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Post by SceneMod on Apr 8, 2010 22:53:05 GMT -5
Behind the counter is an obviously elderly woman in a smartly starched blue uniform. Her hair is a short, choppy and blonde, her make-up thick, her lips bright reed. Her skin has the look of old worn leather, and her eyes are bright and calculating. A cigarette dangles from her lips. She's sitting on a stool, but the counter still seems to dwarf her.
She seems incapable of smiling.
In a raspy voice she answers, "Depends. What you boys need?"
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Post by Jetfire (Ani) on Apr 11, 2010 12:24:51 GMT -5
Just before they enter, Jetfire smirks at his twin. //Yes! I am betting I am being better actor.//
Following Jetstorm in, he puts on his best worried puppy dog eyes, mouth turning down into a distraught frown. Hovering - not literally - by his brother's shoulders, he stares sadly down at the ticket in his hands, firmly resisting the urge to burst into giggles.
"W-we are receiving these, but F-father-" Hopefully the hitch in his breath comes across more as a sob than suppressing laughter. "-He is not giving us money to pay for things, and he is m-m-missing."
Jetfire attempts to dial his sad-eyed expression up to Puss-in-Boots levels.
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Post by Jetstorm (Ani) on Apr 12, 2010 5:23:16 GMT -5
Jetfire appears to have it either easier or harder than his brother - he has actual individual optics, rather than a visor. On one hand, it seems like it would be easier to look sad with them. On the other, it's easier to tell if you're faking.
Jetstorm nods as his brother replies to the woman, adding his own quavering supplement - "Y-yeah...we are needing to be finding father so we aren't getting in more trouble - we didn't even mean to be breaking r-rules, we were just trying to find him..." Jetstorm bites his lower lip.
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Post by SceneMod on Apr 12, 2010 10:54:34 GMT -5
The old cop leans over the counter and snatches the tickets out of Jetfire's hands. After settling back down on her stool, she gives the document a very thorough once over and snorts.
"Damn flyboys, never bother to check the rules before they break them," she mutters, then says louder, "Bet you got one too, huh, Bluebell? Well, hand it over."
The cop-whose badge reads "Cell-Ma"- leans back over the counter and hold out her hand. As she does so, she noticed the Elite Guard symbols on the boys' hips. She scowls. There isn't a report that comes through the precinct that she doesn't read (or through the department as a whole really). And that symbol was an identifier on a big trouble maker from yesterday.
"You boys don't look so young as you make out, but looks don't mean much on Pz-Zazz. Fine's gotta be paid, one way or another, though I suppose someone might be able to help you find your 'Father' in the meantime. Go sit." She waves at some chairs against the wall, then picks up the telephone.
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Post by Jetfire (Ani) on Apr 14, 2010 10:18:13 GMT -5
"But how am I knowing to look for rule if I am not knowing there is rule to break?" Jetfire pouts. He would not get far assuming that everything he does might break a rule, like yawning in public, or walking on a certain side of the sidewalk, or...
He seems to forget that while flying might be a normal form of locomotion for him it still isn't even normal in his home dimension.
"Yes ma'am." He nods at Cell-Ma and goes to sit down. To his brother he sends, //This is turning out well so far, yes?//
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Post by Jetstorm (Ani) on Apr 14, 2010 17:07:01 GMT -5
Jetstorm nods to Cell-Ma, handing over his ticket, then following his brother to sit.
Once he's sitting, Jetstorm glances around, keeping his dejected face on while he does so. //I am hoping so, brother.//
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Post by SceneMod on Apr 15, 2010 11:15:02 GMT -5
"All rules and regulations, including required permits, are posted at all ports and terminals," the old lady intones, impatiently drumming her fingers on the desk. Of course, they are posted in tiny print, in high traffic areas that don't allow for people to be able to stop and read them, but that's neither here not there.
Eventually, someone does answer her call, and she has a quick conversation in language which is not the common and more or less easily understood tongue that most use here. She hangs up, then seems to dismiss the jetboys as she picks up a crossword puzzle.
About forty-five minutes later, a burly detective in a grey trenchcoat and a fedora comes stomping into the station. He glares at Cell-Ma, who, without looking up from her crossword, waves at the twins seated at the wall. The bog cop's head swings toward them.
"Great. More troublemakers," he yanks his toothpick out of his mouth, "Knew that both lots was trouble, no matter what sign they got painted on. So, you two gonna flip out and and start yellin' about spiders like yer dear old Dad?"
