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Post by Rodimus Prime on Jul 20, 2010 19:47:42 GMT -5
Everyone who plays here is familiar with perhaps the most dreaded of application questions, the thread-starter. You know the one! It begins with, 'There doesn't seem to be any sort of RP happening on the boards!' and asks you to create a post for your character!
The answers to this one can be grouped in two general categories. There are passive ones, and there are active ones. Generally, a passive thread-starter tends to establish a character as sitting or standing by themselves somewhere, doing nothing in particular to attract anyone's attention. Maybe they're reading, maybe they're napping, maybe they're just looking off into the distance thoughtfully.
While these sorts of thread starters are acceptable, they tend to be a little bland, and after you've read the quadzillionth application that uses one, they start to get a little tedious.
The bigger issue with these sorts of thread starters, though, is that if a player never grows past them, it gets hard for that player to start their own roleplay. There's little in a passive thread-starter to really catch the attention and interest of the other players, making them less likely to move into the thread. Knowing how to make active thread-starters does not just make your application more fun to read - it helps you to attract roleplay once you're already on the board!
There are two different techniques for making a thread-starter more active. The first involves keeping them in an area where they're by themselves (or think they're by themselves), but having them do something that's likely to catch someone else's attention. Let's face it - if you walk by someone who's reading, there's a good chance that you're just going to let them keep reading. If that same person is laughing so hard at what they're reading that they're having a hard time staying in their chair, you might stop and ask them what's so funny. If they're murmuring to themselves while they read, you might ask what's so engrossing, or ask if they're talking to you. If they randomly stop reading to juggle books instead, you'd almost certainly react.
The second is to start a thread with something that implies that someone else is already there, and let other people decide if that maybe their character is that other person. Your character is making an absent-minded observation to unspecified companions. Your character has just turned a corner and unexpectedly run smack into someone... but who? Another player can decide that they're the one being run into, and react! These are only a few examples. We want more!
So we're holding a contest. It's pretty simple. Post an active thread-starter in this thread. You can post as many or as few as you'd like. Feel free to use ones from your actual applications if you want. In a couple of weeks, we'll pick out the ones we view as the best examples (how many we pick will depend on how many entries we get) and hold a poll to pick the top ones. And that's it!
So time to get active!
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Jazz [G1]
Rookie
Cool as an icicle in a snowstorm.
Posts: 177
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Post by Jazz [G1] on Jul 20, 2010 19:51:16 GMT -5
Oh, neat!
Guess I can use Jazz's...
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Jazz finds the Event Horizon to be an awesome place - and the open lounge has an even more awesome audio-visual setup, one that Jazz thinks puts his own to shame. Time to give it a test and see just how good it is. Jazz steps up to it, opening a panel on his torso, taking the speaker cables out of the system and plugging them into himself.
Jazz turns on some Metallica, and once he sees that the speakers work well, he cranks the volume up to about eighty-five percent, tapping his foot to the beat. "Aw yeah, now -this- is what I'm talkin' about! I gotta give props to whoever put this rig together!"
Jazz will get a chance to find out soon, as the obscenely loud music should get the attention of someone!
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Nightbeat
Minor
Eternal Foe of Kitsch
"Truth is revealed in the smallest detail."
Posts: 453
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Post by Nightbeat on Jul 20, 2010 19:59:49 GMT -5
OOC Note: This would have been worked out with Spinister's player ahead of time.
Muzzle emerges from Tiny's in a haze of smoke, turning up the collar of his trenchcoat and pulling down the brim of his hat against the rain. It's not much help, though, he gets soaked to the bone in the amount of time it takes him to flick away a cigarette and rush across the parking lot to Nightbeat, even with Nightbeat helpfully opening his door for him. The little detective climbs into the Porsche and slams the door shut behind him.
It is really pissing down out there. Crank the heat up, partner, I'm freezing.
The Porsche's vents start blasting hot air as Nightbeat replies Should have worn your armor.
It wasn't raining when I went in, dammit! communicates Muzzle, stripping off his wet clothes and reaching into the back seat for said armor. Anyway, it's just like you figured. The wounds are consistent with a nuclear flamethrower, though I still think the 'Cons aren't stupid enough to leave a body in public. And it's a big planet. Bound to be other flamethrowers. I really do not want to tangle with any of Thunderwing's crew again. Bad memories.
