| abstract
| - Some time ago, a flicker on the USAF's early-warning systems might have indicated an unscheduled orbital descent along the border of Montana and Canada. If anyone were sharp enough to follow the meteoric arrival, they'd eventually stumble across a figure sitting cross-legged on the slope of one of the many ridgeback mountains that make up Glacier National Park. Although relatively still, the voice that booms out crabbily into the radio comm from time to time is anything but serene. 5r"What do you MEAN they left for Cybertron, and then didn't stay in Nightseige? Smelt, that's the fifth flight this week! I don't CARE, Quartermaster, tell them you'll sell them your creator's silver-coated diodes if it'll get them to stay." A silver and black cybertronian star fighter flies into the atmosphere. He had detected a strange reading from orbit and was following it. He flew at top speed for the cause, going to investigate it. As radio chatter filters in, Fusillade's shoulders hunch in annoyance. She snaps her wingblade shut, holsters it, and takes to the air, hmming to herself as she catches a faint ping on her IFF. All the more reason to move quickly. "I swear if that incoming turd damages the ships' armor..." She growls a bit, before her engines tick over into a full blown afterburner scream. -travel snip- Bonesaw is disoriented and apparently on fire from his descent through the atmosphere thus far. Whatever vehicle he was traveling in has been destroyed... from the various smoldering hunks near him you might be able to make out the materials of an ancient Decepticon long-range shuttle. But mostly you would be concerned with the flaming disabled Decepticon headed towards the shiny baseship. Bonesaw seems to flash in and out of consciousness, his radio occasionally crackling but mostly not these past few minutes. Vigil flies low to avoid being detected and when his own scanners show what is here, he lets an inward gasp. He then begins to try and fly closer without being detected. The comms ringing to life has shaken Fusillade out of her relative seclusion in Montana. It's with an irritated flick of nose canards that she wind-up turns as she makes her last barrel-roll from orbital re-entry, her space tiles glowing a sullen red. Clipping past a few slower patrols, the Lancer angles itself to match relative speed with the tumbling robot. "Ooh. We've got... a live one. Maybe." <> Fusillade radios crisply, before gingerly edging closer to the free-falling robot form until the broad span of her left wing bobs below him. A few chunks of flaming debris thump off her fuselage, at times making her jerk aside unpredictably. F-16 Falcon returns from a perimiter recon mission, well at least that was what he was told it was, not that he really cares that the other Decepticons just wanted some nice quite time. He doesn't appear to be in any hurry to intercept the flaming death, maybe it's just a little too much ice caked on his wings? Bonesaw flashes in and out of consciousness, ranting convolsively, "Noo! I won't! I---" he blacks out again. Closer analysis puts his tradjectory right through the Argosy recreation center. For those brave enough to get VERY close they will notice a strange alien goo-like substance coating the entire form of the Decepticon, oddly it is partially resistant to the atmospheric strain of re-entry, only flaking off in light layers. F-35B Lightning II was just on Cybertron the other day. However, she has taken the spacebridge back to Earth so that no one wmiss her too much. Oh, who is she kidding? No one is going to miss her. Fusillade bellowed, and so Catechism is here. As usual, she has no idea what is going on, and so she circles on the air, trying to get a better view. Bonesaw is small, but remember the giant hunks of busted-shuttle are about as well. Bonesaw is smelting his way through the atmosphere, having somehow survived some kind of shuttle destruction. Who says Decepticons have a monopoly on flight? Case in point...Grimlock! He flies through the air with a complete lack of grace, arms extended out in front of him a-la-Superman. "Hrrr. That thing must be what him Red Alert talk 'bout!" Grimlock says, pointing at the glowy bits of former-shuttle streaking through the atmosphere. He pauses, however, as he notes that they're headed...towards the Argosy. "That bad." Vigil flies closer and upon seeing the being, the cockpit of the starfighter reveals some red glowing consoles. He then transforms to his robot mode, his usual green optics now bright red as he heads to the being. "YOU!" F-16 Falcon flies closer as Dreadwind just knows he's going to be dragged into this mess and probably blamed for it as well. Though he doesn't risk getting in amidst the falling wreckage no point increasing his suffering just yet especial seeing as Fusillade has just ordered the Argosy to target the large chunks for destruction. Dreadwind radios helpfully on an open channel, "If you wish to futiley struggle against the inevitable flaming demise it might be wise to lessen the speed of descent prior to impact and destruction of the Argosy." Foxfire can't do the Superman pose. After all, his wings are attached to his front limbs. At least they're retractable. He manages to keep up with Grimlock, and shoots him a glance. "Ya think?" The command deck crew work feverishly, but one would never know it from the serene unaltered course of the ship. A veil of light, composed of a volley of laserblasts, pierces upward from the multiple wingvane tips of the craft. There's a multitude of cracks and detonations as the space flotsam disintegrates in a spectacular display of defensive firepower. Fusillade jerks away with a jabbered out, <> before she transforms and reaches out to snag the still-falling husk. At the moment, Grimlock and Foxfire are too far away, but she double-takes as the silver and black Autobot snarls. "HUH? What?" Will she fumble the catch? Fusillade succeeds in grasping Bonesaw, throwing him off-balance. Bonesaw fails to respond to either Vigil's or Dreadwind's hails. Unless by 'respond' you mean 'flails unconsciously while buffeted by face-melting physical trauma'. Then, in a fit, his optics flicker once more as Fusillade gets closer, "Warn them?? I'm not your sla-ARRRGGG!!"
* CLANG!!!!*Peels of flakey alien-goo explode from his form as Fusillade manages a spectacular mid-air catch (gross). Optics flicker once more then snap offline once again. Fusillade was thinking what Catechism was thinking, apparently. So instead of diving and trying to catch Bonesaw, Catechism instead continues to circle, turning a wary set of optics upon the arriving Autobots. Will she called upon to engage? For once, Catechism hopes not. Usually, she's spoiling for a fight, just itching to pound her fists into some Autobot faces, but for now, she has a loftier task, and she is not sure if she can afford to injure herself. Truly, the world has gone mad. The sleek bomber rears up, wings collapsing onto hips even as the rear fuselage splits to form arms. The horizontal stabilizer slides up, the forward fuselage folds up accordian style, and Fusillade hops up on thrustered feet. Random flaming debris, however, continues to plumet towards the Argosy, the worst of it appears to have been picked off by the baseship's weaponry, but a few errant fragments still threaten various Decepticons in the area. "Oh no, I let you escape once before, I will not do so again!" Vigil screams as he flies for Fusillade, transforming into his star fighter mode and flying at top speed for the two decepticons. F-16 Falcon due to a wise decision is not caught in the fire from the Argosy but Dreadwind knows that it is only a momentary reprieve, he's probably going to get told to get inbetween the falling con and the Argosy to try and slow things even further. Dreadwind hasn't even noticed the Autobots arriving, well either that or he just can't be bothered to react.
* BOOM!* The Antarctic ice cracks and shakes as Grimlock makes his none-too-gentle landing, some distance away from the goings-on. "Me Grimlock am best spy!" he decrees, and then rummages out a pair of TF-sized binoculars, which he uses to sight in on the goings-on. He does, however, let out a "Har har har!" as he sees bits of flaming shrapnel fall towards the Argosy. It's enough to make an Autobot want to join in on the mayhem, but Grimlock has a mission! Or...something. But wait, what's this? Vigil is zipping about? "HEY YOU." He grunts over short-range radio. "YOU NO BE DUMB. ME GRIMLOCK AM TRYING TO SPY." This said, he looks over at Foxfire, mildly annoyed. "Him Vigil dumb." F-35B Lightning II opens up with her Gatlings and rockets on the debris, aiming to shoot it out of the sky or just plain explode it before it can harm her comrades or the Argosy. She sighs and mutters something about, "Poncy Sweeps." Those Autobots... who do they think they're fooling? Foxfire rolls his optics and retracts his wings, deactivating his anti-gravs to land beside Grimlock. "Yeah...a spy who's noisy. Keep it down, would ya?" Not having binoculars, he can't see the scene as well as Grimlock, and gives him a puzzling look. "He is? What's he doing?" Bonesaw is helpless to do anything like dodge while being 'rescued' by Fusillade, flaky alien goo-crust and all. His optics flicker in and out quickly, and he manages a somewhat coherent, but feeble, "Vigil??" before returning to his previously scheduled delusional rantings about galactic overlords and dire "DIRE!!" warnings.
