Chatting with an Ancient

Log Title: Chatting with an Ancient Characters: Red Alert, Stormwind, Trojan, Gumbies Perspective: Trojan Location: Nevada Desert Synopsis: Stormwind talks to Trojan, Red Alert is unabashedly suspicious, and a security gumby hides from the boss... Date:2009 12 16 TP: Non-TP

Log: Nevada Desert - North America

Off the beaten path, one of the many Nevada deserts uninhabited by communities. It is a large stretch of land, miles and miles around. There is no build up here; no houses, no factories. In the center of it all, accessible only by a treaded dirt highway, well worn by constant travel, is a large metallic city. To the east of the city runs a river, grasses and trees thriving along its banks. To the west are mountainous rocks and canyons. Behind it are large open flats. This area is governmentally restricted to civilians, a fact enforced by the constant Autobot security patrols.

(OOC Note: If you are in here, you are within range of Metroplex's guns. This room is not for any human buildings either, leave them in California/Nevada. Simple enough?)

While there's been no official report, there's likely some stirring among the security detail about the reticent, eerie... mech that crash-landed earlier yesterday afternoon, aboard an ancient Cybertronian shuttle. Aside from being quiet and difficult to understand (the stranger has a difficult time with the new dialect of Autobot, and certainly has no clue on earth languages), she has been no real problem - she's just extremely large, and certainly worth worrying over, given how she appears.

Stormwind looks way up at the crashed form, blinking just a little bit and scratching her head slightly. She glances around the desert, and back up at the giant form, and blinks, almost stepping back into the city. "Uh... woah."

"That is what we were thinking," one little security Autobot remarks offhandedly. "The shuttle she came in crashed about 5 miles east of here. Nighthawk found her initially, and she followed him back to here, where he promptly left her in our care. She don't speak the new dialect, so communicating with her's been pretty hard for us new guys. Says her name is Tasinia Trojan." Speaking of the 'thing' in question, She moves. Not much, but enough to draw a few worried glances from the much smaller guys who probably wouldn't be able to do more than scream at Metroplex to do something. There are eerie groans and grinding plates that screech in the night, just from the femme's slightest movement of turning her attention skyward.

[Stormwind

This 30 foot robot, nearly from head to toe, is painted in pure black. She has thick legs, which look like folded over trailer parts, with insgnias on them, separated by the transformation. Rising above the legs, the torso assembly appears to be the back half of a large truck, shifted and folded into a lower torso area, with the upper torso appearing to be a truck cab, in the back, and a truck hood and front end assembly on the front, visible if one looks from underneath, as a Chevrolet Suburban. Her arms are thick and black, the hands however are white, instead of black, generally held open and 'at ready', for whatever might happen in the next five minutes. Upon her shoulders, there sit two matching radar dishes, with a concave rear surface, and a convexed forward surface, leading out to a round point in the center, indicating a Doppler radar assembly. Inside from the Doppler radar dishes, attached closer to her 'neck', are twin CB radio antennas, each 5 feet in length and flexible, painted in red/white candy-cane stripe. Atop her neck, her face is grayish-white colored, with pink 'femme' lips, usually smiling, and a half-nose, sitting below a bright blue visor, which extends all the way around, to the black 'helmet' piece, which sits over the top of it all, with round, flush indicators of audio pickups, on the sides. Upon her chest resides a large insignia, a round circle with a stencil of a tornado in it, and an Autobot symbol above the center of the tornado. A Weatherbot. On her shoulders are smaller insignias, for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and the National Weather Service. ]

Stormwind glances to the two security bots and nods just a little bit, considering it. "Ah... 5 miles east, hm?" She considers that. "New dialect... great. Seeing as I know English better than either one..." she sighs just a little bit. "Tasinia Trojan, hmm?" She raises her eyebrows and steps back as she moves. "Anyone tried contacting anyone who might be able to talk with her more?" She mutters more softly. "Or do something if it goes pear shaped?"

"You and me both," he sympathizes. "Nighthawk tried, and got a little headway with her, but he had other assignments." The lil' Mech shrugs. "I figure since she - it - hasn't done the lingual drift, she has to be at least as old as the Ark. The markings on the shuttle were Ancient Autobot, referenced Crystal City as the point of launch. Hell, the ship was so bad off, the hull had become irradiated with secondary cosmic radiation. It'd been in space a long time. Thank Primus she isn't hostile, eh?"

Stormwind nods just a little towards the little mech, considering it. "Right... Ancient Autobot..." She hrms a little. "Crystal City..." She tries to think of where she might have heard that name. "Well, if she's speaking in ancient Autobot, and the markings are the same, I'd hope she isn't hostile, anyway..." She ponders.

