Summary: (July 2028) Fulcrum comes up with an unconventional -- but highly effective -- method to get Fusillade accustomed to the use of maneuvering thrusters for spacewalk. It's absolutely nothing like a trainer and a seal, honest!
Cybertron Olympic Site - Stadiums
Here is where the glorious central Crystal City Stadium, as well as the four auxiliary stadiums reside. The gigantic central stadium is what will most likely capture the attention and imaginations of most visitors. It is a testament to Ultra-Modern Cybertronian Construction. The tall Roman-like pillars that surround the structure show some of the Earth influence that makes it different from other Cybertronian buildings. Its thick metallic walls gleam from the light of countless stars which shine in the ever star filled sky. Brilliant light pours from the inside, out into the surrounding courtyard which includes a towering statue designed by artists from every corner of the known cosmos. The bleachers are all beautifully done with a heavy slope. During the main events the place is packed with aliens of all walks of life, though the majority are restricted to sections meant for their own kind to limit any rowdy behavior. With the roar crowd it's hard not to get swept up in the excitement. The auxiliary stadiums are notably smaller and less significant, consisting of far less places to sit, as well as a smaller combat pit itself.
Leaning forward on the railing, Fusillade watches the main arena's bout. The bomber has been quite restless since the upswing in her yo-yo affair with command positions. There's a faint laugh from her as she watches the traditional trident and net arrangement of one combatant be put to wicked use. It's one of the preliminary matches, it would seem, judging by the other empty subarenas and the relatively abandoned stands.
Fulcrum plods down the stadium steps, looking around for a certain green and purple engineer. He'd like to ask Scrapper a few questions on the trickier side of electrical dynamo control systems, but it doesn't look like any of the Constructicons are around. But there is one familar face. The blacksmith heads over to lean against the rail next to Fusillade, nodding a greeting.
The ponderous steps certainly can't be missed. The smile starts to play along Fusillade's lips even before the Soviet blacksmith is on the periphery of her vision. "Well hey there. This match is boring, I think I'm going to die just watching it. No real good bars around here, have to go all the way into Crystal City. And what good's that? That's just entrapment waiting to happen. Go inside the city in order to get drunk, and you have no way of getting out before getting into trouble and getting sat on by Omega Supreme. OH! Hey, congrats on your win, by the way." She finally turns around to face Fulcrum. "The space-fit's going okay, they haven't gotten to my aircraft systems yet, though. Robot mode's set, though."
Fulcrum can't get a word in edgewise, as Fusillade applies her bombing-run technique to casual conversation. "I've yet to file a report," he says when she pauses for breath, "but thankyou. And you might as well go to the Steel Baloon, if you're planning to overenergize." He pauses to digest the rest of Fusillade's verbal.. fusillade. "Have you had a chance to test out your new systems?"
Sunstreaker stomps in, scowling, energy drink (in a more literal sense) in his right hand. He chugs away at it as he looks for a seat.
Fusillade is situated about midway down the right staircase of the stands, speaking with an olive green and steel-toned Seeker. She perks up a bit at the mention of the best dive in Koriolis Desert. "Now there's a good place, no one cares if the around THERE gets blown up, hah! But I admit I haven't felt very welcome there since the whole transforming-while-still-inside debacle." She stands, rising to her full height as she shrugs a bit, "Actually haven't, no, Fulcrum. I was thinking about waiting and hitting the training room after all the installs were done. Including the rockets."
Fulcrum had heard about that, but he keeps a straight face, merely nodding. His expression changes to one of interest as she mentions rockets though. Rockets are COOL. "Maneuvering in a low gravity environment can be tricky. I'd advise you to get all the practice you can. And.. what kind of rockets?" he asks.
Blitzwing comes back from checking on Astrotrain in the medbay (with his new green legs) in time to overhear. "Rockets like munitions, or rockets like thrust?"
Foxfire happily bounds into the stadium. Why is he so happy? That's for him to know, and for everyone else to find out! However, he comes to a stop as he notices Sunstreaker, who doesn't look too pleased about something. Not that it's anything unusual, of course. His curiosity piqued, Foxy scurries over to his comrade. "Hey, Sunny!"
Sunstreaker urps as he passes by Fusillade. "Still gonna shoot you down," he says casually. "Nuthin' personal, it's just what I do." He tries to continue onwards after having deposited his half cent of wisdom, but is soon interrupted by Foxfire. The little fox's happiness is... anathema to him right now. "Ehh... hi, Foxfire." He halts in the middle of the stairs.
