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Who: Blockbuster, Fusillade, Hook, Mixmaster, Scavenger, and Scrapper. |
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NCC Docks
The dock area proper is vaguely triangular in shape and made of frost blue metal, providing a transitional border between the silver-metal that the non-city portion of the island is made of and the deeper, non-metallic blue of the ocean itself. The somewhat curved southern edge is flush to the water, while the southeastern point juts out into it at an angle, and most of the northern edge lines up against the beach proper. Structures jutting upward like jagged teeth line these two edges, slicing white light into colored ribbons, although they are spaced so as to allow Transformers easy passage through them to either the beach proper or any docked ships. The base of the triangle backs up against the spaceport to the northwest.
As for the beach itself, it still looks much as it did before the rebuild, an alien silver coastline that somehow makes itself at home in these Earthen waters. The area where the metal extends beneath the ocean reflects upward brightly, and the blue-green water over the silvery color of the Cybertronian actually gives it a hue not too far from that of the frost color used in the actual city.
Mixmaster lets the less skilled workers spread the rust protector over the hull as he shoots at random spots to keep them moving, careful to keep the liquid well away from where Scrapper and crew are installing a laser. Spotting Hook arriving with supplies he adjusts the stream and moves in closer to get a few delicate areas. Not only does he not want to risk that the less technical would paint over a sensor grid or window, but he also doesn't want to hall supplies around. afterall thats why they have Long Haul.
Hook shifts into his robot mode, and begins taking the crates he had brought apart. "Primarily i'm lacking personelle to complete the project. I've had to resort to sihponing off some raw materials from the supplies for the airbase in order to construct a prototype of my new geothermal harvester, but I'll need more steel to build more harvesters." He grumbles, picking through the contents.
Scrapper waves the laser screwdriver in reply. "Well stealing what we need has never been a problem. The airbase itself has a fair amount of things that need swiping, mostly in the metal materials category. We could probably grab both on a single raid if we had the mechpower for it." Scrapper pokes his head up into the open compartment underneath the airbase, right next to the weapon he's installing. Sparks can be seen shooting down from the hole as he works his mojo. "Degrimiwhat?" his muffled voice can be heard.
Mixmaster lets out a slight chuckle as Scavenger goes looking for his mop then motions to the seeker currently using it to spread paint to put it back where he got it from. Half listening to Hook and Scrapper discuss needed materials he hesitates as though he might join in but thinks better of it and moves on to the next task on his list. Let then plan raids and such he'll join in the fun when he can melt something down not worry about what's needed.
One of Scavenger's poor hapless swabber crew shouts down, "His mop!"
Scavenger grumbles and looks for something to throw at the loudmouth gumby. He turns back the way he paced in his search and discovers the mop where he left it... he could have sworn it had been missing.
Hook takes a few moments to ferry the crates of parts up into the airbase's cargo hold, laying them in with some of the other supplies for the interior constuction. Hauling things isn't exactly Hook's preferred job, but he was headed here anyway, and he crates weren't oging to carry themselves. He trundles out to the exterior again, and looks over the construction, trying to spot anything that's been done incorrectly so he can play the 'I can do it better' card.
The sparks stop from inside the ship and Scrapper ducks so he's back outside the compartment. "He lost his /mop/?" Scrapper calls out incredulously. Scrapper tries to get a view of Scavenger but can't, as he's working on the bottom of the airbase and Scavenger is looking on the top. "Scavenger, you didn't /really/ lose your /mop/, did you?"
Taking her time walking down the beach, Fusillade nurses some recent, still tender repairs to her cockpit area. Frowning a bit at a leftover twinge, she glances over the near-complete air base -- the entire mile-wide wingspan. She looks up, way up, to where Scavenger tends to the surfaces of the craft, the hull gleaming from the swabbing where the camo and thermal netting had been stripped away. The clanging inside calls to her, though, and trudging up the long rampway of the runway, nodding politely to Mixmaster as she moves further in to where Scrapper is working on the weapon systems. Lightly resting one palm on the overhang, she leans down a bit, and asks, "Whatcha up to? Mind filling me in?" A bit louder so the others can hear her, she bellows out, "Lemme know what other things you need Operations to get."
