[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Bastard Wants to Hit Me (Open)

[Quillion]

Episode 3.5 | Week 1 | Day 2

A day after the Prime's address to the assembled Autobot forces, a notice would go out on the internal network:

"To all Autobots and interested Allies -- I will be conducting regular training sessions in unarmed and melee combat.  While attendance will be mandatory for all Autobot combatants, I will be running several sessions a week -- if you can't make one session, there will be plenty more.  By the end of the month I want to be able to assess all of our warriors' ability.

There will be no ranged weapons in these drills.  We will be focusing on close quarters combat exclusively.  If you don't think you need it, I don't really give a toss.  Your ranged weapons will be checked or confirmed to be powered down for these drills.  Seriously.  I have a note from Red Alert and everything. -- Quillion"

------

Quillion stood in the chambers set aside for his training drills.  He leaned on a large table, fiddling with a a simple straight sword.  The fencer checked the weapon's balance and condition, looking down its blade with a critical eye, testing the the blades sharpness -- or lack thereof, it was a training weapon, after all -- before setting it back down on the table next to a collection of similar rough-hewn-but functional training weapons.  Swords, axes, maces, knives, a couple of sickles and spears.

They were easy enough to cobble together, and Quillion made sure they blunted enough to not be as fatal as he normally strove for in his smithing.  They'd still hurt, of course.  Pain can be a valuable teaching aid in the right context.

Epee was nowhere to be seen.  

Quillion looked toward the door -- his first students would likely show up soon.

[Bumblebee]

Pacing his quarters with datapad in servo, Bumblebee found himself lost in thought. The meeting yesterday had been much needed, even if he was certain a few of Optimus’ words would’ve been hard to hear for some. The Autobots as a whole were… a bit of a mess, with so many new arrivals things had become a little chaotic.

Though things would sort themselves out one way or another - he was sure of it.

He’d been given a task to take Nathan and Laura - with Petrichor - to scout around the area where MECH had used the thing he could only describe as a monster. While he was positive he was probably overthinking things, he wanted to make sure that in case of emergency, the humans had a brief understanding of him when he spoke, and as such had set up a meeting with Nathan tomorrow, if only to introduce himself and get things moving.

A list of words had been written - important ones that he could see himself using when out on the field - though he’d found himself at a loss as to what else could be needed.

So, he paced, staring up at the ceiling and resisting the urge to give up on this entirely to go and watch cartoons. Watching something might be good, he figured - it could give him more ideas of what to teach Nathan… only a well-timed beep drew his attention back to the small screen in an instant. A notice had popped up, and with a gentle whir of his optics, he would read it.

Mandatory training sessions? Huh. He’d missed the one run by Optimus weeks earlier, though by all accounts it’d been a bit of a disaster.

Setting down the datapad, he was quick to move - making his way through Omega One and down into the room where Quillion would be waiting.

He hadn’t actually met the other mech before, though had occasionally seen him around - he’d been at the meeting yesterday, which was probably why these training sessions had been arranged so quickly.

Stepping into the room, the first thing he noticed was the table and the myriad of weapons. While he’d only skimmed the notice and focused on the ‘unarmed’ part of the letter, it made sense that there would be various armaments - some of which he’d never actually seen before.

With a gentle whir of his optics, he settled his gaze on Quillion.

--Hey! I’m here for the training - was I supposed to bring a weapon?-- he beeped, offering the other mech a cheery wave.

[Bluestreak]

Well, here goes nothing.

Bluestreak stopped in the hallway right outside the designated training room area. The tall silver mech fidgeted, settling his weight back on his heels as he glanced over his shoulder where his ever-present rifle rested in the holster. The safety was on, but it was always on unless it was in his hands.

No, here goes everything. Ugh, I don't want to be here, I really don't want to be here. Actually, I want to be somewhere a million trillion whatever zillion miles from here on some little planet that doesn't even have a name. Just me, a rock, and some plants that don't want to eat me. That would be lovely, that would be wonderful, that's where I'd like to go right now.