Fusillade's fangs are bared in leering mockery as she watches Sunstreaker clomp through. "Now why on this planet or any other would you feel inclined to do anything like that? Just out of nowhere," she murmurs to herself. And then the MiG-25's interest joins that of the MiG-29. "Oh, hey, Triple Sec." She looks sly for a moment. "The thrusting kind, although I have to wonder if that stupid blockade runner is going to show its chromed nose at this Olympics." She cranes her neck around to peer speculatively at the towering starscrapers of the Spaceport proper.
Fulcrum looks slightly disapointed. He'd hoped for some sort of innovative zero-g rocket system. But thrusters are cool too. Not AS cool though. "Blitzwing" he intones by way of greeting, before his optics flick up, following Fusillade's gaze. Seeing nothing of interest, he looks back to the Triple Changer. "Do you know when the next round will be announced for lightweight Gladitorial?"
Foxfire stares up at Sunstreaker with those big, blue optics. Loooook into his eyes, and fall victim to the cuteness! "Somethin' wrong?" he asks casually, with a hint of concern for the warrior.
Blitzwing seems disappointed too, although for different reasons; he prefers the ordnance kind. "Nah, they never tell me anything."
Sunstreaker sighs. He's lost every single event so far, and he had himself utterly convinced that he'd be draped in gold medals by now. But how can he admit his frustration? Especially with the Evil Decepticons (tm) sitting right there? "Eh, it's nuthin', just that Sideswipe's being a fraggin' jerk, that's all." He begins to stomp past Foxfire, muttering, "Look, I'm just gonna hang out over here, watch some exhibition matches, and chill."
"Gee, don't look so excited, you two," Fusillade grouses out. "We have to go with what was available, unless you've broken into the field of avant garde maneuvering systems all of a sudden, Fulcrum," she teases. "And no, I don't know either. Other than you got to advance, which is good news in of itself. How... how exactly do your own systems work? And we could always try them out now, huh?" She claps the blacksmith on the shoulder, and begins to descend to one of the auxiliary arenas. "Cmon down."
Fulcrum opens his mouth to explain how his systems work (and he was expecting the ordinance type of rocket too by the way), but Fusillade is already on the move. Shrugging, he follows her towards the arena. Perhaps a demonstration is in order!
Fusillade exchanges a rather extended sequence of handshakes, slaps, and finger-twitches with the arena attendant. The creature tosses her the control box, and then slithers off on a bed of cilia, before Fusillade hmmms. "So yeah. Right now, what I've got is in robot mode." She gesticulates to several of the smaller circular recesses along her frame. "So, gravity off!" She mashes a button with an abnormal amount of zest. There's a servo-raising 'whumph' of electrical generators coming online, and soon, small pieces of debris left over from prior matches beging floating upward. A half-breath later, Fusillade's own feet begin to leave the mat. "Huh. Kinda like antigravs in robot mode..."
Fulcrum nods as he also leaves the floor of the arena. "Except with anti-gravs there is typically still a sense of weight, allowing us to have more control over our movements. Fulcrum gestures, a movement which starts him very slowly spinning. "For the full effect, try removing the atmosphere from the room.. there'll be no air resistance to push against, and manuevering will be even harder."
Fusillade raises her hand to button-mash a few more times, and then there's a frosty chill as the forcefields snap up and the ambient air pressure reverts to negative flow. Fusillade's expression changes. "Maybe we should have set all of this up before stepping in!" However, the motions have set her spinning, and she makes a face. "I've been in space a few times, but it was very brief! I think I'm starting to remember why!" The sky tumbles in a triaxial spin overhead from her POV, to be replaced with the ground, Fulcrum's wings, then the sky again. The disorientation finally gets the better of her, and she starts flailing like a jack-aft. "Neeeeek!"
Fulcrum can't help but crack a smile at Fusillade as she begins to panic, thought the blacksmith's motions are only slightly les]#s controlled. "Relax" he broadcasts over radio, since there's no longer any air to transmit his voice. "Waving your arms and legs around isn't going to do anything. That's what your manuevering systems are for." With a nod, Fulcrum transforms, the complex motion sending him into a spin, a spin that's quickly corrected by the outgassing of several small nozzles placed in strategic places around the MiG-29's frame.
Fulcrum crouches, then leaps up, his joints screeching as he transforms into a grey and green MiG-29.
Fusillade has, by some inexplicable means, added a rotation around Fulcrum in addition to the spin. So, she's flailing about, and pantomiming shrieks -- perhaps it's for the best that sound can't be transmitted. The radio goes through, and Fusillade responds, <<How in the heck do I even sta-aa-arrrrrrrrrrrt?>> She overcompensates, a puff from the left back and legs doing much to halt a fair bit of motion -- and then reverse it in a more rapid roll. <<You're a HORRIBLE teacher!>> she informs the stationary MiG-29.