Scavenger snatches it up and raises it above his head in a super hero like pose. "Ofcourse not!" He then brings the mop close to himself, almost cradling it as he whispers to it, "I'll never discard you carelessly again, Excalibur." He then sniffs the mophead. "Ick... you smell funny... rust protector?" He shurgs and disappears into the swab crew to wring out his degrimifier and resume *begin* swabbing.
Hook spots a few welds that don't seem to be fully sealed along one of the wing's leading edge. He trundles up the scaffolding, and scans the integrety of the connections in urther detail. "Tisk, these are below threshold. Won't hold up to the strain of sub-orbital fight." He says, and begins welding the plates together again, with his usual technical precision.
Scrapper is about to head back to doing all the nitty gritty attachments for the laser when Fusillade makes her appearance. Pausing, he glances back at her silently. Then he peers down at the other workers. There are Constructicons crawling all over the place (well six places presumably). He looks back at Fusillade, trying to see if this is some sort of Military Operations trick question. Finally he decides that if it is a trick question, it's too clever for him. "Building an airbase..." he tells her.
Fusillade's expression immediately illuminates with mock incredulity. "NOOOOOOO, really? And here I thought you were just overcompensating for that ridiculous purple wing you fly around with." She plants one hand on her hip, and cants her head to the side. "I mean, specifically. This second. Which PORTION of the airbase are you working on?" She stifles a faint chuckle, trying to see if she can recall any information she soaked up from the Chase science fair to help her identify the type of wiring and the plating Scrapper is using.
"I..." Scrapper says, looking about. "There's nothing wrong with the levitation wing," he replies. "It works great. You're probably just thinking that because it uses a refined independent power source rather than drawing from my own reserves like most flight systems that it isn't fully linked up via the flight installation drivers, but actually what we did was create a custom bundled software package that handles the management of the levitation wing's power usage by itself while still responding to commands given by the central unit - ie, me."
Gesturing to the laser, he says, "This, Fusillade, is the L2800 giga-focused light assembly module. But I like to call it a 'laser cannon'."
Fusillade literally looks like this for a few moments:
0_0
She ahs quietly, raising one hand to her chin as she ducks her head, thinking over the information. "I... didn't have separate power pack and software envy, Scrapper, honest. My cruise missiles do a good job keeping me company, thanks." However, as he mentions weapon systems, she straightens visibly, and looks over at the emplacement with marked interest. "Nice, what's its output? Range? How many of these are we going to have on the airbase? And speaking of which, how're we gonna drive this thing? I mean... I could memorize things, but honestly, that's not going to do us any good in the middle off a firefight, should, on some off-change, it manages to get damaged."
Scrapper chuckles at the poor, delusional Decepticon bomber. "Missiles can't keep people company," he says in a good natured tone. "Now /lasers/ on the other hand..." the Constructicon gestures back at the weapon. The cannon is temporarily being held into place by strong bolts, though eventually it's going to be welded as well. As one technician works on this, Scrapper had apparently been doing work on linking everything up. "Just one is all you'll need. One of these anyway. You'll still have the other normal defences. Power output is in the mega-breems," whatever that means, "-and it has a functional range of 4 kilometres. After that the damage it can inflict really drops off. But you're going to love the expression on the first Aerialbot's face who runs into this thing. Driving is a whole other issue, though."
"They're very good at five card stud," Fusillade remarks aloofly, feeling woefully out of her league at the moment. Of course, she would have to decide to take a bite out of the commanding officer of all of MSE -- but he's the best to learn from, right? Ignoring any crickets that might be chirping in response to her line of thought, Fusillade takes a step back to admire the destructive scope of the weapon. "And... what kind of draw on the power systems and generator is this thing going to have? And as for drving, well... I've got some time. Lay it on me."
