Trypticon Command Center

     Once you enter this gigantic room, the first thing you see is the computer on the north wall. The main computer is Trypticon himself, regularly checking the perimeter defenses of the city. The viewer currently shows an exterior shot of the outside of the city. Several other monitors show various other views, still more display computer graphics to do with Trypticon's status, giving the viewer the current situation around the Earth at a split second's notice. Along the other walls are computer terminals that can be used to pull data from the main computer core. On the south wall is a large purple Decepticon symbol.

Contents:

Axis

Cinderblock

Ratbat

Trypticon Base Computer

Spacebridge Terminus <Trypticon>

Obvious exits:

 East <E> leads to Trypticon Communications Center.

 West <W> leads to Security.

 Down <D> leads to Trypticon Main Hallway.

Beep Beep GRRRRNK!! Beep Beep GRRRRNK!! "...damn thing..." Cinderblock is sitting in one of the smaller terminal chairs, pounding away at the console, "...for the love of gaskets, I don't want the damn sensor reports. Yes, yes, the power maintenance looks slagging lovely." He rubs his optics, "...stupid hunk of junk..." He looks at the terminal, hate burning in his old crimson optics, "...if you weren't attached to Trypticon, I'd blow you apart... Now tell me what the duty stations are, you hunk of junk."

Steel on steel. The report of unyielding metal haranguing the normally peaceful, smooth floor of Trypticon's main command center. Surprisingly, it is only to be found in the slight, pitter patter clinking of jetboots, a soft step, a gentle pace, the tinkling of glass as it shatters almost in tone and quality. The most noise is made as the main entrance doors whisk open, compressed air and hydraulics hissing with a slight protest as they slide effortlessly into the wall. The image that rests behind them is one of sharply pressed edges, crisp, militaristic seams. Eyes that burn like anthracite move slowly to fall upon you, the wielder never moving, never yielding, simply standing in rigid precision as every movement rolls with a fluid grace. Brows furrow ever slightly as the machine now present, clad in a mindnumbingly boring camoflague color scheme, speaks, his tone silken, low, and deadly...

"You. Old man. Why do you speak so, when the obvious error is in the antiquated processors of the user? Don't blame the finest creation of the Reich for your... how should I say... LACK of technical expertise."

Fleet steps in and glances around, left wing twitching unconsciously as he inspects his surroundings. He steps lightly towards the nearest terminal, almost giving the impression of tip-toeing without actually doing so, and activates it, about to check up on the watch bill. That is, until a machine near him starts to protest, causing the skittish Seeker to jump and look around, startled. He cocks his head curiously towards Cinderblock, but then the other seeker answers. Fleet narrows his optics. He's not met this one, but the voice is familiar... he's heard it over the open frequencies, he knows.

Cinderblock turns his head, "Eh?" He narrows his eyes at Axis and then frowns, "Production model Seekers. Tell me, kid, do you all go and paint yourself at night and try to guess who's who?" He picks himself up, "Back in my day, Hunter-seekers had more respect. I still remember poor, dead, Ironsky... He always respected his elders. Then he sucked some bird into his intake on some backwater planet and blew up. On the upside, we scavenged his parts. Got myself a good interocitor battery from that one I did. Although back in my day we called them chiggies, as was the style at the time." He then glances over at Fleet, and blinks, "Now the question is, do either of you kids know how to work this new fangling contraption?" He glances at it, "Old computers, now they were useful. You didn't need to keep tapping a thousand unmarked buttons to get them to work."

Fleet does his best to stay in the background, pastel color scheme aside, as he slides closer to Cinderblock's terminal. His grey right hand darts in, taps a few keys, and pulls up the latest watch-rotation bill. "There you go. Once you get used to them, you'll find the newer stuff actually tends to be a bit easier, but it does take awhile," he says very softly before taking a step back and bringing up a similar schedule on his own terminal.

In most circumstances, such a retort would draw the ire of a Decepticon. A braggadocious threat, empty, hollow, the soundings of a crotchety old man and his frazzled temperament. But for this particular scenario, given the parties present, the seeker known as Axis simply narrows his optics, the gleaming burn of crimson penetrating through a crack in eyelids as thin as a razor. Almost as a calming sidenote, those very optics turn to Fleet, the pastel assaulting his eyes as he once again begins to speak...

"Herr Fleet, your input on this matter is appreciated. And as for your friend, would you be so kind to inform him that the duty rosters are posted accordingly and that he will be pleased to know his assignment from the energon distribution conduits will be changed appropriately to the much needed task of cleansing my flight deck. With a rather small brush. If that so pleases Herr Cinderblock, I will see him at his scheduled time."