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Post by Jetfire (Ani) on Apr 17, 2010 15:33:40 GMT -5
Jetfire sits up straight as the burly cop turns to them. He frowns slightly at being called a troublemaker - they were not meaning to cause trouble! This planet is just confusing - but doesn't comment on it. Instead he just shakes his head and says, "Flipping is fun, but it is being easier simply to walk out."
He's not being a smart-ass, just confused.
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Post by Jetstorm (Ani) on Apr 19, 2010 12:52:39 GMT -5
"Spiders...?" Jetstorm mumbles, standing up. "No, we are not being afraid of the bugs like him."
Then he glances at Jetfire, then at the building. "Yes, building is too short for doing good flips."
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Post by SceneMod on Apr 19, 2010 23:00:58 GMT -5
One eye twitches at Jetfire's unintentional flippancy. The big cop's fingers flex, and then he reaches and grabs each of the twins by the arm, yanking them off the seats.
"Firkin' robots! Fine, I'll take you to your 'Dad'!"
Buul'ock drags the twins (kicking and possibly screaming, most likely) out the door, down the steps, and then tosses them into the back of his squad car. Buul'ock gets in the front seat, switches on his lights, and peels out into the night.
OOC: Manhandling the jetbois done with permission. Once in the car, the twins' radios will not work. So if they want to phone home, they better do it quick.
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Post by Jetfire (Ani) on Apr 20, 2010 21:29:34 GMT -5
Jetfire squawks in protest at the sudden manhandling, but manages to keep his balance well enough with an acrobat's grace. He still sprawls a little when shoved into the back seat of the squad car, but quickly rights himself, pouting at the back of Buul'ock's head.
"You are not needing to be so rough. We were wishing to go with you!"
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Post by Jetstorm (Ani) on Apr 21, 2010 16:41:19 GMT -5
Jetstorm's reaction is similar to Jetfire's at the surprise hamfisted relocation, taking a moment longer to right himself in the back of the car. "Yes, brother is being right!"
He attempts to radio Jetfire to grumble against Buul'ock, but he then realizes that something isn't right.
Phooey, so much for backbiting.
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Post by SceneMod on Apr 21, 2010 17:22:27 GMT -5
Buul'ock turns his head and snaps, "Shet up, will ya! Yeesh, firkin'..." his words turn to unintelligible grumbles as he starts up the car and pulls into traffic.
It takes awhile to actually get to Arakāham Asylum, situated as it is on the city outskirts. It's an ugly building, surrounded by iron and barbed wire. It's dingy, the courtyard poorly lit, and seems all around an unpleasant place.
There's even an obligatory flash of artificial lightening as the pull up. never let it be said that the people of Pz-Zazz don't know how to play to a trope.
Once parked. Buul'ock attempts to drag the twins out of the car, up the stairs and into the lobby. If he can't drag them, he will make sure they at least follow him. A quick stop at the desk to confirm the cell number, and the group will continue on their way.
When they reach their destination, a guard stationed in that block opens the cell door.
Buul'ock jabs a thumb at the opening. "In there."
There should be a rather worse for wear Sentinel Prime inside.
OOC: If you two can give Sentinel a chance to post in before posting again, that would be grand.
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Apr 23, 2010 11:21:08 GMT -5
The cell is dark, very dark, darker than it should be.
The set-in overhead lights have been extinguished, and the only light in the room comes from weakly glowing strands of... something that covers the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. The wan, flickering glow is a pale, pale blue, shot through with navy, harsh against the dirty white padding.
The strands come in two kinds, runners, which all radiate back to one dark corner, and crossbars, which connect the runners, in jagged concentric rings, making a toothed circular pattern, that would be familiar to anyone who has ever seen a certain shield... or a spider's web.
In the corner of the cell, the shreds of a straight-jacket that seems to have been burst from within around him, is Sentinel Prime, crouched, battlemask down. His optic band is darkened, shot through with the same ill navy that permeates the webbing - ah his forcefield, just extruded thinly and wide, rather than shaped into a bubble or a tower shield.
He doesn't make a move, as if he hasn't even noticed that the cell is open, but his fingers are down on the floor, where the runner webbing all meets at the centre, like a man who has painted himself into a corner.
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Post by Jetfire (Ani) on Apr 25, 2010 12:39:46 GMT -5
Any annoyance Jetfire had at being dragged about by Buul'ock is quickly washed away with a glance into Sentinel's cell.
"Ah, Sentinel Prime, sir!" he says, staring in shock. To see his drill sergeant in such a state!
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