- THUNK*THUNK*THUNK* footsteps echo as Blockbuster walks up one of the gantrys that keep the airbase imprisoned for the moment, his gaze flickering over the massive aircraft as he walks, seemingly intent on getting up on top of the thing for whatever reason. Up he goes, ramp after ramp... higher towards the top of the gigantic tarp that covers the thing over.
Scrapper squints at Fusillade's comment about five card stud. Craaaazy Fusillade. Talking to her missiles like that. Scrapper however has been in the Decepticon army for some time now, so he's pretty used to dealing with crazy people. It's almost second nature to him now. "Quite a lot," Scrapper replies concerning the power output. Half of him vanishes up into the compartment next to the laser cannon while he continues his work. "Don't go firing it while you're at a cruising velocity. But remaining stationary and while under attack, it should be fine. I'll help you with the driving lessons once I'm done here. Won't take more than a breem."
"Eight point three minutes? What am I gonna do in the meantime?!" Fusillade laments, before sitting down on a crate, looking up at all the wiring and locking mechanisms of the cargo bay doors. The intricacy of all the cogs was impressive, to say the least, and she busies herself with following the path to the bolt. "Okay, I won't do that, then," she says, deciding it best to let him know that yes, the advice did sink in. She watches an A-10 Seeker clomp up the access ladders, musing to herself that the slower, heavier craft always did tend to prefer walking...
Once Blockbuster reaches the highest point he can, he comes to a stop, staring down from atop the craft with his arms akimbo. His optics dim slightly and he slowly turns, surveying the whole area below, noting Fusillade and Scrapper not far off. He turns to look down the other side of the craft, apparently sizing the whole beast up with it so close to launching.
"Stand there and try not to get in anyone's way?" Scrapper suggests. Sparks shoot out of the compartment he's working on as he takes care of the delicate work. Meanwhile another trooper has managed to finish the welding job, firmly attaching the cannon physically to the underside of the base. Scrapper, being fixated on his work and having his head stuck up inside the base's bulkhead, isn't even aware of Blockbuster's arrival.
The sensation of optics on one's frame is always unsettling, and Fusillade swivels about to glance up, before verifying the identify of Blockbuster. She raises one hand briefly by way of acknowledgment. What the Thunderbolt II is going to be able to see is a massive expanse dihedral wings, multiple ailerons, weapons emplacements, and antennae jutting out at crazy hexagonal angles. In the middle of its bowed back is the command deck, flanked on either side with laser towers and countermeasures barns.
Not satisfied with just standing, though, Fusillade leans over, tilting and trying to see up into the junction of the main laser emitter and the airbase's belly. "What're you joining now?"
Blockbuster tromps up towards the command deck, as if intent on examining it from the outside. He absently tosses a wave back towards his commanding officer as he moves, vanishing from the direct line of sight for a few minutes, during which he's busy peering into the command center from outside.
"Right now," comes Scrapper's muffled reply, "I'm hooking up the data cables that are going to connect the laser to the rest of the ship which connects to the command centre, so the command centre can a) aim it, and b) receive information on the weapon's status, such as how long until it recharges or if it's damaged at all." After about 8.2 minutes, Scrapper finally finishes. He pops his head back out of the compartment and holsters his laser screwdriver. "Now then, you wanted driving lessons?"
What Blockbuster can most easily see is that the command deck is predominatly coloured purple, with brightly polished gold and silver for accents such as rails and borders. Multiple tiers of consoles for navigation, engineering, and weapons control are all oriented toward the expansive wrap-around viewscreen. Situated the most far back is the throne-like command dias.
