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Post by Swerve on Feb 23, 2011 0:47:07 GMT -5
OOC: Week 7 Day 4. Open.
There's an awkwardly-worded notice in the activities queue for any Autobot who happens to look. The stiff, stilted language makes it obvious that whoever wrote it is unaccustomed to these sorts of niceties but is clearly making an effort here.
|| Oil-sport demonstration will be held in the holo-room at <time>. If you want, you're free to come and watch. No audience participation allowed. ||
Those who arrive at the holo-room at the appointed time will enter to a sun-scorched, golden-orange desert landscape baking under an orange sky scattered with dry wisps of white cloud. They are, however, standing on a very well-maintained road that doesn't match up with the desiccated surroundings, and once fully inside, they will find themselves on the edge of what can only be described as a one-horsepower town that lost its last spark plug. There is a dilapidated fuel station by the smoothly-paved highway, and across the road from the fuel station, near the edge of the cliff, is a large awning. There's enough room beneath it for several cars to park and enjoy the view while shaded from the brutal heat of the sun, though some holes have opened up in the corrugated roofing, weathered away by countless years of wind-driven sand.
Past the station are only two more buildings, both in worse condition and likely left abandoned for years. One is little more than a shed and slumps against its larger partner as if that will save it from the ravages of time – ravages that have not touched the almost pristine road.
In the canyon below, more roadway can be seen – overpasses, underpasses, roadways elevated above parallel roadways, all of it criss-crossing over itself in an elaborate latticework of asphalt and concrete. This is some engineer's worst nightmare. It seems the layers extend beyond even the sun's reach. Some roads tunnel into the cliffside; the amber gleam of sodium lamps illuminates the tunnel interiors. But that isn't as important as the station attendant, a light little build – buggy of some sort – cast in yellow and white with capable, translucent navy blue tires. He ahem-ahems to get the arrivals' attention.
"So! What brings you out this way?" he asks with a grin as sunny as his paint job.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Feb 23, 2011 12:30:39 GMT -5
Of course Emirate Xaaron is going to go watch! Gladiatorial combat was legal in his reality and performed by free citizens. The best athletes who competed so were honoured celebrities who represented their city-states to the rest of the planet. The Overlord, leader of a somewhat united Cybertron, himself oversaw the State Games! If there was anything like oil sport racing on his Cybertron, it was probably legal and respectable and watched by politicians, too.
So Emirate Xaaron really doesn't see anything wrong about popping over to watch, as long as he's not shirking his duties. The idea that fuel-spilling contests were illegal and shameful in some realities is still a bit strange to him. Granted, in other realities, Transformers are a bit more fragile; they can't come back from disc, and some can't even survive pre-warned decapitation, so perhaps there's that. Besides, Emirate Xaaron likes Swerve, even if Swerve doesn't like him, and this is something important to Swerve, so he may as well watch.
He greets the simulated attendant ebulliently, as if the solid light construct were real, "Ah, just to watch and learn!"
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Skyfire
Major
I'm a scientist, not a....
Posts: 891
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Post by Skyfire on Feb 23, 2011 19:12:10 GMT -5
A large jet flies in, slows to a hover, and then unfolds into Skyfire, who drops to the ground on the last gasp of his thrusters. It's not so much to show off as that Skyfire takes any opportunity to practice rough-field landings in strange terrain.
"Tourism," Skyfire replies with a grin. "Hello, Xaaron."
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Post by Breakaway on Feb 23, 2011 19:36:50 GMT -5
Another jetformer follows SKyfire in, though this one is in robot mode and walking. Breakaway salutes when he spots Emirate Xaaron, but doesn't say anything. He supposes it might help fix things between him and Exhaust-For-Brains Swerve if he shows up here. He also suspects it's going to be awkward.