Cinderblock hrms and nods at Fleet, "Right... Thanks." He looks back at the terminal, squinting at it for a long moment, "...patrol. Well...thats a surprise..." He looks between the two, "Mind filling me in on what we're doing in this particular part of squishy territory? I didn't get much of a briefing aside from 'Hey you, get off your aft and get to Trypticon.' He glances back at Axis and blinks, "Eh? Clean your -what- with a what?" He taps the side of his head, "My audials must be acting up, Son. I didn't quite hear you."

Fleet looks down at Cinderblock, then up at Axis, then down at Cinderblock, then back up at Axis, his expression decidedly blank for the whole affair. He cocks his head curiously. "Erm... sir? He's right here. Why do you need /me/ to tell him?" Then back down at Cinderblock. "Well, Cinderblock, orders are orders, and it's not so bad. After all, the XO of MSE was assigned to cleaning duty on Charr with me... sometimes it just works out that way."

"It is a simple equation, Herr Cinderblock... Your vaunted, caustic abilities, plus my flightdeck, equals a gleaming surface fit for Oberherr Galvatron to dine from. Now, you wouldn't want to offend the Reich, much less Reichsfuhrer Galvatron, now would you, Herr Cinderblock? That would be a rather... dangerous... misjudgement on your part."

Turning his scarlet optics to Fleet, the seeker known as Axis smiles, the grin thick with forced charm and sickening falsehoods. Yet it is a grin nonetheless, as a finger moves upward to rest gingerly on his chin. "You ARE correct, Herr Fleet! And I believe I was rather clear with your friend, was I not? I sometimes fail in that regard, my wish to see the wellbeing of my beloved Empire taking my thoughts and robbing my vocalization of its power. But I appreciate your observation as well as your vigor in performing the duties required of us all. You are a fine example, airman. I will pass on my observations in my next report."

Earthscorch wanders up and stops, lurking in the background and listening for now... Best not to get involved just yet...

Cinderblock hrms, "oh?" He shoots a half dirty look at Fleet, "Oh right. Thanks for clearing that up, son." He looks back to Axis, "I will approach this task with a customary level of Decepticon professionalism, Sir."

So Cinderblock is Fleet's friend now. And five minutes ago he didn't know the mechanoid's name! Huzzah for fast friendships. But for his part, Fleet seems less than pleased with Axis' praise. Either Axis's lying, and in fact will make a report that reflects Fleet badly at a time when he's already being carefully watched by people far too highly ranked for his comfort, or he's telling the truth which is, after its own fashion, even worse. Still, the pastel seeker just nods his head. "Thank you, sir," he acknowledges before turning perhaps a bit too quickly back to his terminal, checking for those reports and updates that he's expected to keep abreast of.

Cinderblock hrms and turns back to Fleet himself. Well, you ran into a resident hard-ass Cinderblock. Sheesh, when did they start promoting seekers, they should've learned their lesson with that fop Starscream. He puts a heavy metal hand on Fleet's shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly, "...Fleet, just let me express my additional thanks for clearing up the issue of my glorious new assignment for me."

"You are most welcome, airman. So, tell me, what is it you're perusing?" Stepping even lighter, gently, not quite the magically fluid steps of a dancer but moreso the gait of one known to lurk, Axis moves toward the pair, leaning ever so slightly as hands interlock behind his back. Fleet may have something with his innermost thoughts, those of constant caution. It is the appraising eye of secrecy that guides the seeker, not one of true concern or praise. What a jackbooted jerk.

As the lean grows ever invasive, Axis continues to smile, optics flickering between both parties like a caged animal. "Now see, just because our overall effort is for the supremacy of the Reich, that does not mean we, as bruderkindle, cannot work closely with one another. It is almost a form of love, wouldn't you say? To rest assured in the abilities and personalities of one's comrades? To... how do you say... RELY on one another?"

Fleet grits his metal teeth as Cinderblock squeezes just a bit too hard on the one shoulder, then manages to contain a flinch as Axis leans a bit too close over the other. He is not now a happy seeker. It takes a moment for the dancer to process Axis's rather unusual phraseology, and even then he finds himself a little unsure as to how to answer. "It can be," he answers softly, adding to himself that this assumes one isn't too worried about feeling a blade in their back... which is half-way to what Fleet is expecting at this moment. He seems about to say something further, then decides it would be better to answer the earlier question of what he's perusing, "I like to check up on the most recent events. Of course, the required reports... but also, I've been on this world less than a year, so I've been trying to familiarize myself with it."

