Tasha Walker
Minor
She's got legs, she knows how to use them. She never begs, she knows how to choose them.
Posts: 430
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Post by Tasha Walker on Jul 15, 2011 19:09:23 GMT -5
OOC: Month 5, Week 2, Day 1, semi-private, mention of player presence with permission.
"...you know, I think I just might throttle him if I ever see him again," Blackarachnia murmurs as she works, "This was one of the silliest, stupidest things...."
She looks up at Scourge, "We don't have much more left to do. And if you trash him immediately after we bring him back online, you and are going to have a Conversation." Yes, the capital C is pronounced. Serious spider is serious!
"Looks like it's all you for this next bit, Flame."
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Jul 20, 2011 18:05:07 GMT -5
Flame tactfully remains silent and out of the conversation between Scourge and Blackarachnia; not only has he nothing to contribute, he doesn't really care how they snipe at each other while he has a patient before him. And quite the patient he has been!
At Blackarachnia's go-ahead, the smile Flame gives his patient is a serene one, so becalmed that it looks out of place on him, ill-fitted. Nevertheless, he smiles, and murmurs at an unintelligibly low level to his patient while he works.
"You'll only be loose for a moment," he reassures the odd, remarkable little core as he slowly, carefully frees it from its former home. "Only a moment, so no flitting away on me. I'd simply find you again." With the utmost care despite all he's heard about the durability of these things, he gingerly lifts the core and cradles it in both hands – in this moment steady and elegant – then turns to settle it into its new body. This is so much less complicated than working with fickle, flickering sparks and fragile brain modules. Different in many ways, but simpler in others. He reconnects it even more quickly than he disconnected it in the first place, watching the monitors rather than his own hands. It isn't his fingers that merit observation; he trusts them, for they know their work.
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Post by Sable Conolly on Jul 22, 2011 15:29:25 GMT -5
"If you have done your job properly, Blackarachnia, you will have no need to throttle him, ever... and I ought not need to thrash him. If there is a thrashing, it will be because you failed," Scourge replies, glaring just a little. He's been in a foul temper during the entire process, annoyed as any disgruntled expectant father. There will be no cy-gars bandied about today.
At least letting the former Autobot - Flame, that is - live seems to have worked out well enough. If this works, Scourge can suffer that Flame talks to disembodied laser cores like they can hear him. Competence excuses many faults.
Scourge paces, arms crossed.
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Tasha Walker
Minor
She's got legs, she knows how to use them. She never begs, she knows how to choose them.
Posts: 430
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Post by Tasha Walker on Jul 23, 2011 23:52:48 GMT -5
The spider's lips quirk up slightly. Oh yes, she should never have need to throttle this one. The problem with asking someone to muck about with another person's programming is that it's so easy to slip in additions. Especially if the original requester doesn't know how to read code.
However..., "I was talking about throttling Hook. I can understand wanting such an asset to himself, but really," Blackarachnia dismissively waves her hand, "This is a bit much."
She stays out of the way as Flame does his work, but she watches. Oh, how she watches. Watches and wishes for that natural skill, wishes it were so easy for her as merely exchanging one body for another.
"It will take him a short time to reboot and engage all his systems. I did build in a longer delay between cognitive and motor functions. I'll tweak it later, but I thought it prudent for now."
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Jul 28, 2011 19:59:39 GMT -5
The quiet reassurances are a far cry from the frantic pleading and frustrated raging that marked Flame's first forays into this sort of technical work. For a moment, his own broken screams echo in the back of his mind and his placid expression falters; he scowls at the monitors, briefly, optics darkening to a nearly lucid cobalt. Then the readings stabilise and his consternation evaporates.
"Success," he sighs, pleased.
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Post by Sable Conolly on Jul 31, 2011 20:18:20 GMT -5
"Constructicons do nothing by halves," Scourge observes. Did they not construct the Megatron of their reality? He's pretty sure that Blackarachnia hasn't actually done what he asked her to do, which is unfortunate for the patient in question, but it'll be unfortunate for her, too, should it ever happen to come up. They'd both better hope it doesn't.
When Flame reports his success, Scourge commands, "Then bring him to life."
He's still keeping the call-codes for his blade in the forefront of his mind, in case this science has gone wrong.
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Tasha Walker
Minor
She's got legs, she knows how to use them. She never begs, she knows how to choose them.
Posts: 430
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Post by Tasha Walker on Jul 31, 2011 23:02:23 GMT -5
Blackarachnia shudders. "No, they don't." She still has the memory of those others skittering through her processors. So unsettling. It's why she's avoided the Constructicons as much as possible since.
"All right. Let's see what we can see. Flame, be ready in case we have a failure and we need to pull him back out."
