Ep. 1.5 - "On the Dark Side" - Open
Jan 5, 2013 12:49:33 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 5, 2013 12:49:33 GMT -5
(( Set sometime around the End of Month 1 (most like between when Shadow returns and Max!attack); flexible to be moved around depending on other threads, of course. :) Someone at base is requested to chat him down, but otherwise open for lovins! ))
He'd looked over his data file and its contents probably about once every lunar cycle (a part of him still set to the cycles of their little post on a moon of a gaseous planet), and then each of its individual contents included in said package along with that. Which meant for the most part he kept himself occupied. …For the last blank (and he did mentally put a blank here, because he didn't want to check his chronometer to see how long he'd been flying. He'd already had a rough idea, and that was enough). But it also meant, that now as the time came, he knew exactly inside and out every glyph of every document that would be pinged to this supposed Autobot outpost.
But now that the big wet planet was looming in sight of his shuttle's blast window, he gleefully shifted the file back in favor of the promise ofsurvival a landing. It wasn't long before he got gently lulled into the planet's pull, gearing the shuttle around with its rotation towards the half blanketed in darkness. It might not have been the biggest, or the bluest, or the greenest, but it was certainly delightfully sparkly from this angle. Whole sections of the continents just glistening like so many stars. A welcome sight next to the rocky, dull moon he had been stationed on for-- ugh. He shook that off in favor of flipping on sequences and operations, shields and communication's link, standing by to operate once past the Primus-awful-fragging-static.
Focus on the pretty little flames starting to lick up around the shuttle, the delightful reassuring shaking of entering atmo, filling the time it took to pass through the main burn with humming and tapping.
Oh, yeah and the communications line, now that it pinged ready.
"Hello, hello!" The comm. screen was flashing up, already synced to the same frequency as the received Autobot transmission. "Autobot Dusk reportin' in, ETA to surface mmmmm-li'l more'n 10 kliks, Primus willin'. Requesting landin' instructions aaaaand standin' by with ID." Voice rising and falling pleasantly.
'Easy peasy…' He thought to himself, 'I dunno what everyone's always complainin' abou--'
"AUGH! Primus! BUTTONS!" Sirens began to kick up and flash, dutifully informing him of his obvious fuck-up. He forgot to press something, somewhere, something in the sequence of things he had to do not to crash, but what was it?! Where was it?! "Ah! The spike shaped one!" He pulled it. Sirens appeased… and he let himself return to the steering. Cautiously slipping back into his easy grin, a deep laugh suddenly bubbling up from his chassis out of no where. "There now. Let's keep it smooth, shall we, my love?" He said, patting the dash of the shuttle reassuringly.
He had a feeling in his struts: the next few kliks… no, breems (Ah Pit, just go with while), were going to be delightful.
He'd looked over his data file and its contents probably about once every lunar cycle (a part of him still set to the cycles of their little post on a moon of a gaseous planet), and then each of its individual contents included in said package along with that. Which meant for the most part he kept himself occupied. …For the last blank (and he did mentally put a blank here, because he didn't want to check his chronometer to see how long he'd been flying. He'd already had a rough idea, and that was enough). But it also meant, that now as the time came, he knew exactly inside and out every glyph of every document that would be pinged to this supposed Autobot outpost.
But now that the big wet planet was looming in sight of his shuttle's blast window, he gleefully shifted the file back in favor of the promise of
Focus on the pretty little flames starting to lick up around the shuttle, the delightful reassuring shaking of entering atmo, filling the time it took to pass through the main burn with humming and tapping.
Oh, yeah and the communications line, now that it pinged ready.
"Hello, hello!" The comm. screen was flashing up, already synced to the same frequency as the received Autobot transmission. "Autobot Dusk reportin' in, ETA to surface mmmmm-li'l more'n 10 kliks, Primus willin'. Requesting landin' instructions aaaaand standin' by with ID." Voice rising and falling pleasantly.
'Easy peasy…' He thought to himself, 'I dunno what everyone's always complainin' abou--'
"AUGH! Primus! BUTTONS!" Sirens began to kick up and flash, dutifully informing him of his obvious fuck-up. He forgot to press something, somewhere, something in the sequence of things he had to do not to crash, but what was it?! Where was it?! "Ah! The spike shaped one!" He pulled it. Sirens appeased… and he let himself return to the steering. Cautiously slipping back into his easy grin, a deep laugh suddenly bubbling up from his chassis out of no where. "There now. Let's keep it smooth, shall we, my love?" He said, patting the dash of the shuttle reassuringly.
He had a feeling in his struts: the next few kliks… no, breems (Ah Pit, just go with while), were going to be delightful.