Earthscorch continues to watch, apparently intrigued, with all the goings-on. He still hangs back and avoids attention being drawn to himself, though he's not exactly invisible or anything.

Cinderblock hrms and nods, "I see. Keeping up on the local events, huh, son? I knew someone who used to do that, he was a bit peculiar. Not working with a full circuit board if you know. One day he was sitting in front of a terminal like that, then he started laughing...real nice and low and quiet...sort of a huh-huh-huh laugh. Then *WHOOSH!*" His hand goes right at Fleet's chest, thumb digging into the seeker's cockpit glass, "Out comes an energy dagger and he drives it into his buddy's laser core! We never did figure out why...he was reading about something on Monacus, but you know how it is, older campaigners, they get a little bit...loose in the old cranium, they're liable to up and kill somebody who might've wronged em." He then glances over his shoulder, "You there, I ain't a bloody Arkalian circus attraction. Come over here and join me and my 'bruder' and...the..." He looks at Axis, "What is your name, Sir?"

"Ahhhh... A worthy pursuit, Herr Fleet. The history of this prehistoric stone is engaging to say the least. To have such vast resources available to them... And to waste th-" The interruption by the older Decepticon breaks the seeker mid-sentence, setting his jaw and forcing his optics downward in an obvious display of restraint. But continuing, head rising to address the one known as Cinderblock with once again furrowed brows and an inferno of optics, the smile returns, this time, clawing dangerously at the corners of his face.

"Excuse me, Herr Fleet. Please, continue your research. Herr Earthscorch, feel free to join him." The last obviously had multiple intentions, both for the older Decepticon as well as the quiet purveyor of the conversation. "My name, which will be simple enough to remember unlike the complicated processes of reviewing the duty rosters, is AXIS, Oberlieutenant First Class. Easy, no?"

Cinderblock nods, "Ah! Yes, Sir. That will work... Hrm... Axis you say..." He rubs his chin slightly, and peers off into space for a moment, "Axis... Hrm, thats going to be tough to remember, but I'll work on it, Sir." He nods, "You've gotta excuse me, the old processor ain't quite what it used to be."

Fleet jumps back a little when Cinderblock jabs his finger into him - right into Axis, if Axis isn't quick to move. 'Son,' 'bruder'... but Fleet is factory built. What does he know of family? The yellow seeker contains a sigh as he moves once more closer to the terminal, trying to creep away from all these crazy people hanging around him.

Earthscorch finally decides to move forward into clear visibility. With a slight nod, he says, "Pardon my lurking, but I did not wish to interfere with your conversation." He turns his optics toward Cinderblock assessingly. "Shall I assume you're a new arrival then? I am Earthscorch and my function is aerial assault. I am pleased to make your aquaintance."

Cinderblock nods, "Cinderblock. I shoot Autobots til they don't move no-more. I'm technically an 'anti-armor' soldier, but..." He taps the vulcan on his arm, "This baby doesn't mind if they don't have much armor on 'em. I've been on earth before, back when Megatron was still alive." He glances at Fleet, "Hey, Kid. Grow some bearings, way you're simpering about I'd think you just saw your line-mates get smelted."

Luckily, Fleet isn't easily insulted. Being easily insulted often leads to being damaged unnecessarily. He still can't contain an expression of distaste at Cinderblock's crude language. "I've got all the bearings I need," answers Fleet softly, decided to take the word literally, "and my gyros do best to keep me upright when not being crowded so. Like you, I'm sky-built, and as such, I need room." And with that the seeker slides out from the middle of the grouping, twisting his body as needed to avoid actually touching anyone. He does not leave, yet... just gives himself a little 'breathing space.'

Cinderblock laughs, "A fly-boy eh? Well I fly around but its not the fun part. You want to be down there, ripping it up with the Autobots. Bloody panty-wastes for the most part. Why we ran into this bunch of Autobot sentries on Geidi, we were there to collect electronic dustbunnies or something equally useful. You should've heard how they screamed! Oh, it was great. All their new shiny armor and moves." He doubles over, gripping Fleet's shoulder as he laughs, "One of them threw up this forcefield! It was pathetic! He's like "Oh take cover with me, companions!"" He stands back up again, chortling, "COMPANIONS! I mean who talks like that! I was going to ask him, but someone just up and blew him apart."