Fusillade hmmms to herself... she's starting to feel like a lot of the information she's been requesting has been painfully self-evident to the master and commander of engineering. "If I haven't outstayed my welcome, Scrapper, that would be grand. And... hey, could we get a rhinestone studded vanity plate with gold and pink cloisonne that reads 'Princess' and hang it off the back of the runway?" She seems earnest. For all of a femtosecond.
Blockbuster nods a bit to himself, as if confirming something. He then turns and jogs over towards the nearest drop off, leaping off and dropping towards the ground like the dead weight he is. Bursts of thrust from his jetpack steady his descent, leaving him to land with a soft *THUD* before walking over towards Fusillade and Scrapper, deciding to be nosey around them for a change... of course, the first thing he notices is a BIG GUN <TM> "Oooo... nice, Ah bet that'll punch a hole in a few things, eh Scrapps?" he then nods to Fusillade, "Ah hope Ah'm not interruptin'."
"A rhinest... what?" Scrapper says before realizing that Fusillade's joking. "Ah ha ha ha ha ha. Humans sure are stupid with their fads and culture, aren't they Fusillade? Why I bet as we speak they're busy contaminating the Autobots with their special brand of idiocy." Scrapper beams at Blockbuster's compliment of the laser cannon. "Not at all, Blockbuster. Yes, this baby will punch a hole in a whole lot of things. I pity the Aerialbot that runs up against it." Pause. "Well I mean not /really/ pity, but you know what I mean." He coughs. "So shall we head to the command centre so you can see how this thing flies?"
"Rollercoaster tycoons, the lot of them!" Fusillade effuses randomly. And then, back to business, she nods sharply to Scrapper. "I imagine most of the concepts will transfer easily from what I already know of flying myself around... but even just thinking about the disconnect and the lag between pilot and ship..." She trails off as she gestures using a throttle yoke for an imagined craft. "And no, not interrupting at all, Blockbuster. I've mentioned before that you will be assigned here once the base goes live. The more you know, the better." She clasps hands behind her back, and falls in step behind Scrapper, looking quite ready to the vessel to receive his knowledge.
"Ah'll take yeh word fer it, ma'am." Blockbuster replies, tipping his head slightly as he grins at Scrappers obvious pride in the weapon, "Well, Ah hope we git t'fire it off soon then, Ah bet it'll be one smekova show." he trails a few steps behind the other two, his gaze lingering on the big laser cannon until he has to pay attention to his path, "Awright, so's we're gonna learn 'bout controllin' this behemoth then? Ah s'pose anyone aboard will have t'have that knowledge, t'compensate in emergencies if nothin' else."
"Well we're planning on not having any emergencies," Scrapper says as they lead the pair to the command and control room. "Alas, the Autobots never seem to care about what we plan for..." The three Decepticons march through the halls until they reach the command room. Scrapper leads them to the helmsman's station. It is a huge panel with lots of dials, switches, buttons, and monitors. Scrapper first gestures to a standard up-down switch. Up reads 'Fly', and down reads 'Crash'. Currently it is pointing to 'Fly'. "First things first, don't touch that switch."
"That's the plan, Blockbuster. Although I'm probably going to insist that only those of sufficient rank be allowed to pilot this thing. There's entirely too much invested in this thing, and I know damned well who'd get blamed if it smeared itself on a mountain range." She winces theatrically, and raises a hand, before looking back over to Scrapper. Perhaps to spite him, she reaches out with a hand to the toggle, and just touches the switch, not applying any force. "Touchin' it! I'm touchin' it!"
And THIS is his commanding officer, Blockbuster thinks with a smirk as he falls silent to watch. He moves around a little bit to get a better look, being a stubby mech in general. The control panel doesn't look overly complex, though it does have more going on than the one that's installed in his own cockpit, "Huh." he mutters to himself as he listens.
Scrapper throws his hands up into the air, flailing a bit. "Don't touch it! Don't touch it!" he exclaims. "We aren't sure what'll happen if you activate that system!" He begins looking around frantically to see where the nearest emergency exit happens to be. This despite the fact that Decepticons plan on not having any emergencies.