The carformer's engine starts just as Muzzle is getting his helmet on and climbing back out into the pouring rain. His door slams as he transforms into a headless robot and the Nebulan leaps upward, transforming into a head and landing in Nightbeat's hands with practiced ease before being set in place on his neck. "I'd love it if Spinister wasn't behind this, but he's still our prime suspect. He better have one hell of an alibi," Nightbeat mutters before walking off into the rain.
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Post by Impactor/"Imp" on Jul 20, 2010 20:48:04 GMT -5
I'll go with the most recent one first. Impactor!
(I may actually use this one at one point).
Impactor scowls as he stomps down the hallway, having just finished up his turn at pilot-house watch, better known as, 'Staring at the controls and calling Mayday if anything that's normally green turns red' watch. He doesn't even qualify for 'Rock Watch', generally. For some reason, people seem to think that being greeted by a dead looking drill tank without faction symbols might give a newcomer a bad first impression. Impactor argued that he could be sure to give any arriving Decepticons a real bad impression, but he was overruled, and so now, in order to make up not being able to share the second worse watch possible on that boat, he gets the first worst one twice as often.
He gets to the nearest lounge and pokes his head in, frowning and looking around the room. "If anyone's in here goofing off when they could be training, they'd damned well better have an extra cube for me, got it?"
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Mindwipe
Cadet
Don't be shocked by the tone of my voice...
Posts: 91
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Post by Mindwipe on Jul 20, 2010 20:54:45 GMT -5
Here's Mindwipe's - this will probably be used soon, or some variant upon it.
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On a busy streetside of Pz-Zazz, there is table covered in a tacky cloth, and mounted on an even tackier stand is a crystal sphere. Behind the table stands Mindwipe, hands resting on the table and murmuring to himself. His Decepticon sigil, and a majority of his upper torso is covered in a rather schlocky shawl. Hands raise up, cupping the area immediately around the sphere, moving in caressing motions around it as if divining guidance from the trinket, before he dramatically straightens up, knocking a chair behind him over, pointing at another Cybertronian in the crowd. "YOU!" His eyes flare red, and his pointing hand turns over, beckoning the target over with a repeated curling motion. "Come here..."
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Slugslinger
Minor
And if it weren't for this blasted coin…
Posts: 388
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Post by Slugslinger on Jul 20, 2010 21:00:51 GMT -5
Well, at least I'm not the only Decepticon up in here.
Slugslinger's relationship with Praxus Fold 'Em is a torrid love-hate affair. It's a game all about bluffing the other guys out of their money, lying to win, and getting away with it because that's how the game works. It's like the game was made for him, with his divisive face and keen interest in never telling the truth. Bluffing his opponents is so much more fun when they can't tell if he's grinning or grimacing about his hand. Toss in a little distilled energon for sipping and it can't get much better.
But he always loses. It's like the universe itself is out to mock him, dishing him the worst possible hands so that even his best bluff means the minute someone calls, he's out half his pay. Or, he thinks, eyeing his handful of chits with various maintenance duties scrawled on them, he ends up with more than his share of work. That's even worse than losing money!
He still can't resist the call of entertainment that won't get him dragged in for another chewing out; after the incident with the caustic adhesive, the less Spinister and Needlenose he gets in his life, the better. A pink helicopter and a flamboyant jet shouldn't be that scary. It's violating some law of the universe, Slugslinger's sure – as sure as he is that people must have noticed his little leaflet on the activity board in the rec room by now. They'd better have noticed since he put the blasted board up himself. He hates putting in effort and getting no return for it.
"All right, gentlemen!" he announces with a smirk that's also a sneer as he barges into the rec room, taking up as much room in the doorway as he can with his shoulder vanes and his wings. "And I use that term very loosely around here, if it makes you feel any better… like I posted on the board, I've got a deck of cards and the itch for a nice round of Praxus Fold 'Em." He takes in the room and the Decepticons milling about to gauge reactions.
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Override
Minor
The Chancellor, Her Noble Potency, Empress Override. The Glorious Victor over Everyone Else On the Track
Shut up and drive
Posts: 476
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Post by Override on Jul 20, 2010 21:30:43 GMT -5
Override's! (By the way, since the first round will be picked by staff, mine are probably not going into the actual contest. I just like to share them!)