* SPLUT* "Oh, ew," Fusillade utters, even as her shoulders nearly wrench out of their sockets from the massive difference of their veolcity. The inertia still keeps hauling them toward the shimmering plasma coated hull of the Argosy, and it's with a boisterous "FRAK!!!" that Fusillade ignites all four heel thrusters to try to halt their descent. She manages most of it, but still cracks her upper arm pretty hard on the recreation deck. She spares a moment to give a fierce 'I see you!!!!' point in the direction of the slacking troops still inside the glass dome. She's still quite mindful of the Autobot screaming her way, and whips around, wingblade unfurled. Vigil begins spinning and weaving, then firing shots. At first the shots were wild but then he fires one that he actually stops spinning for a second to aim: A shot for one of her heel engines as he flies on by. Vigil succeeds in grasping Fusillade, throwing her off-balance. "Me best spy." Grimlock repeats. "Cuz them septi-cons think 'Oh, Grimlock so strong and cool! He too strong to be weedy spy!'" The dinocommander even takes on a whiny falsetto for his 'Decepticon' voice. "So them never think that me spy anyway!" Grimlock nods at his explaination for Foxfire...and then pauses, looking back into his super-spy binoculars. "Him Vigil gonna get exploded." he says. "He trying to pick fight with that one Septi-con girl. One with big tailfins." Foxfire groans. "Aw, jeez... Well, what do we do, then? It's just you and me here to help him." F-16 Falcon 's attention is drawn to the pesky Autobot that actually starts to open fire on Fusillade as she tries to rescue whatever that plummetting ball of stuff is called. "Foolish Autobot you must realise that you cannot change anything here and yet you wish to increase your sufffering." With that he starts to track Vigil lining up for the optimum shot not because of any regard for Fusillade but because he just knows if it doesn't look like he tried something he'll be tortured for it, well more than usual anyway. Outfitted with a loud, sassy mouth, Fusillade is pretty used to being the distraction. But this time, the glint in the Autobot's optics seems to be a bit more personal. Having already plunked into the cracked plasteel dome of the rec center, half glued to the ship and in turn with a near-corpse glued to her, Fusillade doesn't have much room to move. The shots from the enraged Vigil land home, and with a yowl, Fusillade nearly tips backward. With cheek cracking on the surface, she squints over at the flailing semi-concscious mech. "UGH what got a hold of you? And who in the smelt are you anyway?" Vigil shifts in mid air, his hand holding a bladeless hilt. The hilt hums as a blue energy blade comes to life, which he tries to swing it at the being which had his enemy, trying to bring them both down. His usual green optics are glowing red, showing his rage. "I will destroy you the same way you destroyed my friends!" You evade Vigil's grasp attack. F-35B Lightning II peels off after the Autobot that had the sheer audacity to hassle her commander. Her jet engines scream angrily as she tries to catch up with the Autobot. She transforms to her robot mode at the last moment before collision and attempts to grab the Autobot, grousing, "Do I come to Autobot City and try to tag Silverbolt when he's minding his own business? No? Have some manners, Autobot!" F-35B Lightning II transforms into robot form. Catechism's feet unfold, her arms unfold out of her body, her nosecone rotates through her body and ends up on her body, and her wings rotate into position at her hips. Bonesaw is very grateful for Fusillade's rescue. So grateful that he shows it with layer upon gooey layer of... hrm.. well probably best left up to the science department to figure out EXACTLY what we are talking about here. In between rantings Bonesaw manages to yank his neck around and momentarily grasp his rescuer firmly, "HELP US. I need... to WARN.. THEY ARE COMING." his optics flare violently as he spies Vigil, the smoldering Decepticon is currently helpless against Vigil's attacks,but one can feel hatred of a deeply personal nature indeed. Turning away once more he resumes screaming, "DOOOM FOR US ALL! WE-- THERE'S NO TIME!" Catechism succeeds in grasping Vigil, throwing him off-balance. Fusillade has also squawked out her location in radio to Scavenger on tightband. Honest! Vigil is stopped by Catechism and tries to punch the femme with his free hand, transforming fully to his robot state as he flies once more for Fusillade and Bonesaw, not caring about anything else. Scavenger flies into the area, holding a can of some sort of solvant. He flies towards Fusillage, saying loudly "Hold still. Lemme unglue you then get to the guy stuck on the wall!" with that, he starts to apply the solvant to the glued areas, trying to free her as soon as possible. Dreadwind breaks off from his attempt to track Vigil and turns headed in the direction of the two Autobots standing in the snow, is he actually going to engage them? Well it certainly looks like he might be. Fusillade is a horrible patient. Even if the shovel-tailed mech was the one responsible for recovering her lasercore from a tidepool after the rest of her was atomized... this was demeaning. She squirms quite a bit even as the solvent begins to dissolve the green sheen of the cushion material. Between any number of petulant objections, she manages to throw out a hand to one side of Scavenger and points a finger at the incoming Vigil. "He's got robo-rabies!" Redshift was, as usual, in his quarters polishing his weapons and making sure all his paint applications are -perfect-. Even in civil war, one has to look one's best. However, after hearing about the tumultuous situation outside of the Argosy, Redshift exits the ship, hading towards where Fusillade and some unknown mech have been somehow glued to the side of the vessel. He sees that Scavenger has already begun to work on the... goo. "Fusillade!" Redshift calls out, flying to her location. "What the frak is going on?" He asks, putting his body in between Fusillade and the unknown Autobot, whom he's seem before. Once she realizes that Catechism is on Vigil's case, Fusillade settles down a bit. "I'll be okay, even if that little snot took out my number three engine. Let's get this other guy online and... aww, Redshift... Let's see if we can get this guy coherent enough to be able to make a report about what's going on." Vigil swings his energy sword and attempts to slice at Fusillade again, having gotten free from Catechism, in a completely uncontrollabe rage as he tries to get to his true target. Vigil succeeds in grasping Fusillade, throwing her off-balance. Scavenger murmurs "Hold still. And someone keep this guy from shooting at us!" He says. "I'll get you two. That's quite a lot of goo. Who did this?" He starts to use his laser to chisel at the harder bits, as the solvant works. "And who'se your friend?" Catechism really is not going to tolerate some punk Autobot who thinks he can fly. She especially is not going to tolerate some punk Autobot waltzing over to Fusillade. She again transforms and attempts to carefully peg Vigil with a few shells. She feels her aim is good enough to hit him and not endager Bonesaw, Fusillade, or the Argosy. Sunder pops out of the aft of the Argosy, in a supremely bad humor. Autobot attacks on the Argosy were never welcome, and the audacity of one of them to try it once more is grating on his nerves. He transforms and prepares to engage any who are foolish enough to try to board the craft. A bald eagle appears on the horizon. They don't normally fly this high, or come in colors that match the American flag perfectly, but, uh, maybe... it's a unique offshoot of the species? Or something? Nah, it's Americon. Grimlock hmms, and glances down at Foxfire for a few moments...and then looks back to the matter at hand- which in this case, seems to be Dreadwind! "Hm. This might be bad." he says, and then pulls out his double-blaster, snapping off a couple of blasts at the 'con before he can get TOO close and troublesome! "You Vigil!" he grunts. "You stomp being dumb now!" Swindle has arrived on the scene and is, for the moment, keeping his head down and looking for the best opportunity to strike. Or to at least fire off a few shots, claim some minor victory over a vicious penguin and then rest on his laurels. Grimlock succeeds in grasping F-16 Falcon, throwing him off-balance. Dredclaw leaps out of the Argosy's airlock with a supremely ticked off growl and transforms, streaking out to met out pain and punishment to the Autobots that have the audacity to interfere with his rest. Bonesaw manages a growl as he snaps into a