"Crystal City. Prime called it the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Until the 'cons tricked Omega Supreme away from guarding it so they could destroy it." A little history lesson from the little garrison guy... who starts, because Trojan has turned those bleeding toxic eyes toward the ramp of Metroplex, and it studying the trio upon the apex. He continues, a little more cautiously, "So the chances are, she's an Autobot. But I've never *seen* one quite like her."

Stormwind blinks a little bit. "Omega Supreme..." she ponders that. "Any chance someone's been able to get hold of him? Maybe he'd recognize her possibly..." She glances over to the smaller one. "He'd probably know the older language a lot better than either of us, as well. In theory..."

"Him or Prime. Or any of those that came on the Ark might be able to communicate with her. Hell, I'd let her update her linguistics, but that's above my rank to give her that access. So until someone can, we'll just have to babysit her - although, she gives me the creeps." Poor guy. He shrugs his shoulders, and resumes leaning with his compatriot. "I just hope she doesn't mind being... well, out of the loop."

So far, so good in that respect. Trojan's just outside the security station, and doesn't move a whole lot - one is reminded of a giant spider simply waiting for its prey to come along aaaaany time now.

Stormwind hmms a litle bit and taps on her pad randomly. "Wonder if I have enough authorization to let her update her linguistics..." She considers it a moment. "Or if someone might rant at me for it. Still, it's a chance to understand what's going on better, in theory, without needing Omega or Prime..." She considers. "Of course, even doing that, unless she understands and remembers it's that..." She ponders a little and thinks.

"It's worth a shot. Hell, I won't tell." The little guy grins, cheerfully. "Although, her voice ain't exactly pleasant, either. Sounds like she's got six or seven different modulators."

Stormwind nods just a little bit at that and gulps slightly, considering. "Well... hopefully if she's not unfriendly, unpleasant voices mean nothing. Omega's voice would make most small bots leak oil the first time they heard it, a little human girl reportedly nearly had a heart attack once from being nearby when it happened." She snickers just a little, and adjusts security just enough to allow a linguistics update. "Asides, a linguistics update isn't a high security thing anyway."

"Then, by all means." Oh, the little security bot folds his arms, and grins to beat the Devil. "Convey it to her." This may be a study in hilarity: Charades, anyone?

Stormwind coughs just a little bit at that and scratches her head. "Great..." She glances at Metroplex and down at her pad, trying to type into it. "You'd think there'd be a translation program somewhere in Teletran about this..." She laughs softly and tries to find one.

That's a brilliant idea. Steal from the iPhone: New Autobot to Ancient Autobot translation? There's an app for that. And indeed, there is. The little security mech pokes his metallic tongue out at Stormwind, "Spoilsport." He's just jealous that he didn't think of it first.

&lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "now, should I use mutter, to cover the fact that she's gonna pronounce tons of words wrong?" &lt;OOC&gt; Trojan laughs. alright.

You sense Stormwind mutter to Swing Set: Stormwind nods just a little bit as she peeks at the translator, trying to remember modern Autobot enough to put it in, since she's sadly an Earth built bot with English as a first language, due to her nature and basic function with being around humans a lot. She looks up to Trojan and tries to say something. "Er... hi. I was told you were needing a linguistic update... Apologies for the wait time about it..."

&lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind facepalms &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "remind me not to use alias for that. lol" &lt;OOC&gt; Trojan cackles.

Now comes the moment of truth! Trojan's green-hued optics brighten sharply, and turn down to gaze upon the 30' mech, which is all due followed by an eerie creaking from somewhere within that 119' frame. The monstrosity listens, although one optic seems to narrow over the other as Stormwind does her best to convey a concept in broken Ancient Autobot; it's like a modern American trying to talk to a British Colonist from the 1700s. From somewhere deep within that monolithic frame, a voice comes: A cacophony of eerie disharmony of both male and female modulation, with the latter being predominant over all; the syllables are sussurant, hissed, marked with a noneuclidian rhythm, and bears the weight of an aeon long gone. "I... unDER ssssTand."

&lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "oh. lol." &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "phew. What came from the mutter to someone without that got this: ... hi.... was... you... a... update..." &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind giggles &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind speaks in gibberish well. ;p; &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "lol even."

Stormwind tries to establish a linkup between the low security areas of Teletran with things like that, and Trojan, blinking and flinching back as she hears the voice, even if she's bigger than the little security bot. "Lesse if I can get this right now..."