Bluestreak knew without even a smidgeon of doubt that he was not the mech that Quillion was hoping to have show up at this door. He also knew that his choices were to turn around and walk right back into his room, sit at his computer, fire up a few home improvement shows and pretend that he'd missed the memo, or...

There was no way he was going to get a ticket to that little planet any time soon, and there was also certainly no way out of this situation. Attendance was mandatory, and no matter how much he didn't feel like it lately, he was an Autobot and when your higher ups wanted an assessment of your abilities, you went and did it to the best of your abilities.

The sharpshooter's doors drooped slightly. He took one more look down the hall. When a meteor didn't come down, crash into the building, and obliterate him off the face of the earth, he drew in a deep gulp of air into his systems and stepped through the door. 

Maybe there's a whole lot of folks here already. Maybe there's so many that they won't get to me for a while. Heck, maybe they won't get to me at all, maybe it's - an emptyish room, and a bunch of weapons on a table, and oh that's a knife, and that's an axe and oh that one I don't know what the heck it is but it's something with a giant blade that goes stabby, and I don't even know what end you're supposed to hold, and- oh, there's Bumblebee and one other guy that must be Quillion and there's just- three of us. Two of us that actually are supposed to be in this session.

I bet Bumblebee knows what that thing on the table with that giant blade is. Erk.

Oh boy.

He hesitated and looked between the two mechs. "Hullo," he offered. "Hope I'm not- am I late? I didn't think I was late, but I could be late, because I thought there would be more, uh... you know, others here?  I am late, aren't I. Sorry." 

[Quillion]

((I know it's been awhile -- sorry about that.  I'm trying to get this going again.))

Quillion nodded at Bumblebee, taking in the Autobot's stance and stature, and running them through a partitioned part of his brain that was pretty much dedicated to martial combat assessment.  "You'd be... Bumblebee, yes?  Capital.  And no, you needn't have brought a weapon -- as you can see, I made some that will suit our needs.  You seem like an axe guy.  Are you an axe guy?"  Quillion reached for a bearded axe - a crescent of sharp-but-not-too-sharp metal at the end of a metal haft. "This one's light enough to be swung one-handed if needed, or with both hands if you're feeling it, or just really want someone dead.  Or maimed, it's good for maiming.  Are you an axe guy?  Or do you already have a preferred form of CQC?"

Another figure entered the room as they talked, and Quillion appraised this one as well.  "Welcome!  No, you're just in time.  Perhaps even early!  Time is a mystery.  An impenetrably armored sequence of moments.  Also you're the first two to show up."  His orange optics flicked over Bluestreak's frame.  Long-limbed and sturdy.  Quillion took a blunted spear from his selection of weapons.  "I'd say.... spear for you.  Unless you have another preference.  I'll need to assess you both before going much further."

[Bumblebee]

Unaware that he was being somewhat scrutinized, Bumblebee nodded in response to Quillion’s question, letting his arm drop loosely to his side after his initial wave. While his gaze had initially been on the other mech, it drifted back to the table at the mention of axes - helm tilting gently as Quillion asked if he was an axe guy.

…What the heck is an axe guy?

--I uh- well!-- Almost awkwardly, one servo would ease up to rub the back of his neck. --I mostly just use my fists for stuff. Boxing is definitely my preferred way of doing things! Buuut I figured being able to use a weapon should I ever need to is probably a good thing, so yeah! I can totally be an axe guy!--

It probably made sense for him to be here. Fists against any sort of weapon - even a melee weapon like an axe? Not that great. Though that wasn’t to say he was totally useless in combat, and should it come down to it? He’d be willing to prove his skill.

But hey, getting to be an axe guy sounded pretty cool…

At the sound of quiet footfalls behind himself, he turned to greet whoever it was as Quillion spoke up - moving his servo to wave at Bluestreak, optics whirring gently as they settled on the other mech.

--Spear guy and an axe guy? That’s a pretty good start, I think!--

Honestly, he was just relieved that someone else had shown up.