Override rolls through the underground tunnels near the new Autobase construction site. The problem is, while these tunnels saved the Autobots' lives not long before her arrival, they don't really know where they lead, and it's entirely possible for some of them to have openings that the Decepticons can take advantage of. So now, she is out checking into them, reporting back every now and again, and generally enjoying herself riding about in the dark.
That is, until she arrives at the light at the end of the tunnel.
Override transforms, not bothering to slowdown until after returning to robot mode, looks upward, and gapes. As it turns out, it's not an opening. No, the tunnel in this section has suddenly gone clear, and a muted, gentle, rippling light just barely makes it way through the ocean depths above. All around her is a clearness that fades to blue that fades to black, and every now and again a native fish darts out of the darkness, then back in. Sometimes a full school.
Sometimes something less identifiable.
This tunnel, she realizes, goes to another continent.
Override grins as an idea occurs to her. She activates her radio and sets out a general Autobot call.
//Hey, Xaaron, looks like North-northwest six actually leads to the northern landmass, under water. For everyone else, it looks like a preeeety nice ride, a great view, a good sized straight stretch in front of me, a couple interesting curves after that, and... I can't see any further, but I sure would like to. Tell you what. Any of you guys want to meet me out here, not only will I wait until you get here, I'll give you guys a fifteen minute head-start. Any takers?//
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Jul 20, 2010 21:41:24 GMT -5
Uhm, yeah, I'm an admin, but for reference:
Omega Supreme:
Omega Supreme is unfolded into his base mode. The tank slowly, inevitably, makes its rounds at such a plodding pace that an avian has taken roost upon his turret.
He has watched sunrise and sunset, seemingly without end, serpents chasing their tails only to devour themselves. He will watch longer still, for this is post until further notice.
Omega Supreme longs to leave, to hunt down his rightful prey, but he hasn't the fuel in his tanks, just the fuel for these long, graceless circuits of his track, ever vigilant.
He does the next best thing and broadcasts, //Constructicons? Termination: nigh.//
Let his fellow Autobots berate him, but the Constructicons will rest with nightmares for coming weeks. That is enough, for now.
Spinister:
“You are all dead now,” Spinister proclaims coldly, tapping away at the base’s vidcomm to bring up his image and voice to the assorted monitors across the base. “Or you would be, if I was an assailant. The holes in the defenses are not a mile wide. I won’t say that. They’re a meter wide, and that’s quite wide enough.”
He gestures to Singe and Hairsplitter. At Singe’s push, Hairsplitter steps forward and says nervously, “We were able to get in and deactivate the security systems.”
“It was child’s play for Spinister to walk in, then,” Singe snarls.
Spinister resumes speaking, “So look alive and get on those security flaws, or you won’t look alive much longer. Track down Hairsplitter if you want the rest of the problems. There’s a fairly long list. Spinister, out.”
He’s gone before the screen fades, leaving a rather put out-looking Hairsplitter and a sulking Singe behind him.
Skyblast:
Skyblast's Cybertron is full of lava and fire. At least, that's how he remembers the poor, tormented world. This world seems pristine, comparatively. In Valkyrie mode, he flies its skies, greedily drinking in the simple joy of cool wing whipping over his wings.
Here, above the golden plains below, he will work his art, Skyblast decides. Dusk is just lightly descending on the horizon, deepening the purple of the sky, and the grain below waves and shimmers in the breeze. The juxtaposition of aurium and velvety violet is almost royal.
The Valkyrie sketches lightly at first, tentative strokes on the unblemished sky. Then, he grows bolder and fills in details. The work takes shape, cast in monochrome greys. In the end, the sky is covered by a forlorn pair of empty thrones, wrought in the style of his universe, pre-war style, to be exact. There had been two thrones for two brothers, alike in physical strength but not moral strength. Two thrones shared between brothers were not enough for one, and so night time fell on Cybertron, as it will on Skyblast's sky-painting.
The image can be seen for kilometres and kilometres, from all sides, and it will yet be light for a while. If any Decepticon scum arrives to sully his work, Skyblast shall be most cross.
