[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Target Practice (Ended)
Sept 2, 2017 0:43:11 GMT -5
Post by Carbine on Sept 2, 2017 0:43:11 GMT -5
Whoops indeed!
That was an unintentional flub, but no one could say that the failure wasn’t fabulous in the way the arrow cartwheeled off to the side to clatter and clank against the concrete panels below. Carbine himself seemed to lax after this, the string no longer pulled back very far, and instead was held loosely while the bow aimed towards the ground off in the general direction where he had been aiming a moment previously. There was no outright laugh, nor a scowling sneer, instead he just seemed perplexed and confused with a sort of half aborted 'huh' sound to pair with it, while Javelin went to retrieve the object for him.
While she moved, he turned his frame a bit to follow her, so that she didn't traverse directly behind him, but instead would end up to his side where he could still watch her from the corner of his vision.
"Ah, I don't havè ̛m̵y͟ s͝ervi̵ce pistol anymore, long lost to t-t-̷i͘me, but I have a built in electrical tool!"
Carbine let go of the string then, and lowered his left hand, allowing him to lift the right without anything in his grip. His fingers flexed out a moment, and once he knew she was watching, the entire servo seemed to snap down at the wrist, and slide back at a channel on its underside. This drop in the joint left the end of his forearm exposed, where a minor transformation unfurled and clapped together to form a set of prongs that hooked at one another. A moment later, a near silent whirl booted up in his torso, the electrical generator gearing up for possible use, while a small charge of blue light jittered and cracked between the weapon.
It wasn't lethal, at least, it wouldn’t be unless you had some spark damage already, or were subjected to it for a long time. If Carbine were to jab this thing in someone's throat and just hold it there for as long as he could before heat damage could creep up his arm... he could probably lay some rather painful injuries or throw someone offline, but it would take far too long. The real point to it was more immobilize, than kill.
He tried to ignore the mention about Bumblebee, his frustrations high regarding the scout, not wanting to ruin this moment.
"Has a range featu̷r̷e o͝n i̶t ͞t̀-tǫo, but it loses effectiv̢en͢es͘s when used like th-that."
The booting of his internal generator seemed to rouse Bolo from his suspended sleep. The canine stirred and moved silently in its dock, consciousness creeping into play while wariness glazed over it all. Was a fight starting? Would he be needed? He didn’t sense distress or rage. The soft concepts drifted past his languid processor, pinging Carbine for assurances of action or inaction. It seemed to urge the black and white mech into his next words.
"My prim-prim-p-ķz̸z̡tt̶t͢-main weapon tends to be my Casse͘t͏t͢e͠. Can't go wrong with a murder hound!"
He barked out a laugh at this, before his back flexed and he hunched forward some. The electrical surges in his taser stopped the moment he did this, while he seemed to almost double over a moment in discomfort. What seemed to be pain for a flicker of a second, changed instantly when the plates along his spine started to flare and flex out abruptly. A set of white rings along his back surged out and away from the central column, before branching away from one another with a hard snap and a snarl of internals moving around. A few seconds later, and more than a few moving components relocating themselves, and a large canine that Javelin had seen before unfolded and planted its paws down along its owner's back.
Bolo eased up onto his paws with a tired shake, his forelegs planted down onto Carbine's shoulders just beside the rotor posts, while his back feet were latched over the pronged hip posts that jutted out from his lower back. The dog groggily looked around, blearily peering over at Javelin to try to figure out where he was. After a moment, he seemed to relax.
"He won'̸t͏ ͢bite unless you hurt him."
A smirk seemed to be implied with this, the bottom edges of his optics creeping up once more in amusement. At this, Bolo seemed to ease forward a bit, stretching his long neck and helm forward over Carbine's right shoulder, to try to sniff at Javelin if he could manage. He was curious, and it showed with high set ears that were fanned forward with interest.
That was an unintentional flub, but no one could say that the failure wasn’t fabulous in the way the arrow cartwheeled off to the side to clatter and clank against the concrete panels below. Carbine himself seemed to lax after this, the string no longer pulled back very far, and instead was held loosely while the bow aimed towards the ground off in the general direction where he had been aiming a moment previously. There was no outright laugh, nor a scowling sneer, instead he just seemed perplexed and confused with a sort of half aborted 'huh' sound to pair with it, while Javelin went to retrieve the object for him.
While she moved, he turned his frame a bit to follow her, so that she didn't traverse directly behind him, but instead would end up to his side where he could still watch her from the corner of his vision.
"Ah, I don't havè ̛m̵y͟ s͝ervi̵ce pistol anymore, long lost to t-t-̷i͘me, but I have a built in electrical tool!"
Carbine let go of the string then, and lowered his left hand, allowing him to lift the right without anything in his grip. His fingers flexed out a moment, and once he knew she was watching, the entire servo seemed to snap down at the wrist, and slide back at a channel on its underside. This drop in the joint left the end of his forearm exposed, where a minor transformation unfurled and clapped together to form a set of prongs that hooked at one another. A moment later, a near silent whirl booted up in his torso, the electrical generator gearing up for possible use, while a small charge of blue light jittered and cracked between the weapon.
It wasn't lethal, at least, it wouldn’t be unless you had some spark damage already, or were subjected to it for a long time. If Carbine were to jab this thing in someone's throat and just hold it there for as long as he could before heat damage could creep up his arm... he could probably lay some rather painful injuries or throw someone offline, but it would take far too long. The real point to it was more immobilize, than kill.
He tried to ignore the mention about Bumblebee, his frustrations high regarding the scout, not wanting to ruin this moment.
"Has a range featu̷r̷e o͝n i̶t ͞t̀-tǫo, but it loses effectiv̢en͢es͘s when used like th-that."
The booting of his internal generator seemed to rouse Bolo from his suspended sleep. The canine stirred and moved silently in its dock, consciousness creeping into play while wariness glazed over it all. Was a fight starting? Would he be needed? He didn’t sense distress or rage. The soft concepts drifted past his languid processor, pinging Carbine for assurances of action or inaction. It seemed to urge the black and white mech into his next words.
"My prim-prim-p-ķz̸z̡tt̶t͢-main weapon tends to be my Casse͘t͏t͢e͠. Can't go wrong with a murder hound!"
He barked out a laugh at this, before his back flexed and he hunched forward some. The electrical surges in his taser stopped the moment he did this, while he seemed to almost double over a moment in discomfort. What seemed to be pain for a flicker of a second, changed instantly when the plates along his spine started to flare and flex out abruptly. A set of white rings along his back surged out and away from the central column, before branching away from one another with a hard snap and a snarl of internals moving around. A few seconds later, and more than a few moving components relocating themselves, and a large canine that Javelin had seen before unfolded and planted its paws down along its owner's back.
Bolo eased up onto his paws with a tired shake, his forelegs planted down onto Carbine's shoulders just beside the rotor posts, while his back feet were latched over the pronged hip posts that jutted out from his lower back. The dog groggily looked around, blearily peering over at Javelin to try to figure out where he was. After a moment, he seemed to relax.
"He won'̸t͏ ͢bite unless you hurt him."
A smirk seemed to be implied with this, the bottom edges of his optics creeping up once more in amusement. At this, Bolo seemed to ease forward a bit, stretching his long neck and helm forward over Carbine's right shoulder, to try to sniff at Javelin if he could manage. He was curious, and it showed with high set ears that were fanned forward with interest.