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shatterverse2008-02-06 08:23 pm
vehicon-thrust.livejournal.com) wrote in shatterverse2008-02-06 08:23 pm
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So, Thrust thinks, this is a farm. Well, it's flat.
It's actually not impossible to keep a low profile if you're a big pink robot motorcycle, it's just tricky. It's particularly difficult when you're working on getting your refuelling station set up semi-permanently (Oliver had helped him move it somewhere out of the way, but Thrust is doing fiddly work, now, that he wouldn't trust to anyone else) and reliably running the way you want it to.
Really, being somewhere out of the way on the Cooper farm (at least Thrust hopes it's still the Cooper farm; he doesn't know where the territory ends) is only a marginal help. He is, after all, seven or eight feet of brightly-colored robot fiddling with a machine made out of part of a light pole with four rather small solar power panels, a pressure cooker, a toaster oven, and many other less recognizable small appliances securely welded to it. Further welded sections of light pole make up a sturdy square base. There are symbols carefully painted onto the pressure cooker-- one is pretty self-explanatory, even without the dialogue, but the other is a little more unusual. (Hey, it's technically a Vehicon refuelling station, even if it's a refuelling station in the same way a vending machine is a restaurant.)
Thrust fiddles with tubing and wiring and connections, now and then tossing a manipulatory-appendage full of organic matter (mostly grass, although with the occasional dirt clod) into the pressure cooker, then peering at the toaster oven before continuing to make adjustments.
He really wants just a vending machine, see, not a still.
The whole thing might look a little bit odd, to a passing human.
It's actually not impossible to keep a low profile if you're a big pink robot motorcycle, it's just tricky. It's particularly difficult when you're working on getting your refuelling station set up semi-permanently (Oliver had helped him move it somewhere out of the way, but Thrust is doing fiddly work, now, that he wouldn't trust to anyone else) and reliably running the way you want it to.
Really, being somewhere out of the way on the Cooper farm (at least Thrust hopes it's still the Cooper farm; he doesn't know where the territory ends) is only a marginal help. He is, after all, seven or eight feet of brightly-colored robot fiddling with a machine made out of part of a light pole with four rather small solar power panels, a pressure cooker, a toaster oven, and many other less recognizable small appliances securely welded to it. Further welded sections of light pole make up a sturdy square base. There are symbols carefully painted onto the pressure cooker-- one is pretty self-explanatory, even without the dialogue, but the other is a little more unusual. (Hey, it's technically a Vehicon refuelling station, even if it's a refuelling station in the same way a vending machine is a restaurant.)
Thrust fiddles with tubing and wiring and connections, now and then tossing a manipulatory-appendage full of organic matter (mostly grass, although with the occasional dirt clod) into the pressure cooker, then peering at the toaster oven before continuing to make adjustments.
He really wants just a vending machine, see, not a still.
The whole thing might look a little bit odd, to a passing human.
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This is a little more than three hundred years. It should probably be scary as hell and somehow impossible that a race with individual lifespans recorded at nine or ten million years as an average should consider three hundred years ago to be ancient history, but they do.
Of course, unless Thomas is a major Transformers geek, he probably doesn't know how long a vorn is, so that might help.
"I'm a cycleformer." It doesn't sound like it's rude to ask at all. "An' I'll show off if you'll back up."
Appreciative audience that isn't gonna start gibbering at him? Thrust is more than willing to show off. It's like discovering people thing the ability to curl your tongue is the most amazing thing they've ever seen.
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Instead he says "Thrust; overdrive," twists and lunges in sort of an orchestrated fall-- the wheel he was standing on ends up in the front, another one unfolded out of his back to hit the ground in the rear, and something happened to his head-- it's an entirely different shape, with separated optics rather than an optic band.
No sound effects beyond the activaion code, though.
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"Still not tired of that reaction yet," he admits, amused.
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There comes the sound of a mun furitively Looking Stuff Up and then doing math."If I'm converting the local measurements right, over three hundred miles per hour."Three hundred thirty-three point-seven-five miles per hour, in fact, if the math is sound.
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