The Crawler [MAIN THREAD]

[Outisakanobody]

=[Tavern]=
/[Sean Banner]/

Sean considered his options, and decided to go up to the bar instead of a table, though as far away from Marcy as possible still. "I'll take some noodles and some Jeager if you have it." he requested casually, laying his helm on the bar and running a hand through his hair.

[relentless]

[Spitz Noodle Bar]
/Spitz/

For some odd, some very odd reason, he thought he had his hand back again. But it had either been the fumes of that fusion core suit or the waft of pot noodle steam in his face that made him think he still had his fleshy appendage. Looking down at his 'hand', he sighed as he realised the rag had been pierced through with his spike prosthetic,making him sigh and shake his head.

"Right right..."
Spitze sighed as two spider-like robotic appendages emerged from behind his shoulder, one of them reaching out to continue scrubbing the counter, whilst the one on his left reached out and wrapped it's metallic talons around a small instant noodle packet. The talons dropped the packet, the whirring of gears and mechanisms obscuring the serenity of silence as he went back to work, the actual fleshy appendage reached out and plucked a bottle of smirnoff ice from a box atop the counter behind him that wasn't available to customers. He slid it down the counter, the bottle coming to a stop on her left side.

"Lemonade."
Spitze said in a joking manner, before he prepared the kettle again and took out a small bowl, the left spider like talon ripping the packet open with the noodle block falling into the bowl along with the satchet.

[azmoham]

Marcy, turning back around and setting her helmet aside, its vacant ceramo-glass eyes stared vacantly at the man beside her, picked up the bottle and peered at the label. Seeing that it was not in fact lemonade, she snorted, setting it down and grinning at the man.
"Maybe for you maybe, but I'd rather not end up in the infirmary for liver failure."
She chuckled, waiting patiently for her meal. True Fritz' noodles were cheap and came in a plastic wrapper, but they were warm and filling and went well with whatever cheap booze he had on tap that day. Life in the Crawler could be disarmingly irregular, given that the nature of the contract when she first signed up she'd assumed it'd be a heavily regimented almost military-style operation, not this rolling convoy of misfits that the Contractor had somehow assembled. She'd been startled when she'd first seen it, the seemingly endless hordes of random folk that had been recruited, everything from high-profile doctors to humble noodle cooks, they'd all filed in as if they'd be personally invited. At first she'd assumed she'd somehow found the *other* subterranean expedition to combat the dark, the one where all the riffraff ended up, and her reaction to discovering that she was in fact in the right place had been somewhat put off. But she'd made up her mind to make it work, to do her duty, and to burn out the infection from the core of their world, to find that which birthed such monsters and kill it before it could do the same to them. She, despite her cheery outlook, was not an idiot and was well aware that their defenses couldn't hold forever, someday the tide would turn and if they weren't ready then it would spell death for a lot of people. It didn't hurt that her position gave her unlimited time to tinker with Hephaestus, every improving him, making him ever dangerous, burning ever brighter.

[Unter]

Aug 18, 2017 10:56:03 GMT -8 relentless said:

Aug 18, 2017 8:45:56 GMT -8 Unter said:

"Ha, a fellow Russian !" Fyodor face was illuminated by a very large smile, almost goofy.
"I hail from the Железный легион (Iron Legion), I was a Sergeant. My name is Fyodor Ivanovitch, what's yours товарищ?"
He opened the bottle of vodka with a "boop" noise. He took a long sip of it.
"You sure you don't want some?"

Tiberion chuckled briefly through the rusty comms, the iconic whistle of humour tittering through the microphone interlink in the Kevlar layering. He gave a glance as some patrons seemed to scurry away to other places with a slow sidestep, where he would look back and catch the sight of Marcy. An unusual woman. But that flamethrower was what caught his eye the most, a weapon of mass destruction... Apparently not illegal to carry such a weapon in this place. 

He he let it be, for now, and returned his helm back to look down at the Russian man. 

"Oh no, we could drink later when I'm settled in? I need to optimise my suit before I can be fully assured that it won't be a hinderance for me."
Tiberion inquired, sighing and placing his free hand against his Kevlar covered hip, admiring the emblem further.

"Iron legion? Strange. Never heard of that regime before, is it newly organised by the Russian military? I employed my services to the Queens Army, long may she reign, no?"
Tiberion hummed soundly as he continued to look down at the man, his visual receptors lingering down to his weapon.

The index finger that was twiddled before would twiddle again. This time at his weapon.
".. Mmmm, a prototype? What caliber is that?"
Tiberion inquired with a raised brow beneath his armour, bringing his free hand from his hip to choke at the chin region of his helm.

He laughed heavily "hahahahahahaha ! This is my gun, it shoots bullet. 10mm bullets flying at the speed of death." He roared another laugh "I don't know much about guns, I just know enough to kill someone with it.
And talking about the Iron Legion, we were not that famous. We've seen some heat back in Адское шоссе (Hell's Highway) I decided to leave, but hey at least I still got this armour and my gun. And you ? From where do you hail?"
He sipped at his vodka bottle again, not bothered by the lack of glass.

