Ep. 2 - ... the Shatterer of Worlds (Closed) - Cast Below.
Dec 1, 2015 0:22:29 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2015 0:22:29 GMT -5
Rota + Flatline: Comptrollers. They're summoning:
Wildfire + Arcee
Skywarp + Pyrotech + Ghost Wind
Week 4, Day 2, takes place directly after "I am Become Death" (Well, of course it does :3)
It was never easy.
Soundwave was of the firm opinion that, probabilistically speaking, Earth had gone askew at some critical point in its development. There was no other possible explanation for how utterly, entirely glitched-up the most reasonable, simple and pre-planned of actions could go once they came in contact with the planet. Or its dominant native species.
For the love of little cogwheels, don't get him started on the effect the dominant life-forms had on the best laid plans.
When he'd first scheduled his trip to the DMZ to finish calibrations on the monitoring equipment for the joint operation established there, the Decepticon 3IC had calculated to a nicety the time he'd need to spend doing so, even if he'd found the consoles were made of baling wire and rusty pipes. For all intents and purposes he'd known the equipment would do fine on its own, and every subsequent comptroller assigned to it would refine it as they saw fit: that's how such things worked out. It was why every Vehicon that worked the bridge did so always at the same station; familiarity bred, among many other things, efficiency.
It would be easy, he'd thought. Set up baselines. Double-check against the data he'd brought from the 'Nemesis'. Leave the comptrollers already present to set up their own preferences. Make sure they were not the sort that would endanger the Truce by being forced to share a room. Leave them to run the first solid, well-calibrated, satellite-uplinked scan of the little rag-tag system.
Except that, as soon as he'd been done and set up a check on the continental mass for any suspect Cybertronian signal (hard-dee-har-har), the entire board had lit up with a warning. Not a full alert, thankfully (everyone dialed down the volume on an alert klaxon), so they weren't deaf. But something had pinged the nascent systems enough that, even in their days-old ignorance, they had recognized a Cybertronian signature out there. They had coordinates. They had a visual. They had a ruin so... ruinous their screens could barely tell them it had been a Cybertronian spaceship. Once. Possibly before dinosaurids had walked upon the planet.
Which left Soundwave in something of a situation: this was not his station. He was, technically, in command solely of Flatline, and that only if the situation escalated to flat-out, away-to-the-Well circumstances. And he sincerely wondered if a stern glance might not shatter the bit of breakable the Autobots had as their comptroller.
... On the other hand, this really wasn't his problem. It was theirs.
A very discreet talon touched the volume control (just in case). Otherwise, he merely stepped away smoothly until his back was to the wall, and moved to stand at ease, motionless and dark, his field becoming little more than an additional layer to the background noise of this new environment.
(Sounds is here solely as anvoyeour observer, and as my placeholder for info-tags. Otherwise, direct all questions, and blame, to your comptrollers.)
Wildfire + Arcee
Skywarp + Pyrotech + Ghost Wind
Week 4, Day 2, takes place directly after "I am Become Death" (Well, of course it does :3)
It was never easy.
Soundwave was of the firm opinion that, probabilistically speaking, Earth had gone askew at some critical point in its development. There was no other possible explanation for how utterly, entirely glitched-up the most reasonable, simple and pre-planned of actions could go once they came in contact with the planet. Or its dominant native species.
For the love of little cogwheels, don't get him started on the effect the dominant life-forms had on the best laid plans.
When he'd first scheduled his trip to the DMZ to finish calibrations on the monitoring equipment for the joint operation established there, the Decepticon 3IC had calculated to a nicety the time he'd need to spend doing so, even if he'd found the consoles were made of baling wire and rusty pipes. For all intents and purposes he'd known the equipment would do fine on its own, and every subsequent comptroller assigned to it would refine it as they saw fit: that's how such things worked out. It was why every Vehicon that worked the bridge did so always at the same station; familiarity bred, among many other things, efficiency.
It would be easy, he'd thought. Set up baselines. Double-check against the data he'd brought from the 'Nemesis'. Leave the comptrollers already present to set up their own preferences. Make sure they were not the sort that would endanger the Truce by being forced to share a room. Leave them to run the first solid, well-calibrated, satellite-uplinked scan of the little rag-tag system.
Except that, as soon as he'd been done and set up a check on the continental mass for any suspect Cybertronian signal (hard-dee-har-har), the entire board had lit up with a warning. Not a full alert, thankfully (everyone dialed down the volume on an alert klaxon), so they weren't deaf. But something had pinged the nascent systems enough that, even in their days-old ignorance, they had recognized a Cybertronian signature out there. They had coordinates. They had a visual. They had a ruin so... ruinous their screens could barely tell them it had been a Cybertronian spaceship. Once. Possibly before dinosaurids had walked upon the planet.
Which left Soundwave in something of a situation: this was not his station. He was, technically, in command solely of Flatline, and that only if the situation escalated to flat-out, away-to-the-Well circumstances. And he sincerely wondered if a stern glance might not shatter the bit of breakable the Autobots had as their comptroller.
... On the other hand, this really wasn't his problem. It was theirs.
A very discreet talon touched the volume control (just in case). Otherwise, he merely stepped away smoothly until his back was to the wall, and moved to stand at ease, motionless and dark, his field becoming little more than an additional layer to the background noise of this new environment.
(Sounds is here solely as an