Nightsiege Time: Thu Sep 26 18:47:34 2024

Nightsiege Spaceport

The spaceport is as pristine as the rest of the city, but it's here that you start getting your strongest indications of the sheer military presence that's housed in the Aerospace Headquarters to the north. The spaceport is divided into two distinct sections, as about a third of it is set aside for a small amount of civilian traffic and trade, and the rest is in constant motion as the patrols and strike-forces for the Decepticon Aerospace fleet scramble from one of the two landing strips. A huge stylized tower, dignified at worst and awe inspiring at best, rises over the landing strips, orchestrating all the traffic. Large hangars divide the spaceport physically. Positioned at all entrances to the spaceport are the best of the Decepticon's security troops, who, someday hope to ascend to the ranks of Aerospace.

Contents:

Mixmaster

Scrapper

Autobot Shuttle <Alpha Trion>

Decepticon Advanced Troops #5848

Nightsiege Spaceport Hangars

Obvious exits:

Fly <Up> leads to Sky above Nightsiege.

North <N> leads to Outskirts of Imperial Headquarters.

East <E> leads to Courtyard.

Scrapper will just have the fix the universe, if it's broken. Stupid universe. Scrapper considers and points out, "Scavenger doesn't have a built-in fishing line, though. And eh..." Scrapper has to think for a moment. "...Devastator needs both arms?"

Long Haul comes rumbling onto the scene, carrying a truck load of... oh, what's that? Sheet metal and the like for the construction of the fleet! No, not /that/ Fleet! Thus answering both the question of where he was and whether or not he was working. Of /course/ he was working. /Someone's/ got to. Unfortunately, he's also daydreaming - hey, it's tedious work! - and once more has the goal more in mind rather than the immediate location, and thus he drives right through a sinister looking puddle that the worksite seems to have recently acquired.

Don't bother fixing it Scrapper, you'd just doing a shoddy job. "I dunno," Mixmaster says to his brother. "I kinda guess we are /all/ needed to Devastator." He sounds very regretful at this admission. As Long Haul shows up, Mixy adds to Scrapper. "Even though I fail to see the point of some of us." He says this bit louder than the rest, counting on Long Haul to have not heard the rest of the discussion. Meanwhile, Aerosol has found a mop and is starting to mop up the puddle of chemicals. The puddle.. that has a tyre print in it. Oh well, Aerosol isn't paid to be a safety advisor... he's barely getting paid at all. He just mops it up.

Scrapper would make the universe better than ever! Okay, he'd make it more lime green than ever, but that's surely an improvement, right? Scrapper, sighs, figures that it's probably a lost case to actually get anything done for the time being, and transforms. He mimes dusting off his hands and chides, "Now, now, we all have our roles." He adds more quietly, "Even if it just filling out the roster so that MSE doesn't get dropped a funds bracket due to lack of personnel."

The payloader unfolds into robotic form. His lower legs rotate awaym, revealing his upper legs. His arms come out from his side. His shovel flips onto his back. Finally, his head emerges from his torso, completing the transformation.

"Yeah!" Mixmaster adds, thinking that Scrapper was referring to himself.

Long Haul is indifferent as to how Scrapper would rebuild the Universe, because he wasn't here when it got destroyed (which was, of course, all Mixmaster's fault anyway), and thus isn't aware of the problem. What he is aware of is Mixmaster's comment, and Scrapper's response. "'Can't see the point of some of us', huh?" he grunts, annoyed. "Well, fine!" The dump truck transforms into robot mode, his load staying neatly in place until the transformation sequence is complete, and then falling to the ground all at once. Just like in the cartoons! He points a finger at Mixmaster, "/You/ can put this scrap where it needs to go!"

Scrapper is more than just a pretty purple wing to fill out the roster. He actually does work! When he's not interrupted by cement trucks. Scrapper glances over at Long Haul and scolds, "My, what foul temper!" He shakes a finger. "This is not helping your case that you actually do anything around here, you know."

Mixmaster turns to Long Haul as he shows up. "Right there will do fine, thanks Long Haul! Keep up the good work! Now, don't go anywhere, I'll need something carried back to base shortly, after all." Mixy plods up to Scrapper to see what he's doing. He doesn't ask Scrapper or anything, he just starts watching. He's veeeery uncomfortably invading Happy Scrappy's personal space, though Mixy is unaware of that.

Aerosol has nearly finished mopping up the spill when his olfactory senses pick up a scent that shouldn't happen. He turns his mop upside down, revealing that whatever was on the ground has eventually eaten away nearly all of the synthetic cloth.

Thanks, Mixmaster. Because Long Haul doesn't already have about a billion more supply runs waiting on him. No, he's here to serve YOU! But while he stands then glowering at the other two (or tries to from behind his expressionless facade), he begins to notice something is wrong. From his shoulders and near the backs of his knees (where his wheels are, coincidently) he begins to feel a distinct burning sensation. "What the-" he starts, turning around and trying to get a good look at these awkward spots.

The Constructicons may regularly combine together into one big robot, but that's no reason for Mixmaster to stand that close to Scrapper. It is stifling, giving him no room to work. Scrapper's optic band narrows into a scowl. He snaps at Mixmaster, "And don't you have something to be doing? A little thing like, oh, working on this war fleet?" Scrapper pays no heed to whatever's up with Long Haul. Someone probably just switched the WD-40 with itching powder again.