Scourge:
Some of the technicians managed to get their planet's pathetic data-sphere online, and Scourge, still thrashed from that last fight with that wretched Rodimus Prime, is idly browsing the internet while he waits for his body to heal.
Scourge pauses cold at what he finds. This planet has a Fish Test, too? He just has to see this. Scourge wasn't there to hear Sky-Byte whine about his results in the future, but the story made its way to Scourge all the same.
Irritated at the narrowness of the options, he clicks through, leaning back in the chair.
A short time later, there is an irritated below that echoes down the hallways of, "A shark? Foolish test, I am nothing to do with that fish brain!"
Bambi:
Tall, golden grass stretches out as far as the optic can see, waving gently in the slight breeze. Someone perceptive might notice a rustling in the grain. Something is moving in the grass, something with intent and purpose. One might even say that it is prowling, stalking.
Then, at the edge of these vast plains, a tuft of shining crimson crests above the sea of grain. A lifeform that never that has hunted these great plains, not even in prehistory now crouches over a brightly-coloured insect and crows, "Me caught you!" In her massive metal claws, the fragile insect easily tears, splattering her talons with organic goo. The bambiraptor thrusts her muzzle up in the air and proclaims, "Icky! Why you evolve so weak? Evolutionary pressures not strong enough here. Make wuss-bugs."
Bambi glares down at her claws and flicks them clean. She's looked down and up, but now she finally looks at what his right in front of her. She tilts her head to one side querulously and brings up a now-clean talon to scratch her nose. There is a structure in front of her, looking considerably more worn and abandoned than most of the buildings on this planet. Bambi would reckon, professionally, of course, that this structure has been vacant and untended for centuries, not a year or so.
Excitedly, Bambi claps her forepaws together and exclaims with glee, "Historical site!" She supposes that she should radio in, shouldn't she? Over the Autobot band, she reports in, //Me find abandoned structure, several centuries old, and me being conservative. Could be older! Anyone want to see?//
Kup:
Kup looks down the list twice, pausing the second time to eye some of the items skeptically. He might not be Long Haul, but he is a pick-up truck, and as long as they're on a planet where you can buy anything, there's a lot they need to stock up on. Of course, he'll need help getting loaded once they find some of the items on their list, but that's what helpers are for.
Helpers are also there to listen to stories as they bargain hunt, and Kup concludes, "But anyway, that's why you never trade sand for skins. But..." He pauses, peering at a price listed in a shop window. That's a real, real low price for zirconium gas, which probably means it's too good to be true. Still, they won’t know unless they take a look-see.
Not thinking long about the matter, Kup decides, "C'mon, we'll start here," and he pushes his way through the crowd on the sidewalk over to the shop door. Sure, zirconium is highly corrosive, nasty stuff if it gets loose, but he's more worried it might be fake than about leaks. Hopefully someone's come along who is good at evaluating chemicals!
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Post by Dr. James Hook on Jul 20, 2010 22:32:34 GMT -5
Yes, I re-used part of this elsewhere.
Working for a living. How plebian. However, Hook is good at construction work, and he knows it. Better than good, to be honest. The best? Oh, yes, that would be more accurate. So getting a job doing construction on Pz-Zazz has been surprisingly difficult. He has no reputation at all, here. He’s been thrown off three projects, so far, and all he was ever allowed to do was manual labour. He remembers one red-faced man screaming at him for taking ‘too long’ to put a girder into place. A think, gaunt, pale avian screeching at him for completely re-doing the plans, which weren’t even up to code, anyway. Then a gynoid insulting Hook’s motherboard, which was really unnecessary, in his option, for suggesting that they could just incorporate some bodies into the foundation for some kickbacks from one of the local mobs.
What, was that suggestion really so out of line? He isn’t Mixmaster, and thank Vector Sigma for that, but Hook is certain that, properly pureed, the resulting composite material would have had sufficient structural properties for the task at hand.
He rubs his temples and answers a fourth ‘help wanted’ advertisement, but his visor narrows as he approaches the work site. Is that another Transformer in the line?
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Jul 20, 2010 23:17:59 GMT -5
Sentinel Prime parade-steps through the barracks-area, banging on the doors with his shield, conspicuously avoiding the doors of anyone in command. He hollers, "You worthless grease-stains think you can just rest easy? I bet the Decepticons aren't resting, no! They're out there, plotting the downfall of each and everyone one of us! Those aliens, too!" Ugh, gross aliens. There ought to be a law about them. "And that Unicron-thing!"