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Feb 23, 2011 20:28:06 GMT -5
Rodimus is way too young to remember the Gladiator matches, but he is familiar with races, and he is familiar with demolition derbies, and he likes them both. From the name, "oil sport" and the descriptions he's heard before, he's rather expecting something a bit between the two, and so he's here, not out of any attempt to get to know Swerve better or to understand another culture, but in the simple hopes of catching a good show.
He walks up to the others, a cheerful bounce in his step, now that he's mobile again, a broad grin on his face. "Hey, guys!" While it's likely that some of the other Autobots are still getting over the news concerning his... rider, he's decided that unless someone else brings it up, it's best to reinforce a perception of, 'Same as he ever was.'
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Feb 23, 2011 22:58:51 GMT -5
Sentinel Prime actually shows up to watch, even though he gets the impression that this is the sort of low-brow, scummy event that no good officer should be caught dead attending. Then he sees Emirate Xaaron and Rodimus Prime here. Skyfire's here, too, and Skyfire generally seems to be 0% sleazy fun and 100% serious business. Sentinel Prime's head hurts a bit now, but okay!
He salutes, holds it a moment, and then drops it because they're under way. Sentinel Prime then rubs one of his antennae to try to work out the coming migraine and greets everyone with the fake pleasantness that is typical to him, "Great day, huh!" Sun is good. Sun is great. Sun is not rain. He squints at the attendant a bit, shading his optics with his hand, and he asks, "Heeeey, I haven't seen you here before! When'd you arrive?"
Shut up, assuming the attendant is a real person is a perfectly valid assumption, given random people showing up all the time.
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Post by Swerve on Feb 24, 2011 1:57:57 GMT -5
"Been here longer than you have, big guy," the attendant quips at Sentinel with an insouciant grin worthy of any street urchin, and it becomes apparent that he isn't just on the slight side – he's quite young. Now what's a whippersnapper like him doing in a dump like this by himself? "So I can tell you," and he turns to Xaaron now, "that I've learned aaaaaall there is to know about watching the wind eat away at things. It's worse than watching paint dry. Booooooooo-ring!" He waves one hand in a disgusted shrug and the large shock springs that make up his forearm squeak faintly inside their casings.
He seems to be sizing up the group, and slightly in awe of both Sentinel and Rodimus with their obvious vehicle alt modes and impressive statures. Xaaron is something of a puzzle and earns a curious glint from the optics behind the green-tinted "goggles". The two fliers, he assumes, are camera bots. Or maybe guest announcers; all the best camera bots and announcers are airborne.
"Couldn't interest you guys in any refreshments, could I?" he wonders, stalling. "You must've been driving a while to get out here."
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Skid-Z
Minor
'Not obsessed; possessed! There is a difference, you know.'
Posts: 411
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Post by Skid-Z on Feb 24, 2011 2:05:56 GMT -5
Skid-Z trudges up to the group as well, looking none to happy about the sand and all. He glares at it broodingly, like his stare could melt it into glass.
He nods respectfully to his superiors, then waits.
The mech looks quite comfortable to attend this demo. Maybe he should feign nervousness and curiosity? Hey, it's a race, he's a racer, that's a valid excuse to look assured, right?
The officials back home never caught him attending illegal races, mostly because they're difficult to mix once you get enlisted to public military service. The fact that this demo is being held only proves how different this group is.
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Rev
Cadet
Faster than a fast thing
Posts: 110
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Post by Rev on Feb 24, 2011 3:41:19 GMT -5
Gracefully gliding into the holo room is another wheeled spectator. This one has seen oil sports before, heck, she specialised in a borderline oil sport herself though in her particular case it was more sport and less oil.
Once inside the door, Rev stops hard in her tracks when she sees how many people are already there. She had not expected this much interest, not for something that was relegated to the underground back on her home planet. Despite the crowd or maybe because of it, her curiosity remained about what exactly what going to be demonstrated.
