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Post by Spinister on May 12, 2011 19:50:05 GMT -5
Spinister releases the restraints on Flame and throws them back to Swindle. He does not offer to help Flame up, and he does not put away Singe. Spinister says slowly, "I was going to assign Flame to you for one shift a week, Swindle, but if you don't want it..."
Free employee!
"...I was going to find things to do with him, anyway. Blackarachnia will determine your schedule, Flame, and you'll have adequate time for fueling, maintenance, and rest, but you won't have any free time until your probation is over. The remainder of your time will be spent in remedial training instead."
Fun things, like waking up with Spinister crouched on Flame's berth and being dragged off to Slaughter City at o'dark-hundred to learn to shoot at Autobot symbols on reflex!
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Oil Slick
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Pharmacists do it over the counter.
100ccs of Pure Evil
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Post by Oil Slick on May 12, 2011 19:50:18 GMT -5
With dramatic timing, that door whooshes open, and there stands Oil Slick. He appears to be unarmed as he walks in, folding his arms, glancing over the three 'bots inside. The merchant, the sniper, and a soon-to-be-former-Autobot.
"A new recruit?"
//How are you planning to go about having the serum administered? Subtle, or blatant? What strength should be used?//
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on May 12, 2011 20:14:21 GMT -5
Flame makes no moves to acknowledge that Swindle might be willing to help him up; he pushes himself into a seated position instead, waiting on stiff joints to stop aching. He hikes up one knee and gets that foot under him and is in the process of pushing himself to standing when a third Decepticon makes his appearance. All the talk of scheduling shifts and the team and calling him a recruit leads him to, without thinking about it, self-consciously rub the wound where his brand was only moments ago.
He wants to ask questions. He thinks better of it and hauls himself upright instead.
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Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
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Post by Swindle on May 12, 2011 20:44:03 GMT -5
"Oh, hey, that works! I'll take him once a week, show him the ropes." Swindle says, giving Spinister a grin. He gets to pick the new guy's brain!
The merchant reaches out a hand to steady Flame on his feet, and perhaps dust some stray bits of rock off him.
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Post by Spinister on May 12, 2011 20:56:23 GMT -5
//Blatant and as high a dose as you can give him without causing permanent damage. I want good results,// Spinister answers Oil Slick. //Just... nothing glue-like. I don't want another breakdown out of him.//
Bring out the Truth Pie.
While Swindle, the weirdo, helps Flame, Spinister explains, "Oil Slick's going to give you a truth serum. Then tell me you want to be a Decepticon."
If you still can.
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Oil Slick
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Pharmacists do it over the counter.
100ccs of Pure Evil
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Post by Oil Slick on May 12, 2011 22:47:14 GMT -5
//Blatant it is, then.//
However, this one seems easily startled. Given his own pursuits regarding Flame, and that getting straight answers is the order of the day, startling Flame is a Bad Thing. Plus, Spinister said not to. So, Oil Slick will play nice and not chew the scenery with a bunch of mad scientist gesturing and such while he gives Flame his medicine.
Oil Slick draws his hypo from subspace, and slots a vial of yellow liquid into it. In space, food comes in tubes, so this also applies to the Truth Pie.
Oil Slick approaches Flame with a rather neutral expression, and doses the firetank.
------
OOC: Shooting Flame up done with player permission.
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on May 12, 2011 23:10:32 GMT -5
Forewarned, Flame swallows reflexively – still wondering if this is all some elaborate trick – and his optics flicker at the quick puncture. He restrains himself beyond that much. Knowing what to expect doesn't quite stop the brief tremor that shakes his arms before he starts to feel an almost, almost if not for his company, comfortable warmth spread through his systems. The tremor stops; his tense, rigid, drawn-in posture eases. The strain in his face fades.
Except for the sudden light-headedness, he might not mind this so much. It's the least high-strung he has felt in a long time.
"…What was it you wanted to know?" His vision swims for a moment when he shifts focus from Oil Slick – yes, the one with the jar over his head was called Oil Slick – to gaudy Death standing aside there. He leans a little more heavily into Swindle's bracing hand.
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Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
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Post by Swindle on May 13, 2011 16:39:56 GMT -5
Swindle will pat Flame reassuringly if he's allowed. "Just don't get too comfortable with the truth serum haze there, pal. You don't want to get addicted to that, trust me. It's great fun at parties, but only for everybody else."
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Post by Spinister on May 13, 2011 17:01:52 GMT -5
Spinister watches that vial, trying to memorise that exact shade of yellow. He notes how the tension fades in Flame, and Spinister wonders if maybe Oil Slick put something else in that truth serum. As long as it does the job, Spinister doesn't care. Swindle's doing an amazingly good job of Nice Copping, Spinister feels, though his rotors twitch almost imperceptibly when Swindle mentions 'addicted'.