Sentinel Prime continues his tirade, "They wouldn't have stood for this kind of slacking in /my/ universe! It's time you got up and back on your wheels. If you're 'bot enough, see me in the training room, and I'll show you know it really goes!"
He's fuming that he really has no authority here to make that an order, but if anyone takes him up on it, he'll at least be able to work out some his frustrations and show off his stuff.
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Blurr
Minor
There Before You Know It, Gone Before You Blink
Posts: 304
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Post by Blurr on Jul 21, 2010 12:45:54 GMT -5
The incoming storm system sends thunder rolling up the coast to herald its arrival, but a sharp eye will spy the Autobot looking to beat the weather at its own game – one of the few around here who can, in fact. Blurr rockets lengths ahead of the thunderclap and the wind; he's little more than a streak over the dull black roads on his way toward Autobase and the only thing moving faster than his chassis right now is his transmitter.
//Looks like a nasty storm on the way in,// he announces over the radio, sounding utterly exhilarated in spite of his less than sunny news; it isn't every day he gets to outrace nature itself. Maybe the roiling, pitch-dark clouds and the storm surge rapidly forcing its way up the coastal deltas and inlets are already a strong indicator of the maelstrom's ferocity, but Blurr feels it's a point that needs emphasis. And maybe some reiteration, too. Delivered with his distinct personal touch, of course. //Not very pretty with the wind and the sideways rain and the crazy lightning everywhere – almost hit me! Not a pretty thing at all, a real ugly one in fact! Maybe not as ugly as Skullcruncher – it's hard to be as ugly as Skullcruncher, really – but sure is close enough! Absolutely, definitely not picnic weather!//
A new thought occurs to him and he blurts it out right on top of the rest.
//You've gotta tell me, Long Haul, please tell me the base is weather-tight because it IS weather-tight, right?//
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Post by Rodimus Prime-3 on Jul 21, 2010 18:57:42 GMT -5
Remember me. > Because Rodimus Prime-3 was significantly more powerful than Rodimus Prime, he called for a plot character application, which has the same thread-starter question on it as the normal application. In fact, more weight is given to the thread starter in a plot character when judging the app (and it becomes more important for the thread starter to be an active thread-starter) than with normal apps. This is because plot characters exist specifically to generate roleplay for particular plots, and then the characters go away, so there's less emphasis on things like personality and character development and things like that. Anyway, here's the one I used for evil Roddo. Note that it's actually pretty similar to what I actually used as his first post.
One large red and silver foot is placed firmly on the soil of Gillanan III, followed by the other one. Rodimus Prime narrows his optics, clasps his hands behind his back, and surveys the area, a deeply satisfied smile painting his features. Perceptor has done well. The transdimensional device is a success, and now he has not one, but two universes open before him. All that is left is to strike at the... locals while they are surprised and off-balance, to tear them down before they have a chance to resist him. For a moment, a brief shadow of uncertainty falls across his expression. They never were able to determine exactly where Emirate Xaaron and Swerve had got off to. It was assumed that they had sought asylum from Starscream, but they had yet to hear confirmation. But no. The chances that they had instead made their way to this grand new world were so slim as to be discounted, and even if they had, it changes nothing. There is nothing here that can stand against the Autobots. The Prime smiles back at the troops whom he had elected to bring with him. 1 "We're here," he says coolly, enunciating each word carefully, "and the Decepticons are not. This sounds like a prime opportunity to enjoy ourselves. But I'm willing to entertain recommendations, for the moment. So, shall we take the methodical approach, and actually search out the locals, see what they have, and take it from them, or would you rather see this forest burned to the ground here and now?" 1 OOC Note: Any Autobot-3 players can claim to have been one of the chosen troops simply by posting in. Well, except for Xaaron-3 and Swerve-3. You guys are on Rodimus-3's bad list. As a further note, anyone from either normal-verse faction is free to 'just happen' to be in the area to witness their arrival through a glowing portal.