[relentless]

The talon that had previously been wiping the counter down with mechanical swabs would stop as a new prompt entered its script, and it would swerve around Spitze's shoulder and begin to stir the noodles at a fast rate, before he put a lid over the bowl in order for the steam to stay inside and saturate the noodles instead of making them all mush.

"Smirnoff ice and liver failure don't mix! A kids drink, ja'?"
Spitze's hummed as he planted the pot noodle belonging to the mech, placing it away from Marcy so she couldn't snatch it.

"On the house, big man, ja ja..."
Spitze called out, mumbling the last couple of Germanic words under his breath as he moved back to Marcys bowl, taking the lid off and poking at the noodles with his spoon before he brought the bowl off.

"Don't overcook it"
Spitze jested with a smirk as he planted the bowl of steaming noodles, before he looked to the man down the counter.

"Ja ja ja, back in a jiffy!"
Spitze says as he turns back around, his spider cybernetic arms upon his shoulders gripping the bottle and sliding it down the counter toward him, focus ing now on the noodles, fetching the kettle briefly after the contents were poured into a new bowl.

[relentless]

The metal giant rolled his shoulders, the crackle of Kevlar, and creak of heavy duty metal resounded outward, a rather off putting noise.

"I hail from England, aye. North west... Though I've been on tour for Iraq and such during my military career. Now I'm here, serving for the queen and the country, of course funded and supported by the government."
Tiberion paused his sentence as Spitze called out to him, lifting his mace off the ground briefly and stomping his way intentionally toward the pot noodle. He clambered his way toward it, like a giant lumbering toward its home in the mountains. A towering hulk of weaponised metal, flowing with a potent and deadly energy source. Thankfully whatever was in his power supply was contained by several layers of lead, so thankfully people were safe.

Standing beside Marcy, he reached forward with his arm, a resounding crunch of plate emitted from his arm, and he stopped and juttered. He needed to calibrate this thing after such a long ride to this 'crawler'. The gears and general mechanics of this device had seen its days, and it was finally time to oil this suit up and tinker with it. Thankfully, he had his equipment moved to his own room, along with a small compartment to store his suit when he would eject from it.

Grunting, he temporarily restarted his systems briefly, the hud and visuals going blank, along with the iconic orange hue in his visor. But after a few seconds, a whirl of fusion jolted through the veins of his power armour, and it proved to be much easier, and less loud to move his appendages. But this wouldn't last long.

He gently picked up his pot noodle with the spoon inside despite being a walking tank, and spared Marcy no mind as he made to walk back to his newly found companion with pot noodle entow.

"Apologies. Anyway, I've nothing better to do, and ahead of me I've got to mess with this damn thing. So... Give me five minutes whilst I intimate the ejection sequence? Go and find a chair, and before you go, take my noodles!"
Tiberion ushered as he held out his pot of noodles, already beginning to fiddle with the prompt for the ejection sequence once he had walked over to the table that was.

[Outisakanobody]

=[Tavern]=
/[Sean Banner]/

"Aye thanks, Fritz." Sean says as he takes the bottle and swallows a mouthful of the licorice flavored liqueur. "That's the good stuff." he says with a satisfied grimace. He was rather amused over the argument of alcohol and gave a chuckle at Marcy's expense.

[Unter]

He laughed again "Hahaha ! Ok then my friend, my gun is still on the table over there, come join me!"
He then walked slowly to the designated table with the noodles in his hand.
When he sat, he continued to clean his guns and hummed the air of his former song.

[azmoham]

The cleaner couldn't help but be a little intimidated when the large man moved in beside her. He was big enough that even were she of a more average height, she'd still feel small, as it stood she felt puny. She examined her armor and realized that it was unlikely her flames would even scratch what little paint remained on the metal shell, let alone actually bother the person inside. It was an uncomfortable thought, and she pondered ways to rectify this glaring issue, maybe acid? But then how would she keep the chemicals separate? It'd be no good to have them mixing...She was startled from her thoughts when the man spoke, and she looked up to the faceplate. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the Smirnoff before it could be replaced on the shelf and cleared her throat, tapping a gloved finger against the man's hardened carapace.
"Uh, excuse me, I hope I'm not being a bother but, want a drink?"
She held up the booze so the man could read the label, giving him her most winning smile in the process. This could prove a valuable opportunity to improve her standing with the others, or at least this one. And besides, it couldn't hurt to have a walking talk on your side if things went suddenly awry. Looking briefly to the man's companion, she wondered what he thought of her, if he saw her as many did, a vague threat waiting around any corner, eager to slash and burn on the shadowy Contractor's order. It was an image that'd been hard to shake, and she was close to giving up, but if she could perhaps get a foothold, then things would go much easier. She watched as the man went to retrieve his noodles, and her eyes widened a little when his massive suit abruptly powered down. She was well aware of the power capacity of the armored shells, having studied the specs during her education, it must've been some time since the suit had been charged. Just how long had that man been inside? Days? Or maybe even longer? She'd heard of such cases, and their afermaths, men being stuck inside their armor, helpless, dying as the hydrolic muscle systems failed and they were trapped within. It seemed a rather terrible way to die. It was to her great relief when the suit re-activated with the hum of an engine whirring back to life, a sound she'd grown familiar with in her hours spent in various mechanical shops, putting together her dear firespitter. 
"Suit running low?"