She started rolling forward again, putting power to the wheels that made her feet rather than skating and went over to check out the track. She knew she should go say hello, but people were never her thing and even this small group was a bit more than she liked.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Feb 25, 2011 14:08:44 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron looks up and wave to Skyfire and then over and to Breakaway, Rodimus Prime, Sentinel, and Rev. He replies to the attendant, slightly amused, "Boring? I suppose it would be for you. But ah, yes, I do suppose some refreshments might do."
It's hot! Nevermind all the lava-surfing that Transformers sometimes do; they will whine about it being hot when it is is only 90 F and whine about it being cold when it is only 20 F. Whoever scaled their temperature sensors did a terrible job.
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Post by Breakaway on Feb 28, 2011 18:25:34 GMT -5
Skipping Skyfire due to time-out.
Breakaway gives Rodimus Prime a brief nod, not quite disrespectful, as the second in command walks in. He might still be a little put out that the brass felt no-one needed to know that Roddy had a monster in his chest until a few weeks ago.
"I think he's part of the sim, Sentinel," the jetformer says, nodding at the attendant. "Unless he just really likes to keep to himself. So, uh, does anyone know where our host actually is?" he asks, shading his optics with a hand and looking out over the blasted landscape.
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Skyfire
Major
I'm a scientist, not a....
Posts: 891
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Post by Skyfire on Feb 28, 2011 20:53:46 GMT -5
Skyfire nods politely at the newcomers. "Come for the cultural education?"
You'd be surprised, Sentinel, at where Skyfire will turn up in the name of "studying new worlds, lifeforms and cultures". The frontiers of exploration can be pretty rough and shady places.
At the mention of refreshments, he turns back to the attendant. "Thanks, don't mind if I do. Do you have Benzedrine Dark?"
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Post by Rodimus Prime on Feb 28, 2011 22:52:40 GMT -5
If Rodimus notices that Breakaway's cooler than normal, he gives no sign, instead offering the simulation robot a broad grin. "Sure, I could use a drink! What've you got?"
OOC: Skippable. Rodimus is here to watch the race, but there's no need for him to post every round!
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Post by Sentinel Prime on Mar 1, 2011 10:02:31 GMT -5
Sentinel Prime gives Breakaway a glare and snaps, "I knew that! Thanks for ruining the immersion. Freaking AllSpark."
He crosses his arms and looks defiantly in the direction that Breakaway is not, feeling rather foolish. Stupid simulations, making him look stupid.
Sentinel Prime would be surprised by Skyfire's slumming.
Something doesn't quite make sense to him, and he blurts, "Wait, why does drinking something in a sim make you feel full?"
Oh great, he's just admitted to everyone that he's drunk things in a sim before. It was a potion! There were vampires! That's... not a very sane-sounding excuse.
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Post by Swerve on Mar 2, 2011 12:25:14 GMT -5
The more bizarre snippets of dialogue between the arrivals go ignored, or at least the station attendant is tactful enough to say nothing about it, limiting himself to direct address.
"Great!" he says to the acceptance of his offer. His grin turns faintly predatory, greedy, and he rubs his palms together. "Now, I don't have any Benzedrine Dark, but what I do have–" He's interrupted by the rumble of a high-performance engine and tires scuffing in the dust when Swerve, as if on cue, comes up a nearly invisible track leading up from the canyon.
"Frag it, Quench, you blinker-brain," he growls. "I told you to send anybody who showed up that wasn't a regular. They're with me." Quench looks utterly deflated and makes unhappy, futile noises at the racer.
"But they said they wanted drinks!" he finally cries, petulant and showing his age. Swerve's headlamps flare and his engine revs.
"Then give 'em drinks and send 'em down, blast it." He sounds on edge for those who know him well enough to hear it beneath the customary snarl. To the others, he just grunts, "Meet you down there. Don't let this little scrap-picker rob you." Then he turns about and vanishes down the canyon road, leaving a much more glum-looking Quench to handle the refreshments. He does so with none of his former enthusiasm, clearly sulking.
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