2016-09-18 Window Walkabout
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Summary||Gearstrip and Roughshod go for an outside walk.|
There's a sizable scrape across the port side of the Lost Light, thanks to a terribly small asteroid that no one in Navigation seemed to notice until the last minute. Thankfully it hadn't done much damage, mostly superficial, marring the topmost layer of armor along with ruining the view for a few habsuites. Still, it's lengthy enough to warrant the smallish team of technicians (and willing engineers), which move back and forth from the nearest airlock with tools and supplies. Some security bots are out making no one spins off into space or welds themselves to the ship. Everyone's maglocked!
Roughshod is trudging along after Gearstrip in beast mode as they make for the scrape, tool box in his mouth.
Magboots thunking methodically across the hull of the ship, Gearstrip hums under her breath as she moves, a sprightly little tune of Camien derivation that has little to do with the task at hand. Trundling along, she interrupts her music making to go, "I definitely never thought I would be doing an EVA on a spaceship when I took that first tech gig doing window repair right out of school."
Roughshod's ears swivel forward at the humming. It's kind of charming. "What does EVA mean?" he manages around the handle of the tool box. They near the point of the shallow gap, and he eyes the thick glass of one of the windows, fractures spiderwebbing near the edge.
"Uhhh." Gearstrip looks distant for a moment, and then admits, "I don't know. Nautica says it about going outside in space?"
Roughshod laughs, "So why not just say going outside? Ya' techy folk make things too complicated. How long ya' reckon this'll take? Out of curiosity. I can sit out here for weeks," he declares, with sudden pride.
"Well, I hope we don't have to sit out here for weeks. I mean I don't know about you, but I have stuff to do." Gearstrip laughs, and pulls out the spaceworthy adhesive line that she has for the window. "Can you steady this at the edge of the frame, and I'll pull it down across the cracks? We can get it sealed in a jiffy. I'm not actually sure what the duration of a jiffy is, but--"
"Can take your time lil' wheelie-thing," Roughshod assures, moving to steady one hoof over the edge of the adhesive. He pauses there for a moment, testing his own deftness, then finally sets the tool box down to transform with a swift click-clack. "There, don't wanna' screw it up. Though ah guess you could just tape over it again. Would look pretty bad... hmm."
"I actually have thrusters, too," Gearstrip shares as she works, grinning up at him as she works. She moves over the window until she actually is at a diagonal and looks towards Roughshod from an upside-down angle. "But they need gravity to do anything, so out here they're sort of pointless. We'll probably want to replace the whole window through the casement the next time we're in port, but this will do for a field repair without being embarrassing."
Roughshod spares a glance up and down the vast span of windows stretching out on either side. "Ya' forget how big this hunk of metal is," he murmurs, then looks back to the upside-down be'freckled Camien. "Wonder how much a replacement would cost. Maybe we can get a bulk deal. Huh. Eh. Endless fount of shanix at least. Iffen nothin' gets frozen again."
"Wait, thrusters? How fast can ya' go," Roughshod asks, smirking. "What's yer weight limit?"
"Not that fast. They're anti-grav. I'm not a speeder, I'm a hover. But I carry people, so, you know, mostly weight is fine. Maybe not the biggest, biggest bots," Gearstrip explains. She works seriously for a moment, frowning a little. "It's funny how used you get to having plenty, even when you're not -- when you come from not. I didn't even think about how much it'd cost, just that it'd probably need doing."
"Oh ya' hover. I shoulda' guessed that, I couldn't find wheels. When in doubt, assume some car-type. Is that bad? That's probably bad." Roughshod chuffs, still crouched, admiring his very small part in sealing the glass. "You come from the slums of your planet?" he asks, bluntly.
"Not really slums. But Caminus doesn't have much. That's part of why we came out in the first place..." Gearstrip trails off. When she finishes this window, she's completely upside down, and peeking at Roughshod through her own knees (and her goggles). It is a little ridiculous. "Okay, got this one. On to the next. A lot of people are cars. I don't think it'd make sense to be offended by that."
