Ep 2 - One Prairie Outpost (Closed)
Apr 17, 2015 0:35:13 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 17, 2015 0:35:13 GMT -5
"I think we're both done, then," she reiterated, and glanced around. "I mean, except for the cleanup. I can help too, honest... whenever you want me to start, sir. I don't know when they're going to be back. He didn't tell me."
To Dart's words Ghost Wind gave the universal response of any grunt who's done his duty and finds no figure of authority nearby to light a fire under their afts: he lifted his shoulders in a vast, lazy shrug. "Well, I don't think it's a hurry kind of thing."
The Tomahawk looked about, taking everything he saw in with a long, low intake of air through his vents. It was a soundless motion through relatively efficient systems, and a habit he'd acquired from whatever romps through a battlefield he'd had to survive: if you didn't smell smoke or see the light pollution of combat, you were fine for the next ninety astroseconds. Mostly. Maybe.
Even as he looked about, Ghost had time to wonder just how in place Dart looked. Like the rest of this oddbit place in this oddbit planet, she never held still. There was no breeze that could move her, but nonetheless it seemed that, like the spiky vegetation or the twitchy gradients of organic critters, she was always shifting, scenting, looking... doing something physical, however minimal. It said something about the femme, the bike-bot guessed... but whatever it was escaped him beyond the obvious observation, and he had no interest in following the abstract thought any further.
In contrast, Buffalo Dump looked one degree or another of stiff no matter what Ghost saw him doing, or not doing. The big wall-o'-mech didn't twitch or cringe or do any of the usual things, but nonetheless he gave that sense of waiting for the energy axe to fall. Ghost wasn't sure what the axe was, or why it was falling, or even if he'd gotten the wrong impression and the big mech just happened to drive that way, but given that if there was an axe and if it was falling such things were in Officer Utmost's hands, Ghost Wind wanted not a little bit of anything having to do with it at all.
He glanced about himself, though he'd already taken stock of what needed to be done. "Let's say cleanup can wait for a bit; there's not a lot of it to begin with." He stabbed a rough talon over past a stack of flattened pallets neatly tied up and awaiting either storage or disposal. "There's a few cubes back there; temperature drop chills them nicely. Figured we could just sit down, burn the trash and have a drink without anyone blowing exhaust down our collective necks, unless someone's got a better idea?" The same hand gestured to the cable spools nearby, any one of which would likely support even Big McStiff.