Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 8, 2010 23:19:52 GMT -5
OOC: Day 9, wee hours local Pz-Zazz time. Semi-private.
A little over a day since that unexpected flight training session, itself so soon after the sortie on the Pz-Zazz highway, and Wreckage still moves stiffly, overstressed joints sore, strained cables twanging. Until an hour or two ago, he had yet to stop limping his way around Ship. But his obvious infirmity has been the least of his concerns; remaining in his quarters, thankfully absent his overly talkative bunkmates, occupied his time and attention rather well since Misfire's training ended.
Unfortunately, staying in quarters without rations will not give him the energy he needs to shed this secondary mode and return to normal and he is immensely weary of wearing an aircraft. There are only so many times he can stand to smack his wings into bulkheads and doorjambs, and minding the unfamiliar canards jutting from his dorsal plates has been a trial. The one coincidence that has made this ordeal tolerable is the lack of other Decepticons to be seen aboard. He supposes most of them have gone planetside to enjoy the atmosphere and local colour. Wreckage has had more than his fill of both.
The mess hall is even quieter than other areas of Ship when he arrives; he must have only just missed someone, he guesses, taking in the scattered, empty cubes and other refuse left strewn across the long tables. He makes a disgusted face at the disarray.
"Sloppy," he growls. Fastidiousness has its time and place in his mind; the practise is a waste of effort on the battlefield, of course. In the home base, where they all must ostensibly stay and maintain close proximity to one another without resorting to daily violence over inane things, even a small effort at keeping order carries a great deal of weight. So, in the relative privacy of the empty hall, Wreckage silently tidies up, collecting empty cubes and dumping them into the recycler and tossing other items into the disposal. Hopefully, nothing is volatile or explosive. He doubts he can bribe Hook out of a tirade over any damages by bringing him a corpse.
Once the mess looks less like a squad left in one great rush, Wreckage at last sits, cube in hand, to enjoy his rations in peace and quiet. Knowing that his solitude is doomed to end spoils the mood somewhat; he rumbles discontentedly into his energon, engines – strange to have more than one – thrumming briefly before shutting off.
As if on cue, he hears the doors open. Wreckage sighs, shoulders slumping, and gnaws on the corner of his cube as he glares firmly at the wall.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 11, 2010 17:50:25 GMT -5
Icy vapor drifting off her wings, Skystrike makes her way down the hallway with colorful metal plates tucked under one arm. There had been snoopers outside during her leisurely flight; organic pests in space suits riding orange space bikes. The fellow on monitor duty had alerted her and the sneaks had been dealt with shortly. They'd apparently been trying to steal pieces of the hull from the Ship, which was why she'd decided to take their bikes to repair any damages they'd made. Most of the pieces were still beside the airlock to be sorted through later, but she'd taken a few choice pieces away to fiddle with.
It'd been... strangely relaxing on the near-empty ship. Skystrike had thought it was cabin fever that was driving her insane, but apparently it was simply being around people with cabin fever. With the insanity gone, the Ship seemed to have drifted into a strange state of serenity, only interrupted now and again by petty disputes between the crew that were still on board. It simply wouldn't be a Decepticon ship without some petty disputes, even a mostly unoccupied one.
The door to the mess hall slides open then, interrupting the seeker's contemplation. She steps in, noting another presence in the quiet room and glances over to see who it was, intent on finding a seat away from them to peacefully tinker with the pieces of scrap metal...
Those blue canards were very familiar.
The seeker knew her flight surfaces as well as she knew her own face; better, even, if only because that was where all the identification marks often ended up on in seekers. Seeing her canards pasted onto someone else's back was a bit... disorienting to say the least. In fact, Skystrike stops and stares, completely baffled at the sight- until she begins to register exactly who the canards were attached to.
Between the disturbingly familiar shades of blue, she spots whites and golds and reds that definitely didn't belong to her.
"Wreckage?" she says, more in surprise than greeting.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 12, 2010 11:26:40 GMT -5
Only rarely has Wreckage heard that voice. Skystrike is still familiar enough that he recognises her without turning to look and somehow, knowing she is the one standing there does nothing to improve the situation. She kissed him and he might as well be wearing her fuselage.
Technically, he is wearing her fuselage.
He grunts an affirmative at the Seeker and sets down his cube, then turns just enough on the bench to see her around the edge of the inlet on his shoulder.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 12, 2010 14:47:38 GMT -5
Skystrike was still a little bit stuck on the whole canards thing and she fumbles with the scrap metal pieces when Wreckage turns to look at her. She'd seen him as her alt mode before, but that sight wasn't quite anything like actually seeing him wear pieces of her alt mode. Standing there, clutching at the colorful plates, the seeker stares at him for a moment, taking in all the fuselage bits and Wreckage bits and he looked really kind of...
She straightens and squares her shoulders with an embarrassed vent puff, reorganizing the plates of metal in her arms.
"Wreckage," she says, now in a more formal greeting, before carefully continuing; "... Went for a flight?"
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 12, 2010 15:23:43 GMT -5
Skystrike's reaction seems understandable. Wreckage is festooned with various Berkut parts like morbid armour plates, after all. He can hardly blame her for finding the situation very awkward – and a small, spiteful part of him is glad she does. Payback for that kissing fiasco, he supposes.
Finally, he shrugs and looks away again, staring at the wall and pondering if it would be easier to simply finish his rations and take his leave.
"Training," he mutters. "Misfire's idea."