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Eye-fire
Major
In two minds about everything
Posts: 597
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Post by Eye-fire on Jul 22, 2010 5:11:25 GMT -5
I'll take a crack at it. _________________________________
Blitzwing
Blitzwing glared, arms folded over his chest and his one foot on the ground. He reached out and waved his hand where the motion sensor to the door should be, but nothing. He steps back a few paces, and then advances again, but the door still remains firmly shut. Finally, he pulls his leg back and launches a kick at the door, achieving nothing more than making a loud noise and scuffing the paint on the door a bit.
That was it. The door had thrown down the gauntlet. Its stubborn refusal to open was nothing but a challenge leveled towards Blitzwing. Oh sure, he could just o find another door into the lounge area, but what would that say about him? And if he called Hook over a stuck door? First, he'd yell at Blitzwing for being an idiot. Then the door would work for Hook, and Hook would call Blitzwing an idiot.
Blitzwing takes off back down the hall a fair distance, turns, and charges the door to shoulder charge it. As he nears the door at break neck speed, it makes a small chime, opens, and..... ___________________________________________
Eye-Fire
Perplexed, Eye-Fire stood at the firing range inside Ship, holding a rather odd and weird looking weapon of some sort in his one hand as he fiddled with it with another. It looked something like a cross between an old blunderbuss rifle and a Tommy gun, with a pad with a dial and a few buttons on the one side.
He pushed a button, shifted the dial, took aim.... and nothing. Some lights were flashing, the clip was, as far as he could tell, full, but nothing was happening. He'd picked it up while looking around a gun store, and it'd been thrown in with a rifle cleaning kit he's purchased. After a few failures to do anything, he's starting to suspect why he'd been given it.
In exasperation, he pushes all the buttons and turns the dial all the way up (Or at least he thinks its up.) and takes aim again.
This time, it explodes.
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Post by Elita-1 on Jul 22, 2010 12:00:32 GMT -5
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Elita drums her fingertips on the table as she pours over the scrolls pulled from the alien archive. Scrolls! She was still inwardly gleeing. Paper! Honest to goodness paper covered with ink and someone's actual handwriting with real accounts of events! Not datapads and computer files and memory chips that can be erased or modified or compromised. It made her little wannabe historian's spark glow, it did. Of course, no history is inviolate, and she can't actually read this language....well, except some of these characters look similar to some seriously old school stuff she dug up in the Academy library one day. Oh, hey, this one has illustrations!
She nibbles on her lower lip as she slowly unrolls the scroll; it reads right to left. Umhm. Ummhmm. Ummmmhmm-.... Elita's optics open wide as she stares at the paper, then jumps out of her seat. She snatches up the scroll, hastily rolling it as she dashes out the door and makes a grab for the first person (or three) she sees.
"C'mon! Treasure hunt!"
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Post by Victoria Raines on Jul 22, 2010 12:15:30 GMT -5
Again, since I'm admin, mine aren't likely to be in the actual final picks. But I found it interesting to go back and pull my starters from my apps, partially to see how much the character has evolved since I apped them.
Blackarachnia
Bored. Blackarachnia is terribly bored. These mismatched Decepticons are no better than her own, and the prevailing greater problem of how and why they have all been brought here means there is little enough she can do to further her own cause, getting rid of this foul taint with which she's be saddled.
She is currently perched high atop a tree in the jungle canopy. Heights help her think. Plus, the height helps her watch for prey. Foolish, blundering preys to torment and steal from…like that noisy one crashing through the underbrush across the way.
OOC: Open to wanderers from either faction.
Ravage-I actually have used this one in game
Mrrrr
Ravage pads softly through the ship. He has spent the past days familiarizing himself with its corridors, learning its twists and turns. Learning too, the temperaments and habits of these other Decepticons. They are an odd lot, this group. Unfocused, heretical even in some cases. Ravage is no Lugnut, to preach of his Megatron's glory, but the cat is loyal to his leader nonetheless. This group...their loyalty seems to change as the wind.
He comes to a crossing of the corridors. Which way?
His head comes up, mouth hanging open slightly. He draws in a quick breath of air, tasting it. Ravage tilts his head to the left. His kind. That way. Others too.
He slinks down the left corridor, silent now.