"Obviously so, Herr Cinderblock. Might I suggest you associate with our esteemed flieger Fleet. His field performance ratings are impressive, considering the energon he has obtained for the Reich over the past few cycles. Yes, Herr Fleet... I HAVE been watching, with a rather... vigorous... interest." Leaning back to assume his full height, Axis gives the pastel seeker his room, not quite stepping back, but not quite allowing the appropriate room to move easily. A constant presence, a watchful optic. Oppressive, almost.

"So, now that our introductions are complete and Herr Cinderblock wishes to entertain us all, let us have a seat. Earthscorch, Fleet, please, we are all bruderkind here. We all are spearcarriers for a single, just cause, are we not? Let us listen to Herr Cinderblock's stories of an age long gone from us. For after all..." The seeker chuckles, a sickening, oilslicked laugh that comes in clipped, choppy bursts. "Those that ignore history are doomed to repeat it. Yes?"

Earthscorch stands (inconveniently for Fleet) in the way if you want out. He frowns at Cinderblock's rather vulgar display thoughtfully, with who-knows-what thoughts going through his head. Then hearing Axis's suggestion that they all be seated and dutifully does so, though he keeps himself pointedly seperated from the others. "Indeed, we must not repeat our mistakes of the past..."

Oh, so Axis has been watching Fleet, too? So now that's Axis, Geist, Arachnae, Counterpunch, and firking Scourge himself. It's a wonder all the people who have declared to the seeker that they were keeping an eye on him don't keep bumping into each other. But Axis is a superior, more or less, and he's told Fleet to sit down, and since Fleet has no pressing duties, he slides to the nearest chair and does. Oh, goody. Decepticon story hour. "Learning from your own mistakes is one thing," he mutters, "but even better to learn from other people's." He turns towards Cinderblock. "So you're here to help us avoid that, right?"

Cinderblock smirks at Fleet, "Quiet kid, I'm talking." He nods, and hrms, "Lets see, whats a good educational story! AH HA! Rhesis 20. We'd followed a bunch of autobots there, supposedly they were there to help the monkey people or something similar. So our commander goes 'We can't let them help the monkey people!' Now personally, I don't see why we gave a slag about monkey people, but our boss had his motivator circuits all deadset on mucking around... I had a lot of commanders like him over the years." He shakes his head, "They get this burr in their motivators and off they go...causing all sorts of problems. Like that one who talked back to Shockwave when he wanted to hunt down one of Elita's lovely little band..." He rubs his eyes, "Oh the things that happened to him... Don't mess with big Purple, he'll slag you up serious! ...where was I?"

"You were rambling on about 'monkey people' and disrespectfully speaking of Reichsmarshall Shockwave as... how did you say... 'Big. Purple.'" The definitive pause between big and purple accentuates the point, adds to the mystique that is Axis, and pretty much informs the populace that yes, as touched upon earlier, he's a jackbooted jerk. But nonetheless, the finger once again rises to his chin to tap it incessantly while the other hand motions for him to continue. The verbal faux pas, however, is noted deep in the recesses of his mind, the datapad of blackmail and intrigue.

Cinderblock nods, "Ah right! Monkey people! Well, our commander sends us off to terrorize the monkey people. Now, I don't mind blowing up little monkey people...not much of a challenge, and it did bring out the Autobots in force. Oh, and they were POWERFUL, mad!" He nods, "One of them had this -big- cannon of his, and he started laying into us like we were turbo-hawks in a shooting gallery. Now me, I ducked down behind this monkey person hut or whatever, using it as cover and all..." He crouches down and peers around as if he's there while he tells the story, "Then I see my commander, bravely rushing up to his envisioned final battle with the Autobot commander and all..." He hrms, "He had one of those swords...the big ones...two-handed or something. I never saw a reason for those things, I mean -slag- we've got guns in this day and age!" He looks back to Axis, "Its a term of affection, Axis Sir!" He blinks, "Where was I! Oh right! Well, there I am...shielded back there...and the commander rushes up and is all like 'Now I've got you whatsyourface!' and then whatsyourface says back to the commander, "Who the hell are you! I'm whatshisname!" And then the command realizes he's up poducky galaxy without a fusion cart... I always liked that galaxy actually, nice and quiet, you didn't have much trouble with the energon chiggers there, nasty things those..."

Earthscorch smirks slightly. The new guy seems to be even more disrespectful than he is. And his story doesn't seem to be going anywhere... Earthscorch suddenly starts to feel like a caged animal, glancing longingly toward the exit. He passes his eyes over Fleet to see if the fellow is having the same reaction he is.