semi-sane state. He struggles mightily to get the words out, "Not much time..." he speaks efficiently, with the practiced diagnosis of an accomplished surgeon (but from where??) "My distributor is jammed and my neural shunts are on the verge of critical trauma... I have maybe.." he coughs up energon onto his rescuer (gross!) "A few astro-seconds! I was returning... *wheez* pursuit of Vigil... I was attacked. Held hostage. Some sort of... " his optics fade, "Technology I have never imagined. They are coming for us. For our sins against" he coughs, obscuring his words in a dramatic fashion, "We should not have helped them... now they bring certain DOOM to us all.." Bonesaw continues his convienent bout of exposition while coughing up more energon and flaking weird alien glaze off of his armor, "I woke up in my shuttle.. covered in... some kind of organic compound.. *cough* crystaline... glucopyranosyl.. couldn't complete analysis. Shuttle -distintegrated- seconds later." his optics flicker once more and cut off.. apparently for good?? Bonesaw drips more gooey glaze. Mmmmm. Scavenger grabs some goup in his hand and puts it in subspace. "I'll get it to Mixmaster soon enough. Don't eat it." He warns. "Come on guy. Let's get you off of Fusillade.." Redshift narrows his optics at the rampaging silver and black Autobot. Redshift pops put his wost-mounted knives, and gets ready to get up close and personal, while still keeping himself between Vigil and Fusillade. Not that Redshift cares about whoever that other mech is. "Get lost, Autoscum! You're outgunned and outclassed!" He shouts, and lashes out with one of his blades, keeping the other ready to parry that sword Vigil is waving around. Redshift strikes Vigil with blade. The downward stab of Vigil's energy blade strikes home, pinning Fusillade through the left thigh. "Gu-hurk! You're gonna pay for that, psycho!!" She snaps her free leg up and lets fly with a mule kick in Vigil's direction, ifCatechism and Redshift haven't already intercepted him. She's covered in goo, and tries to make sense of the chaos unfolding right next to her atop the Argosy's main hull. She fliches as the expectorant splatters on her, and she growls. "Oh wait this stuff is from ALIEN EXPERIMENTORS?" Vigil gets slashed by Redshift. His back explodes a bit from the shots but he ignores it, swinging his sword for Redshift's arms. "OUT OF MY WAY!!" He bellows, his voice echoing loudly as if speaking with two voices at the same time. The starfighter shifts and folds into itself, forming into Vigil! F-16 Falcon was flying along almost happily to recon the considerable danger of thousands of hidden Autobot forces tunneling beneath the snow but then Grimlock got all scared and decided to attack. The blaster fire adds even more pain to the already depressing cycle that Dreadwind has been having as it melts into his underside, "In such a rush to end your suffering Grimlock? I suppose the deficient are always the first to go, which is why my suffering shall continue for many more vorns..." He trails off as the thought threatens to push him fully into the black void, but he snaps out of it just in time to open up with his thermal melters. Given the area of the combat they might cause trouble for anyone on the ground even if they aren't hit. Dreadwind succeeds in grasping Grimlock, throwing him off-balance. Vigil strikes Redshift with Cyberblade's sword. "Rargh!" Grimlock takes the thermal melters, but remains whole- even as the ice around his feet melts! The Dinobot takes to the air, and heads right for the jet, aiming to deliver a hefty *PUNCH!* to the annoying wannabe-seeker! "Me Grimlock say you talk too much!" And with that said, he takes off towards the Argosy. "You Vigil need stop being dumb!" Robotic Bald Eagle lands lightly beside Bonesaw. His head tilts curiously in that birdie sort of way, and he pecks at the glaze, then narrows his optics thoughtfully as he considers the taste. "Hmmmmm." Grimlock misses F-16 Falcon with his grasp attack. Catechism takes another pot-shot at Vigil, this time taking a heading from above. The Autobot is doggedly persistent, and Catechism snaps, "I am forced to agree with Grimlock, and that doesn't happen often." What will it take to get him to lay off? Bonesaw remains unconscious -- possibly dead -- and really there is only so much you can pose doing while in that state, so Bonesaw is carefully transfered to Scavenger's "care" and hopefully brought onto the Argosy for further interrogation... if they can resusitate him. The 'glaze' still flecks off of him whenever someone touches him, it doesn't feel acidic or really that stick, but has a strange familiarity to some. "Oh, what IS it Americon? is it going to turn me into goo too?" Fusillade asks as she finally levers herself back up to a standing position, favoring her left pierced leg. As Scavenger begins to pack away the barely coherent mech, she raises one hand to her audial. The gleaming energy blade slices right through Redshift's parrying blade, and continues on to cut into Redshift's chest. His optic flare brightly, and he bares his teeth at Vigil. "I just finished polishing my cockpit! You've ruined my FINISH you little brat!" Redshift shouts, and from his burning red optics he fire a pair of red laser beams, aimed at Vigil's hand to try and disarm the sword-wielding lunatic. Redshift strikes Vigil with Optic Beams. Scavenger gets Bonesaw to his forcefield, nodding at Fusillade. "Allright I got him. Going to bring him to the Argosy." With that he lands, calling in a medical team to bring Bonesaw in for a checkup. Vigil's sword blasts out of his hand, infact his hand exploding off. He flies after the weapon, grabbing it with his free hand. A slot opens up on his cut off arm, a barrel aiming out as he fires a shot for Redshift's optics. Vigil misses Redshift with his pistol attack. F-16 Falcon would nod if he had a head, "yes i figured someone with you limited computational abilities would have an irrational aversion to conversation, why do i always have to interact with those that haven't even got the slightest chance of seeing the awful truth of reality." Grimlock's aim must have been off or something as Dreadwind flies straight past the flying punch, either that or life is going to make him suffer in someother manner. UNable to turn quick enough Dreadwind transforms and opens fire with a single wrist blaster. F-16 Falcon suddenly halts it's forwards momentum and pulls up as it bends in half. The body of the jet twists and unfolds to become legs, while arms extrude themselves from the fuselage sides. Dreadwind succeeds in grasping Grimlock, throwing him off-balance. Robotic Bald Eagle looks up at Fusillade. "Hi there. If you're worried about the goo, I could lick it off of you!" He frowns, somehow. "Wait... lemme check something." He reaches behind himself with a wing, and withdraws by unknown means a book. With his other wing, he places a small pair of reading glasses on his head and looks thoughtful as he reads the book, which is titled, "Guide to Workplace Ethics." After a few minutes, he closes the book and says, "Uh, I'm sorry, I cannot lick you, that would be sexual harassment! Although we Decepticons only nominally have genders, the book does not make exceptions for robots!" Bonesaw is forcefielded (who knew Scavenger had one?? :) safely onto the Argosy, his dramatic journey finally reaching a -- temporary -- ending. Vital signs are weak to none, but there is plenty of glaze for everyone! The sword-wielding maniac got lucky with his first hit, this time Redshift easily ducks away from the return fire that was aimed at his face, as he begins to smile. "Now, little birdy. I've shot off one hand, wanan try for two? you'll have a tough time trying to cut us up with your fancy blade when you've got no bloody hands!" Parts beneath Redshift's armor click into place, and then a pair of gatling guns can be seen. Redshift tosses his head back with a laugh, and opens fire, spraying a stream of bullets at Vigil. Redshift misses Vigil with his Machine Guns attack. More lasers! Though they rebound off of Grimock's heavy armor anyway. "Bwah!" he grunts, and turns around to start a-zapping at the Decepticon- but only in passing. This done, he turns about and soars towards teh Argosy...or, more accurately, towards Vigil. "You not even listening to me Grimlock!" Vigil looks up and weaves through the shots, barely avoiding them. He then shifts to his starfighter state and flies at top speed for Redshift. However just reaching the mech, he banks off, flying straight for the sky and the atmosphere. Vigil leaps and begins folding into himself, wings extending to his sides as he is a starfighter! Vigil begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Decepticon Shuttle , Sweepcraft , Sweepcraft . Catechism exclaims, "Finally! Annoying little Autobot. I wonder what had him so riled?" A thought occurs to her, and asks, "Fusillade, sir, you ever blow up his village or something?" Soaring through the air, the massive Dinobot known as Slag lets his presence be known even as he is still approaching