Teletraan and Trojan should be good friends. The Ancient Computer and the Eldrich Mech connect. All one needed with authorization, and the other, permission. It won't take long for Teletraan to inform Stormwind that the linguistics information was transferred. It'll also let the Weatherbot know that there were some discrepencies, but nothing substantial. IT just means that Trojan's likely to misuse some words from time to time.

&lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "Teletran II isn't exactly Teletran I, but eh :) heehee :)"

Stormwind watches her pad for that, and glances to the security bots, glancing around. "Now unless Red Alert comes out here and yells at me for doing this, it should be fine."

"It's our secret," confirms the lil' guy, making a lip-zipping motion. He then turns to look ...up. Way up. At Trojan, who is now looking down at the pair.

The winds give rise and carry the low, hissing disembodied enclave of disharmonious voices as Trojan speaks. While it's still not a 'natural' flow of verbage, it's much better than what security had before. "ThaNK you. Thaahhht. Isss bettER."

Stormwind laughs just a litle bit to the little guy and nods, looking way up as well, acting just a litle nervous, cocking her head and listing just a litle bit. "Not a problem. I thought it might be." She laughs just a little bit. "Anyway, welcome to Earth, and to Autobot City. I'm Stormwind."

Red Alert slowly walks in the room, everything under his notice. Red Alert has arrived.

&lt;OOC&gt; Trojan says, "Caught red handed!" &lt;OOC&gt; Red Alert says, "Muhuhhahah!" &lt;OOC&gt; Stormwind says, "eee!"

"ThhaNK... you, Sssstormwind," hisses that maladiction to pleasant sound, as the cacophony of voices thunders from somewhere within the giant. "I... am TROjahn. AutoBaht. From CrysTAL City." By now, Red Alert has probably been advised of the rather large visitor that crash-landed in an ancient vessel that was just barely holding together. Nighthawk should have written a report, naughty boy. As it stands, one of the little security mechs and Stormwind are communicating with the monolithic, rather creepy-looking mech.

[Red Alert That's an average firechief lamborghini, with a white rear wing and cops flash lips on the top of the car. There's the Autobot sigil on the hood of the car, right where there's a big red rectangle. ]

Red Alert roars out of Autobot City, roof-rollers flashing

Stormwind frowns just a little bit at that and nods slightly, looking down at the ground and back up. "Musta been some time ago..." She considers that, glancing to the security bot and back up, trying to keep a sigh from her voice, or sadness. "And I'm sorry."

Red Alert races down the ramp and towards the large stranger, transforming at the last moment, particle rife and shoulder-rocket at the ready.

"Rut-roh." The lil' mech points out Red Alert, and... quickly makes like he's actually doing his job. Okay, so he tries to *hide* behind one of Trojan's massive legs until the boss is gone. Hee. Trojan, in the meantime, continues to peer down at Stormwind, head canting beneath the slats of protective steel that mask her visage. "Sssseveral... million years..." Translation, translation. With a rending groan and grate of metal, the dryder's upper torso turns enough to where she can look down at Red Alert's rather impulsive arrival. She continues speaking to Stormwind, "Isss DessCEP-ti-CaHNsss fault Cryssstal City issss gone." ... "Who.... isssss thissss...?" With a creak, one non-weapon arm gestures down to the Security Chief.

Red Alert strains, "I am Autobot Security Director Red Alert. Stormwind, who is our guest?" Red Alert directs his query at Stormwind, but his optics are locked onto Trojan.

Stormwind nods just a little bitat that and sighs, cringing. "Ouch..." She nods just a little bit. "Their fault, like a lot of other things, unfortuantely." She glances back to Red Alert and laughs. "Hi. Better check your database from way back. There a Tasinia Trojan in it somewhere? Out in space for a long time."

Well, since the conversation is about her, in front of her, but not involving her, Trojan falls reticent and quiet, as well as going completely still, save for the optics. Those eerie slants of toxic green are certainly assessive.

GAME: Red Alert PASSES a TECHNICAL roll of Average difficulty. GAME: Red Alert FAILS a TECHNICAL roll of Very High difficulty.

Red Alert strains, "There's nothing in MY files. How far back are we talking about?" Red Alert looks up at the stranger with unconcealed suspicion.

Stormwind uhs... "Several million years, and Crystal City being intact." She glances up towards Trojan and smiles a little bit. "Sorry about him, he's the security head, and tends to pop a circuit at anything unfamiliar." She grins just a little glancing back to Red. "Still... in space for several million years... wow. Bet you've seen a lot of amazing stuff that I never will."