MiG 29 <Fulcrum> idly does a barrel roll in place, a jet on the top of his right-hand wing firing at the same time as the one on the bottom of his left-hand wing, lazily spinning in pace.. and juuuuuust tapping Fusillade as she flies over head, sending her sailing in a completely new direction. Who says he's a bad teacher! This is TOTALLY helping. "Relax" he emits again. "Concentrate on firing the nozzles in the direction you're going to halt your momentum. Don't overdo it, just a few slow bursts will do it."
Fusillade tries to take a swipe at the incoming wing, but that only serves to add another twist to the bizarre spin as she gets batted down. Instinctively, she tries to fire her oiginal foot thrusters, but the air-based ignition and thrust systems simply choke. <<Curse youuuuuuuuuuuuuu! I won't forget this!>> She bonks relatively harmlessly off the forcefield, flattening herself against the shape to make faces at those outside who might be watching. MIGHT be. However, the momentum carries her off again, and with a few scrabbles of fingertalons on the hard light projection, she continues on the ricochet path. Thinking over what Fulcrum said, she sizes up the MAIN trajectory. "Fine, I'm going THAT way, so..." She taps the mini-rockets twice, which dampens the bulk of the inertia. <<Smelt, thinking about the roll is hard.>>
MiG 29 <Fulcrum> gives the impression that he's grinning, even though he currently lacks the equipment to do so with. "It's hard, but you really have to train yourself to think in three dimensions.. in space there is no up or down. You also can't bank, or pull up, or any of the other manuevers that we'd normally do in the air, because again - no air resistance." The MiG's thruster-nozzles fire again, halting his roll, before a second set of thrusters send him slowly tumbling end over end while remaining in place. "It's best to start slowly, with small, careful manuevers, but soon it will become second nature."
<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "Ohhhhhhhh, you're having WAY too much fun with this, Seeker.� I was gonna buy you a drink at the end of this, but at this rate, it's gonna be you owing me."
<Decepticon> Fulcrum says, "I have a better idea - have a vendor bring some energon to the arena.� Then you can try do drink it."
<Decepticon> Mother Goose Fusillade says, "Fulcrum, did.. did you just make a funny?"
Fusillade, despite all the wailing on radio and the glaring of daggers in the fighter jet's directions, fails at fully supressing the mercurial tilt at the corners of her mouth. <<Well, the thing about it,>> Fusillade ponders inbetween experimental puffs and prolonged bursts to backtrack, <<Is that I... think that you don't use the same port when spinning. You have to go in a series so that the... vector, is that right? Is constant against the main direction.>> At his suggestion on the radio, she hmms. <<Certainly would be good incentive. Hey, Yadot! Pass up a cube of high-grade!>> The ring attendant slithers back up, and salutes with a whip-like flagella, before assaulting a vendor with pseudopods, and then placing the glowing white cube into a seam at the edge of the forcefield generators. The coveted beverage 'schwoomps' into the vacuum, before depressurizing and exploding like a miniature nova along the bottom half of the simulated space hologram. <<AH, SMELT!>>
<<You KNEW this was gonna happen!>> Fusillade accuses the end-over-end flipping Fulcrum.
MiG 29 <Fulcrum> emits a chuckle, as the arena is suddenly filled with tiny droplets of energon spinning in the airless space. "But now you get to hunt down the energon droplet by droplet" he replies. "It's a perfect teaching method. If you can do it, of course." He doesn't mention the fact that she'll no doubt be covered in tiny splatters of energon in the process. Who knew teaching could be this amusing?
<<Ahhhhhhhh, get control of being in a vaccuum first, and then next lesson, moving about... Now, what did Scrapper say about that? I can consult the manual...>> Fusillade overthinks while some of the more errant droplets begin to splatter along her joints and armor plating. A thin seal slides over the intakes of her alt mode's engines, before they convert over to different fuel boosters. Although not rated for long distance travel, they are more powerful than the smaller, newly installed retrrorockets, and she bolts downward to the bulk of the gleaming fluid. She sucks down a fairly sized glob, and then with a more extended bursts of the smaller rockets, slows, and then spins to face Fulcrum, wearing more than she had consumed. <<HA! Got one!>>
MiG 29 <Fulcrum> stifles another laugh at Fusi's fuel-speckled appearance. "Good work" he replies with an even tone as he arrests his own tumble. Of course, his own paint-job is now covered in miniscule splatters of energon, but it's totally worth it. "You can see how you can quite accurately match the speed and vector of an object with a bit of practice. I'd join you in dealing with that energon, but my retros only work in jet mode."
