srwug_alpha_rp | (no subject)

[Network:]

[The voice is small, barely above a whisper. She's hoarse and exhausted from the battle.] Hello everyone. I am Doctor Oenone Zero, of the Green Storm ressurection corps. I want to give my most heartfelt thanks to everyone who just assisted me in the defense of the village of Seahaven and to the crew of this...landship for allowing me to stay here for a bit. I was cut off from any backup. If you hadn't shown up...I, I don't know what would've happened. That town woud have been demolished for materials to build Springwheeled even larger and its people made into slaves to work in the town's guts.

In case you've never seen one before, that was a Mobile City. Most of them survive by catching and "devouring" other mobile cities and static settlements. That was only a middling sized one, not one of the big urbivores, so if you hear of one in the area, be very careful.

My stalker squad is with me as well. Those are the five cyborg-creatures, each around eight feet tall. While they're fearsome in battle and they look rather scary, don't be scared of them. They can't move while they're switched off and even if they weren't, they need an operator to give them commands.

As a surgeon-mechanic of the ressurections corps, I am qualified to install, build and maintain any kind of prosthetic. If you should ever need that kind of help, please don't hesitate to contact me.

[Action:]

The woman who sent the distress signal is small and slight, with dyed green hair. She wears a worn uniform, with a green lightning bolt on one tricep and a grinning death's head with a cyborg eye on the other. You can find her one of several places on the chalice:

1: Right after the mission and transferring Wendell to someone who can help him, rather than merely stabilize his conditions, she stumbles out of her airship, exhausted, tears staining her cheeks. Battle doesn't agree with her, it seems. She'd thought she was dead several times over.

2: Reassuring her birds. Their feathers are mixed with the metallic and their gears whine and click when they move, but they hop and move like living birds and seem to respond to her attention, becoming visibly less agitated.

3: The next day, in the hangar bay, repairing her stalkers. Two of the mechanical men are badly smashed. Their innards show, a grotesque and Gigerian internal diorama of metal and long since mummified insides, commingled and connected. But as she connects one thing, screws something else back in, their eyes glow again, red like demons.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[[Wow, that's fairly devout. But again, it's not Mio's place to make that judgement. Not until it becomes a problem.]]

I came to ask about the capabilities of your machines here.

[She doesn't believe it herself. Her actual devotion is indicated by the cross around her neck. But she's afraid of the consequences of open dissent, even here.]

A squad of stalkers is the equal of any MS currently fielded by a mobile city, at a fraction of the cost. For disabling cities, there's no better a machine.

Given the power of some of our fighters who don't use mobile suits, I don't doubt that. You've given me the sales pitch it seems though. What is it they're capable of.

What manner of armaments do they carry. I ask to keep record of our current fighting power.

Oh no, they're not for sale. Let me show you...

[She's used to being interrogated by soldiers. She strides over to the nearest one and pokes at something inside the exposed bone and metal of its wrist. Long talons spring from its fingers ~~like Wolverine!~~.]

These talons are capable of shearing metal from a mobile suit or the underside of a city. [She walks around, touches the shoulder mount.] This hardpoint can mount either a heavy machine gun or a rocket propelled grenade launcher. [And then to the back.] A jump pack can be mounted here. [She doesn't seem all that interested in it, really. She likes repairing things, but the details of the bringing of death...she hates it, but it's become banal to her by now.] Is there anything else you wish to know?

That was... *ahem*... just a phrase.

[[She's making notes on all these little weapons. They're like Mobile Suits at the human scale, from what she's assessing. The Riders are a more specialized force. The Stalkers are coming off as more... covert, or at least, more organized.]]

How would you deal with losing one of them? I highly doubt you'll find someone on this ship willing to undergoing the process to become one of these.

[She shrugs.]

HQ would provide replacements. I'm a surgeon-mechanic, not a commander of troops. I only brought this squad because General Naga insisted I have something 'for emergencies'.

[Which turned out to be right, in fact.]

It's unfortunate that, in this world, it's dangerous to travel anywhere without some sort of armed protection. Your C.O. was correcting in his suggestion, it seems.

Yes, if anything he underestimated. If it weren't for this ship, those people would have lost their homes and freedom.

[[Well then, now to shift gears.]]

You are under no obligation to stay here but, do you intend to?

At least until we pass close enough to Green Storm territory. I can't risk being intercepted by townie airships or fighters.

Understood. I'm certain we are already headed for the Americas. We'll see to your safe passage.

Thank you, Major. Is there anything else you need?

None that I can think of at the moment. If I have another question, I will be sure to come see you.

[[She starts off but... pauses.]]

I do advise you get along with our other mechanics. We have a rather... eccentric bunch. Mister Haley, in particular, may take a... irritating interest in machines of that size.

If he becomes a problem, you're free to use my name to keep him in check.

Oh, that reminds me. A German man with an eye patch was...asking questions. But the other mechanics chased him off and tried to spray him with a water bottle. Why would they do that?

Mister Amwolf is not allowed in the hangar. He has repeatedly vandalized several machines with slurs and generally bad artistic skills.

It would've been blamed on Mister Haley, however, he... paints things well.

I see. I'll be sure to tell him to go away if that happens again then. And to ask Mister Haley if I ever need any painting done...Thank you, Major.