NCC Arena

A huge enclosed oval structure, the Arena is now nothing more than a deathtrap. What were once tiered rows of seats are now seamless walls that slope sharply downwards into a deep gloom. The arena floor, once a flat expanse of dull metal has sunk further into the ground and reconfigured itself, dark shadows hiding the massed array of spikes and treacherous pits that the surface has become. The Imperial box has become a virtual bunker, thick armor plates hiding the opulence inside. Small gleams of light in the shadows hint at hidden weaponry now exposed, and overall, the arena complex is now an extremely dangerous place to linger - especially if you happen to be opposed to the Decepticon Empire.

Contents:

Catechism

Hall of Heroes

Holo Arena

Obvious exits:

North <N> leads to NCC Dungeon.

South <S> leads to NCC Residential Plaza.

West <W> leads to NCC Central Hub.

Fleet wanders into the arena, his mood generally good, his step light, but there are a few suspicious spots of fresh paint on him that indicate newly completed repairs. He tries to step into the Holo Arena, but is stopped by the door's lock system. He almost snarls a bit, then shrugs and looks around.

Catechism is staring down into the arena quite intently, but there's nothing to see. One may wonder what's going through her mind. Truth be told, she's playing out a fight in her head, and seeing the arena helps her imagine it a bit more fully.

And there's Catechism! Staring at nothing. Hmm. Well, Fleet does that a lot, but usually to avoid looking directly at a superior he happens to be talking to. Well, might as well at least go by and say, 'Hi.' The pastel yellow Seeker heads towards Catechism, in some cases leaping lightly over a row of chairs here and there in a move that is showy, but seems unconsciously so.

Catechism is actually perched atop a chair-back, gargoyle-like and seems as uninclined to movement as such a stone sculpture. In her mind, a feint here, a jab there...blast, why is close combat so hard to grasp? Aside from being designed for ranged battle, of course. Then she stirs, steel scraping on steel, and clatters off the back of the chair into a standing position. Catechism nods curtly and acknowledges, "Fleet." She pauses, wanting to say more, but slightly divided over the issue herself.

Fleet watches Catechism clatter but gives no apparent reaction. Then he steps on top of one of the seats in the same row that Catechism had just been perched on, crouches, and wrests his hands on the seatback as he faces the Conehead. “Catechism." Fleet, who can be fairly observant when he wants to, notices the hesitation, and goes on, "Something wrong?"

Catechism shakes her head and laughs haltingly. She reaches a hand back behind her helmet and scratches the metal there, thinking. "So I woke up in the med bay. Not really what I was expecting, but hey, a lot better than most of the other options." She tilts her head questioningly. "Medic said a yellow Seeker brought me in. Not many of those active around here."

Fleet actually seems to be considering the statement seriously. "No, not really. If I see any, I'll send them your way, though," he answers, expression and voice entirely deadpan. Then he leans back a bit now, using his grasp on the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over entirely and goes on, "So, does that bother your or something?"

Catechism looks away. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to be alive. I'd rather not be dead." And it's her personal code that if you're alive, you must deserve to be alive for some reason. "Just struck me as, oh, odd? I don't know."

Fleet shrugs shoulders and wings. "You're a reliable wingmate, which is hard to come by. Having reliable wingmates increases one's own chance of coming back alive. And I could get you out without significantly increasing the odds that I'd get blown up, so I did." Rather a cruel way of putting it... Fleet saved Catechism because having her around seems to increase his own chances for survival.

Catechism looks satisfied with that answer. "Good. I'll try to stay reliable, then." Her optics narrow slightly, and she smiles faintly. "Just not so reliable that the Autobots know exacly what I'm going to do."

Fleet chuckles softly. "No, that level of reliability would be a liability." His optics flicker in a blink as he thinks about what he just said, and then he shrugs. Then he looks back and down at the arena. "So, anyway, just what was it you were doing there?"

Catechism spreads out the fingers of one hand and sweeps the hand through the air, cutting an arc with her movement. She says simply, "Just thinking," leaving herself quite open for a crack about whether or not she does that often, but she doesn't care. Catechism's not being intentionally evasive, but for once, she doesn't see much point in commenting more unless asked to do so.

Fleet doesn't make any cracks. He doesn't object to thinking because, well, he tends to view it as a survival trait. "Good enough. If you don't mind my interrupting you, though, I have something that I'd like to get another opinion about..."

Catechism lets her hand drop to her side and again shifts her position, now sitting atop the back of a chair one row up, feet on the chair seat itself. She shrugs and says, a bit of surprise in her voice - Fleet wants her advice? A bit weird, that, "No. I don't mind." Nothing's going to come of her thoughts for a while, anyway, she knows.

