2015-03-30 Law-Abiding Drills
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Location||Lost Light: Recreation -- Practice Rooms|
|Summary||Arbiter's turn for shooting drills!|
Lost Light: Recreation -- Practice Rooms
These multi-purpose rooms are capable of being put to any one of a number of uses, including training, exercise, and plain ol' fun. It's a good place for sparring or for sports. The walls have been reinforced and soundproofed so that live weapons can be fired within, serving as a shooting range. This also means that noise does not carry far, no matter how boisterous the game.
The practice room Arbiter stands in is empty, and the lack of echoes gives it a very open feeling. Arbiter stands waiting, his arms folded, a look upon of his face of mild boredom; the look of anybody stuck in waiting room and noone's told them how long it'll be. His paint appears to have been scraped a little bit, as more of him is grey than tan and he is not flaking.
The room itself is as it always is. Arbiter stands toward the firing range half, as it is not likely anyone would see him anywhere near the hand-to-hand stations. One near Arbiter may here him quietly grumbling something about orders. Or timely orders.
Rodimus has a datapad which he is holding at a certain distance from his body, as if to avoid getting the nerd on him. You never know. Nerd might be contagious. He strides in and glances up, spotting Arbiter fairly quickly. "Oh, you," he says, looking back down at his datapad. He pulls it closer, reluctant. "Drift says you haven't re-upped your guns, so let's see it." He pulls up into a lean against the wall near Arbiter. He's the farthest thing from professional as he folds the datapad away again with a practiced gesture of his hand. "Should be quick, right? I mean, you turn /into/ something that shoots, so."
"A gun, yeah." Arbiter let's his arms relax, and the large cannon over his shoulder tilts forward, and slides into firing position next to his head. It's a very slow and clunky process, with a lot of clanging noises. But it is Arbiter, so that shouldn't be a surprise. "It's all I got. You could say I've grown a little attached to it, over the years. Heh." The chuckle is a strange, raspy bark, like bent cymbals clashing. The cannon finishes getting into position, just as Arbiter finishes his, ah, joke.
"Wow." Rodimus gives Arbiter a long look. He visibly considers the many ways that he could answer that little quip, and then just settles on a repeat of, "Wow," with a shake of his head. He folds his arms over his chest and flashes Arbiter a grin. It's not unfriendly, even if his words carry a harder sort of tease: "Hope you shoot better than you joke." His tone is light but thoughtless. It would be really devastating if Arbiter was working on a career as a stand up.
Arbiter shrugs, before lumbering up to the firing line. His voice is tinged with a similar humor, "I think I do. I keep getting hired for stuff for some reason, and people generally don't ask me for knock knock jokes much." He plants himself, cannon leveling off and becoming significantly more stable. "Are there some guidelines I'm s'posed to follow or just...lob a shell downrange?"
"Hit the target. There's a target down there, right?" Rodimus pushes off the wall somewhat reluctantly to step forward and supervise, or something. Brainstorm's target is actually hiding up in the corner of the room, so it takes a moment for him to go, "Oh, there it is." Not only is the target hiding, but it is prone to randomly darting in a different direction, the better to simulate battlefield panic, according to Brainstorm. And yes, he said panic. "Okay, hit it," says Rodimus with a point at the corner.
<OOC> DICEWORD: ALLAREONE - Arbiter rolls a D5 and gets 4.
Arbiter braces, letting his weight lean into the cannon slightly, before letting the round loose with a loud and concussive 'FWOOM', the recoil pushing him back slightly. His foot drops back behind him in the familiar motion, watching the shell fly downrange before slamming into the target. It was probably not a high-explosive shell. "Well, I hit it, eh?"
Pulling the datapad back out, Rodimus thumbs a ticky box on the screen and says, "Yeah, good enough. Honestly, there aren't a lot of people who aren't passing. I mean, a few million years of war -- you know, most of us can handle ourselves. Even when facing planets which have been killed by giant space vampires."
