Cannonball
Minor
Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
Posts: 470
|
Post by Cannonball on May 15, 2008 22:59:40 GMT -5
Some time after leaving the swamps, our intrepid trio comes upon the grasslands, and with that, a small settlement - the equivalent of a one-stoplight town. With that comes a fueling station, which our questers are in high desire of! ----------
Cannonball rolls along behind Wreckage with an Insecticon in-tow on his roof, soon spotting what looks like a small town. And with it, a place to refuel!
"Oi, Shrapnel! Wake up!" With this, Cannonball flicks his sirens on for a moment, like a cop pulling someone over. "Thar be something most interestin' up ahead!"
|
|
Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
|
Post by Wreckage on May 22, 2008 19:02:40 GMT -5
Wreckage has been barrelling along at the blistering speed of 100 kilometers per hour since leaving the swamp without complaint. His pace cannot be helped, after all, and griping about it would avail him nothing. Perhaps his significant lack of colour commentary makes him poor company for long road trips. It never seemed to bother the other members of his squads in the past… except Bonecrusher. There was – is? – nothing in existence that was not somehow a thorn in that mechanoid's side.
Besides, when Cannonball can spew enough nonsense chatter for all three party members, Wreckage hardly sees the point in contributing. In fact, he need not even announce the upcoming town squatting low on the grasslands; Cannonball takes care of that for him. Convenient.
The social part has been covered, so Wreckage simply steers off the main roadway and down the exit ramp toward that fuelling station; he notes its location for proper mapping later. Privately, he appreciates the chance to stop, even for a short while.
|
|
|
Post by Shrapnel on May 23, 2008 13:34:57 GMT -5
Sudden loud sounds right in his audials! Shrapnel shrieks, at a level only slightly lower than he does his battle cries at. Perhaps it's only heard as far as seven miles around rather than eight.
Chomp.
The Insecticon takes a large bite out of Cannonball's roof and chews noisily. "We're in fallow farmland, farmland. Why didn't you say so earlier?"
---
Biting of Cannonball done with player permission.
|
|
Cannonball
Minor
Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
Posts: 470
|
Post by Cannonball on May 23, 2008 15:12:06 GMT -5
For a few moments, one can hear Cannonball snickering to himself at Shrapnel's scream.
Then, the bedding bug bites.
"YEEEEOOOOOW!" The sharp pain from that causes the pirate to swerve to the left and back to the right, almost hitting the side of the exit ramp. "Ye ornery blighter! I oughta--Eh?" He pauses a moment at the question, straightening back up on the road. "S'jus' a buncha dirt, nothin' notable aboot it."
|
|
Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
|
Post by Wreckage on May 29, 2008 4:30:10 GMT -5
That piercing shriek is more than enough to reach Wreckage over the roar of his own engine. It is more than enough to set off some of his sensors, as well, and he throws on the brakes with a long, loud, low groan of parts and machinery straining against the force; cutting his momentum at full speed is invariably a tug-of-war with physics itself. Now is no different and it is only more bothersome when he wants to stop quickly.
//I will go back there and break the two of you up,// he declares warningly while his brakes keen.
|
|
|
Post by Shrapnel on May 29, 2008 22:30:47 GMT -5
"Where this is farmland, there are granaries, granaries!" Shrapnel declares as he glides off of Cannonball's roof. The Insecticon hovers in mid-air briefly, before zipping off towards the tiny approximation of a town.
|
|
Cannonball
Minor
Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
Posts: 470
|
Post by Cannonball on May 30, 2008 14:54:07 GMT -5
Cannonball's shocks are glad to have the bug off of him, and he swerves around the stopping Wreckage before returning the radio call.
//He's th' one who can't appreciate a proper wake-up call. Wouldn't last two cycles on my ship... Either way, he's takin' off fer grain or somethin'.// What would a robot do with grain?
//C'mon, lad! Station's not that far!//
|
|
Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
|
Post by Wreckage on Jun 2, 2008 21:34:02 GMT -5
This is Wreckage. This is Wreckage resisting the urge to fire a warning volley across Cannonball's front end. His company alternately baffles and irritates him; is it possible for any Decepticons to restrain themselves from disputes this pathetic? They could at least try to start a fight over something more substantial, like ration theft or kill-stealing. He has seen some of his fellow warriors throw the most magnificent fits over kill-stealing.
Now, he has also seen a fellow Decepticon bite another over a rude awakening, and the victim complain about retaliation.
//I am aware of the remaining distance,// he answers Cannonball flatly. //And Shrapnel chooses to live in a swamp. I can only speculate on his reasoning for that or why he must locate grain, and I prefer not to do so.// It is a simple philosophy: Wreckage does not pry into others' business and he does not allow others to pry into his. If only others could be as disinterested. He cannot outpace the smaller, faster vehicle, so he merely slows as needed to avoid running over Cannonball while steering into the station lot and easing to a stop just short of the charging stands.
His transformation is slower than usual, measured and cautious to deposit the sensor arrays as carefully as he can without the aid of fine manipulators. He rises to his feet and stares after Shrapnel as the Insecticon heads deeper into the minuscule municipality.
//…Will you require assistance?//
|
|
|
Post by Shrapnel on Jun 5, 2008 22:10:01 GMT -5
//And you couldn't last two days in my swamp, swamp!// The demons would get inside Cannonball's head and make him think right was left, black was white, and soon have him denying his own existence. Kickback and Bombshell were annoying like that.
