Ep. 2 - A Mute and a Deaf Guy walk into a Bar - [Closed]
Jul 21, 2015 0:49:36 GMT -5
Post by Carbine on Jul 21, 2015 0:49:36 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 1 | Day 6
The Omega Outpost was almost always in a state of construction or repair, which was obnoxious in a way. They, as in the Autobots as a whole, had fallen so far down from the tier they had once stood, that these meager accommodations were almost insulting in a way ((at least to Carbine)). But alas... it worked... it functioned TECHNICALLY. It just didn’t have the sheen and cleaner edge to it that true Cybertronian ships and buildings tended to have. Instead they were gifted by exposed pipes and large chunks of raw stone in areas that acted as walls. It was actually in one of the unfinished more rough sections of the base that Carbine would find himself this day.
The room was large, half of it being part human construction, the slick refined walls and epoxy floor from the original silo's function, while the other side and the upper half of the room was clawed and carved out of the mountain, leaving grey and red rock that was roughed out just barely good enough. The ceiling held lights that were strung upon bolted hooks, and the ventilation pipes that lead to the area were cut off and short, unfinished.
The room would probably never get completed. It was located on the underground level, distant from the main facility, with an intended goal of being for storage. That meant that it didn’t have to be nice, it just had to function well enough to keep the contents safe and categorized. This sadly meant though that there needed to be things to actually store said stuff on.
Hence where Carbine came into play.
Normally the ex-cop excelled and rather enjoyed being on time to an appointment, clinging to that bit of professionalism left over from his cop days. It made him feel reliable, while also appeasing the near neurotic DESIRE to not be the last one to arrive. This typically led for him to show up early, but this time? That wasn't the case. Today, he would only arrive just on time, not late, not early, only the moment he was meant to be there because this job was going to suck.
The helicopter stalked into the room, his shoulders sloping down, and arms hanging slack from their sockets as if they were disconnected entirely. His entire posture screamed of mopey disappointment in the task, his field rippling around him in mild disdain. He supposed he should try to look at the bright side; he should try to just accept that this was something that had to be done, and he would get to meet someone he's never really interacted with before.
Oh sure, he knew Bumblebee, he has seen him around, knew of his 'defect' or 'injury' or whatever the PC wussy term would be for it. He just had never spent time with the mech, who seemed to already be in the room, sitting on the floor clawing through the pallets of metal beams and brackets.
"Oh man, let's get this ͏sl̴a̷g͘ ̢r̀oll̡in͠g, I got places to k̷z̴͡z͏͟t̷-do and people to k̛z̛̕͡z̨̨̕t͢-be."
The Omega Outpost was almost always in a state of construction or repair, which was obnoxious in a way. They, as in the Autobots as a whole, had fallen so far down from the tier they had once stood, that these meager accommodations were almost insulting in a way ((at least to Carbine)). But alas... it worked... it functioned TECHNICALLY. It just didn’t have the sheen and cleaner edge to it that true Cybertronian ships and buildings tended to have. Instead they were gifted by exposed pipes and large chunks of raw stone in areas that acted as walls. It was actually in one of the unfinished more rough sections of the base that Carbine would find himself this day.
The room was large, half of it being part human construction, the slick refined walls and epoxy floor from the original silo's function, while the other side and the upper half of the room was clawed and carved out of the mountain, leaving grey and red rock that was roughed out just barely good enough. The ceiling held lights that were strung upon bolted hooks, and the ventilation pipes that lead to the area were cut off and short, unfinished.
The room would probably never get completed. It was located on the underground level, distant from the main facility, with an intended goal of being for storage. That meant that it didn’t have to be nice, it just had to function well enough to keep the contents safe and categorized. This sadly meant though that there needed to be things to actually store said stuff on.
Hence where Carbine came into play.
Normally the ex-cop excelled and rather enjoyed being on time to an appointment, clinging to that bit of professionalism left over from his cop days. It made him feel reliable, while also appeasing the near neurotic DESIRE to not be the last one to arrive. This typically led for him to show up early, but this time? That wasn't the case. Today, he would only arrive just on time, not late, not early, only the moment he was meant to be there because this job was going to suck.
The helicopter stalked into the room, his shoulders sloping down, and arms hanging slack from their sockets as if they were disconnected entirely. His entire posture screamed of mopey disappointment in the task, his field rippling around him in mild disdain. He supposed he should try to look at the bright side; he should try to just accept that this was something that had to be done, and he would get to meet someone he's never really interacted with before.
Oh sure, he knew Bumblebee, he has seen him around, knew of his 'defect' or 'injury' or whatever the PC wussy term would be for it. He just had never spent time with the mech, who seemed to already be in the room, sitting on the floor clawing through the pallets of metal beams and brackets.
"Oh man, let's get this ͏sl̴a̷g͘ ̢r̀oll̡in͠g, I got places to k̷z̴͡z͏͟t̷-do and people to k̛z̛̕͡z̨̨̕t͢-be."
