[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Scrapyard Hullabaloo [Backwater/Open]
Jun 3, 2021 12:50:34 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2021 12:50:34 GMT -5
Ep. 3 | Week 4 - Day 2 | Daytime
Location: Around Colville National Forest, WA
Backwater/Bait - Open
Ever since arriving at Blackridge, Backwater had been eager to get her hands on a datapad so that she could answer one, vital question: was there water on this mudball or would she be spending her days bored as scrap, again. When she’d gotten access, she’d immediately done some preliminary research- and was delighted to find that there was water. A lot of it- oceans of it in fact- which, uh, great but ew. So instead she turned to looking up the more notable in-land bodies of water, both popular with the locals and more remote, and eventually came up with a bucket list of places to go. Smug like a well-fed Bait the femme bided her time, until the opportunity arose to go for a little… joyride.
Sure, it wasn’t just a joyride- it was only mostly one. A chance to really clear out the gunk in her engine casing after years of being grounded. Which sounded dramatic, but it was the utter truth. Backwater had last been posted on an absolutely miserable outpost with little in the way of anything even remotely interesting, let alone entertaining. No forest of any sort, no bog or swamp or even a puddle to speak of. Just dunes of dirt, and the odd dead thing she couldn’t be bothered to identify.
Now, however, she was livin’ the life. Cruising up the northeastern arm of the Columbia River with reckless abandon, fans whistling their buzzing, choppy howl that was music to her audials. She wasn’t going full speed, choosing instead to zoom up river in a slalom, or a zig-zag- or sometimes gunning it for a short spurt before cutting her engines and pitching her bow sideways to capsize and roll in the water. She wasn’t an actual local watercraft after all- her air vents could be shuttered close, her engine couldn’t be choked out and her alt’s low center of gravity made it easy as scrap to recover. All in all it was good fun, pulling all sorts of stunts between observation of the coasts for anything alarming or of interest.
It was in a lull, Bait deployed to swim lazily on her port side for a bit along a more wooded stretch of river, that a curious break in the trees caught that interest. She called her cassette back in close, setting a course for the left riverbank at a significantly reduced speed. Her fans whirred, quieter than before but still louder than a car’s engine. She hadn’t been actively looking for anything, but it paid to investigate. There hadn’t been much activity from the locals this far into the woods either- mountains rose along either side of the river, and apart from the occasional glimpse of a road it seemed sparsely habited. In any case, she was careful to approach cautiously. This area off the main river almost formed its own cove, the coast just off the bank quickly becoming a shallow sandbar before opening back up into a little gulley between two wooded hills. It was times like these, as she passed over the sand, that she was glad she had a flat-hauled alt and no inboard- or outboard- motors- life was annoying already, no need to scrape her bow or bend a fan blade on a rock to add to her dismay.
Backwater paused just before the shore, now partly hidden from the main waterway by a small peninsula and the hills encircling the cove. One last check, to make sure that there was well and truly no one around- con, bot, local or otherwise. Satisfied, Backwater cut her engines and let herself coast the last dozen meters to shore, transforming in shallow water that sloshed and sputtered around her knees with the movement.
“What a day for sailing, huh Bait?” She dipped an arm in the water, effectively fishing her cassette out so that the lazy sock puppet could dock without the inconvenience of moving himself. With a snort and a shake of the head at the flash of utter contentment such a motion garnered, Backwater waded out of the river and up unto the grass, cycling a few sputtering gusts of air through her vents to clear them of water. What had caught her eye, in this otherwise boring gulley of grass between the hills, was a shine of light bouncing off metal. As she approached now, only a bit wary and braced to move at the slightest sound, it was clear to see it was… an abandoned scrapyard, of sorts.
Old frames of vehicles long past their usefulness twisted out of the ground like skeletons half-buried and long forgotten, while the odd unidentifiable contraption gleamed from piles of rusted rubbish. Some newer things drew Backwater’s gaze to the far side of the lot- newer being… a relative term. The stuff still had paint, if anything. A road curved away behind this pile, up towards the hills and deeper into the trees inland- somewhat grown over and with no new tracks to speak of. This lot, altogether, was a somewhat fortunate find. Bait would eventually need some scrap to chew on, and no one would miss any of the rust-buckets here, she was certain. Plus- a grin split across her face- she might find something useful! Pit knows she was no stranger to salvage work.
After a quick poke around the yard, however, it quickly became clear that she’d need another set of servos. Her pouches couldn’t carry jack, and Bait’s subspaces were small and could only hold a few bits n' bobs. After a moment's contemplation, face screwed into a grimace as she taped a digit against her hip, Backwater decided to call in to base and see if they could bridge her over some poor sod to help haul metal. Checking to make sure her comms were correct and secured, she sent a quick message.
::Scout Backwater to Base, I’ve found a salvage yard that may offer up some useful pieces. If there’s any-mech slackin’ roun’ I could use a servo to polish off whatever’s here::
She tagged on a databurst containing the approximate coordinates for her current position and leaned against one of piles of crushed car frames, resolved to wait and see if anyone would get back to her.
