Episode 2: Is this your cat? [Closed, Soundwave]
Jul 30, 2015 22:16:00 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2015 22:16:00 GMT -5
<<OOC: Week 3 Day 1>>
Landfall was rarely a comfortable operation, particularly when one often had to make use of stolen or derelict ships that really shouldn’t be used in such a manner. It also is vastly unhelpful that steering on this particular drop ship cannot be done manually, the small piloting controls made for mechs with some form of hand to grasp with. Batting at the joysticks with her wings just won’t cut it, and standing on the control panel to awkwardly foot at them would get her more crashed than it looks like she is going to be.
The view outside the tiny window is not encouraging, white hot with hints of orange and red as the outer fringes of the atmosphere try to burn the ship to a cinder. The angle of approach is off slightly, her speed too high, and there is nothing she can do. Well, nothing to save the ship.
Scooting back from the console blaring warnings about the being on fire and ground coming up much too fast, Airlia tucks her long neck down, folding it flush to her body, wings mantling forward for a bit more protection. She is not properly fueled, and hasn’t been in too long, she’s going to need every bit of buffer she can get. It also means she cannot see that moment of impact, only the claxon’s screaming giving her the necessary warning to flicker a shield to life just before impact.
It’s a peculiar feeling, if one felt like being vastly underdescriptive. Pressure and a flash of heat that should be hotter, energy crackling and feeding back as her shield buckles and falls after a moment, too underfuelled to hold against the whole impact. Metal denting and bending, the tank churning lurch of gravity reasserting itself after tumble-rolling.
Definitely not a good landing.
She takes a long moment of self indulgence, since she currently isn’t on fire, before struggling out of the warped cocoon of her wings. The feather-like blades are bent and melted a bit along the edges, protesting the movement, but she cannot stay here. Someone or something will be investigating that spectacular of a crash, and chances are it won’t be the femme she’s been hunting for. And yet… Tentative kicking reveals she still possesses her legs, and they are functional, but flight systems are all coming up red. Walking away is deeply unappealing, and not a suitable option for this situation. Drat, she is going to have to seek assistance.
Fortunately, comms still seem to be working. She can only hope she is retrieved by Decepticon forces before the Autobots that are likely monitoring the last Decepticon frequency she knows show up and claim her.
::Decepticon Airlia requesting immediate assistance and extraction.::
Landfall was rarely a comfortable operation, particularly when one often had to make use of stolen or derelict ships that really shouldn’t be used in such a manner. It also is vastly unhelpful that steering on this particular drop ship cannot be done manually, the small piloting controls made for mechs with some form of hand to grasp with. Batting at the joysticks with her wings just won’t cut it, and standing on the control panel to awkwardly foot at them would get her more crashed than it looks like she is going to be.
The view outside the tiny window is not encouraging, white hot with hints of orange and red as the outer fringes of the atmosphere try to burn the ship to a cinder. The angle of approach is off slightly, her speed too high, and there is nothing she can do. Well, nothing to save the ship.
Scooting back from the console blaring warnings about the being on fire and ground coming up much too fast, Airlia tucks her long neck down, folding it flush to her body, wings mantling forward for a bit more protection. She is not properly fueled, and hasn’t been in too long, she’s going to need every bit of buffer she can get. It also means she cannot see that moment of impact, only the claxon’s screaming giving her the necessary warning to flicker a shield to life just before impact.
It’s a peculiar feeling, if one felt like being vastly underdescriptive. Pressure and a flash of heat that should be hotter, energy crackling and feeding back as her shield buckles and falls after a moment, too underfuelled to hold against the whole impact. Metal denting and bending, the tank churning lurch of gravity reasserting itself after tumble-rolling.
Definitely not a good landing.
She takes a long moment of self indulgence, since she currently isn’t on fire, before struggling out of the warped cocoon of her wings. The feather-like blades are bent and melted a bit along the edges, protesting the movement, but she cannot stay here. Someone or something will be investigating that spectacular of a crash, and chances are it won’t be the femme she’s been hunting for. And yet… Tentative kicking reveals she still possesses her legs, and they are functional, but flight systems are all coming up red. Walking away is deeply unappealing, and not a suitable option for this situation. Drat, she is going to have to seek assistance.
Fortunately, comms still seem to be working. She can only hope she is retrieved by Decepticon forces before the Autobots that are likely monitoring the last Decepticon frequency she knows show up and claim her.
::Decepticon Airlia requesting immediate assistance and extraction.::