Roughshod snorts at the sight. Ain't these minis endearing. "Okay, if you say so." He rounds the next window, which has taken a bit more damage. The contents of the habsuite within drawn most of his attention. No one's home, at least! "I know what you mean though. We found a little rock of a planet that had some pseudo-energon in it and stayed for a while. Was real rough tryin' to pry other resources out of anyone after that big ol' mid-war migration. It's pretty nice havin' most anything you want these days."
"Yeah." Gearstrip's single word is a little wistful, of a puff of unspent breath and held back wishes. Then she smiles as she thunks on along the shell of the ship. "Look at all these cracks. This is job security, Roughshod. So ... you're definitely not a car," she says, conversationally.
"They'd find reasons to keep ya' around if there was nothin' to fix, look at these things," Roughshod reaches to tap-tap her goggles. "Sweet as cryoid crystals. Nah I'm an all-terrain quadruped...! I guess equinoid is more common. Not from that beast planet though. Uh, you know Flashwing? She works with you in the janitor club... right? We're both from Kalis."
"Uhhh. Flashwing?" Gearstrip pauses with her adhesive in one hand, a puzzled look on her face. "Not ringing a bell," she apologizes. She peeks in through the broken window next. "Wonder whose habsuite that is," she adds.
"Shoot, what'd she go by. Jumper. Jumpstart. The bird." Roughshod eyes the suite further. "Dunno'. It's a mess. Hot Rod's?"
"Oh, Jumpstart! Sure, I've seen her around. We're not close or anything." Gearstrip keeps adding more sealant, hissing through her fans as she inches forward across the surface of the window. "Hot ... oh, Rodimus. I don't think so, he'd be closer to the bridge," she says. "I mean, could be lots of people on this ship. You'd be amazed some of the messes I've had to..."
"Regale me," Roughshod presses, smiling broadly.
Gearstrip laughs aloud in almost a cackle. "Well, there was the time the habsuite deck got flooded," she says, "and there was the time somebody went on a spray paint spree all over the ship," she applies a second layer of sealant just to be sure, moving on downward, and then adds, "or there was the time that somebody took one of the oil tanks from supply for the baths and used it to try and make an oil slide down the main ramp in engineering..."
"Hah, Primus. I'm glad you can be so chipper about it. Guess we don't have /too/ much in the way of traditional entertainment out here." Roughshod lags a moment, then quickly moves ahead, only to nudge and shoo the other techs on some kind of break. "In the way, get along!"
"You ain't gonna' be cleanin' forever though, right?" Roughshod asks, somewhat carefully.
"Hah, well, I'm not always chipper while it's happening but afterwards, well, you gotta laugh. But you know," Gearstrip waves a tool through the air with amiable cheer. "I'm not just a janitor! I'm a tech. I do whatever needs done," she says. She tilts her head, looking up at him. "But how do you mean?"
"Don't the Camiens... aren't they peformers n' stuff?" Roughshod isn't terribly learned on these fancy new colonists. "I should really talk to Watts more. I don't think he's a performer..."
Gearstrip laughs again. "Oh," she says, and she kind of lets another sigh exhale through her as she trundles along toward the next task. "Well, a lot of us are, but the whole planet can't just be performers all the time. Who would fix the windows?"
"Aight ya' got me there," Roughshod submits readily, amused. At long last, he moves back from the strip of windows and slumps into a cross-legged position, still keeping a close optic on the minibot. "I've nothin' but admiration for the bot that likes to work with her hands, don't get me wrong."
"I have a friend -- my amica -- who performs. I don't really have the stuff for it," Gearstrip says with easy frankness. She turns to glance at him, leaning her body back against the ravaged edge of the ship's paint, and scrunches up her nose a little. "I mean-- you've got to make a path that makes sense for you, you know?"
"Sure," Roughshod says, with a little less certainty. "Do what you like, right? Guess that ain't always so easy. Eh. Never really been clear with paths. There's always someone above ya' stearin' ya' somehow." He shrugs and slumps a little. "I'll stop yakkin' your audials off Gearstrip, if you have a job to focus on. I'm just supposed to make sure you riley techs don't get into a scrappy nerd fight out here."
Gearstrip chortles. "I'm glad you're here to protect me from myself," she says. "Although frankly I'm more likely to accidentally glue myself to one of the windows or something..."