"I'm thinking about a new paint scheme. I managed to /not/ draw any special attention for millions of years, despite being yellow, but something seems to have changed." Fleet sighs. Something he'll never realize is that he's suffering Rincewind syndrome, which often requires a trigger. In the case of the being the problem was named for, that was a meeting with a Luggage-owning-tourist, while in Fleet's case the trigger was being trapped on Charr with Arachnae, Hook, and Mixmaster. "So I'm considering a new paint scheme. Of course, it won't throw off the Sweeps, but it might work for some of the others... the problem here, though, is that once people do figure it out, then I'm probably going to have to answer a bunch of questions about why I did it, and so on, and so forth..." The yellow seeker trails off.

Catechism looks at Fleet oddly. What, does she look like Needlenose, dispenser of chic fashion advice? Then her expression settles on something neutral, as her processors chug through the complexities of it all. Again, she scratches the back fo her helmet. "You're still going to be Fleet. Your superiors will have access to who you are, new paint job or no new paint job. As near as I can tell, all a new paint job would be good for is hiding from Decepticons who are lower-ranked than you are."

Fleet nods slowly as he considers this. "I suppose you're right. Besides, what would I go with? Blue is overall the most common color, but considering that's the color the Sweeps use..." He shakes his head and trails off. "Red is dangerous. Sure, Comcast is read, but it's still... I dunno. There seem to be an awful lot of green seekers running around on Earth." He pauses and shrugs. "Might as well stick with yellow." With that he smirks at Catechism. "I bet you think it's odd that I'm even worrying over this."

Catechism nods slowly and says bluntly, "Yeah. But you flat-heads are odd all-around, so it comes with the territory. Aaah--hh, guess you could go with light purple, if you really wanted. It's common enough." She raises a finger to her face and places it along her nasal ridge, an idea forming. "And you could even say they were just out of yellow and you got stuck with the new colour, if you just wanted to test it out for a short run."

Fleet brightens. Now, there's an idea! After all, that sort of thing happens all the time around here! "Good point! I'll keep that in time next time I take damage." Why didn't Flee think of that on his own? Well, probably because he was too busy brooding over all the unwanted attention he seems to be getting from the sweeps and such...

Catechism just plays out fights in her head. Lots of processing space left over to figure out how to get Fleet repainted. Silly conehead. She leans back a bit, loses her balance, and has to grab onto the back of the nearby chairs to steady herself. Not enough processing space to keep her steady, though. Silly processor space allocation tables, too. She chuckles quietly at her near-fall and nods. "Guess you'll need to go out raiding again soon, then?"

Fleet mmms, and shrugs. "I'm sure I would have, anyway, but I'm presently on light limited again. Fulcrum, Hardshell and I ran into two of the Aerials and Foxfire the other day." He allows himself a wide grin. "We actually won that one." Granted, that was probably in part due to the fact that Air Raid, for some reason, had to leave early on in the encounter, but Fleet wasn't going to complain, and still, Silverbolt is quite a tough opponent!

The optics of the conehead widen, and one can almost hear the gears whirring in her head. Catechism says slowly, as if testing the words, "You're pretty consistent in holding your own against Silverbolt, aren't you?" She jumps off the chair back and starts pacing up and down the aisle.

Fleet watches Catechism pace, a little confused. "Only because I usually get ordered to run away by someone else before I get to the point where I feel the need to on my own. But I didn't fight him for the most part, anyway. I was dealing with Foxfire while Fulcrum and Hardshell fought him. He beat Fulcrum up pretty damned badly, but I think he was running out of energon by the time he turned his attention to me. The one shot he took missed, but it seemed pretty low power. The damn cassette got me a couple of times, but never bad, and I gave worse than I got."

Catechism stops pacing and turns smartly on one of her jet-heels to face the other Seeker. She gestures vaguely and says, "Good to hear," probably to Fleet's comment that he gave better than he got to the little cassette.

Fleet frowns at the conehead's behavior. "Something else bothering you, Catechism? You seem to be acting a little... odd." The possibility that the other could somehow, in some way, be envious of Fleet's dubious accomplishes never even enters his mind, because, hey, what sort of silly person would be jealous of /Fleet!/

Catechism shrugs. "Nada." She's not jealous of Fleet. She just wants to serve her cause as best she can, and she needs something to use as a yardstick for how well she's doing. Why not her usual wingmate?

But Fleet may not be the best of yardsticks. He tends to be a bit outside the norm... weird things seem attacked to him. Like Sweeps. Sweeps count as 'weird things'. "All right," he answers. So this was just more general conehead weirdness. Okay.