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Post by Mayday/Maddox Wayne on Feb 23, 2010 16:12:02 GMT -5
Day 5, open thread!
Mayday is on a mission. A mission that has actually managed to drag him from relative safety of the Event Horizon out into the wretched insides of the sorry hunk of metal they dare to call a space station that the ship has docked with. Of course, a few steps onto the station threaten to send him scurrying back to collapse on his buck in a gibbering heap.
The place is just so... filthy. Literally and metaphorically. He swears that if he were to run a finger down one of the walls it would come away covered in a layer of grime. And the people! The seething masses of dirty, smelly, sweating, sneering, leaking, laughing, coughing, shouting, leering, organic, robotic, and most probably diseased people. They make his plating crawl.
But he cringes bravely onward through the crowd, because he is determined to equip himself- er, the Event Horizon with a shuttle that is not a person! And to produce a shuttle one needs resources. Resources that he doesn't have.
Which is why he's wandering through a seedy space station with a sign reading "Grade A mechanic: Will work for spare parts" (in several common languages) hanging around his neck.
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Post by SceneMod on Feb 25, 2010 12:57:16 GMT -5
Due to Mayday's rather... novel approach to working the job market, he gets more amused or confused looks than actual job offers.
After he's been wandering for some time, he's approached. Which is to say that an oozing, clear, gelatinous blob that resembles nothing so much as a giant amoeba starts to move in his general direction, leaving a clear trail sparking behind it in the dim lights of the space station.
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Post by Mayday/Maddox Wayne on Feb 25, 2010 19:54:37 GMT -5
Marketing himself has never been one of Mayday's strong points. Working the shipyards was just his place in the great big Autobot machine, and when he first started piloting he'd put out the Cybertronian equivalent of a newspaper ad. He's not sure if this space station has an equivalent of a newspaper to puts ads in, and running an ad would probably cost more than he can afford anyway. Thus he resorts to begging for work.
Spotting the amoeba alien, Mayday first attempts to edge away casually, one optic ticking slightly as he takes in the slime trail it leaves behind. When he finally realizes that it is, in fact, heading towards him, he turns towards his prospective customer and tries to give it his best smile. He ends up looking more like he's grimacing than anything.
"Greetings, uh, sir. Or ma'am. Or, um, other. Nnh." Cringe. "Is there anything I might help you with? That, er, involves repairing things, anyway. Mechanical things, that is. Because I'm a mechanic. Like, uh... It says... on the sign." He lapses into silence, resisting the urge to smack himself upside the head.
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Post by SceneMod on Feb 26, 2010 9:13:40 GMT -5
Fortunately, giant sapient amoebae don't have much of a natural instinct when it comes to interpreting facial expressions.
The thing blurbles, "Excelblent. Web canblt get ourb shblip's main engblems online. Web habble a mebblechanic of ourb own, but its stumblet."
So it is apparently a talking, reading ameoba.
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Post by Mayday/Maddox Wayne on Feb 26, 2010 13:40:32 GMT -5
Mayday stares blankly at the burbling amoeba as he attempts to understand what it just said. Finally the proverbial light bulb blinks on, and he returns to grinning queasily.
"Engine problems! Stumped. Gotcha," he says. "I can probably help with that! I'm good with engines. Most engines. As long as they don't involve some sort of strange transwarp technology, because that's a level of physics that's way over my head-" No Mayday, don't talk about your limitations when trying to sell your skills. "Right! I've built engines from scratch, you know! In a cave. With a bunch of scraps."
"Uh, speaking of scaps, what are you offering as pay here?"
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Post by SceneMod on Feb 28, 2010 22:00:49 GMT -5
"Well, web werble going to pay inble shanix, blurt if youble prebfer parts and scrabs," the thing undulates, possibly its equivilent to a shrug.
"Web habble stores for trade. Parts. Web can leb you look thrrrough?"
Granted, plain old money has its uses, too!
On the other hand, the money may be a better idea idea.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Mar 1, 2010 6:21:48 GMT -5
Ever the perfect image of normalcy, Phobia weaves through the crowds, symbol-less and yellow opticked for the time being. A lot of his kibble was missing too, subspaced to make room for the grey pants and brown, wear-worn long jacket he was wearing. He'd never been much of an explorer, but lounging around on the ship seemed far less appealing and he'd become restless during the stagnant silence of space travel. There was also the minor issue of him running out of hiding places, but that will have to be a problem he'll deal with after they moved on from Pz-Zazz. For now, there was an opening for a psychologist a few blocks away and he was curious enough to see what the general mental state of Pz-Zazzians was like... Phobia looks up, catching a glimpse of blue. It was too bright to be anything local and it certainly wasn't a Decepticon shade of blue. Sidestepping a giant saurian, the bike-former moves in for a closer look, stopping next to a storefront under the guise of fiddling with his gloves. He could duck in there if the fellow should spot him. //There's a 'Grade A' Autobot mechanic out here,// he says softly over the radio, quiet amusement in his voice.
