Ep 1.5 - Polydactyl [Closed]
Aug 12, 2013 12:53:38 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 12, 2013 12:53:38 GMT -5
(OOC - Set after the Order of Solus arrives, open to Sola Dex and Azimuth and Sides!)
It felt... STRANGE.
For something as long longed for, dreamed of, schemed and hoped for, actually having felt strange beyond words. It didn't seem real, for all that Cleaver had run him through the transformation multiple times until he had the simple mechanics of the join extension down pat and was assured that he did, in fact, have full mobility of all joints.
It still didn't feel real. Maybe, Steeljaw thought as he - CAREFULLY, because Cleaver had made it clear that she was stripping him for spare parts if he got organic grit into the new modifications while they were still healing - minced his way on tip toe across the atrium of Haven, he should have just taken the neural blocks and stayed awake through it all. Maybe it would seem more real if he's seen her install the parts. He'd always hated being awake for body work, though, and had taken surgical stasis rather than watch anyone take his forepaws apart.
And now... now he had THUMBS. Opposable grasping digits, tucked into his paws that could be unfolded, along with new sets of servos, giving him as close to 'hands' as he had ever hoped to have. And it didn't seem real and felt incredibly, horrifically STRANGE besides.
Actually, it more or less HURT, in that inescapable aching way that having someone cut and weld on your struts invariably produced. No need to tell him to take it easy. Steeljaw was looking forward to falling over on a cushion somewhere back at base and not getting up again for a few days. Medical orders, after all. He was not, under any circumstances, to attempt to try scaling the walls the way he normally did - no magclamps, the new welds didn't need his full body weight hanging off of them. And given how everyone was used to him being on the walls and ceiling, he wasn't sure anyone actually checked the area around their pedes any more. Berthridden he would be, then.
But in the meantime there was Haven, and while he wanted to head back to base and show off the new modifications he was also under orders to stick close for a few hours while his systems cleared the last of stasis out - just in case. Cleaver was in Haven, so he was to stay in Haven for a bit. But not in medbay, because that was asking a bit much of both of their respective tempers. So here he was... and really, it wouldn't hurt to find somewhere to sit and practice the new mods before he tried to show them off.
The bar, which Steeljaw had spent a fair bit of time helping to wire, seemed like an ideal perch. Only when he reached it - and stared UP at it - did he realize the problem. And he couldn't even use his magclamps. Scrap. Huffing an exvent, Steeljaw crouched, gauged the vector and force, and leapt.
It wasn't quite as graceful as his normal feats, to be certain - there was some scrabbling to get his rear pedes up onto the bar surface - but it sufficed and Steeljaw flicked his plates back and settled onto the bar surface like he had obviously MEANT to do that. So far so good.
It felt... STRANGE.
For something as long longed for, dreamed of, schemed and hoped for, actually having felt strange beyond words. It didn't seem real, for all that Cleaver had run him through the transformation multiple times until he had the simple mechanics of the join extension down pat and was assured that he did, in fact, have full mobility of all joints.
It still didn't feel real. Maybe, Steeljaw thought as he - CAREFULLY, because Cleaver had made it clear that she was stripping him for spare parts if he got organic grit into the new modifications while they were still healing - minced his way on tip toe across the atrium of Haven, he should have just taken the neural blocks and stayed awake through it all. Maybe it would seem more real if he's seen her install the parts. He'd always hated being awake for body work, though, and had taken surgical stasis rather than watch anyone take his forepaws apart.
And now... now he had THUMBS. Opposable grasping digits, tucked into his paws that could be unfolded, along with new sets of servos, giving him as close to 'hands' as he had ever hoped to have. And it didn't seem real and felt incredibly, horrifically STRANGE besides.
Actually, it more or less HURT, in that inescapable aching way that having someone cut and weld on your struts invariably produced. No need to tell him to take it easy. Steeljaw was looking forward to falling over on a cushion somewhere back at base and not getting up again for a few days. Medical orders, after all. He was not, under any circumstances, to attempt to try scaling the walls the way he normally did - no magclamps, the new welds didn't need his full body weight hanging off of them. And given how everyone was used to him being on the walls and ceiling, he wasn't sure anyone actually checked the area around their pedes any more. Berthridden he would be, then.
But in the meantime there was Haven, and while he wanted to head back to base and show off the new modifications he was also under orders to stick close for a few hours while his systems cleared the last of stasis out - just in case. Cleaver was in Haven, so he was to stay in Haven for a bit. But not in medbay, because that was asking a bit much of both of their respective tempers. So here he was... and really, it wouldn't hurt to find somewhere to sit and practice the new mods before he tried to show them off.
The bar, which Steeljaw had spent a fair bit of time helping to wire, seemed like an ideal perch. Only when he reached it - and stared UP at it - did he realize the problem. And he couldn't even use his magclamps. Scrap. Huffing an exvent, Steeljaw crouched, gauged the vector and force, and leapt.
It wasn't quite as graceful as his normal feats, to be certain - there was some scrabbling to get his rear pedes up onto the bar surface - but it sufficed and Steeljaw flicked his plates back and settled onto the bar surface like he had obviously MEANT to do that. So far so good.