//No, no, assistance!// The Insecticon spots something that might be a granary and drops lightly on top of the roof.
The roof, being a contrary roof, collapses underneath him. Distantly, the others might hear a crash and a squawk of dismay. They may, if they are looking in the correct direction, see an upsurge of dust in the air.
"I meant to do that, do that," Shrapnel mutters as he picks himself up off the floor and surveys what he's found. Meh. Not grain. Just a lot of egg-shaped metal ovoids, beeping softly in the gloom.
|
|
Cannonball
Minor
Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
Posts: 470
|
Post by Cannonball on Jun 6, 2008 11:32:21 GMT -5
//Tell me somethin' I don' know already,// Cannonball spouts back, laughing in a good-natured manner. Not that he'd WANT to try to make it two days in that swamp. The time they spent there was more than enough for him.
Cannonball transforms once he's at the station, digging around in subspace for a few moments, finding the fuel convertor that Shockwave supplied the pair with. "'Ere, I got th' energon-makin' thing." Calling up the operation instructions, the pirate sets to hooking up the station's energy supply to the device, switching it on.
"Thar we go. It'll be a coupla cycles, though."
|
|
Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
|
Post by Wreckage on Jun 10, 2008 9:42:01 GMT -5
"Hn." Shrapnel needs no assistance and Cannonball has the fuel covered. Wreckage half-shrugs to himself and folds down to take a seat and wait. Those repair twinges are starting to fire through his shoulder, a crawling, itching sensation he only notices in still moments like this. His leg will take longer, he determines, eyeing the burns and the warped, partially melted edges and vertices of his armour.
That muffled racket garners a blink and a tilt of his head, little more. No assistance is needed; none will be provided. Shrapnel is not screaming, at least so far as Wreckage can tell, so the front-liner can only assume damage is minimal.
//Difficulties…?// he wonders idly instead while he watches the converter work.
|
|
|
Post by Shrapnel on Jun 11, 2008 23:47:10 GMT -5
The beeping comes more rapidly from the egg-shaped ovoids, and the lights on the nearest few blink into different configurations on the panel, changing color and position.
Shrapnel looks at them curiously, as the beeping grows more and more agitated on the one nearest to him. Lights whirl over the panels on it in strobe-lines, threatening to leave after-images in the gloom.
//Difficulties…?//
//No, no.//
A soft hiss as the nearest one unseals and the four quarters slowly begin to open. It moves slow, juddering with effort, pistons whining. Not having been properly maintained for over a year as taken a toll on it, but it still makes the effort...
The Insecticon reaches out, fingers extended to touch one of the unfolding panels-
His fingertips brush the metal, and the entire blaze explodes in flashing lights and sirens. Loud, so loud, and it feels like they're trying to drill a hole through his head with sonics-
Shrapnel shrieks back, voice dimly heard above the din.
|
|
Cannonball
Minor
Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
Posts: 470
|
Post by Cannonball on Jun 12, 2008 20:23:51 GMT -5
Cannonball's content to keep mostly quiet for the moment. He hums a bit of a piratey diddy while he squats by the convertor, keeping an eye on it while it works, much like the sleepy guy at the office making coffee.
However, the peace is shattered by whatever it is that Shrapnel has discovered keening over in the silo. Cannonball's upright fast as he can manage, gun arm pointed in that direction.
//Ye wanna revise that, lad?!//
|
|
Wreckage
Major
One of the Quiet Ones
Posts: 554
|
Post by Wreckage on Jun 14, 2008 21:32:05 GMT -5
So much for Shrapnel not screaming.
Where Cannonball aims his weapon, Wreckage launches himself off the ground, pivoting on his hands to heave his weight up and forward. His spurs scrape furrows into the lot surface as he digs in for footing; one, two, three heavy, clumsy steps and he finds his stride, smashing a beeline across the hamlet, knocking down fences and clipping small out-buildings where he pays no mind nor care to the placement of his feet.
The granary is easy enough to pick out among the buildings that all look so much alike to Wreckage, who follows that receptor-splitting wail ringing from within the metal walls. Loud even out here; he grimaces to think of the volume indoors, where he supposes Shrapnel has gotten himself into this mess. His swords swing out and lock into place slowly, one at a time, while he jogs to a stop at the granary wall. The metal siding rattles with the decibel level and the vibrations carry up his blades when he turns them and starts cutting into it so he can grasp the edges of the gashes and pull them wider. This would be quicker had he the claws of his fellows; he makes do.
Even the small gap left by his weapons exposes him that much more to the cacophony inside the building; he winces – a flicker-dim of his optic filaments and a narrowing of the shutters – at the way it makes his head pound and the parts of him not concealed by armour panels vibrate. Shrapnel must be in pain. Wreckage keeps cutting.
|
|
|
Post by Shrapnel on Jun 16, 2008 23:47:03 GMT -5
By the time Wreckage's first cut in the wall comes, Shrapnel has hunched over, hands clawing at his head. He's screaming, shrieking, both from the pain of the sonics vibrating through him and in defiance of that same pain.
Lightning crackles around his antlers and over his body, lashing out at random. Several of the eggs have obviously been struck and cracked asunder by the electricity, frying their circuitry and silencing them.
|
|