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crux_fleet2014-03-01 03:32 pm
crux_npcs) wrote in crux_fleet2014-03-01 03:32 pm
0004: NEW ARRIVAL BRIEFING
Who: New Arrivals, Graham Baker
Where: Briefing Room
When: Late afternoon, Februaro 30th
Warnings: None
When awakening, you'll find the area you're in to be very busy. The people in the medical ward are polite and understanding, but firmly refuse to answer questions until the briefing. The same goes for the robots in the hangars. Either given hospital outfits resembling very comfortable pajamas, drone bodies, or their own bodies, they are escorted by polite, unyielding people in red and black uniforms to the briefing room.
The Briefing room is large. Not enough to accommodate a Cybertronian, but spacious enough for several dozen people. The chairs are high-backed and well-cushioned, more like comforting eggs floating a foot or so off the ground than anything else. A half completed, but still functional, holographic display is settled into the floor, showing a slowly rotating pyramid.
A few Security personnel, dressed in their red and black uniforms, stand at ease in the rooms in strategic areas. They seem fairly relaxed. One man stands at the head. Graham Baker, a middle-aged man, showing the first signs of balding and wearing a rumpled business suit perhaps a size too large, nervously clasps his hands together and smiles.
[Questions to the NPCs will go in the briefing thread. The rest of the post is there for people to mill about and do whatever with. The mods will not be doing hangar/medical awakenings unless it's specifically asked for.]
Where: Briefing Room
When: Late afternoon, Februaro 30th
Warnings: None
When awakening, you'll find the area you're in to be very busy. The people in the medical ward are polite and understanding, but firmly refuse to answer questions until the briefing. The same goes for the robots in the hangars. Either given hospital outfits resembling very comfortable pajamas, drone bodies, or their own bodies, they are escorted by polite, unyielding people in red and black uniforms to the briefing room.
The Briefing room is large. Not enough to accommodate a Cybertronian, but spacious enough for several dozen people. The chairs are high-backed and well-cushioned, more like comforting eggs floating a foot or so off the ground than anything else. A half completed, but still functional, holographic display is settled into the floor, showing a slowly rotating pyramid.
A few Security personnel, dressed in their red and black uniforms, stand at ease in the rooms in strategic areas. They seem fairly relaxed. One man stands at the head. Graham Baker, a middle-aged man, showing the first signs of balding and wearing a rumpled business suit perhaps a size too large, nervously clasps his hands together and smiles.
[Questions to the NPCs will go in the briefing thread. The rest of the post is there for people to mill about and do whatever with. The mods will not be doing hangar/medical awakenings unless it's specifically asked for.]
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That's mostly why he's so pissed off. He gets pulled from one world to another and nothings changed. He's still confined to a glorified tin can out in the far reaches of space.
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Fraggin' Autobots.
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War is uncharted territory for McCoy. It's been several decades since the last interplanetary war, and even longer since the conclusion of Earth's third and final world war. It's a chapter in the history books and nothing more.
How he wishes it could have stayed that way.
"Say, are you with the military, perchance?" Because sending robots out into the fray seems like a sensible course of action.
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His kind's been at war for a few million years. It's just about all he can remember.
"Hnf. You mean with these people?" He shrugs. "Thinking about it. At least it'd be something to fraggin' do. Why? What about you?"
Because why are you asking? He is suspicious.
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"We have a similar organization back where I came from. I was a medical officer, still am I guess, and I'm a doctor. I'm sure they could use an extra hand around medical bay."
Like McCoy could ever imagine doing anything else.
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"Medic, huh?" That gets a whole new round of optics. "Do any work on robots?" Not that he's asking. He's just, you know...asking. Shut up. It's an important distinction.
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"Are you really that reckless, or is it just that people like you so much they want to shoot you?"
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He narrows his optics. "What do you think?" Answer: bit of both, really.
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Let's just say this: if the Enterprise ran off of stubborn recklessness instead of dilithium crystals, they'd never have to worry about their power supplies.
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He's just going to lineface because he....may be that type to not seek a medic. Then again, knowing what he knew of Decepticon medics, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Mechs had a way of disappearing into freaky science.
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He sighs before shaking his head. "In that case, I hope you have better luck finding a good mechanic. Or, you know, whatever."
McCoy is the kind of guy to care about all sentient beings, he can't help it. The only thing he can do is downplay it as much as he can, masking it behind a nonchalant or gruff exterior.