with a bellowing yell of, "ME SLAG MELT EVERYTHING!" The heavily-armored Autobot starts to descend through the air just as Vigil starts to fly off, blinking and staring at him. "Me think him big wuss. GRIMLOCK! What me Slag stomping?! Slag crush them Decepticons to powder!" Of course, cuz there's a huge battle in the sky....who comes a calling? Why it's the ever loving Aerialbots! Or at least a couple of them....that is....if Dredclaw can make out the blurs after he's hit with a sonic boom. Trudging her way along the immense spine of the Argosy, Fusillade slicks off the flaking glaze, disgust writ large on her features. As she reaches the apex of the ship's outer surface, she plants hands on hips, and takes a better survey of who is and isn't present. The spearhead shapes of a set of Sweeps catch the periphery of her vision, and then she thinks she makes out the mustard yellow patch of Swindle... ah, good. With a faint limp as she turns back toward Catechism, she barks out a laugh, "Well, unless he was from KILLARN, no, I don't think so. But then I wouldn't know, because I'm blowin' up buildings and can't see who all's inside. I think he really really wanted to get to the ship's survivor." At the blur of red chasing after silver and black, Fusillade glances back up skyward. "NAH! AHAH!" She shakes a finger at Redshift. You send a radio message to Redshift: Don't let him draw you away from the base!! An F-16C (Skydive) is an Aerialbot and flies in on Silverbolt's wing. Just another day at the office... Robotic Bald Eagle throws his wings out wide and waddles after Fusillade comically, pecking at the flecks of glaze that fall off of her and gobbling them up. He looks more like a chicken or a pidgeon than an eagle, from the way he's acting. "Yum! Nothing in the book says I can't do this!" Redshift flinches as the Autobot, now a spacecraft of unknown design, flies towards him. He's all too familiar with the effects of a crashing spaceship. The wimpy little brat takes off, but Redshift recieves his orders before he can make chase. "Of course, not, Fusillade. Wouldn't dream of it." He says with a knowing smile. It would have been fun, but orders are orders, AND there are plenty of other targets becoming available. Catechism hovers along after Fusillade, looking somewhat concerned for her commander. Her optics narrow, and she asks, "The survivor? Interesting... seems all these people of import are turning up out of the metalwork." Americon draws an odd look from her. What is doing? Does she want to know? Probably not. Dreadwind stares blankly in what may be disbelief, Grimlock has turned his back on him and actually goes away, he was expecting to be torn limb from limb and left in the snow to finish his last few days frozen and forgotten. Dreadwind's arms drop limply to his sides as it hits him, first Guiltor and then Grimlock ignore him, it can mean only one thing, the universe will never allow his suffering to end until all life is finally extinguished. "Slag? Silverbolt?" Grimlock pauses and glances over at the other autobots. "We done here! Me Grimlock tired of being a spy. Is time for leaving now!" and with that, he soars off away from the Argosy, now that there's no reason for him to stick around. Well, there's always the opportunity to explode things, but he can pass for now. Vroom! Grimlock begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Ramjet, Sixshot, Slag, Decepticon Shuttle , Robotic Bald Eagle , Sweepcraft , Sweepcraft , An F-16C (Skydive), Concorde SST , Swindle, Scavenger, Redshift, Foxfire, Catechism, Dreadwind, Fusillade, Decepticon Airbase . Concorde SST circles the Argosy as a pretty safe distance....and hears Grimlock's retreat order. <> He then Wingwaggles. <> Silverbolt begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Sixshot, Decepticon Shuttle , Sweepcraft , Sweepcraft , An F-16C (Skydive). "I... uh, thanks?" Fusillade says to Americon as he scuttles after her and her trail of goo flakes atop the topmost hull of the Argosy. There are a few rectangular segments of inactivated plasma sheathing from where the wings took damage from the falling shuttle debris and the strikes from Vigil. With a grunt and considerable effort, Fusillade shoves off of the ship, and wobbles a bit in midair until her three good engines take over, and she hovers, although she does cast a sharp gaze at the swooping Concorde and his aerial companion. "Smelt, the rest of them had better not show up..." Grimlock and company are too far away and on the ground for her to be aware of the call for the Autobots to pull out. Slag, having just recently arrived, blinks as he floats in mid-air. Clearly confused, the Dinobot just stares for a long moment of awkward silence, before lifting a hand to scratch his head. "We -leaving-? That -lame-! Me Slag think that stupidest thing he ever hear! Slag give you big piece of his -- his -- uhhh -- his brainthing when we get back! HIM GRIMLOCK DUMBER THAN IDALIAN IDIOT!" And that hollered, Slag twists in mid-air, beginning a retreat. Slag begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Ramjet, Sixshot, Decepticon Shuttle , Robotic Bald Eagle , Sweepcraft , Sweepcraft , An F-16C (Skydive), Concorde SST , Swindle, Scavenger, Redshift, Foxfire, Grimlock, Catechism, Dreadwind, Fusillade, Decepticon Airbase . "Oy!" Ramjet shouts, poking his silver-and-red cone (!!!!) out of one of the Argosy's ports. He glances around, red optics flickering as he catches the familiar sight of a CONCORDE (who is actually a Concorde and not a MiG-25) streaking away from the Argosy. "... I swear, that chump is always runnin' away when I show up. Frakkin', no-courage havin'.. good for nothin' Autochump!" Ramjet retracts his cone, only to shove his blue (!) arm out and shake his fist at the Autobots. "AND STAY OFFA MY SKY-CASTLE LAWN!!!!!" Ramjet shouts in victory. An F-16C (Skydive) banks hard and follows as well. "<< Copy. Turning on Flight Recorder, maybe I can get a look at their aerospace a little later in AC.>> Skydive begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Sixshot, Decepticon Shuttle , Sweepcraft , Sweepcraft , Concorde SST . Sweepcraft toys with a missile lock on Silverbolt as he streaks away but does not bother loosing one of the proton charges. Instead he circles back towards the Air fortress and transforms near Fusillade. "Do you require any assistance?" he asks. Catechism shoots a glare at Dredclaw. She lept to Fusillade's defense! She hovered around after Fusillade to make sure that Fusillade was okay. So of course this stuck-up Sweep thinks that he can just fly in, after the fact. So very typical. Dreadwind flies up through the sky towards the Argosy hanging in the air like a corpse as he goes it's almost spooky to watch, his latest terrible realisation causing him to be even more depressed than usual. Suddenly, a red, white, and blue eagle with something sugary on its beak flings itself at Ramjet's arm and tries to scratch it up! "CAW! CAW!" he screams. Americon misses Ramjet with his grasp attack. Sweepcraft snarls as the Autobots retreat. He gives a short pursuit, to fire on one particular Aerialbot. He opens up with his disruptor, to give Skydive a taste of what he would have had to deal with, had he remained. Sunder strikes An F-16C (Skydive) with disruptor. Redshift hovers over towards Fusillade's position, which is starting ot get crowded. "So, still in one piece? How about that drink you were talking about?" He asks, as he idly picks at where the little wimp cut him across his chest. Catechism smacks her hand into her cone. Why is Americon attacking Ramjet? Isn't Ramjet secretly... nevermind. Her head hurts. She just continues to hover near Fusillade and looks surly. Very surly. Grr. Looking mollified by her successful play at unifying the split between the factions, however briefly, Fusillade cants her head to Dredclaw. "I believe that the threat has passed, but thank you for the offer. You should rest up after your injuries, the Empire will need you." Even as Catechism glowers, Fusillade purses lips, well aware of the tensions between the groups gathered on the prow of the ship. "It will need all of us, regardless of who ultimately leads it. For now, yes, Redshift, I will have that drink, as will you. And Catechism. And Dredclaw. We have much to discuss." An F-16C (Skydive) is soooo busy recording that he doesn't even notice the huge bolt of energy filling his recorder. Doo Doo Doo, it is a nice day for a picnic....ouch.....OUCH!!! Skydive is hit in the afterburner and the blast causes him to flip forwarded and the insuing battle for control is quite comical...bank left...right...up....down but eventually slamming his flaps down Skydive gets control. That Sweep is asking for it... Ramjet shouts into the Imperial broadband as Americon's talons fasten onto his hand. He flails his hand as best he can, given the tight fit of the port that he's shoved his limb into. Maybe that will teach him not to shove parts of himself into strange ports. On second thought, it won't. "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Ramjet howls