Well, it sure wasn't Mixmaster. He replaces it with Strawberry Jam. Ask Hook about that one. "Just seeing what you're up to, Brother." Mixy says. "And I will, once I know where we're at. I suppose you haven't bothered applying that galvanizing coat or the heat/cold-resistant sealants I designed yet?" Mixmaster's back is away from Long Haul, and since Long Haul isn't making any noise, Mixy has no reason to assume anything is wrong.

Aerosol, for those of you still following, has now dropped his mop-turned-stick and has decided to tactfully depart, since something or someone is probably about to have a very inconvenient moment soon.

"Hey." Long patpats at his shoulders. "Hey!" patpats at the leg-wheels. "/Hey!/ I'm burning!" he finally shouts, now kneeling so he could get a good look at the back of his legs (since he can't very well look at the back of his shoulders very well). "Something's burning me!"

Well, at least Mixmaster doesn't have the gall to give them the raspberry. Thank goodness for small mercies. Scrapper bahs dismissively and says, "Order of operations, Mixmaster. Those go on much later, I'm afraid." Without actually looking at Long Haul to see what's wrong, he says, quasi-automatically, "Then get out of the fire, Long Haul."

Mixmaster also automatically chimes in, "Yeah, get out of the.." Only Mixmaster DOES turn around. And Long Haul is thrashing around in agony over something.. but there's nothing there. "Scrapper?" Mixy says to his brother. "There's no fire for him to get into." Mixmaster would have recommended some FIRE RETARDANT FOAM, but he's not really in the mood for entering some horrid memory flashbacks. He, Scrapper and Sixshot encountered something terrible that time, and they swore NEVER to tell anyone about it EVER AGAIN. He looks at Scrapper, dreading the mere thought of it.

FIRE RETARDANT FOAM probably wouldn't help, anyway. What would help is a strong base, but unfortunately even if Long Haul had known what he had driven through, he wouldn't know that. Knowing that sort of thing is /Mixmaster's/ job. "There is no fire!" he shouts, not caring that Mixmaster just pointed out the same thing. "There's something eating at my tires, dammit! And I think some has splashed along my back!" Because, naturally, that's his bottom in truck mode.

Scrapper stares at Long Haul. Then he glances over at Mixmaster, who is their designated insane one. Shoot, so that must mean that there's actually something wrong with Long Haul. Besides the fact that he complains all the time. Like now. He paces over to Long Haul to get a better look, but he's not the chemist. He says, rather incoherently, "Well, I, uh... well! Okay, we get Boencrusher out of the well and put Long Haul down the well instead!" Scrapper poses triumphantly. Surely, this is a fool-proof plan.

Mixmaster looks at Scrapper. Never more than now has Scrapper proven himself to be the leader. "I'll send Boncrusher and Bonesrusher out to arrange for it straight away." He says. Wait a minute.. Mimxaster sense.. tingling. Mixy knows what this is. "He must have had some kind of acid applied to him somehow.. I know what to do." Mixy extends his nozzle in his headpiece, accessing his chemical tanks. The nozzle squirts out a weak alkali to help neutralize the burn. Unfortunately, this is also corrosive, though not as painful. So wherever the inaccurate nozzle splashes the alkali will corrode Long Haul's beautiful green paint if there isn't any acid there. The pain will subside and Long Haul will live.. but will life be worth living without the green?

Long Haul attempts another faceless glower as he tries to see what Mixmaster's doing. "Hey! Your messin' up my paint job! You're fixin' that!" He complains.

Scrapper is starting to look rather irritated. His work has been interrupted, the universe imploded temporarily, his personal space has been invaded, and now they're going to be short on paint again. Will he never get a break? And not the kind of break that involves bent metal, either. Changing his plans slightly, Scrapper says, "Now, to hide Long Haul while he's got that ugly corrosion going on, we can put him in that well."

"Will you /forget/ about the well! Or, well..." Long Haul sputters angrily. Here he's been, working all day /hauling/ stuff from point A to point B, and now what does he get for his efforts? Partially melted tires and a ruined paint job! And now apparently Scrapper's joined Mixmaster in the Land of the Loons and is fixated on putting him down some well. "Fine! Put me down the damn well! I could use the break! Just try and get Bonecrusher to carry your scrap around! Or Boencrusher, /or/ Boncrusher, /or/ Bonesrusher!" But weren't those last two dead? Nevermind.

Scrapper looks hurt. Is it such a crime to try to get some mileage out of a plan after the plan is no longer needed or even sane? He looks away and shakes his head sadly. "No, no, I can see that you think you're too good for the well."

Long Haul facepalms! Granted, he doesn't actually have a face to place his palm over, but you get the idea. Come to think of it, right about now he wouldn't mind being in Bonecrusher's place. Hell, right now he wouldn't mind /being/ Bonecrusher, so he could knock some sense into his boss-and-brother. "Look!" he sputters, annoyed. "I... just... GHA!" Finally he screams in frustration. There are no words to express his irritation at the moment. "I've got work to do!" He finishes. He may hate hauling, but that's better than putting up with these two at the time being. With that he transformers, then screams as he lands on tender tires, shouting out several choice obscenities of both themely and unthemely varieties.

Mixmaster adds to the debate, "Besides, who would we get to carry him off? He'd have to carry himself off. Though I guess he has anti-gravs, so it is possible." As for the paint, Mixmaster sighs. "I guess I'll have to go get some more green mixed up.. and it's so hard to get it /just right./ THANKS, Long Haul!" Mixmaster grumbles as he too transforms and trundles back to IHQ's med centre.

Mixmaster leans down as his legs fold up backwards. He falls down frontwards as he completes his transformation into a Green Cement Truck. His Cauldron begins rotating once again.