Spinister repeats softly, with a lulling cadence to his voice, "Tell us you want to be a Decepticon, Flame."
It's easy, as long as it's true. Say it, or Spinister lets Oil Slick experiment on Flame to death and gives Swindle the mods out of the corpse, and then Spinister tells Lord Starscream that he regrets to inform him what happened to that new medic.
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Oil Slick
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Pharmacists do it over the counter.
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Post by Oil Slick on May 14, 2011 0:29:19 GMT -5
Oil Slick pulls the hypo gun back once the inoculation is complete, and subspaces it. Oil Slick didn't enhance it! It just happens that loosening one's inhibitions help with sharing information, and sedatives are good for that - and thus, are a key ingredient.
Swindle gets a raised eyebrow from the chemist, but it soon lowers. He does wonder if that experience is first hand from being an observer or a user.
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
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Post by Flame on May 15, 2011 9:04:39 GMT -5
Given how ready Flame has been to jump at shadows, whatever calmed him can't necessarily be all bad. But any semblance of ease in his carriage evaporates at Spinister's command, gone like propanol on a hot day, hot and bitter feeling in his throat, behind his eyes. He feels rather too warm, really, and suddenly afraid again. Very afraid. He freezes in place and stares for a moment, grasping at words with numb fingers.
Does he want to be a Decepticon? He didn't ask to wake in their midst, didn't want to. He didn't want to have his brand taken from him.
"I…."
He didn't want to be labelled a criminal. He didn't want to be sentenced to a half-life in a prison full of the worst offenders ever seen. He didn't want to be condemned for acts of frantic mercy, for simple research, for well-deserved, righteous vengeance.
"…I don't…."
He didn't want to be trotted before Aequitas, who could not understand the wherefore of his actions, to be told that saving his subordinates' lives the only way he could was abhorrent. He doesn't want a pardon from the Decepticons, but from the Autobots who were so quick to curse him and cast him down. He wants them to admit they were wrong. He wants Tyrest to suffer for saying nothing, for standing there playing at remorse. He wants that leering jester Xaaron to burn for revelling in his miserable fate.
"…I don't," he murmurs, hanging his head, plucking at the edges of the gap in his breastplate where his brand once nestled proudly amid the fire, "want to be an Autobot any more." Autobots lie, telling him they're sorry while dooming him and enjoying it. At least the Decepticons are honest in their distrust, honest in their threats to kill him. At least he can tell where he stands with them. "I… want to stay here." He feels like he's burning from the inside. Did they poison him after all? Well, he knew his survival was questionable in the first place. "I want," he says as he looks up again with cloudy optics. He swallows air, needing something cool. "I want to become a Decepticon." Only the thinnest wisp of reason stops him from adding that he looks horrid in purple.
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Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
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Post by Swindle on May 16, 2011 16:16:21 GMT -5
Swindle's experience with truth serum is from first-hand observation. He has been to some crazy parties.
"Hey, there you go. That wasn't so hard, was it? You'll fit right in, I'm sure," the arms dealer says. "If it's alright with everyone, how about I take the new guy down to the mess once he's had his interview? He looks like he could use a cube."
Flame shouldn't worry about looking bad in purple. They can get him a nice little logo somewhere unobtrusive, like his shoulder.
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Post by Spinister on May 16, 2011 22:18:37 GMT -5
Spinister clutches Singe more tightly, but eventually, Flame gets it out. Singe goes back to his holster. He answers Swindle coldly, "If that's now you want him to spend his shift with you this week."
Spinister, on the other hand, will be trying to run Flame absolutely ragged until Flame can't even think his own thoughts.
Still... watching an ideology die is satisfying. Not as good as killing. But satisfying.
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Oil Slick
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Post by Oil Slick on May 17, 2011 11:57:37 GMT -5
Speak for yourself, Spinister - seeing someone break down from your own handiwork is the best source of satisfaction. If you merely kill them, you can't keep milking them for everything they're worth.
There is no poison in the serum, but Flame may be having a reaction. Or it may just be a negative placebo effect.
Oil Slick sends a shrug Swindle's way. If the dealer wishes to wine and dine the new guy, that's his business. "If there's nothing else, I do have projects to attend to."
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Flame
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Post by Flame on May 19, 2011 10:05:34 GMT -5
Flame looks uneasily from Spinister to Swindle and back again. It can't be that simple, just letting him leave – even escorted – for fuel. When was the last time he had more than prison rations? He can't remember, and he cups his face in one hand, scrubbing his optics. There has to be a reason for this, but he can't find it, thoughts scattered, frayed and thin like a tattered hem.
"In… interview?" he echoes dumbly. Surely they mean interrogation. A second one?
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