as he flails his wrist, trying to shake Americon off. You head into the Argosy's lounge: the Wing and Thruster. Fashioned from multiple suites which have had their adjoining walls removed, The Wing and Thruster provides a modestly spacious lounge area for the commander and crew of the Argosy. A bar is set just inside the door along one wall and is manned by the barkeep- Oilcan who knows when to say when -most of the time - even if some of his patrons may not. Throughout the rest of the lounge are scattered tables and booths that provide seating for nearly any size Decepticon. A large glassteel window provides a view of the skies through which the Argosy is currently flying, and patrols of Seekers and flights of Sweeps can be seen entering and leaving the hangar from this vantage point. A large trophy case has been erected along the wall behind the bar and is filled with momentos of past battles. Type +case to have a closer look. Along the shorter side wall is an elliptical meeting table with a holographic display on the wall beside it. One or more Sweeps can usually be found here, planning a Hunt or reviewing footage from past missions. Entering +hboard will show you what the Sweeps are currently up to, if you so desire. And +commands will display available commands for the meeting table. At the top of the board glows their current primary objective: PRIORITY OBJECTIVE: To make pay those who refuse to bow before Galvatron's Might With heels ringing down the hallway of the Argosy, Fusillade trounces along toward the Wing and Thruster. She radios ahead on broadband for the troops already stationed along the hallway to grant minimal access to any party members who have known ties to Galvatron's sect -- ie, move along to the booze. Glancing over her shoulder at Redshift, she fixes him with a scrutinizing gaze, before nodding to Catechism. "Good job on that Autobot pest." Dirge walks in. The doors go woosh-woosh as they open for him and close behind him. Fancy. Catechism follows along after Fusillade. She is doing her best to look intimidating. Her normally retracted spiked knuckles are out in full extension. She sticks close to Fusillade, hoping to deter any Acts of Stupidity by her fellows. She replies, "Thank you, sir. Redshift was perhaps more useful." She narrows her optics at Redshift. She's never really met him. Is he as crazy as Blueshift? Is he a Galvatronian? Redshift's usual sly smirk is on his face, although he does look a bit dissapointed. He offers Fusillade a wink when she looks at him, following her sleek booty as they head towards the bar. "A pity about that flying scrapbot," Redshift muses. "I didn't catch his name, but I have seen him before. Next time I'll get more than just his hand." Robotic Bald Eagle is probably still attached to Ramjet's arm, but may have gotten tired and ended his spree of violence. With a healthy dose of grumble and swagger, the still-repainted Ramjet makes his way into his favorite fueling hole in the Empire. The drinks are energon-downed, the service is awful, the clientelle bearded and creepy, and the women are more likely to shoot you than toss you a saucy wink. In fact, one could argue with the red-white-n'-blue deco'd Ramjet that this is the shittiest bar in the entire galaxy. He would hear you out, nod attenatively so you would know he is listening, and then knock you clear across into the next vorn. For this bar has one thing no other bar in the universe has. It isn't the unique dartboard and it isn't the Sweep bric-a-brac. It's the fact that this bar is aboard an airbase and that, Brothers-and-Sisters-in-Duty, is frakkin' incredible. "Two." Ramjet says, motioning with two blue-painted digits of his left hand. "Two?" Oilcan asks, suddenly wincing as he often knows better than to ask. "One for me..." says the patriotic jet. "..and one for the bird-brain." Ramjet indicates, lifting his right arm with an Americon fastened to it. Sunder walks into the bar, heading straight for the counter. "Bloody Seeker, please," he requests, pawing forth the customary credits. Ahhh, such a drink was the perfect pick-me-up after a hard day of defending the Argosy. Dirge's gaze drifts slowly from Con to Con, then he clanks his way over to the bar. The dark blue Seeker ends up right next to Ramjet. And totally ignores him. Draping herself atop a barstool by one of the smaller tables, Fusillade raises her left leg up and begins to pick out fragments from the shattered mess of her heel thrusters. "He certainly was persistant, to the point of fanaticism. Most Autobots don't get that sort of violence in their processors. Hematite Sunrise," she murmurs to Oilcan before she snaps out Sunder, "You do not pay today. Also..." She regards those gathered. "Catechism has pointed out a large number of new faces since the... difference of opinion between our dear leaders. Pity most of the identifying marks on that shuttle were atomized before it hit the Argosy's wings." Robotic Bald Eagle nods, wings folded even while he perches at the odd and constantly shifting angle. "Mindlessly attacking Ramjet made me very thirsty!" Catechism knows a good deal about fanaticism. She doesn't order anything. Catechism can knock them back - ask Fusillade about her initation into Beta Wing someday. Or don't. Catechism just wants a clear head for the time being. She stands behind Fusillade's barstool and a bit off to the left. Catechism nods and asks, "Where are all these guys coming from and why now? Couldn't this Bonesaw guy have fallen out of the sky after we got out leaders sorted out?" "Hematite sunrise, hmm?" Redshift asks, as he takes a seat opposite Fusillade at the small table. "I'll have to have one too. Make that two, Oilcan." Redshift adds with an easy smile. He settles into his seat more comfortable, leaning back and relaxing. "Good to hear the channel is encrypted, I /knew/ there was something funny going on. You don't /really/ Think I'd say 'to da moon', do you?" Dredclaw finds his seat and orders a Raining nebula. The Sweep then nurses his drink and his raging headache in silence. As Dirge pointedly ignores Ramjet, so too does Ramjet. Although he looks slightly crestfallen. Couldn't that blue bastard at least comment on his new paintjob? Ramjet's rifle-capped shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. Son of a rust-witch. As his drink is slid into his grasp, he glances from it to Americon. "....." He stares at Americon with a brow-arched grumpy look and then glances over to Dredclaw. "Nnh." Ramjet grunts, raising his tankard at the Sweep in acknowledgement. At last, someone else knows what it's like to be cursed with headaches. Sunder on the other hand, is ignored. He ordered a bitch drink. Fusillade pausing by her drink, Fusillade rubs fingers together, still disturbed at the goo -- and the amount that came off on her. "There was distinct hatred, very personal, between the Autobot and the shuttle's survivor. I agree, Catechism, that the timing is not ideal." She hmms to Redshift. "Rescued Autobot in France? Hmm, maybe related. I'll keep that in mind -- and... maybe? You're not enough for me to know. Speaking of which..." She leans in, peeling goggles off her citrine optics and fixes Redshift with a piercing gaze. "Just where do all of you stand? What are your thoughts on this split?" At the same time, a pair of drinks, topped with amber Hex Brandy over magenta Ibex Cooler, clatters up. "Seems like some kind of experimentation. He was screaming about doom. Pretty standard for warnings of destruction." Robotic Bald Eagle excitedly cries out, "Oh, boy!" as his own drink is left on the bar in front of him. He hops and dunks his head into the mug, trying to guzzle it upside down as his talons and wings wriggle and thrash. Sunder is soooo not drinking a "bitch drink"! "My thanks," he rumbles to Fusillade, reclaiming his credits. He sighs heavily and merely listens to the conversations in the bar. Catechism also has a headache, if it makes Ramjet feel any better. At Fusillade's inquiry of standing, Catechism chooses to remain verbally silent and simply answer over the radio. She does, however, address the issue of all these random people showing up. She pounds a fist into the flat fo her other hand and grumbles, "It's like they're doing it on purpose to keep us off-guard." You receive a radio message from Catechism: I stand where my stance makes the Empire the strongest. For the time being, it is with Megatron, sir. Dirge either doesn't realize that Ramjet is such a prima donna, or doesn't care. Likely the latter. "A drink, bartender, for tomorrow we shall die." You send a radio message to Catechism: Mmm. Even though we know some things, it is still very good to hear them said. Thank you, Catechism. You've been absent lately, are you on some other assignment? You receive a radio message from Catechism: If I may be so bold as to ask, sir, where do you stand? And... yes. I do have an assignment. Ramjet is not much of a prima donna. He would just like it if Dirge took notice once in a while. Is that so much to ask? Yeah, it probably is. Ramjet drowns his cranial circuits