Fleet is a caged canary! See the yellow? Since the chairs of the room happen to be next to terminals, he takes the opportunity to go back to his earlier reading. Odds are the old coot won't even notice that the pastel seeker's attention has drifted. While this is hardly the strangest mess Fleet has found himself in, it's still pretty irritating, and he finds himself thinking fondly even of the Sweep Sanctum. At least there he's not near as cramped.

Cinderblock hrms, "Well anyway! Our commander is up there and...did I mention he turned into a tank? Well no? Its good I didn't. He actually turned into this crummy looking APC thing...was damn ugly. He up and transforms, figuring that killing one autobot is just as good as killing another one. And you know what happened then! The monkey people! Well they swarmed him! They stripped him down to his A-Frame just as if he'd fallen asleep in some flophouse on Monacus after shelling out ten thousand creds for a waxing by one of those all-service droid wenches." He smirks, "Ah, the droid wenches...I always liked the blue ones. They get your rotors all greased up, you feel like a million after that."

Cinderblock smirks, "Poor bastard. Well, we retreated. Left him behind there. He couldn't even transform anymore. Dunno what happened to him after that. Still, goes to show you. Its best not to run off half-cocked, or be out for revenge and all of them. I mean damn...thats only a good way to get your exhaust probed by filthy monkey fingers."

Once again, the chuckle. The ill, greenish hued chuckle of forced laughter. It starts quietly, growing ever so slightly until it is a barked, caustic laugh, clipped and lifeless. And the finger continues to tap, the faint *clink!* of metal on metal rhythmic, hypnotic, like the ticking of a bomb.

"Amusing."

The pause drops like an anvil after the declaration, a silence that grabs the command center in a viselike grip. The laughter is no more, the smile, long vacated from the seeker's face, and any semblance of mirth or enjoyment from his comrades gone on the 9:30 train. In fact a scowl, a gentle upturn of the lip and a narrowing of optics returns to Axis' visage, a look that seems to look more comfortable than any grin or happiness ever could be. "Enough of your stories, Herr Cinderblock. Considering you have time to revel in ages past, you should have plenty of time in your schedule for me to move your appointed duties forward in the roster." Rising from his chair as if he was shot, once again assuming that rigid, unyielding form, the seeker sniffs, pompousness and an assailing tone coming over him like a blanket. Did I mention jackbooted jerk?

"Yesssss... I believe with time, your loose lips and zeal in performance art will serve the Reich nicely, Herr Cinderblock. In the meantime, please review the access codes and entry protocols for the Trypticon roster database with Herr Fleet. In case your... OLDER processors... Lose their retentive abilities. I will be in touch, gentlemen. But for now, I must take my leave." As if his word was the gospel of the universe, Axis spins on a bootheel, and begins to move toward the exit.

Earthscorch looks like he wishes he had thought of looking at terminals, but he doesn't want to look like he's just doing what Fleet's doing. So he dutifully sits and listens.

"And that, friends, is the voice of expierience," sighs Fleet as Cinderblock finishes his story. He leans forward, resting the tips of his intakes against the terminal. Well, that a goodly length of time Fleet won't be seeing again. The seeker turns his head to watch Axis leave. He's none too happy to be in the room with the others, but at least the most dangerous threat is, for the moment, vacated.

Cinderblock nods as Axis marches off, and gives him a half-hearted salute, "Of course, Sir."

Earthscorch completely ignores Axis as he leaves.

Earthscorch sighs with relief after Axis is gone. Goodbye moderation and manners!

Cinderblock turns his head back towards Fleet once the big important commander type is gone, "...now, Fleet...I understand you want to be a brown-noser. Nothing wrong with it, its your way of adapting. But you do it at my expense again, and I'm filling your face full of depleted carbonite shells, then leaving your rusted carcass in the middle of Detroit to let the terrans strip you and drag you off to a chop-shop, where they'll make you into poorly made Japanese cars. Do I make myself clear, you punk?"

Fleet looks blankly at Cinderblock for a long moment. "'Brown-noser'? For one," he says quietly, "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the term. Is it Terran?" he asks with some distaste. "But if it means what I think it does, you needn't worry. That wasn't my intent. I was /trying/ to offer assistance and defuse an argument. I was /not/ trying to make myself look good or you look bad. I'm not concerned with my own reputation, and you obviously need no help with the latter."

