous establishment to help her recover from her wounds but was rebuked. Even with their large magical prowess, the healers simply knew of no way to repair the gear worn gargantuan.

She managed to make her way to Raiaera on sheer willpower alone. The chip in her tread was larger now, the plate almost completely missing. To lose such a piece of her would be akin to a human without an ankle, she would become immobile. As much as the tank hated elves, there was a story that a small group in the magical land knew of someone that was an expert with machines. If she could find this person, and use her abilities to recover from her injuries, she would be able to exact her revenge on those who wrought their form of justice upon her.

The Night of Raykita was nigh.

[Rayleigh]

The steady grind of gears and rumble of machinery shattered the still of the evening. A lone figure, bathed in the grey-white light cast by the heavy full moon, slowed from a lazy walk to a hesitant halt. Her head tilted as if to amplify the sounds that carried on the crisp midnight breeze. The noises were faint, muffled by distance and the vast fields that surrounded her, but they were unmistakeable to the mechanic's daughter.

Her long shadow warped as the woman turned to face the mechanical melody. Like the wide beam of a lighthouse, her emerald eyes swept her surroundings, squinting slightly despite the silver moonlight. Somewhere, deep behind the curtain of night, a machine whirred. Its call was not the pleasant purr of a well-oiled, fully-operational piece of technology. Rather, this particular specimen's cry was laced with pain and suffering. The calming hum of the treads on the hard-packed dirt was replaced by the jagged, random crash of metal catching metal. Coughing and sputtering, the engine's black smoke hung thick in the evening sky, hiding the twinkling stars from view. As the contraption grew closer, and the notes in its pitiful song grew clearer, Rayleigh Aston's features clouded with sadness.

"Poor thing," the brunette murmured. Though she was well aware that machines were inanimate objects, she had always believed that some sort of life pulsed through them. She felt the same tinge of sympathy looking at a discarded pile of parts as another might experience when finding an abandoned puppy, and she found immense joy in returning old pieces to their former glory.

This vehicle was no exception. Rayleigh watched as it drew nearer, its sharp edges and impressive bulk taking shape before her eyes. Then, a soft sound of surprise tumbled past her lips as realization washed over her.

Her voice, barely a whisper, was lost to the now thunderous sound of the approaching machine. "Its a tank."

She took off at a run, small legs pumping beneath her, one arm waving madly through the night air. The other hand clutched at her leather backpack, which jangled with the pleasant sound of many tools tumbling over each other, and threatened to slip off of her thin shoulder.

"Hey!" came the girl's shrill cry. She worked to make her small voice as loud as possible, hoping to pierce the tank's thick exterior, and reach whoever rode inside. "You have to stop! There is something wrong with your tank!"

[Tankita Bananas]

The battles had taken their toll upon the poor mechanical monster that was Tankita Bananas. The vehicle passed a young lady who seemed quite sympathetic to her plight, and the wonder of technology only stopped when the girl spoke out. She turned to the woman, though it was more like her cannon towards toward her, and examined her features.

No pointy ears, so not a tree hugging elf, her legs aren't naked or bustling with fur so obviously not a sewer sucking faun, seems to be mostly human...

In fact, the woman who stood before Tankita reminded the strange contraption of her previous life as a human in Raiaera. Her small frame and strong posture resembled those mannerisms of Tamera Bananas, which intrigued the war machine even further. She was genuinely concerned about a tanks well-being, despite not knowing that the tank itself was alive. Surely, she could be trusted.

"Thank you for your concern, young lady," a voice seemed to enter Rayleigh's head, from nowhere and everywhere at once, "I have been looking for somebody who could help me with repairs. I tend to not have the best ability when it comes to the inner workings, you know? If you could help me find a mechanic, I would be ever so grateful. My name is Tankita by the way, Tankita Bananas." The tank cannon moved back and forth in the best version of a curtsey that a living weapon could perform, "Might I inquire as to your name?"

[Rayleigh]

Her high-pitched scream filled the darkness with a new sound, managing to dwarf even the roar of the tank for a split second. Both hands flew to her head, palms pressed to her temples, applying pressure firmly on both sides as if attempting to force the voice from her mind. Her eyes screwed shut, and as she opened her mouth to let loose another cry, the voice returned.