in energon, petrol, and fuel additives, indugling in a moment of silence. At least Americon has finally gotten off him! "Oh, Vigil. The rescued Decepticon called the Autobot shuttle Vigil, I remember now. He was pursing this Vigil Autobot through space, he said. Then attacked and held hostage. Experimented on, sounded like. He said he woke up covered in the goo and the shuttle disintegrating. Said they were coming for 'us' and that we should not have helped them because of our sins against... someone or another. He was coughing up on me." Redshift shrugs, not really caring that much about the strange new arrival. "Well, once they patch him up you can ask him yourself. Hopefylly he'll make more sense after they've fixed him up and scraped all the goo off." He stops and takes a slow, careful drink of his beverage, savouring the texture and composition. "Vigil huh? I definatly want another piece of that little punk 'bot, can you believe he has the audacity to transform into a /spaceship/? That's just beggin' for trouble." Dirge eyes Sunder and Dredclaw, hissing softly, "I see that the Sweeps have developed a taste for decadence.." "They are here on my behest," Fusillade coolly responds to Dirge. "They rendered services in defending the Argosy. I quite like trouble, Redshift. Been working on the spaceship thing myself," Fusillade replies. You send a radio message to Catechism: Megatron for now, if he doesn't press too hard. What I have seen tonight encourages me, though. Enough of us can unify under a common personal interest to resist attack from an outside force. Sunder pays Dirge no heed. He cares not what the Seeker thinks, and wagers that his wingsib cares just as less. "What madness has possessed the one the Autobots were chasing?" he wonders aloud. "This one ordered a bitch-drink," Ramjet tells Dirge, motioning to the Sweep beside him with a swing of his tankard. "Sorry state of the Empire when a Decepticon throws in with a leader that permits the ordering of bitch-drinks." Ramjet sniffs loudly before taking another drink. Sunder says, "A Bloody Seeker is /hardly/ a 'bitch-drink'." Catechism crosses her arms and snorts, "No, it's a build-line-ist drink." Ramjet snorts. "Yes it is. Now go paint your optical sockets black and host your own gothcon talk show with Dreadwind." Sunder says, "It does not appeal to them." You receive a radio message from Catechism: Indeed, sir. Even in the inital battle, I was able to convince Mesa to fight against Superion, rather than other Decepticons. Redshift takes another drink, but almost splutters after Fusillade's comment. "Nonono, don't get me wrong here. All Decepticons should aspire to be a spacecraft, it's a superior mode of transportation. Nothing like cruising through a nebula or slingshotting around a star's gravity well!" Redshift adds, before taking another drink. "I mean /Autobots/ shouldn't be allowed to have spacecraft modes, or even jet modes for that matter. So, I make a note to bust 'em down to size whenever I get a chance, show 'em what a REAL spacecraft Transfomer can so." There's a clank as Fusillade wearily props up her head on one palm. "AS LONG AS THE ARGUING IS OVER DRINKS AND NOT LEADERS...." she reminds. Robotic Bald Eagle 's mug tips over as a result of his mad flailing, and it falls onto its side, pitching him and what's left of the drink onto the floor. He falls onto his back and resumes flailing, struggling to get back on his talons. "Grrrgh... too drunk already!" "Oh PRIMUS you're WASTING it! We're on a shortage! Don't get me in trouble for letting you BATHE in it!" Fusillade asides to Americon, before she laughs at Redshift. "Let them gain mastery of the air first. Although..." She rolls around the layered drink, tilting the glass to access the tarter lower layer, "I don't think you've divulged your allegience yet." "OI, CAG!" Ramjet shouts at Fusillade in protest. Being in a slightly more affable mood, he has set aside the Cone of Politic in favor of the Cone of Enjoyment. Taking another slurp from his tankard, his attention is drawn to the Americon-in-a-Mug instead. He glances from Americon, to Sunder, to Americon again. Idea...? Fusillade's shoulders straighten as she comes to an idea. "Redshift, Sunder, if you are able, I am tasking you with finding and questioning this Vigil fellow about his history with our decorative piece of charcoal resting in the med bay right now. You are welcome to terrorize him as you see fit after extracting information about the aliens and this third Cybertronian from France." "Yeah, Ramjet?" Fusillade turns to regard the conehead. Ramjet reaches down to pick up Americon by the mug he is trapped in. Hefting it up, he swings it over to Sunder, mostly to offer whatever liquid still remains inside. "Here. Drink this. It'll make me want to begrudingly respect you again. Maybe." Redshift mimics Fusillade's treatment of her drink, tilting the glass slighly and rolling the remaining liquid around, before taking a drink. "Oh, sounds like it could be fun. Anythig to gt another chance to rip this 'Vigil's wings off." Redshift offers Fusillade his usual smirk, and a slight wink, before leaning in close. Redshift whispers: As for your other question? I'm on the same side I've alwasy been on. the WINNING side. Fusillade's smile in response to Redshift is as oily as his answer. "Huh?" Ramjet levels his attention at Fusillade again. "Nothing. I was just shouting in protest for you shouting at me." He shrugs his blue shoulders easily. "Felt like the right thing to do. I'm stickin' with it." He looks pleased with himself. Robotic Bald Eagle cries out a muffled, "Weee!" as he and the mug are tossed at Sunder. "Thankf fyou Mr. Lincoln! I'mf enjoying the RIIIIIIDE!" The mug arcs in a perilous trajectory towards the Sweep... there might even still be some drink left in it if Sunder manages to catch it! Americon misses Sunder with his grasp attack. Redshift slightly raises his nearly-empty glass to make a small toast to Fusillade, his smirk widening beneath the glow of his orange-red optics. He drinks the last of his drink, and sets the glass down. "Well, the medics have had enough time to stabilize our guest, I think I'll go see if he's still rambling like a mech with a few loose screws. Might get something useful out of him he might not /want/ to say when he's got all his chips set right again. Have a drink on me, Fusillade, I'll be seein' you." He says, slipping a few credits onto the table as he rises, still smirking, and leaves. Dirge's optics flicker. "Pitious.." he rasps, shaking his head slowly and consuming part of his drink. The object of his pity is unclear. It's probably Ramjet. Catechism notes that Redshift never really said who he follows and frowns. She puts a hand on her hip and watches all the crazy antics unfold around her. Robotic Bald Eagle apparently sails past Sunder, his involuntary flight going uninterrupted. Dreadwind trudges into the bar and heads over to a booth clearly designed for two, he doesn't even glance at any of the other patrons in the bar as he slumps down into the booth. Almost magically a drinks container appears on his table a dark black drink with swirling green streaks, must have been dropped of by a speedy waitress or even Oilcan, anything to not have Dreadwind start talking and ruin the atmosphere even if it is a little more tense than usual. Fusillade makes a vague 'phhhht' in Ramjet's direction, still looking a bit dissatisfied at Redshift's answer. However, she's given him carte blanche to pummel an Autobot, and that will keep him occupied for now. She pulls out her holofoil pad, and murmurs, "Catechism? Do you need to pursue your other assignment?" The question seems downright solicitous. If she had caught sight of Dreadwind's drink, she would have cheered at seeing someone else order the Midnight Borealis. Ramjet watches Redshift leave. He shakes his generously tapered head after he's stepped out of the bar. He knows who he follows -- he was there to see him escort Airwolf. Ramjet says nothing -- now preferring to finish off the rest of his drink while leering at both Catechism and Fusillade. As his tankard rises to obscure his lips, he grins ever so softly. Bound and gagged, Galvatron promised him! Bound and gagged! Absently, he starts to wonder if Megatron might promise the same. Ramjet also begins to wonder what he should do to commemorate his promised rank. Maybe a new paintjob. Teal and purple always seemed like colors that would befit a Decepticon of great power and status! Dirge reaches over to whang Ramjet on the back of the cone for leering at the femmes. Also for being within reach. Dirge succeeds in grasping Ramjet, throwing him off-balance. Catechism will jolly well set Ramjet on fire with his own fuel if anyone tries to bind or gag her. She shrugs to Fusillade and replies, "I am not skimping anything by being here at the moment, but you know that I wouldn't, sir." Go Dirge, go! "Didn't want to keep you, is all," Fusillade remarks, still at a loss at how to best summarize the evening's events. She knocks back the rest of her drink, and begins