Cinderblock smirks, "Spunky, kid. Not bad." He steps closer to him, "But keep what I said in that cute little vented head of yours. I try to avoid running my rod up the exhausts of the command staff. I blew this one major. But you just stay back next time it happens, don't get involved." He cricks his neck, the cables twanging from age, "Right now though, I'm going to get my quarters set up."

Earthscorch slowly rises to his feet and walks over toward Cinderblock, in no hurry. "Don't be droll. There's no need for threats. We're all allies here." He tries to put a hand on Cinderblock's shoulder. "Exactly how long have you 'been away'?"

Cinderblock glances at Scorch, "Last time I was on Cybertron we owned it."

Earthscorch says, "Well, it's best to assume nothing and take nothing for granted. Things have changed dramatically in a very short time. I would spend a bit of time cultivating good relationships with your fellows if I were you."

"Right," answers Fleet as he leans back with a sigh. "Do you actually need my help to get used to the computer systems, or do you intend to go it alone?"

Cinderblock hrms and nods, "Yeah, yeah... How many of those damn seekers are still around though? I remember Skywarp and Mr. Fancy-Pants snuffed it." He glances back at Fleet, "I'll figure it out on my own! I'm old, I'm not an idiot! ...bloody kid."

<OOC> Fleet writes a short pose THIS time 'cause he can't type as fast as you folks.

Earthscorch says, "Plenty of the old guard have passed on. We live in a state of constant turbulence. As I said, take nothing for granted and expect none of the stability you're no doubt accustomed to."

Fleet actually chuckles and shakes his head in response to Cinderblock. "If that's the way you'd prefer it. My offer was genuine. For myself, I actually will ask for assistance when I need it. Better than making a mistake when the microchips are down. Granted, I'm careful about who I ask, but this doesn't mean I won't ask at all." There's an amused smile playing at the seeker's lips when he says this, but he does not actually look up, instead focusing on the terminal in front of him.

Earthscorch says, "Take some time to read up on it. I spent a good week doing so when I was recovered."

Cinderblock glances back at Fleet, "Son. You're not going to last long like that." He looks at Scorch and nods, "Will do. But we've never had a non-turbulant time, Scorch." He then looks back at Fleet, "And kid. Cinderblock's tip of the day. Don't turn your back on someone pissed off at you." He places a finger against the rotating barrel of his vulcan cannon and spins it, allowing for a grating whine to issue. He then nods at Earth, "I'm going to go try to bring those files up. Night."

Earthscorch says, "Right. See you around..."

Cinderblock has disconnected.

frowns as Cinderblock departs. "I can see he'll be plenty of fun to serve with... I hope he's more useful on the battlefield than he is in off-time."

Fleet actually laughs out loud at Cinderblock's parting advice, although no doubt the older mech is out of hearing range by now. The seeker tosses a look over his shoulder towards Earthscorch, then turns his chair around. His smile is now very crooked, and no longer as polite as it had been. "Foolish me, here I was relying on the idea that someone who's survived as long as he has wouldn't be /stupid/ enough to open fire on a fellow Decepticon with /witnesses/ in the command center of Trypticon with security cameras trained on him. I'll be sure to revise that assessment."

Earthscorch says, "Well, in his defense, I don't think he actually would have shot at you in here... I think it was simply an idle threat. Still, I would be cautious about being alone, were I you. He may mean to make good on those threats, and I can't judge his strength from what I've seen. But if anything does happen, you have a witness at least."

Earthscorch smiles unpleasantly.

Fleet waves a gray hand absently. "Oh, I'll have plenty of witnesses. I've got half the Sweeps and any number of other people 'keeping an optic on me,' 'watching me closely,' and other things to that effect. I hear those words so often, they are beginning to lose some of their power with me." The seeker pulls up his left foot so that the heel rests in the chair with him and wraps his arm around his knee, pulling it closer to his cockpit. "But I am /always/ cautious about being alone... his threats change nothing."

Earthscorch chuckles quietly. "In that case, I will not keep an eye on you. However, should your bullet-riddled corpse be found, I will be sure to bring up Cinderblock's name."

Fleet's smile fades to something a bit more genuine and tilts his head just slightly in a nod. "Appreciated." He brings his foot back down to the floor and pushes himself out of the chair in a single, smooth motion. "But now I must be off. 'Story time' ate up most of my free time, and now I have just enough to top off before I have overseer watch." He nods to Earthscorch as he passes. "Good cycle."

Earthscorch nods somberly to Fleet as he passes.