California
The first purchase Lissar made on Earth was food. The second was a sleeping bag and mat, so that she could sleep in Ironhide's cargo area when he stopped. The third was a pair of sunglasses; the light here is much harsher than she's used to.
It pricks at her skin, although she's not going to complain. The starkness of the light, the brilliance of it, is as different from the softly diluted light of the kingdoms that she knew as Optimus Prime is from her father.
She loves it. Even if she has to become even more like the Moonwoman by living at night so that she doesn't burn to a crisp, she loves it. She loves sitting in Ironside's seat, one arm resting on the open windowsill, with her long white hair tangling behind her as the wind whips it around. She loves the radio, on whatever Ironhide chooses to play when he's not talking with her. There are even one or two songs that she has heard often enough that she'll cheerfully sing along with them.
Every time she wakes up she murmurs a good morning to Ironhide before she opens her eyes. If Ash was here, if the dogs were here, it would be perfect.
The place found for her is smaller than her apartments were in her father's house. She is perfectly fine with that. There is a small yard, big enough for the dogs to wander around in so long as she takes them for runs in the morning and at night.
And it is a full house. There is a bedroom, a sitting room, a kitchen, and a bathroom all her own. There is a garage, big enough that Ironhide could drive into it so long as nothing else is in there. She has only a few pieces of clothing to hang in the closet, but they are hers and she reorganizes them several times just to be able to do so.
The kitchen is full of things she doesn't recognize, although she can intuit what many of them are. The stove and oven, the cold-box full of food, those she figures out. Sinks she knows, and pots and pans.
The bathroom has a shower stall rather than a tub, but showers seem more practical to Lissar anyway, and someone thought to leave soaps for her to use. Soap, and toothbrush, and toothpaste, and after a good hour simply taking care of hygiene she feels far closer to human than she has in a while.
There is minimal furniture. A chair, a table, a bed. Lissar moves the mattress onto the ground; when the dogs are there she'll need enough space for all of them to pile on.
The sitting room area, the public room by whatever it is called, has a deck looking out over the yard. There isn't much of a garden, a few straggling honeysuckle vines and an orange tree that is perfectly happy to be neglected. It is a start, at least, and Lissar makes a note to find out what kind of plants are happy here and build herself a true garden. It was the best thing about where she once lived and she will always remember puppy-Ash playing while she gardens.
A sanctuary. A dwelling. A place to plan for a future. A home. Lissar only retreats back into the house when her skin starts to complain about the bright light.
It pricks at her skin, although she's not going to complain. The starkness of the light, the brilliance of it, is as different from the softly diluted light of the kingdoms that she knew as Optimus Prime is from her father.
She loves it. Even if she has to become even more like the Moonwoman by living at night so that she doesn't burn to a crisp, she loves it. She loves sitting in Ironside's seat, one arm resting on the open windowsill, with her long white hair tangling behind her as the wind whips it around. She loves the radio, on whatever Ironhide chooses to play when he's not talking with her. There are even one or two songs that she has heard often enough that she'll cheerfully sing along with them.
Every time she wakes up she murmurs a good morning to Ironhide before she opens her eyes. If Ash was here, if the dogs were here, it would be perfect.
The place found for her is smaller than her apartments were in her father's house. She is perfectly fine with that. There is a small yard, big enough for the dogs to wander around in so long as she takes them for runs in the morning and at night.
And it is a full house. There is a bedroom, a sitting room, a kitchen, and a bathroom all her own. There is a garage, big enough that Ironhide could drive into it so long as nothing else is in there. She has only a few pieces of clothing to hang in the closet, but they are hers and she reorganizes them several times just to be able to do so.
The kitchen is full of things she doesn't recognize, although she can intuit what many of them are. The stove and oven, the cold-box full of food, those she figures out. Sinks she knows, and pots and pans.
The bathroom has a shower stall rather than a tub, but showers seem more practical to Lissar anyway, and someone thought to leave soaps for her to use. Soap, and toothbrush, and toothpaste, and after a good hour simply taking care of hygiene she feels far closer to human than she has in a while.
There is minimal furniture. A chair, a table, a bed. Lissar moves the mattress onto the ground; when the dogs are there she'll need enough space for all of them to pile on.
The sitting room area, the public room by whatever it is called, has a deck looking out over the yard. There isn't much of a garden, a few straggling honeysuckle vines and an orange tree that is perfectly happy to be neglected. It is a start, at least, and Lissar makes a note to find out what kind of plants are happy here and build herself a true garden. It was the best thing about where she once lived and she will always remember puppy-Ash playing while she gardens.
A sanctuary. A dwelling. A place to plan for a future. A home. Lissar only retreats back into the house when her skin starts to complain about the bright light.