Tripwire falls over as well, bouncing off a crate and hitting the floor with a bit of a crash.
“Slag!” he groans, and he climbs back to his feet. “Sorry! I didn’t see you there. You alright?”
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“Given what’s happen, I don’t blame the caution. By chance, were any such friends down by Sand Mouth?” Timberjack asks.
“And everyone thinks nothing of a loud and proud dust cloud running around the desert?” Coverfire says quietly to the others.
“Perhaps similar weather phenomena are common.” Sheller quietly suggests.
“Regardless, it has somehow worked so far. If it can get us to the city without attention, that’s good enough.” Railgun says to them.
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The predacon accepts the gesture.
“Name’s Tailpipe. Nice to meet ya.”
“Fanks.”
Treadquake replied. Noticing that Tripwire had left, the predacon reopened the gate.
“Alright. Now ya can come in. No touchin’ though. If ya see somfin’ ya loik, just let me know furst.”
“Nah. I don’t mind. If we gotta share rooms anyway, I don’t think it’d be a bad idea. Imma quiet sleeper, promise.”
Hoverbug said cheerfully.
“Yeah, Sand Mouth is a pirate friendly place. Real small though. Never enough supplies to share.”
“Well thanks! I was just curious how this whole thing ran, so I appreciate the explanation. But I better get going.”
Nebula said kindly.
“Alright then. Hope you all enjoy the trip.”
The supervisor replied.
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“So, Tailpipe, may I ask a few questions about history?” He asks, sitting down.
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“Alright then.” Darksting said, taking a step inside.
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“Some more friendly faces is enough for me.” Timberjack replies and stops chatting for the moment to focus more on the game. The scratch hits were starting to get at him.
When Nebula comes back, Railgun says, “Satisfied? Now where on this tour should we head next?”
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The predacon would find a large variety of weaponry. Lite machine guns, pistols, riffles, snipers, heavier weapons, explosives. There would likely be more interesting things to find if he was willing to dig, or ask Treadquake.
“History huh? I don’t see why not. I’m no professor, but I like to think I’m pretty well read. Ask away.”
Tailpipe replied.
The game went on four a while more in silence. I won’t try to describe details because I’m not perfectly sure how pool works
Eventually one of the other pirates spoke up.
“What about you? What do you do?”
He asked.
“Well where is it the other’s wanted to go? The shooting range right?”
Nebula asked.
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Angel shows the notes he wrote on the books in the library, “the more recent record shows a lot of bias and was wondering what you knew of Flatfoot, the author and the event called “The Beast Wars.” He asks.
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“Never heard of Flatfoot, but I can definitely explain the bias. See, lots of bots these days see the war era bots ad old worn out junk. Outmoded and out dated. Archaic gass guzzlers. Me? They got my respect. But that’s why the book talks about them like that.”
Tailpipe explained.
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“Yeah, I’m fine…”
AAAGH MY FACE IT HURTS SO MUCH AAAAAGH
“You haven’t seen any, uh, chemicals around here, have you?”
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“Oh me? Just a wanderer, small time merchant helping deep space colonies here and there. Been some time since I was last on Cybertron.” Timberjack answers.
Railgun just nods and then the group heads to the shooting range.
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“Uh… no?” Tripwire replies. “I just got here, actually. To the warehouse, I mean; I’ve been with you guys this whole time, obviously. Name’s Tripwire.”
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“You sure got a lot of weapons.” Darksting said.
OOC:
I actually do I can fill you in
IC:
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As the predacons in engineering spun up, the Convoy pushed forward. It charged through the desert night, rushing through the sands. The massive metal beast was moving full speed ahead. Unwilling to tire out before it reached it’s destination.
“Sure picked a hell of a time to come back then didn’t ya?”
The predacon said jokingly.
The firing range was fairly standard. A long hall with various targets put at various spaces. With a waist high countertop for each station. The minicons had the space to themselves for the time being, as no one esle was there.
“Uh, yeah. It’s an armory.”
Treadquake replied awkwardly, finding it strange for Darksting to state the painfully obvious like that.
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“Why do most folks have that opinion?” Angel asks.
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Darksting internally facepalmed.
That was a stupidly obvious thing to say, he thought.
After gazing at the massive arsenal one last time, he said:
“Uh, I’m gonna go down to the barracks now.”
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“It was a convincing invitation.” Timberjack says, his tone almost like he was excusing his choices.
Coverfire looks for any indication of records around this place. If not, they climb up one of the counters, each taking aim at the targets to get in some practice.
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Tailpipe shrugged.
“Maybe it’s because we’re newer. Maybe it’s because a lot of bots see the older ones as barbarians, what with the whole 4 million years of war. I don’t know exactly why myself.”
“You’re not gonna check out a weapon?”
The predacon asked.
“What are you guys doing here anyway?”
The other predacon asked.
There was a data tablet mounted to the wall by the door. It however was well beyond their reach.
Nebula decided to join the other three for some target practice. Firing off her rock buster cannon , and showed herself to be a surprisingly decent shot at longer distances.
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“No?” Darksting said, it almost sounding like a question. Then a thought came to him.
“Would you mind checking out my weapons? We’ve had a couple fights between now and when we left.”
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“To deliver Megatron a going away gift. I hear he isn’t much of the present type, but I’m sure we’ll work something out.” Timberjack responds plainly.
In comparison of the trio, while Sheller certainly had the longest range, his shots were a bit more lobbed. He hits the target every time and in the general are he aimed for, but not exact at the further distances. But with explosive shells, the splash will do enough damage.
Railgun is not a bombardier, his shots are more direct than lobbed. It was more suited against aircraft-types and it shows in his aim. More accurate than Sheller, striking more specific locations at the target at the long distance. He may even be doing better than Nebula, but isn’t trying to compete, just improve his own aim.
Poor Coverfire, however, cannot match the distances that Nebula, Railgun, or Sheller can achieve. His turrets have a shorter range and as for his accuracy…Well, he certainly wasn’t winning any bullseyes. Though more on target than a volley of arrows, his bullet storm just ripped through sections. Why only get one headshot when you can fill it with fifty? Any scoring calculations probably doesn’t agree with that philosophy.
After some practice, Railgun stops and says to Nebula, “Would you mind joining me to go elsewhere for a bit?”
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