Trojan leans down to better get a look at Red Alert. "The Shhhuttle wasssss CC-III, oriGINally a long-... range SSScout ssship. Was ussssed to eVAC-uate CryssstAHL City.. when Conssstructiconssss... attacked." Way, way back. "Remainsss of ssship," she begins, but pauses as Stormwind fills in some of the gaps. This also gives Trojan some time to translate into new units of measurement, "...Five miHEls... ...East?" And then, those optics and cacophonic voice direct to Stormwind. "...Have.. not. Have only ssssseeen.... horrorssss. Death..."

Red Alert HMS. "I will have to confirm that," he says flatly.

Red Alert radios Teletraan II to contact Cybertron and check Iacon's records. Alert waits impatiently for the results, optics never leaving Trojan.

Red Alert huffs. "Very well. That name is in our ancient records. Do you have any proof of indentification?"

Stormwind flinches just a little more when she hears that, drooping just slightly and putting... marginal faith in the antigrav system, floating upwards towards Trojan. "Oh.... I'm really sorry..." She looks down even further, even as she floats up, before looking upward again. "And I'm sorry you've only seen bad things in space. What happened? And is there anything we can do to help make it better in any way?" Red Alert strains, "You may not wish to get too close until we have confirmed this one's identification." Red Alert's grip remains stready on his particle beam rifle, optics locked on Trojan.

"...I heard... mention... of Omega SSSsssupreme, from Sssstormwind. He may Remember." He's one of the few who would; he may even remember Tasinia when she was just a tiny technician. In the meantime, Trojan doesn't seem bothered. She'd expect nothing less from any director of security. That ship would also probably come up lost or unaccounted for - but the list of names of who was aboard should survive. "...Tassssinia would be in record," Trojan replies, the sussurent, multi-toned hiss becoming a little more quiet- not that 'quiet' is all that soft, given her size. "..." A giant arm lifts with a groan, and bends at the elbow, providing a perch should STormwind wish to alight. "Thingssss... went bad on... journey."

Red Alert strains, "I will have to check on your credentials. Please remain in the area and make no threatening moves until your identity has been confirmed." Red Alert strains, "Stormwind, I gather you have the situation in hand?"

Stormwind gives Red Alert a dirty look at that. "Relax. Consider what I do for a living, and remember I'm built to take it." She smiles just a little bit then, before listening to the bot again gently settling, offering a hand of sympathy. "I'm sorry.... what happened?" She gives Red a quick look and nod, only looking that way long enough to nod once.

Red Alert strains, "When I relax, people die. Please do not let your overt friendliness endanger Autobot City's population. I will return." Red Alert turning away from Trojan at last, Red Alert sets off across the desert to investigate Trojan's crashed craft. &lt;OOC&gt; Red Alert needs to sleep, but Trojan is interesting so far. Look forward to future RP! &lt;OOC&gt; Trojan wavewaves. :&gt;

"...Sssship'sss. ssssytems failed in flight. Ssssource of energon failed. I wasss ssssmall, then. Before I was...changed to thissss..." Again, there's a sharp drop in volume. Those illuminated optics dim and change to blue, but only for a second. "Did not use so much energy. Othersss starved one by one, until it wasss only me. I sssecured the othersss.... as much asss I could, and rigged ssssolar sssails to collect and convert radiation to energy, but it would not be... enough to ssssusstain me while active. I ... went to ssssleep."

Stormwind flinches just a little bit at that, as she listens, sighing very softly, her visor dimming. "I'm sorry..." She hmms. "What woke you up, though? and what happened after?"

"The sssShip." Much like Teletraan. Her grasp of this language is improving, as she hears and associates - but it's still far from perfect - or pleasant. "Once Capasscitorsss reached... full, it meant that significant... ssssource of power wasss found. Sssso the ship brought me out of ssssleep. ...But... Computer had gone ...mad."

Stormwind blinks justa little at that and scratches her head just slightly in a mannerism, looking upward and wincing just slightly. "Unmaintained computer, I suppose even minor glitches could be magnified into that point over a long time..." She winces. "So what did it find?"

"Over a million yearssss without sssservice." You have 1,248,792 Updates to Install... Download now? "It had not found... anyThhhing, only dying sssstar that gave off ample... radiation... It..." Now, imagine this giant, hellish-formed mech, having difficulty telling what precisely happened because it was too terrible. "It... I.. cannot talk of it, Sssstormwind. Not yET. Is too... hard."

Stormwind winces just a little at that and and nods slightly. "Oh... ouch, I'm sorry..." She cringes just a little at the idea of something like that and nods. "I'm sorry for that as well."

&lt;OOC&gt; Trojan needs to scoot.