eyeing the remains of Redshift's own. Scooping it up, she rolls it around to fully mix the two liquids, playing ignorant of the clanging between Dirge and Ramjet. - - - - - - - - Decepticon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Message: 2/99 Posted Author Shuttle Recovery Mon Jul 07 Fusillade - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Fusillade appears, hands clasped. Notable in the background are several members from the Galvatron, Megatron, and undecided camps- Earlier this cycle, at the start of third duty shift, a disintegrating shuttle and its passenger were identified falling toward the Argosy. The shuttle was destroyed to prevent a collision with the airbase. The passenger was recovered and stabilized long enough to deliver a warning message - he may or may not still be alive. Scavenger, report on his condition please. The Autobot space unit identified as Vigil displayed a very personal hatred for this Decepticon, taking sword swings at myself, Catechism, and Redshift in his fervor. The shuttle passenger was pursing this Vigil Autobot through space, he said. Then was attacked and held hostage. Experimented on, sounded like. He said he woke up covered in... crystalline glucopyranosyl? goo, with the shuttle disintegrating around him. Said they were coming for 'us' and that we should not have helped them because of our sins against whomever 'they' are. This report continues in the second segment... -Ramjet throws a punch at Dirge, and Americon might be visible stuffed in a steing. Fusillade bats optics. Continued!- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "...!" Ramjet's head jerks forward as Dirge's hand slaps up against it. His entire cranial structure seems to wobble with the echoes of impact. ".....!" Ramjet narrows his optic ridge down the bridge of his nose as he snaps his head toward Dirge's direction. Five blue fingers roll into a big blue fist and swing. Ramjet misses Dirge with his Elbow Smash attack. Sunder smirks at the antics of the coneheads. He idly wonders if Fusillade has been made aware that the Sweeps have had their official status declared as Neutral regarding the Megatron-Galvatron affair. Ramjet misses Dirge with his Elbow Smash attack. Fusillade fails at mind reading. Ramjet fails at belting Dirge. Dirge easily sidesteps Ramjet's fist, watching it go right past him. "If you wish real violence, take it to one of those.. things.." he motions idly at Sunder with a wave of his hand. "Or else I will tear you apart piece.. by.. piece.." Robotic Bald Eagle 's mug smashes open as Sunder doesn't catch it (or even notice it). Staggering out of the remains in robot mode, Americon wanders back to the bar in a drunken haze, his head rolling about. "Urrr.... that was PFPppPfFFffun." Suddenly, he stops, and gasps as he stares at Ramjet. "By Primus!" he says, stepping towards the thick-plated Seeker. "Are you... ME!?" Catechism replies, a slight smile stealing over her features, a thief in the night, "You can keep me any time you wish, sir." She chuckles, letting her hand fall to her side. She shakes her head. "No, I'm waiting on a few things. I was glad to be here for this... mess. It's another piece in the puzzle. Another step closer to the truth." Her optics blaze with a certain passion. Zealots shouldn't be allowed to ask questions for fear of how they seek their answers. - - - - - - - - Decepticon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Message: 2/99 Posted Author Shuttle Recovery II Mon Jul 07 Fusillade - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Fusillade appears on screen again, this time a more neutral background- So. Interestingly enough, an Autobot contigient consisting of Grimlock, Foxfire, Slag, Silverbolt, and Skydive appeared. I helped myself to whatever Decepticons were available to ensure the continued safety of the Argosy, and the Autobots were effectively discouraged from any sort of infiltration or attack. Vigil was eventually repelled. He, this surviving Decepticon, and the Autobot that fell to France a few deca-cycles ago are related, perhaps unified by this alien threat. I have tasked Redshift and Sunder with questioning Vigil. Additionally, I came into considerable contact with the gelatinous glaze -- it felt chillingly familiar. I will need to speak with medical when available to ensure no long term ill effects. CAG Fusillade, out. -end transmission, this time with no bar brawling- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Americon undergoes a patriotic transformation into his All-American robot mode! Dreadwind gingerly picks up his drink and swirls it, staring into the glass it almost reminds him of somewhere but the thought is smothered quickly by the shadows in his mind. He drinks deeply from his glass finishing half of it before thumping it back down on the table, his head drooping and straing down through his arms at his feet. "Your solliloques are not magical, Dirge." Ramjet snorts. He then ignores Dirge to focus his attention on Americon. "Wait, what?!" He asks, staring at the diminuitive Decepticon with confusion. He doesn't realize that his secret mission's paint-scheme is the same kind employed by the patriotic Transformer. Dirge glares at Ramjet. "Very well. Perhaps I shall simply replace you. Perhaps with.." his optics trail across the room, landing on Dreadwind. "That one." Catechism snickers, as she notices that Ramjet is now Americon's Mega-Me. Americon points at Ramjet as he staggers towards him. "Shhhhyoouuuu! You're like MEEEE! I heardzh youze on the RADIO! You... must be like me... but fromth the FYU-CHARRRR!!!" He falls over onto his face, but manages to pick himself back up. "Shooo... what's it like... in the FYOO-CHARRR!?!" Glancing back and forth between Dirge and Dreadwind a bit, Fusillade suppresses a smirk before standing, and giving Catechism an amicable clap on the shoulder. "You serve well, and are a credit to your kind." She double-takes at Ramjet's color scheme and the striking similarity between it and Americon. "HEYYYYYY...." she finally puts two and two together. "You two workin' together?!" Ramjet sneers at Americon. "In the future, you clip onto other Decepticons and unlock abilities that shouldn't even require another, smaller robot to unlock! Now shoo, you Minicon!" Fusillade reconsiders. "Hmm, maybe not." Sunder could care less whether a drunken robot eagle' mug gets knocked over. It's not as though the Sweep is that high-strung, after all--especially when he's nicely relaxed after a few drinks. He snickers at Americon's amusing antics. Ramjet stares. "Wait. That gives me an idea." Americon blinks. "I.... COMBINESHHH with other Decepthin.. Decep... guys?! C'mere, you!" He stares at Dreadwind, hands held out in front of himself like a zombie. "I'mf going ta turn inta yer enjun! An' you'll... uh... be better somehow!" Ramjet reaches down to pick up Americon by the scruff of his neck. He hauls him high in the air and sort of just mashes him against his rifle. Which probably just resorts to having the smaller Decepticon kind of just hang off of him. Turning, he points the rifle at Dirge. "Now, for power!" Ramjet clenches his fist together!! ..and nothing happens. "Huh." Ramjet stares at his Americon-enhanced rifle, looking disappointed. "Cartoons, you have steered me wrong yet again." Dreadwind is pulled from a dark molasses that has rapidly been sucking his consciousness into it's terrible lonely depths and looks up. Usually when a him or that guy or some other no identifying remark is given he is usually the subject. Ready for the inevitable punch to the head or whatever prank tends to follow he stares and instead finds that this time he is the one being used as a threat. It almost looks like he's going to say something but then thinks better of it and instead drains his glass. Americon is instead held up like a little kitten, but that doesn't stop him from still trying to walk towards Dreadwind, despite the absence of a floor. Catechism actually looks worried and asks softly, "And just what is my kind, sir?" It is something that has been troubling Catechism for a while. Indeed, for a brief while, she didn't even want to be a Seeker anymore. She snaps her fingers, remembering something, and moves to fetch Fusillade another a drink. Ramjet notices Americon would rather go in Dreadwind's direction! He decides to try to hold Americon against his rifle and point it instead at Dreadwind. His fingers clench into a fist! ...nothing happens. "Frak," Ramjet grumps. "Even in the future, nothin' works." Dirge turns slowly as Ramjet seems to try to shoot him and fails. Optics flicker, dimming considerably as he walks slowly up to Ramjet. Without a word, and after a very long stare, he casually tries to smash the other Seeker's face. Dirge misses Ramjet with his Face Smash attack. "A buttkickin' Decepticon, of course!" Fusillade says, before looking on at Catechism's departure with some puzzlement. However, a chime rings out on her padd and she glances down to see a summons to repair bay. This soon? Couldn't be good news for the shuttle survivor. She gives a