[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Cause and Effect [Closed]
May 7, 2021 13:54:00 GMT -5
Post by Knock Out on May 7, 2021 13:54:00 GMT -5
Week Two, Day Six
---
Aaah, the Nemesis.
Knock Out hadn’t given much thought to the fallen ship in recent weeks. When they’d first arrived at Blackridge he had, of course, been one of the most vocal about the (what he considered to be) terrible conditions. The lack of doors, the lack of water pressure - the lack of privacy and even worse? The sorry excuses for equipment that he was supposed to somehow work with.
But he’d adapted, mostly because he’d had no choice, and while he still wasn’t the happiest with current accommodations - it sure was dusty in this claustrophobic cavern, which was absolute murder on his finish - he had at least ceased the majority of his more vehement whining. Equipment had been salvaged from the depths, and while some of it didn’t function as well as it did when they were floating in Earth’s orbit, it was better than nothing.
With his position of CMO, he got away with more than most - the almost incessant whining, for example. While he did push his luck sometimes (okay, far more often than he’d admit) he had the privilege of not having to care about the poor Vehicons tasked with fulfilling his ludicrous requests, the only worry was whether or not they were completed.
Well, he saw the aftermath of these errands of course, when they trudged back to the Medical Bay covered in sludge, injuries, with the occasional missing limb - the Nemesis was dangerous, what with the saltwater, the general hazards, the toxic disgusting refuse and who even knew what else. But the point was that he didn't have to really deal with the dirtier side of things like actually seeing any sort of danger.
Which was why he found himself confused this day. Staring at a datapad in silent bewilderment, his request to send some troops to gather some of the last few containers of paint from the sunken ship had been denied. Attached to this denial was a rather fuzzy photograph that looked to be taken from a camera at a traffic light that was undeniably him partaking in some very illegal street racing the other day. Aah, Soundwave - you’re hilarious.
Psh, couldn’t even get a decent photo… Though despite the quality, he knew he at least looked good.
Swallowing down that deep dark fear that the Spymaster would be watching him more closely, he would ease into a stand at his desk. Opting to leave out the rather key detail that this request had been denied - because they really did need that paint - he would slide his thumb across the screen, before powering off the datapad itself and setting it down. Looking over and across to Flatline who seemed to be working on something, he’d clear his throat.
He'd never been against taking matters into his own hands, and so today would be no different.
“Flatline, we have been given permission to venture onto the Nemesis to salvage what remains of my paint collection. As you probably know, we’re running low on pretty much everything.”
They had to use the common purples and grays sparingly when patching up the poor Vehicons who arrived with scuff marks and scrapes from their various excursions in the mines or whatever else they got up to, almost to the point that if he gave half a slag he could probably tell which one was which via appearance alone.
“I haven’t forgotten that little wager we made a few months ago, either. This is as good a time as any to finally finish your side of the deal! Aside from the boring purples that we need, I have a bigger variety of colors just waiting to be picked from.”
Ah yes, the ‘you can’t go a week without making some sort of crude comment’ gamble - easy peasy, Knock Out could show some restraint when need be. While half of Flatline’s wager had long since been paid off, and wow, who knew he was so good with a buffer once he stopped grumbling! The other half had not - if only because the more daring colors were still sadly locked away in the ruined Medical Bay.
“There’s something else in it for you, though - in that we could try to salvage your harpoons. I’m sure they’re still laying around somewhere down there. Scrape off whatever organic filth has taken hold, not to mention the rust, and I’m sure we can do something with them.”
He knew Flatline missed his weapons, not that he ever really used them, and hoped it would be enough to bait him into this little adventure. Not that the other mech had much of a choice in the matter.
After all, it wasn’t like he planned to do any dirty work here - sure, he’d bridge onto the Nemesis itself, but it would be Flatline who would be doing all the rummaging through whatever was down there. Maybe they could see if any equipment was in some kind of working order, too.