The faint tingle on the edge of her sensors is starting to creep into Fusillade's awareness, and with a shocked look on her face, she ahems, and then raises one smeared wrist to her mouth to get the worst of it off. <<Yuh-HUH,>> she responds dubiously to Fulcrum as they remain suspended in the cylindrical forcefield and the white droplets -- their own glolbular cluster. Fusillade moves to a second larger section that still jiggles and wobbles. This time, she's using a few of the manuvering thrusters along her torso and lower arms to correct her flight path as she goes, modulating the main vector. Less smearing now, this time.
"I'm serious. I'm a capable orbital-interceptor in jet mode, but the connections are broken when I transform. Why else would I be letting you have all the energon?" Fulcrum transforms to prove his words, coming out of his transformation sequence in a spin which he has no way of correcting.
<<To get me warmed up before we go to the Steel Balloon!>> Fusillade insists, although she hmms as she clicks heels, and then bobs over in his direction. <<Well let's see about additional application. Motion of another object in addition to me...>> She snaps out hands, and then GURKS as the inertia from the blacksmith drags her along with it. Screwing her face in concentrations, she reverses with a twenty-six degree angle of arc, and oofs a bit. A couple more bursts from several retrorockets on her frame, before the motion slowly comes under control. <<Agh, my shoulders. You're heavy!>>
"It's additional armor!" replies Fulcrum hastily as he's grabbed and dragged. "You're getting the hang of things quite well" he comments, genuinely impressed by how quickly she's taken to the low-gravity environment. "Shall we end the training session there?"
<<Hmm, let's get closer to the floor first, before we activate air and gravity again,>> Fusillade thinks, although even as Fulcrum compliments, she fudges a bit on the angle, and they both twirl a bit. Fusillade catches herself, but Fulcrum is on a slow loitering tailspin to the floor, a comet trail of micro-droplets in his wake. Fusillade darts down, and once on the ground. Yadot, who had been hovering around the periphery of the forcefield, darts over and slaps off the system, in a bit of a rush. It appears that arena foreman is looming in the background, now that more high-profile bouts are taking place in the Olympic site. Demand for ratings is high, so the trio, Decepticons and paramecium-thing, are getting the boot.
The MiG-29 twists around and folds in on itself with a grinding sound, transforming into the robotic form of Fulcrum.
Fulcrum lands clumsily, his odd approach angle and the sudden pull of gravity sending him dropping like a stone. "Hrm, maybe /I/ should see about getting zero-g functionality in this mode" he grumbles, rising from one knee. Scowling at the officials who are DARING to hurry them along, he absendmindedly flicks some energon from his frame and heads out of the arena.
Fusillade flashes a grin at Yadot. "Hey, tell your no-good brother that I won't hang him from his own flagella, now." She grins, way too wide, and then shimmies out of the arena, dancing aside from Fulcrum's spray. "You should!" she encourages. "Will they allow it?"
"Allow?" frowns Fulcrum. "Who would stop me?"
Fusillade prances after the blacksmith, leaning in to jostle one of his shoulders with her own. She pretty much bounces off of him. "Mysterious bureaucrat types, embittered by the additional freedoms to serve your Empire that space walk would afford you!"
Leet snaps up his neck to see Fulcrum enter the scene. He concentrates a bit more and goes back to writing. "...and then Fulcrum entered. 'Oh noes I thought you loved me Laserbeak' he cried with his manly beard. But then Snape appeared!..."
Fulcrum looks around, then leans close to Fusillade, muttering a barely audible reply as they head towards the stands, not noticing the small Autobot writing the Best Slashfic EVAR.
Fulcrum mutters to Fusillade, "High... and... not be... with... simply... the upgrade process... would not be the first time."
Fulcrum whispers "High command and accountants need not be bothered with every small detail. I would simply set the upgrade process in motion, aquire materials, then begin procedures. It would not be the first time."
Leet continues with his drivel, unabated. "...and then Fulcrum took his mighty throbbing hammer in his hands and said 'Im gonna POUND you Snape'. And he did"
Nodding to Fulcrum, Fusillade nods. "Very true! It's the Decepticon way!" And then as Leet continues to compose aloud, she blinks, and raises one hand to her helm. "Smelt, that energon must have been stronger than I thought, did he say..."
Fulcrum finally turns his attention to the dimminutive Junkion. "Who's Snape?" he asks to no-one in particular. "And why am I fighting him?"
Leet stares back at Fulcrum in mid-sentence, eyes open wide. "Do you not know? He is your Oh-Tee-Pee, your one true love! Romeo to your Juliet!"
"Uh... yeah, I'm going to go get checked out," Fusillade murmurs to Fulcrum as she stares at Leet, so many questions rattling around her head. Somehow, she suspects she'll regret the answer, so she scoots up the stairs swiftly.
Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a Terran B-1B Lancer, ready for flight!