[relentless]

The metal man turned to the flamethrower woman as he was addressed, a sleeker and more streamlined crinkle of the power armours materials seemed to be more relaxed , ,less tense and rusty sounding. However there were still signs of the creaking, clearly it had been a while since it had been properly looked after. Temporary mock ups on the armour were all that appeared, though it seemed that any bullet, explosive residue or any form of damage whatsoever seemed utterly devoid on the armour.

The wide eyed barbuta that flowed at Marcy in a more intense fashion, a faint glow glinting off her skin for a momentary second before it seemed to fluctuate to a more eye friendly level.

"As you wish! Company is always welcome."
Tiberion nodded his helm as he spoke through the comma, a none existent smile pasted across the lower half of the steel barbuta. As the next question came his way, he paused briefly as he chose his words carefully.

"Not... exactly. Y'see, mines a little more... well, let's just say power isn't an issue for a long time."
Tiberion began sombrely, bringing his metal clad hand in front of him, and flexing his fingers, clenching and unclenchimg as he felt the energy course through the arm, the tingle of such power, such brilliance of science.

"It would be better to explain once I'm out of this, would you like to come sit? I'm sure the fellow soldier won't mind, no?"
Tiberion chuckled through the comma with a cockney hum, before he spied the lone figure of a handsome gentleman, though judging by his lonesome nature, he seemed a bit anti social. Though it wasn't his problem, so he turned on his Kevlar heel and made for the table, standing beside in and pulling out a chair for Marcy. A gentlemanly mech of death.

[azmoham]

The woman nodded, retrieving her own helm and, unsure of what else to do with it, slotting it back over her head. If she were being frank, she'd admit that the helm did make her feel a little better. Its grim visage deterred attacks and seemed to grant her a small amount of boldness, if only because her face was so perfectly obscured by it. She grabbed the still steaming bowl of noodles and the bottle of booze, waddling over to the chair that was offered to her. If she had one complaint about Hephaestus, it's that he made it impossible to sit properly unless it was at a high, backless chair, such as the stools she'd just left. Her only options were to stand or to unholster her flamethrower, and that tended to make even heavily armored monoliths such as the one she spoke to a little nervous. Debating between which would be seen as more rude, she decided that perhaps standing would be better and less likely to result in someone being set on fire, and so she simply set her food and drink down on the table and stood aside, offering a small wave to the other who sat there.
"Hello there. I'm Marcy."
She introduced herself, looking between the Russian and the Englishman.
"I work as a cleaner onboard."
Marcy explained, and waited for the inevitable look of disgust or contempt or fear. She was given to wonder if she should find the archives and find out who had been here before her to instill such distrust in these people, or maybe it was just the way things were, nobody's fault but the world's as a whole. 

[Outisakanobody]

=[Tavern]=
/[Sean Banner]/

He took a few more swigs from his drink, feeling the warmth seep through him. He idly watched the walking dumpster, wondering what sort of explosive wouldbe best against that armor. Maybe he could ask about it...

"Oi guy, what sort of armor is that? What's it made of?" he asks from the bar.

[Unter]

Fyodor roared a laugh when he saw the beast of metal and a woman in an hazmat suit come to his table. He tried to make some place on the table but his gun was on it, and took most of the space. "Ha ha ha ha ! Come here, don't be shy !" His eyes were shining , like he was seeing some old friends.

He put the clothes that he used to clean his gun away and sipped some of his bottle.
He eyed the lady "Priviet жена Marcy (hello lady Marcy)! How about some vodka !" He put the bottle under her nose as she sat.
"You can't survive in this place without some proper alcohol! Come on." He was persistent, but could be quickly turned away.

"I'm Fyodor Ivanovitch. In soviet Russia, it's impolite to drink with someone without knowing his name." He eyed the two sat at his table

[relentless]

Against the counter, where the faint buzz of electrical whirring occurred, the cybernetic limbs seemed to have passed out along with Spitze, almost falling asleep against the counter. A slight snore occurred from his nose as he crossed his arms across his chest, before sniffing twice, smelling the rich scent of noodles.

Huffing, he shook his head, and his mechanical spider like appendages moved with him, where he would walk down behind the counter, his left talon scooping up the bow with ease and then passing it to the other talon with mechanised grace.

The bowl then gets slid down the counter, the grinding against the wood grain causes some liquid to splash out, but it was mostly graceful. Without a care in the world, he walks back to his chair and very resounding plops back down, kicking his legs up onto the counter with his four arms resting his abdomen.

[Outisakanobody]

=[Tavern]=
/[Sean Banner]/

Sean grabs his bowl and starts slurping up noodles while still waiting for his question to be answered.