Or depending on how bad things were down there, they could snoop through the old Officer quarters for anything of note.
Not that he’d ever say that idea out loud.
---
Aaah, the Nemesis.
Knock Out hadn’t given much thought to the fallen ship in recent weeks. When they’d first arrived at Blackridge he had, of course, been one of the most vocal about the (what he considered to be) terrible conditions. The lack of doors, the lack of water pressure - the lack of privacy and even worse? The sorry excuses for equipment that he was supposed to somehow work with.
But he’d adapted, mostly because he’d had no choice, and while he still wasn’t the happiest with current accommodations - it sure was dusty in this claustrophobic cavern, which was absolute murder on his finish - he had at least ceased the majority of his more vehement whining. Equipment had been salvaged from the depths, and while some of it didn’t function as well as it did when they were floating in Earth’s orbit, it was better than nothing.
With his position of CMO, he got away with more than most - the almost incessant whining, for example. While he did push his luck sometimes (okay, far more often than he’d admit) he had the privilege of not having to care about the poor Vehicons tasked with fulfilling his ludicrous requests, the only worry was whether or not they were completed.
Well, he saw the aftermath of these errands of course, when they trudged back to the Medical Bay covered in sludge, injuries, with the occasional missing limb - the Nemesis was dangerous, what with the saltwater, the general hazards, the toxic disgusting refuse and who even knew what else. But the point was that he didn't have to really deal with the dirtier side of things like actually seeing any sort of danger.
Which was why he found himself confused this day. Staring at a datapad in silent bewilderment, his request to send some troops to gather some of the last few containers of paint from the sunken ship had been denied. Attached to this denial was a rather fuzzy photograph that looked to be taken from a camera at a traffic light that was undeniably him partaking in some very illegal street racing the other day. Aah, Soundwave - you’re hilarious.
Psh, couldn’t even get a decent photo… Though despite the quality, he knew he at least looked good.
Swallowing down that deep dark fear that the Spymaster would be watching him more closely, he would ease into a stand at his desk. Opting to leave out the rather key detail that this request had been denied - because they really did need that paint - he would slide his thumb across the screen, before powering off the datapad itself and setting it down. Looking over and across to Flatline who seemed to be working on something, he’d clear his throat.
He'd never been against taking matters into his own hands, and so today would be no different.
“Flatline, we have been given permission to venture onto the Nemesis to salvage what remains of my paint collection. As you probably know, we’re running low on pretty much everything.”
They had to use the common purples and grays sparingly when patching up the poor Vehicons who arrived with scuff marks and scrapes from their various excursions in the mines or whatever else they got up to, almost to the point that if he gave half a slag he could probably tell which one was which via appearance alone.
“I haven’t forgotten that little wager we made a few months ago, either. This is as good a time as any to finally finish your side of the deal! Aside from the boring purples that we need, I have a bigger variety of colors just waiting to be picked from.”
Ah yes, the ‘you can’t go a week without making some sort of crude comment’ gamble - easy peasy, Knock Out could show some restraint when need be. While half of Flatline’s wager had long since been paid off, and wow, who knew he was so good with a buffer once he stopped grumbling! The other half had not - if only because the more daring colors were still sadly locked away in the ruined Medical Bay.
“There’s something else in it for you, though - in that we could try to salvage your harpoons. I’m sure they’re still laying around somewhere down there. Scrape off whatever organic filth has taken hold, not to mention the rust, and I’m sure we can do something with them.”
He knew Flatline missed his weapons, not that he ever really used them, and hoped it would be enough to bait him into this little adventure. Not that the other mech had much of a choice in the matter.
After all, it wasn’t like he planned to do any dirty work here - sure, he’d bridge onto the Nemesis itself, but it would be Flatline who would be doing all the rummaging through whatever was down there. Maybe they could see if any equipment was in some kind of working order, too.
Or depending on how bad things were down there, they could snoop through the old Officer quarters for anything of note.
Not that he’d ever say that idea out loud.