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Post by Breakaway on Mar 2, 2010 19:53:24 GMT -5
S2 Intro
As might be expected in a crowded hallway at subsonic speed, one can hear Breakaway coming before one sees him. The first thing one might perceive is the clanking of large metal feet, accompanied by such utterances as "Excuse me, pardon me," and "whoops, sorry!" Finally, anyone listening hears the brief firing of a jet engine and "Low bridge! . . . Ow!" before the tan camo'd jetformer jogs into view, rubbing the top of his cockpit and muttering "That's a horrible place for a bulkhead." Never mind that the bulkheads are evenly spaced along the halls of the station.
Noticing Mayday (and the Autobot symbol in the center of his chest) and his apparent distress at the big amoeboid, he saunters over. "You okay, pal?"
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Post by Mayday/Maddox Wayne on Mar 4, 2010 10:57:28 GMT -5
Another pause as Mayday mentally filters out the garble, lengthened as he considers the costs and benefits of the different forms of payment. There are pros and cons for both, really. So, instead of making a decision he just shrugs and says, "Hey, I'm fine with whatever you guys are fine with! Uh, so long as payment is equal value, either way."
He's considering asking how much is being offered in exchange for his services, when his attention is gradually draw by Breakaway's exceptionally loud approach. He lets out an unmanly squeak as Breakaway spots him and heads over, because 'big and flight-capable' still equates with 'Decepticon' in his mind, but his processors quickly catch up with his knee-jerk reaction and smack it down with a 'I'm pretty sure I've seen this guy on the ship'.
So, when Breakaway reaches him and inquires as to his well-being, Mayday is able to casually respond with an, "Oh, sure. Just discussing business with this... this, uh..." He has no idea what's a polite way to refer to a giant ambulatory amoeba. "Er, prospective employer."
Of course, Mayday's version of casual is to look only moderately nervous, as opposed to quaking-in-his-plating nervous. At least he's not making strange noises of distress.
Not being the most observant 'Bot for anything outside of his imagined personal space, Phobia and his clever clothes-wearing disguise goes unnoticed. Maybe Mayday would get more prospective employers if he was wearing pants.
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Post by SceneMod on Mar 4, 2010 12:22:23 GMT -5
Maybe, but this particular prospective employer isn't wearing pants, either!
"It ib reabonable to expebct fair pay forb fair work," the ameoba says, undulating in a manner that may or may not be a shrug. "Thib ib yourb asssistant?" he asks, possibly meaning Breakaway.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Mar 4, 2010 17:51:29 GMT -5
No answer on the radio. A new fellow then.
Phobia checks his chronometer; he had some time left before he had to leave. Initially that had been for exploration but he could set aside some time to study the enemy. Any meager amount of information he could glean from them helped build a better picture of the Autobots here-
Oh, look, another one. Looks like the picture is going to be a get a bit more detail than he'd planned. Phobia mentally notes down the resulting unmanly squeak the new presence induces.
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Post by Breakaway on Mar 4, 2010 21:32:56 GMT -5
Breakaway cocks his head to one side. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." At the question from the amoeba, he looks between it and Mayday. "Do you need an assistant?" he asks. "I'm not exactly skilled labor at anything but combat, but I'm sure I can, um. . ." he looks over Mayday again ". . . reach shelves," he finishes lamely.
The jet also fails his spot check to notice Phobia. Kibble-less clothed robot? There are probably a dozen others around.
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Post by Mayday/Maddox Wayne on Mar 6, 2010 16:57:04 GMT -5
There are two ways this can go: Mayday can tell Breakaway to buzz off and go alone with a strange organic creature he has no reason to trust, to a ship of unknown safety (and cleanliness) where he'd be at the mercy of the ship's crew as he attempts to fix their engine, with only his own minimal strength, plasma torch, and cleaning supplies to protect him...
... Or he could take along this relatively large, strong-looking Autobot who appears to have reasonable hygiene and is skilled in combat. The choice is obvious.
"Of course you're my assistant! You're a nice, strong 'Bot, perfect for heavy lifting, and uh..." Protecting Mayday's skinny aft from the potential terrors of a ship of sentient amoebae? "Well, lifting things. All good engineers need lifters! Really."
He gives Breakaway a pleading look, but it comes out looking more desperate than anything.
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Post by SceneMod on Mar 6, 2010 21:59:30 GMT -5
The terrifying sapient amoeba undulates again. Whatever. Works for him.
"Theb shlibp is down thib way," the creature replies, turning and sliding down the corridor, once more leaving a trail of slime behind it. Coincidently, it is heading in the direction where Phobia is watching from.
The thing is silent for a moment, then says, tentatively, as if unsure how to bring up the subject, "Ib abmit, web werble reluctanblt to ask... solibs forb help. Ib... do hope yourb... clean?"
Yes. The creature leaving a glistening trail behind it is worried that the robots might be dirty.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Mar 7, 2010 19:36:01 GMT -5
Kibble-ess clothed robots were indeed quite common. And prone to giving you odd looks because you were naked. As odd looks were one of Phobia's many dislikes and a cause of great misery in his existence, the first thing the dark bike did was flee into the nearest clothes shop.
He was still getting used to the pants.
... Oh, dear, they were moving over here. Phobia snaps the button on his right glove into place, contemplating his current position. Should he move or simply stay here and pretend not to notice them? They certainly hadn't noticed him -yet - but if they spotted him around too much they could start to get suspicious. On the other hand, the best hiding places tended to be right under people's noses.
He could always give this lot an odd look if he was spotted.
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