Arbiter's gun begins sliding back onto his back. "Yeah. I'm sure I'm not the only Nail that can aim passably." He folds his arms, relaxing a little. "Glad this ain't a hand-to-hand cert. This would be a different conversation."
Rodimus smiles, but his expression is faintly dubious. "Not really as practical, although -- mm, maybe don't tell Drift I said that. Or Chromia. Or Windblade." He breaks off rather than keep listing names and looks thoughtful. "Might be a valid alternative, I guess. Anyway, you're fine. Good to join the team if selected. Curious about it at all?"
Arbiter's expression becomes one of the interested. "I am. You should tell me about it. And then sign me up."
"Abandoned dead planet with two big craters and a hole drilled down into the hollow core," Rodimus summarizes in a rapid patter. "My favorite theory is still giant space vampire." He meets the last with a quick smile and says, "I'll let Magnus know about your interest and see if it works out with the duty schedules. But we don't know much more than that yet."
"Hey, guesswork is the best intel. It's gotten me shot the least." Arbiter's slow, grinding voice warms with laughter as he replies, before getting back to it's normal harshness. "What about our original goal? Any word on them?"
"Oh, yeah." Rodimus hitches a shoulder in a shrug. "We're headed toward the first colony on the map. This is just a little out of the way." He gestures: one hand diving straight ahead to their far away objective while his other hand angles off, just a bit. "Stopping to make sure no one needs help. Or that there's not any space monsters lingering."
"Sounds good to me. If we just sat around 'til we got there I'd go stir crazy." Arbiter spies where his shot hit the target, giving a slight grunt of disapproval, but accepting it anyway. "Are we hoping for monsters, or rescues?"
Rodimus grins and spreads his arms wide. "Obvious, isn't it? Rescuing people from monsters." He laughs as he says it, then settles back up against the wall with a shrug. "Tell truth, I'm pretty sure there's no one there. Planet is dead, dead, dead to all scans the nerd squad has done so far, but there's always a chance there might be some hiding in the core. That's why we're going. We'll find out."
"Has anyone ever told you you might be a gloryhound, boss?" Arbiter's gaze drifts from the target to his CO. "That's ok though. Those guys can be fun to work for."
In answer, Rodimus gestures at his chest. He has flames of brilliant gold painted over crimson. Glory hound? Rodimus? "Sounds like a baseless accusation," he says, smiling. "It's not about the glory. It's our duty as Autobots. Or -- whatever," he adds in acknowledgment of Arbiter's wibble-wobble loyalty.
"Law-abiding Nail. Persuasive to the highest bidder," Arbiter replies, filling in the blank. "And usually my duty was to do whatever my 'boss' at the time told me to. So, boss. You're the one calling the shots. And if you need a humble, law-abiding Nail to plug a giant hole in a planet, I'm your bot."
"'Law-abiding.'" Rodimus repeats the phrase as though it were a curse. "Well, that'll make Magnus happy." His smirk edges wry. "It's a pretty big hole. We might need a couple of you. Let's start with spelunking and then decide what to do." Nodding back in the direction of the target, he says, "Hopefully we won't need to shell anything, but good to know it's an option."
"If it isn't, you can always give me a pistol. But otherwise," Arbiter gestures to the target, "That's as small as I get out of this."
"Nope. That'll do. I'll give the little guns to the little guys." That is sizist, shapist, and functionist -- but don't worry, Rodimus is just kidding!! He checks his datapad and then tips it in Arbiter's direction. "Now I've got to go make sure other people can shoot things. Feel free to keep at it if you want, but we're good here."
"Nah, I've gotten enough time behind my barrel. I'm sure you'll see better shots from me later." Arbiter begins lumbering toward the door. "Be sure to let me know when we hit dirt, huh?"
"It'll be hard to miss," Rodimus promises. He tips the datapad in a wave of farewell and opens his comm to complain as he heads out the door: "What's say we just mark everyone down as good and don't tell Magnus?" he suggests to whoever is on the other end. He takes his responsibilities seriously. What a captain.
Arbiter nods, then steps heavily out the door.