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 12, 2010 16:58:22 GMT -5
If this was payback, Skystrike wouldn't mind more. Even if it was a very awkward kind of payback. And the seeker is constantly finding her optics drifting back to those canards. They looked way better on Wreckage, really.
"Did it go... well?" Should there be a note of envy in her voice, it was probably just a momentary vocal glitch.
She doesn't sit down quite yet, waiting to see if Wreckage would leave. Understandable, of course. After all, she had kissed him with an idea of the potential repercussions . Albeit, an encounter in the empty mess hall with him wearing her alt mode hadn't really been on the list.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 12, 2010 20:07:35 GMT -5
Wreckage's canards twitch at the question and he sips his energon, worrying the corner of the cube between his tusks a little more. The training was not a total failure, he supposes, as he never died. It was also not the best performance of his life.
"It… went," he answers. He makes no move to refuse her company, but neither does he openly invite her; she is free to do as she likes. At least if she does choose to sit, he can tolerate her longer in his current state of mild agitation than he can tolerate many other Decepticons. Her fascination with kissing him aside. He turns on the bench again, looking her up and down, gaze focusing briefly on the scrap metal she keeps clutching to her cockpit.
What has she been doing? Trophy hunting? What a ridiculously pleasant way to waste time.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 13, 2010 16:52:12 GMT -5
'Went'. Hmm, looks like she might have to have a talk with Misfire whenever the magenta jet should show up. 'Went' should not have been a description of a flight training, especially the first flight training.
Skystrike notices Wreckage eying the scrap metal in her arms and shuffles them a bit, muttering "pest control" by way of explanation. The 'pests' were currently chained the opening of one of the Ship's thrusters to be disposed of a bit later, but Wreckage probably didn't want to hear about tedious chores.
The seeker hesitates a moment longer before quietly walking over and setting the pieces down on the seat opposite of the stryker. Feeling rather conscious of all the other empty seats around them, Skystrike asks; "Can I sit here?"
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 14, 2010 0:44:34 GMT -5
Pest control? Wreckage leaves it at that and says nothing more on the matter; Skystrike's business is her own. She certainly has… constructive hobbies. They bring in materials that might be useful for something. Misfire just drags new planes off for barely practical training.
He looks around the mess hall, then back to Skystrike. Finally, he tilts his head slightly to one side in a pale shadow of a shrug. She can sit wherever she likes.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 14, 2010 18:03:53 GMT -5
Skystrike wouldn't really call it a hobby. It'd been good exercise running the organic vermin down, but hardly engaging. The loot was decent this time at least.
At Wreckage's response, some of the tension eases out of her wings. Skystrike tries not to look too delighted however and quickly goes to get herself a cube of energon. When she returns and settles on her seat, the seeker picks up a piece and inspects it for a moment. Then she starts folding it into a box.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 15, 2010 8:07:03 GMT -5
Wreckage carries on with his own energon while Skystrike fetches herself a cube and gets settled. He does wonder, privately, why she bothered entering the mess at all. That she planned this stop with a load of spoils in her arms seems unreasonable, and she seems a reasonable enough mechanoid. Most of the time. There are far better places to take that much scrap metal. Engineering at the very least, he thinks. Or storage. They must have a storage area on this ship somewhere.
He pauses that line of thought and watches, faintly curious, as Skystrike plays with her catch. A box? Presumably to carry the rest of it, he supposes.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 15, 2010 11:33:39 GMT -5
Skystrike preferred the mess hall, if only because the tables here tended to be emptier (well, when there wasn't hordes of off-duty Decepticons around). Engineering was good for messier projects with welding and molten metal to worry about. Folding metal was relatively tame. She did have to move the rest of her catch there later though.
Finishing with the box, she leaves that on the table and unsubspaces some coils, wires and a box of screws. Glancing up, she sees Wreckage watching curiously and pauses, feeling faintly embarrassed at herself. Here she was, with Wreckage being terribly attractive across the table... while she was hiding behind doing more work. It wasn't even terribly important work either, just a minor nuisance that needed dealing with.
Picking up another piece, the berkut fiddles with it for a moment before.... well, before ducking her head and going back to work. Sometimes Skystrike wishes she'd be programmed with better social skills.
"... Are the wings comfortable?"
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 15, 2010 12:22:41 GMT -5
"They hit things," is Wreckage's candid, stilted answer, expression almost prim. He hardly notices them at all when walls and doors are removed from the equation; the wings are extended body parts and nothing more, and they merit much the same attention as any properly functioning limb. Really, he pays more mind to his weapons.
Skystrike's work also garners more of his interest than his wings. Is she building something coherent? Crafting a sculpture? He blinks at the box, then the tangle of other parts she pulled, then looks at her questioningly.
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Post by Skystrike/Skylar Stringers on Jul 15, 2010 19:52:40 GMT -5
Recalling a few rather unfortunate incidents from her fresh paint days, Skystrike smiles wryly. "Takes time to get used to them." At least Wreckage was safely grounded and not in danger of flying into buildings and exploding in a fatal combination of speed and volatile fuel.
... Right.
"Someone brought a small animal onboard," she rumbles at Wreckage's questioning look, taking out a hole puncher before starting to piece everything together. It was probably a lot less exciting than whatever Wreckage had thought it was.
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Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
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Post by Wreckage on Jul 16, 2010 22:36:35 GMT -5
So she is building a cage.
"Hn. Killing it would be simpler," murmurs Wreckage, still watching the work; he has no input on the construction itself and Skystrike is doing a respectable job of it in his estimation. He has no further input on his difficulties in adaptation, either.
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