"I am so sorry to have frightened you!" Now, the sweet whispers in her mind held more urgency. "Please, forgive me. It was never my intention."

Then, the voice was gone. But she could still feel a strange presence lingering within her. It was a kind of echo, so faint she could barely make out the words. A sort of residue left from the stranger's visit; a side-effect of thinking thoughts that did not belong to her. Rayleigh had experienced the same sensation once before, deep underground. Even now, in an entirely different part of Althanas, she could hear the fiery god moaning in her mind, assaulting the one space that she had thought would always be her own. Her grip on her head tightened.

A moment passed, and no further words were exchanged. Slowly, the mechanic let her hands fall to her sides, and though her breathing was still ragged, her jade eyes opened once more. Before her, the tank did not move. The awful chorus of misfirings still spilled from it, but it was completely still. It seemed to be waiting for her. It seemed to be watching her. The tank, it seemed, wanted Rayleigh to speak first.

"My name is Rayleigh," came the first words that the girl could manage. "And you're..." her voice trailed. Then, when she spoke again, her words spilled from her lips in a blur. "You're a tank. You're an actual tank. Not someone riding in a tank. You are a tank who can talk to people. You can talk to people in their minds. You are a tank, and you are named Tankita Bananas, and you can talk to people. And you're alive."

[Tankita Bananas]

There was a crisp wind that blew between the two, a silence that could only be broken with something just as awkward as the young woman's assessment of the metallic battle maiden. The large gun that was Tankita's 'face' moved up and down as though the giant war machine needed to evaluate the caring person before her. Perhaps she was touched in the head, a special child taken far away from her home to be executed so her poor family no longer had to deal with the care of a person hit too many times in the temple with a pointy rock.

"Yes," Tankita responded slowly so her 'special' friend could understand each word that left her mind, "I am a tank named Tankita Ba-na-nas. I am very pleased to meet you. I hope that you might be able to help me. I am looking for--" She paused. Of course the special needs girl would not know what a mechanic was. Why would she? The most complicated things she probably ever experienced was making sure three stacked blocks did not fall down and go boom.

Tankita thought of her conundrum. The only way she would get healed is if she trusted her mentally challenged new friend. Well, I supposed it is still better than teaming with a filthy elf or a wood munching no good fur reared faun.

"Tankita has a really bad 'owie'. Big bad men made Tankita hurt so bad. Tankita needs to find Metal Doctor to help her owies go away." She lowered her muzzle once more, akin to a wolf bowed down to show servitude towards an Alpha, "Can special friend take Tankita to Metal Doctor to fix owies?"

The special girl would be spared her execution for now, but Tankita Bananas was nothing if not a creature of mercy. She would put her touched friend out of her misery soon, after she was repaired. She could promise then, that the end of the stranger would be quick, painless, and with tons of explosions and 'owies'.

[Rayleigh]

The mousy woman blinked once, twice, and then gave her head a small shake. The condescending tone in which the tank spoke seemed to startle Rayleigh from her reverie, shattering the shock-induced trance. A frown played about the corners of her lips.

But a small voice in the back of her mind (still her own, thankfully), cautioned her. Remember how absurd this whole situation is, the voice continued, bemused. Tanks really should not be speaking at all. So, if they were a bit rude, perhaps that could be forgiven. Even when considering Ray's skills as a mechanic, she was woefully unprepared and unqualified to pass judgment on a culture she was never exposed to. Perhaps this attitude was typical of tanks. As her father had taught her, if she planned to work with various types of people, she had to be tolerant. Vincent had stressed that this same lesson could be applied to world travel. Because the brunette wanted nothing more than to see Althanas in its entirety, she allowed shock to melt into anger, and then cool into a sickly sweet politeness.

"Tankita," she began, a part of her appreciating the clever title, "I don't entirely know what you mean by 'metal doctor.' It is not really a term we use around here." She loosed a small shrug, and gestured helplessly with her hands, but the motion was mostly loss to the night's darkness. "But if you've been damaged, depending on the severity, I would be happy to give it a look. I'm a mechanic, based out of Alerar, but I'm traveling now."