OOC: I am thinking now is a good point for Assault to post in.
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Aug 1, 2011 19:30:17 GMT -5
Flame dares a brief, archly curious sort of look in Scourge's direction – not quite directly at him. That would be insubordinate.
"He is alive," says the expatriate in a nearly inaudible murmur, with the intensity of madness. "He will not die. Nothing will go wrong." Even as he intones the words like some arcane rite, as if commanding reality to obey him, he opens the power feed and initiates the boot sequence. He will rip this spirit back from the aether with his bare hands if he must, for he won't let another life escape him.
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Post by Assault/Arthur Aldrin on Aug 1, 2011 20:00:09 GMT -5
The boot up proceeds quickly and without a problem. Blackarachnia did her work well, for he has gained a new...Understanding of how things work. Even if he may not realize it.
It does not take long before his cognitive functions return, either. His optics come to life with an orange blaze, quickly followed by by his hands moving, pushing himself up from the slab and then moving to stand up. But something feels wrong. He has been in such a situation before, but things are different now. He feels heavier. Are his systems still calibrating? No, they check out fine. But they are up to a whole new standard! In fact, he felt better than he had before!
When he speaks, it is still with a dignified voice, but it is no longer that of someone a young and pompous, instead older and confident. "Ahhh, I have been trapped in that accursed frame for far too long! Our type is simply not meant to be burdened with wings!"
What turns to face them is not a Seeker. Instead, it is the work that Hook started, and to which he added the finishing touches over the past few months. Wings and intakes have been replaced by cannons and wheels, average armor replaced by thicker plating that is far more durable.
It is a form far more fitting for someone who bears the name 'Assault'. But his part in this story is over.
"Now then, since I am no longer hiding my plate behind a mask, allow me to reintroduce myself!"
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Post by Onslaught/Octavian Comstock on Aug 1, 2011 20:01:17 GMT -5
"I am Onslaught, commander of the Combaticons, at your service, Lord Scourge."
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Post by Sable Conolly on Aug 6, 2011 21:02:07 GMT -5
Do Constructicons bother her? Scourge gives Blackarachnia an arch look, ignoring whatever issue it is that Flame is having.
"Our type," Scourge says, with a hint of humour, looking around the room. Why yes, they are all ground-pounders! Better work on getting that car mode back, spider.
He takes a step closer and withdraws his Sword of Fury, holding it loosely, his bearing speculative. Scourge holds out his free hand in a 'come here' gesture, and he commands, "Kneel, Onslaught."
Now to see just how well Blackarachnia's programming worked.
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Tasha Walker
Minor
She's got legs, she knows how to use them. She never begs, she knows how to choose them.
Posts: 430
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Post by Tasha Walker on Aug 7, 2011 15:23:13 GMT -5
Blackarachnia feels no small amount of pride as Onslaught comes online. He's impressive in his correct body, she must admit. Not as impressive as her beau, but Onslaught is still a fine figure of a vehicle. One who, thanks to having to finish off his rebuild, she knows very intimately.
She smiles slightly at Scourge's display. He needn't worry. Onslaught will be loyal to Scourge above everyone else.
Well. Almost everyone else.
"Good work, Flame," she says.
Skippable unless addressed.
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Aug 10, 2011 21:01:03 GMT -5
It's only a small scrap of praise for a basic piece of work, and it comes from a source he finds dubious at best but praise it is all the same. Flame is quite pleased to accept it as his due and he looks, for that moment, content with his life – and even a touch smug.
OOC: Skippable unless/until addressed.
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Post by Onslaught/Octavian Comstock on Aug 11, 2011 15:11:07 GMT -5
There was a time when that order would have been met with a scoff. But not now. For a second, he hesitates, a dull part in the back of his mind saying...Something. But it passes quickly, and without hesitation he steps forward and kneels before him, bowing his head. "Your will is my command, Lord Scourge."
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Post by Sable Conolly on Aug 13, 2011 21:23:08 GMT -5
Scourge raises the Sword of Fury up high, letting the harsh, sterile laboratory lights glint off its edge.
Then he brings it swiftly plummeting down towards Onslaught's neck. In the instant before the sharp, cruel edge can kiss unblemished metal, Scourge watches for a flinch. He watches for rebellion, for insubordination, for some trace of even a survival instinct.
There is none.
Scourge's grip on the sword shifts, and no cut comes. Instead, he just soundly thumps Onslaught on his shoulder with the flat of the blade. He growls out, evidently satisfied, "Rise a Decepticon, Onslaught."
OOC: Head for a wrap, I suppose, now that the purpose of this thread has been served? Smacking and lack of flinches run by Onslaught's player.
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