OOC: Open to any 'Cons
Misfire
Misfire is more than a little nervous. He's been practicing, really he has, and thank God for this hard light holo room because otherwise there wouldn't be anything of the city left. He's been slipping in here whenever he could, thinking no one would notice, but he'd been wrong. Now he has to worry every time that someone was lurking over his shoulder, watching, judging….
"Don't know why you bother anyway," a lazy, slightly catty voice drifts up from his side, "We haven't noticeably improved in, oh what? Decades, maybe? Waste of time and effort, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you," Misfire replies, "and if you'd help once in awhile, maybe we could do better than a half degree improvement every 6.5 years. Which is what we've done, if you'd bother to pay attention. Now let's work on in-flight targeting."
Aimless sighs, "Fine. Whatever."
Misfire transforms, Aimless taking up position behind the canopy, and they take to the air. The targets pop up automatically, and Misfire takes aim on the first. The shots go wide though, peppering the area off to the left instead, an area where some very loud and creative cursing is now coming from.
Oh, FRAG!
Botanica
Botanica had claimed the small park a short distance from base as her own. If she wasn't helping Perceptor with his latest works, then she was here, tending to the green. The original landscapers had a good eye for aesthetics, but obviously did not understand what made the plants themselves happy. So she carefully transplanted and pruned as needed. Slowly, the park had transformed under her care. The plants here were so much more hale and hearty, their colors more vibrant than elsewhere in the area. It no longer looked like a city park, but a spot of the wild in the middle of the city. She did not...could not derive the same feelings of pleasure from tending these true organics as she did their technorganic counterparts on her Cybertron. For that matter, these did not respond quite the same. But it was close, close enough to fill the void within her, to replace the lost pieces.
Few sought her out here. Despite the time that had passed, she knew she still unnerved several of the Autobots. That was all right; she used the time to think. Currently, she considered once again the problems of Jetstorm and Thrust. Thrus-Waspinator might be an annoyance, but he is still a trapped spark. And Jetstorm...Jetstorm is Silverbolt. Botanica had still not managed to convince those in charge that the melodramatic Vehicon should not be destroyed.
The sound of footsteps drew her attention; their heavy sound telling her it was one of the larger Autobots, even before he became visible. "If your feet are too large for the path, do keep off the grass," she calls as she heads to edge of the park.
Shockwave
Yet again, Shockwave finds himself drawn to the small sub-station the scouting party had discovered several weeks ago. It had been thought to be power station, at first, but, though it did put out considerable energy readings, there did not seem to be any transmitters for said energy. It certainly wasn't going to the town where the Decepticons had set up their base, or any of the other settlements in range. For that matter, there didn't seem to be a cause for the readings themselves.
He'd been studying it for a while now, but there was no more information to be had. Not without accessing the interior. Which was why he had brought a few...special tools along on this trip. He begins to pull said tools out of his subspace, seemingly oblivious to the other mech who had followed him, and failed so miserably at being sneaky.
Mirage This one is the most interesting to me, as it's been a long time since DZ Mirage was this naive.
He was tired. So very tired of it all. All he'd experienced on this primitive planet was conflict, constant battle between Autobot and Decepticon. Diplomacy and compromise weren't even to be considered. One would think that the mutual need for survival, let alone returning to their respective times would supercede any philosophical differences. Apparently, hatred and distrust were too deeply ingrained in their central processors. Such a pity.
Whenever he was troubled on Cybertron, Mirage would go hunting. Sometime back, he'd noted an area populated by creatures similar to the turbo-foxes he'd stocked on the estate, and it was there he headed now. He had thought that some target practice would clear his head. Instead, it only upset him more.
He knelt down beside the remains of the creature he'd blasted. Small, (but then everything here was small to him), soft, cloaked in a coating with which he was unfamiliar. It was leaking some sort of red fluid and making keening sounds. He'd misjudged the creature's speed, winging it instead of making a clean kill. Its eyes were pain-filled, and Mirage considered for a moment taking it back to the base; perhaps one of the medics could fix it? That's what his fox handler had always done on Cybertron.
As he reached down to pick-up the creature, he heard movement off to his right. He could have made himself invisible; but that would have left the fox-creature to the mercy of whoever was out there. Making his decision, he pointed his rifle toward the sound.
"Don't you know it is terribly rude not to announce oneself properly?"
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