Trypticon Training Room

This stark, spacious chamber is well-reinforced and shielded to stand up to the strain of many practice bouts. A training drone stands in one corner of the room, ready for a workout. The walls are sheathed in protective alloys that house sensors and cameras to project to the shielded monitors, allowing the combatants to observe their fight and progress. Off to the side are a few seats for spectators to observe the combatants and let out a cheer or two.

Contents:

Catechism

Training Drone

Obvious exits:

West <W> leads to Trypticon Troop Quarters.

Hook enters from the Troop Quarters to the west.

Hook has arrived.

Fleet is... getting his aft kicked by the drone, as he spends so much time doing anymore. He seems to be at a point where he's a bit too fast for the high level, but not fast enough for challenging... or something like that. But still, he keeps trying, because when you're a weakling like him, sometimes one of the best ways to deal with a problem is to be willing to accept defeat, withdraw, and try again later. <repose for Hook. At which point Fleet attacked the drone, hit it, it cannoned him and knocked him out in one hit>

Catechism watches Fleet get his aft kicked by the drone. She doesn't suggest that Fleet should try a lower setting, as that would be negative. Instead, she says cheerily, "You might want to try that a differently."

Hook strolls into the training room, looking forward to setting the drone to the secret "Mixmaster" setting and slapping him a couple of times before undertaking a PROPER training routine. Hook's still certain that it was his chemically inclined brother that glued that saftey cone to his head. But.. what's this? The training room is occupied? By Seekers? Well damn.

Fleet shakes his head after the drone revives him and looks up at Catechism, optics narrowed. "Uhm. Yes, Catechism. Thanks for the advice. I'll keep that in mind." Then someone else enters. The pastel seeker looks up and then frowns. Oh boy. /Hook./ He pulls himself up shakily and stumbles over to the console to reset his damage.

Catechism sometimes subs in for Captain Obvious when he's taking sick days. She looks over at Hook curiously. She hasn't seen this Constructicon, not that she's seen much of them. The conehead's trying to be better about remembering which one is which, ever since that incident where she asked Long Haul which one of them was Long Haul. The mostly green one with wheels is Long Haul, and the one with the purple drum is Mixmaster, so this must be... erm. Catechism really has no clue. So she waves in a friendly fashion and says, "Hello!"

Yes! It ONLY Hook! Come to save you all from Mediocracy! "Yes, Hello..." he replies to Catechism, trailing off as he wracks his processor for her name, finally settling on "..you." He nods at Fleet. "Training are we? Good good. You need the practice."

Fleet is generally not easily insulted, and he already realizes that Hook, despite being the head, is still an ass anyway. As long as he's not here to try to use Fleet as a test subject for something, though, that's okay. The pastel Seeker inclines his head. "Hook," he says by way of return greeting. He'll probably intentionally get his name wrong later... it depends on what Hook ends up calling Fleet.

Catechism slowly realises that if she doesn't know who... oh, 'Hook', did Fleet say? She files that away, and continues with the train of thought that if she doesn't know who Hook is, there's no reason why he should know who she is. Even if spooky, spooky Galvatron does. So she introduces, "I'm Catechism, MilOps grunt," nodding her head.

Hook approaches the console, tapping at the keypad, the room suddenly shimmering into a close approximation of the Madagascar jungle, complete with lemurs. "Ah" he replies to Catechism, not bothering to introduce himself. After all, the best engineer in the Empire, no the UNIVERSE surely needs no introduction. "I assume you and Fleet are about to duel to the virtual death over some slight of honor?"

"Not really," answers Fleet a little warily, although he is vaguely surprised that Hook got his name right. "I don't have any honor," he explains.

Catechism is sadly ignorant of who happens to be the Empire's best engineer. She should really do some research on that someday. In the meantime, Catechism laughs out loud. She exclaims, flicking her ailerons, "Rivets, why would we fight over something so silly?"

Hook sniffs, despite having no nostrils with which to do so. "Well don't ask /me/" he replies. "But it happens enough." A few more idle taps of the keys and they're surrounded by tall alien things that seem to be growing from the blue soil, tentacles waving lazily.

Fleet, who was standing near the console when Hook approached it anyway, instinctively takes a step away from the alien thingies and towards Hook when they appear. "What are /those/ things supposed to be?" he asks, frowning. He takes a moment to remind himself that damage taken here isn't lasting... well, that /can/ be overridden if one knows how, and Hook would probably knows how, but based on what Fleet knows of the Constructicon, he's not likely to put himself into any serious danger over a training session.

Catechism actually seems to be happier about the change in scenery. This might be because Earthen jungles tend to have birds, and Catechism has developed a distaste for their feathered friends. Equally, likely, she's just in generic happy mode. It's a common enough thing for her. She says, wearing a smile bright enough to charge photovoltaic cells, "I just wanted to see what was going on in here."

Hook peers at the display "It says here that they're Vermicious Knids" he replies. "Apparantly this scenario is based on data recorded on a survey mission."

"Any objectives in this scenario?" Fleet asks, looking at Hook. After all, he /was/ the one who called it up. "Or is it just another 'beat up anything that moves' thing?" There is a very quiet hum as Fleet charges his shoulder mounted weaponry, although it's not significant - a laser just ain't that powerful.

'Shoot anything that moves,' is good enough for Catechism. She's easy enough to keep happy, which may be a rather drastic understatement. Hearing the hum of Fleet's weaponry, she keys up her own, just in case.

Hook hms. "It says here that the Vermicious Knids devour all kinds of metal. Although they don't actively hunt, any metallic object that comes in contact with their tentacles is instantly seized and dragged to a central mouth where it is slowly digested by acids." A smile flits across his faceplate. "Charming. It's not so much a scenario as a very dangerous setting."

Fleet looks up at the jungle... which limits their flying capabalities. Still, he takes to the air himself, staying in his more manauverable robotic form. "Catechism, you are NOT to engage in close combat with those things!" Digestive acids and tentacles sound like just the sort of organic ickyness that Catechism does NOT respond well to. For his part, he hovers a bit as he tries to figure out the best way to deal with these... Vermiscious Knids.

Catechism's optic band cycle a blink, and she warms up her guns a bit more. She glances upward, wondering if it'd be possible to get above all these knids. The conehead says slowly, a bit of mean humour in her tone, "Gotcha, so if one of those things grabs your leg, I will in no way get out my knife and try to cut you loose."

"I'll leave you to it, shall I?" Hook says, wandering out of the training room. Because his player is tired

Hook has disconnected.

* And Fleet and Catechism easily defeated the Vermiscious Knids, but didn’t roleplay it out because both their players decided they’d rather go be their alts. *