"Well who put THAT in there, then, if you don't know?" Fusillade return grouses, before hmmming to herself at the main Command Chair. It's irresistable. And then, snapping her attention back to Scrapper, she settles herself at the nearest navigational console -- she knows it's this, because of /RADAR/ on one of the screens. The active system shows several three-letter symbols that ID multiple patrols soaring about the city. The main readout, though, shows a wire-grid frame of the airbase oriented in isometric view, most systems marked as being on standby. Shimmying into a seat, Fusillade glances attentively at Scrapper.
Blockbuster moves quietly to stand just behind and to one side of Fusillade, peering at the console that she's positioned herself at silently. He has little to offer at the moment, and finds himself somewhat distracted by the spinny radar thing with all the moving ID tags... he stares at this for a few moments, as if puzzling out what the different tags mean.
"It's complicated," Scrapper insists, uch relieved now that Fusillade has stopped tempting fate with the switch. The Constructicon walks over to the seat closest to the navigational console Fusillade has sat down at. "Now then, the airbase operates under a coordinate input system. This isn't like flying a shuttle where you grab the steering wheel and off you go. This panel controls the base's yaw, this the pitch, this the roll, and this the velocity. You're going to have to memorize how the coordinate system works, but I can send you our manuals on that."
"Don'cha need a 7th point to tell it where its starting point is?" Oh ho ho! Someone's been studying star chargs again! "And can't say I haven't even touched a shuttle, yet. So everything is digital, then?" She lightly grazes palm over the input console. "Is there anyway to do a single line shortcut command where you cram all three in at the same time?" Much like Denis Leary's assertation that 'only in America' would someone decide that 'cocaine isn't good enough', such is the way of Fusillade's thought processes.
"Its starting point is where it is," Scrapper says. "Though there's advanced panels where you can set things like that. It's programmable with waypoints and various hotkeys that you can set. That's sort of like a shortcut. Before you get to that though I suggest you spend some time in the holographic training room. There's a program that serves as a simple flight simulator for this mode of vehicle. It only ever gets used by people wanting to crash it into things, though..." Scrapper shakes his head in annoyance.
"Crashing? Really?" Fusillade laughs a bit at Scrapper's consternation. "Maybe you should code the pain of being crushed or killed a bit more realistically, that might deter virtual joy-riders. And I'd like to keep this crate afloat, thank you very much! So our goals are mutually agreeable, Scrapper. It's such a lovely ship, who'd ever really want to do it harm? And yeah, those do sound like pretty advanced settings. Can I shock people in Engineering from here?" She suddenly asks in malevolent glee, looking over to the systems console.
"Generally Autobots," Scrapper replies frankly. "They tend to dislike great art. It is a failings of theirs. The EDC also. Junkions too. Frankly anyone who isn't us, really." Scrapper stands up from the chair. "No, I haven't installed any shock systems, and since I'm likely going to be the sort of person down in engineering, I'm not about to add any now!"
"Well that's probably because what we're going to be DOING with it," Fusilalde admits, chuckling. She draws air over her vents, and says, "I think that's more than enough for now, my circuits are overheating from handling all this information. Thank you again for hauling me around." She smiles thinly as she lances fingers atop her freshly-repaired cockpit.
"That too," Scrapper allows. "I'll forward you the manual on the coordinate system, and you can book the training room whenever you like. I installed it both in Trypticon and here in New Crystal City. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to give me or one of the other Constructicons a shout. They all ought to know this airbase pretty well by now."
Fusillade nods, spinning in her seat slightly, before she stands. "Understood, Scrapper. And yes, it's been months. I'm surprised the Autobots haven't made a move yet on it." She gives a deep nod, almost bow, indicating her pleasure, and then begins to saunter to the lift.
--End--