Post by Ultra Magnus on Apr 29, 2012 17:39:30 GMT -5
OOC: Earth Month 6 Week 1 Day 4. Open thread.
Magnus, knocked unconscious, falls over the terrace behind the fun house and into what looks like a play area for children too young to enjoy the rest of the park.
Specifically, he lands in a grossly oversized ball pit, more than spacious enough to entertain dozens of romping little ones at any given time. The statue crashes into the pit a few feet away from him; the spire shatters on the deck just short of the pit. For a long few seconds, Magnus doesn't so much as twitch a finger, still rebooting. Eventually, he comes back online and groans, sitting up awkwardly as the plastic balls shift and crush beneath him, not taking the weight well.
"Blast it," he mutters, lifting one hand to the back of his head and feeling the dents and scrapes there. He lingers on the antenna that's missing, snapped off his head, and finds the other is bent at an odd angle. His movement triggers an automated response from the systems in the play area; decorations light up and painfully loud music starts playing, a recording that has degraded through some lack of maintenance and runs slow and off-key. He doesn't understand the words of the song, sung in some language not in his databanks, but the distorted sound is grating all the same. He grumbles a few choice words he picked up from Roadbuster and thrashes about unsteadily, trying to get his feet under him in the morass. Those balls that he doesn't break throw off his balance, slipping under his feet, rolling away under his hands. He slowly wades to the edge of the pit and hauls himself out, then sits there heavily while he runs a diagnostic.
Burns, impact damage… nothing he can't ignore, nothing that will stop him from getting up and storming off once his stabilising systems finish recalibrating. He's had worse in his day. He's more troubled by his separation from the rest of the team, and by the static that answers him when he tries his radio.
"Looks like I'll be doing this the old-fashioned way for a while." He lifts his head and looks around the area, taking in the bright colours and cartoonish characters depicted in mural and statuary, the equipment made from plastics and metals with rounded edges, padded bumpers. He landmarks what tall structures he can see from here, trying to fix his position. He's flown a respectable distance, he thinks. "Let's go, old soldier," he mumbles as he heaves himself to his feet and heads for the exit, leaving a trail of rusty brown footprints as he walks.
"Wait!" cries a garbled voice, high-pitched and raucous over the music. Magnus hadn't noticed anyone else in the area, and he turns, expecting to be shot. Instead, he finds himself facing a decrepit animatronic creature, some strange thing with long lop-ears, wide, blackened eyes, and a gaping, empty mouth. Its pink fur is filthy with dark, running stains and it totters toward him, stiff and unsteady. "Wait!" it says again, voice warbling and distorted. "It's dangerous to leave the area!"
"…Excuse me?" Magnus asks, looking down at the broken-down, rattling mascot. It grabs for his arm; he pulls away, aware suddenly of how this thing reeks like used oil.
"It's dangerous to leave the area!" it repeats itself dumbly. A chorus of three other wrecks joins it, all staggering toward Magnus from the far corner. Past them, he thinks he sees something – the glow of tiny, bright eyes, many pairs huddled closely together in the shadows.
Magnus, knocked unconscious, falls over the terrace behind the fun house and into what looks like a play area for children too young to enjoy the rest of the park.
Specifically, he lands in a grossly oversized ball pit, more than spacious enough to entertain dozens of romping little ones at any given time. The statue crashes into the pit a few feet away from him; the spire shatters on the deck just short of the pit. For a long few seconds, Magnus doesn't so much as twitch a finger, still rebooting. Eventually, he comes back online and groans, sitting up awkwardly as the plastic balls shift and crush beneath him, not taking the weight well.
"Blast it," he mutters, lifting one hand to the back of his head and feeling the dents and scrapes there. He lingers on the antenna that's missing, snapped off his head, and finds the other is bent at an odd angle. His movement triggers an automated response from the systems in the play area; decorations light up and painfully loud music starts playing, a recording that has degraded through some lack of maintenance and runs slow and off-key. He doesn't understand the words of the song, sung in some language not in his databanks, but the distorted sound is grating all the same. He grumbles a few choice words he picked up from Roadbuster and thrashes about unsteadily, trying to get his feet under him in the morass. Those balls that he doesn't break throw off his balance, slipping under his feet, rolling away under his hands. He slowly wades to the edge of the pit and hauls himself out, then sits there heavily while he runs a diagnostic.
Burns, impact damage… nothing he can't ignore, nothing that will stop him from getting up and storming off once his stabilising systems finish recalibrating. He's had worse in his day. He's more troubled by his separation from the rest of the team, and by the static that answers him when he tries his radio.
"Looks like I'll be doing this the old-fashioned way for a while." He lifts his head and looks around the area, taking in the bright colours and cartoonish characters depicted in mural and statuary, the equipment made from plastics and metals with rounded edges, padded bumpers. He landmarks what tall structures he can see from here, trying to fix his position. He's flown a respectable distance, he thinks. "Let's go, old soldier," he mumbles as he heaves himself to his feet and heads for the exit, leaving a trail of rusty brown footprints as he walks.
"Wait!" cries a garbled voice, high-pitched and raucous over the music. Magnus hadn't noticed anyone else in the area, and he turns, expecting to be shot. Instead, he finds himself facing a decrepit animatronic creature, some strange thing with long lop-ears, wide, blackened eyes, and a gaping, empty mouth. Its pink fur is filthy with dark, running stains and it totters toward him, stiff and unsteady. "Wait!" it says again, voice warbling and distorted. "It's dangerous to leave the area!"
"…Excuse me?" Magnus asks, looking down at the broken-down, rattling mascot. It grabs for his arm; he pulls away, aware suddenly of how this thing reeks like used oil.
"It's dangerous to leave the area!" it repeats itself dumbly. A chorus of three other wrecks joins it, all staggering toward Magnus from the far corner. Past them, he thinks he sees something – the glow of tiny, bright eyes, many pairs huddled closely together in the shadows.