whoop at Ramjet and Dirge, "Show 'im who's the superior afthole!" and then swishes off into the hallway. Ramjet drops Americon as Dirge takes his wing. Favoring his left, he turns slightly to avoid his fellow jet's knuckles. In reply, Ramjet stares back at Dirge. Optics flicker in question. And then Ramjet swings his forehead at Dirge's face. Ramjet strikes Dirge with Headbutt!. Americon falls onto the ground, landing on his feet, luckily for him. He resumes stalking mindlessly towards Dreadwind. "Must... combine... enhance!" Fusillade, if she were still here ICly, would have stuffed Americon into her bomb bay. Ramjet would've considered it hot. Instead he gets to fondle Dirge. Which is considerably not as hot. Still kind of fun, though. Catechism returns with another drink for Fusillade only to see that Fusillade is gone. She curses softly. She suggests to Americon, "Try turning into Dreadwind's engine." It just... sounds right, to her, for some strange reason. Dreadwind just stares at the antics from the over inebriated Decepticons and awaits the inevitable pain that always comes to those that have understanding on a higher plane than the standard Decepticon warrior. Perhaps death would be better than continuing in this tragedy of a life, but then what would be the point in trying to sacrifice himself? Seeing that Americon is not easily stopped Dreadwind speaks, farewell atmosphere, "Enhance? You can barely stand, you think you can change things but you can't, there is only your pitifully pointless struggle for meaning when there is none to find, only pain and death." Sunder grins at Dreadwind. "Keep talking like that, you'll live to be a billion vorns." Dirge takes a cone to the face, staggering backwards. Then he just lunges for Ramjet's throat with both hands. If he can't choke the life out of him, he'll at least crush something in the attempt. Dirge succeeds in grasping Ramjet, throwing him off-balance. Ramjet gahkhs! "AAGHHK!!" He chokes out. Reaching for Dirge's throat, Ramjet reciprocates! Ramjet misses Dirge with his grasp attack. Americon approaches Dreadwind, barely. He can barely stand, he's so drunk. "I don't under... unner... know what you said! But isht is TIMES TO COMBINES! NYAHHHH!" He launches himself, in tape mode, at Dreadwind! Will he successfully combine with him somehow, in some way? Probably not, but that isn't going to stop him! Dirge growls out lowly, "Why do I suffer you to live, Ramjet?" as he moves in on the Seeker, avoiding flailing arms for now. His optics blaze with intense hatred as he attempts to shove Ramjet back against the large image of Thrust. Americon collapses and shrinks down into a very tiny cassette labeled, "America's Most Patriotic Hits!" Dirge succeeds in grasping Ramjet, throwing him off-balance. Americon misses Dreadwind with his grasp attack. Catechism sets the drink down on the table. She raises a hand and cheers Americon on, "Infuse Dreadwind with your American spirit!" Meanwhile, she pretends that Ramjet and Dirge aren't being bighorn sheep or whatever it is they're doing. Dreadwind is momentarily distracted by Sunder's comment, "Oh i am sure i will, the universe enjoys see my pain all too much it even stops the likes of Guiltor and Grimlock from causing me any life threatening injuries. No they are held only to crippling and maiming me, my end will be a long time from now and the horrors i shall bear before the end will be unimagineable." Then Americon decides to complete the second stage of combination by transforming into a tape and throwing himself over Dreadwind's head, "As if merging with something so small would ever be of any real use." Ramjet collides with the big, homoerotic portrait of Thrust with a mighty clang and clatter! The image is torn asunder under the wing-fringed Decepticon and its frame falls with him as he falls to the floor. "Hunnhhg..." Ramjet snarls as his optics flicker in and out, his visual systems wobbling for a moment. "NNNNGH..." Blue fingers clench into blue fists. Flickering in and out, those optics soon steady into glaring, angry red. "WHY DON'T WE FIND OUT WHY I DO THE SAME FOR YOU!" Ramjet roars, his voice hoarse and awful from having his throat pressed in. He lurches forward, putting his feet under him to angle the engine-cuff heels against the floor. With a burst of flames, Ramjet is up and mobile, charging for Dirge cone-first. Ramjet misses Dirge with his grasp attack. Dirge, matador. He steps aside as Ramjet goes past, and then spins to try and plant a big black boot directly on the other Seeker's rear. "You may try, but Death cannot be unmade.." he hisses icily. Dirge misses Ramjet with his Matador's Revenge attack. Catechism points out, "Shouldn't the universe be not allowed to enjoy your pain, because something terrible is inevitably about to befall it?" She scratches her cone, confused. Patriotic Cassette isn't stopping yet. He uses vibrations in tape mode to move himself along the floor, trying to connent with the bottom of Dreadwind's foot. Americon succeeds in grasping Dreadwind, throwing him off-balance. Ramjet jets past Dirge, hurling tables and chairs aside in his wake. He moves so quick that Dirge's foot cannot connect, missing his back-end by mere astroinches. The snorting, furious Wing Leader realizes just too little too late that he hasn't connected with Dirge. He whirls around, kicking aside another table as he levels his glare at Dirge. ".....nnngh.." Ramjet near-exhales jets of steam. He reaches out, grasping a chair in his strong hands. He charges for Dirge again, this time to swing a chair at him. "BEING PAIRED WITH YOU IN THE ACADEMY WAS THE WORST SOLAR CYCLE OF MY LIFE! Ramjet strikes Dirge with Ineveitable Chairshot!. Dreadwind ignores the grappling seeker lovers even as their fight gets more and more out of hand, "Whatever fate awaits the universe is a long way from now, more than likely once it has finished toying with us and removed us all it will simply start all over again with even greater pains and torments. There is no final release for us, not even in death." Then Americon finally manages to merge with Dreadwind's right foot or at least touches it and amazingly it does power Dreadwind up, it gives him more strength, energy and motivation, enough in fact to lift his foot and place it a little further away from the vibrator tape. Patriotic Cassette vibrates along the floor again, trying to chase after the elusive foot. Americon succeeds in grasping Dreadwind, throwing him off-balance. Patriotic Cassette drunkenly drawls, "I'VESHH gotcha! Gonna... clamp on all magno-letically to yer foot! Never gonna git me off! Hee!" Can he activate it in time before Dreadwind moves his foot again? Dirge reaches up with his arm to fend off the chair, causing the seat to bend and break and splinter and throw shards all over the place, leaving a solid dent in his armor. "Sheer knowledge of your existence is like a cancer in my mind, eating away at it slowly and driving me mad.." he growls lowly. He lunges forward like he's going to punch Ramjet again, but in true Seeker escalation, he jukes at the last second and bends forward to grab a full bar table by its legs, sending drinks flying everywhere (and sending a couple confused patrons, and a tabledancing hookercon to the floor). In a fluid motion, he hoists the table and spins, sending the bulk of the think in a crushing move toward Ramjet's canopy. And arm. And leg. Okay, the table's almost as big as he is, so everywhere. Dirge strikes Ramjet with Uh, That's Not What You Use a Table For. Catechism wanders off. She needs to see about a certain matter on Cybertron. Ordinarily, she would have helped Dirge, anyway. He's the ranking officer. Dreadwind watches as the only one that bothered to try and engage him in meaningful debate gets up and apparently runs off, he sighs heavily but then feels the tingle of extra energy surging through his leg once more as Americon vibrates up against it again, this time Dreadwind looks down at the merge obssessed cassette. "You clearly aren't designed to merge with me, just look at your annoyingly bright colours and horribly upbeat attitude, obviously you were made to be with another. Perhaps one of those two over there see how energetic they are, breaking things needlessly, shouting and all that... Primus it's so depressing." "RAWRG!" Ramjet howls like a beast as Dirge takes a table to him. His body bends against the blow, the opaque-yellow canopy adorning his chest shatters on impact. Shards of glass shower from him as he is sent flying off his feet. Landing against a table that just collapses on impact, Ramjet is fixing to retaliate when suddenly... he notices a tankard on the ground, spilling its deliciously acrid contents onto the floor. "Hm!" Ramjet's optics flicker in thought. He reaches for the tankard and gives it a hefty swig. The killing mood suddenly ceases. Dirge drops the broken table, spitting with disgust. Then, without a word, he yanks a half-full mug out of some gumby Seeker's hand and goes to sit next to Ramjet, drinking deeply.
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)