Location: Around Colville National Forest, WA
Backwater/Bait - Open
Ever since arriving at Blackridge, Backwater had been eager to get her hands on a datapad so that she could answer one, vital question: was there water on this mudball or would she be spending her days bored as scrap, again. When she’d gotten access, she’d immediately done some preliminary research- and was delighted to find that there was water. A lot of it- oceans of it in fact- which, uh, great but ew. So instead she turned to looking up the more notable in-land bodies of water, both popular with the locals and more remote, and eventually came up with a bucket list of places to go. Smug like a well-fed Bait the femme bided her time, until the opportunity arose to go for a little… joyride.
Sure, it wasn’t just a joyride- it was only mostly one. A chance to really clear out the gunk in her engine casing after years of being grounded. Which sounded dramatic, but it was the utter truth. Backwater had last been posted on an absolutely miserable outpost with little in the way of anything even remotely interesting, let alone entertaining. No forest of any sort, no bog or swamp or even a puddle to speak of. Just dunes of dirt, and the odd dead thing she couldn’t be bothered to identify.
Now, however, she was livin’ the life. Cruising up the northeastern arm of the Columbia River with reckless abandon, fans whistling their buzzing, choppy howl that was music to her audials. She wasn’t going full speed, choosing instead to zoom up river in a slalom, or a zig-zag- or sometimes gunning it for a short spurt before cutting her engines and pitching her bow sideways to capsize and roll in the water. She wasn’t an actual local watercraft after all- her air vents could be shuttered close, her engine couldn’t be choked out and her alt’s low center of gravity made it easy as scrap to recover. All in all it was good fun, pulling all sorts of stunts between observation of the coasts for anything alarming or of interest.
It was in a lull, Bait deployed to swim lazily on her port side for a bit along a more wooded stretch of river, that a curious break in the trees caught that interest. She called her cassette back in close, setting a course for the left riverbank at a significantly reduced speed. Her fans whirred, quieter than before but still louder than a car’s engine. She hadn’t been actively looking for anything, but it paid to investigate. There hadn’t been much activity from the locals this far into the woods either- mountains rose along either side of the river, and apart from the occasional glimpse of a road it seemed sparsely habited. In any case, she was careful to approach cautiously. This area off the main river almost formed its own cove, the coast just off the bank quickly becoming a shallow sandbar before opening back up into a little gulley between two wooded hills. It was times like these, as she passed over the sand, that she was glad she had a flat-hauled alt and no inboard- or outboard- motors- life was annoying already, no need to scrape her bow or bend a fan blade on a rock to add to her dismay.
Backwater paused just before the shore, now partly hidden from the main waterway by a small peninsula and the hills encircling the cove. One last check, to make sure that there was well and truly no one around- con, bot, local or otherwise. Satisfied, Backwater cut her engines and let herself coast the last dozen meters to shore, transforming in shallow water that sloshed and sputtered around her knees with the movement.
“What a day for sailing, huh Bait?” She dipped an arm in the water, effectively fishing her cassette out so that the lazy sock puppet could dock without the inconvenience of moving himself. With a snort and a shake of the head at the flash of utter contentment such a motion garnered, Backwater waded out of the river and up unto the grass, cycling a few sputtering gusts of air through her vents to clear them of water. What had caught her eye, in this otherwise boring gulley of grass between the hills, was a shine of light bouncing off metal. As she approached now, only a bit wary and braced to move at the slightest sound, it was clear to see it was… an abandoned scrapyard, of sorts.
Old frames of vehicles long past their usefulness twisted out of the ground like skeletons half-buried and long forgotten, while the odd unidentifiable contraption gleamed from piles of rusted rubbish. Some newer things drew Backwater’s gaze to the far side of the lot- newer being… a relative term. The stuff still had paint, if anything. A road curved away behind this pile, up towards the hills and deeper into the trees inland- somewhat grown over and with no new tracks to speak of. This lot, altogether, was a somewhat fortunate find. Bait would eventually need some scrap to chew on, and no one would miss any of the rust-buckets here, she was certain. Plus- a grin split across her face- she might find something useful! Pit knows she was no stranger to salvage work.
After a quick poke around the yard, however, it quickly became clear that she’d need another set of servos. Her pouches couldn’t carry jack, and Bait’s subspaces were small and could only hold a few bits n' bobs. After a moment's contemplation, face screwed into a grimace as she taped a digit against her hip, Backwater decided to call in to base and see if they could bridge her over some poor sod to help haul metal. Checking to make sure her comms were correct and secured, she sent a quick message.
::Scout Backwater to Base, I’ve found a salvage yard that may offer up some useful pieces. If there’s any-mech slackin’ roun’ I could use a servo to polish off whatever’s here::
She tagged on a databurst containing the approximate coordinates for her current position and leaned against one of piles of crushed car frames, resolved to wait and see if anyone would get back to her.