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capthepoint2013-04-08 02:25 pm
rocketsredglare) wrote in capthepoint2013-04-08 02:25 pm
AIM RP Log: If You Want to Learn to Fly
Who: RED and BLU Soldiers
Where: Common room
When: I don't know. March, I guess? Let's go with Marchish.
What: The fine art
*rolling on through the common room, securing the perimeter and also seeing if anyone else made food- oh, well lookee here* Evening, Private. *for once, he really means to suggest something with the name to another Soldier*
*glances up at the BLU as he enters, grinning* Hey Sarge!
*curious smirk at the name* I guess if they couldn't teach you nothing else, they got team ethic beat into you, huh?
Aww, they didn' have t'beat too hard. I'm a softie, hones'. *chuckles* How's your evenin' treatin' ya?
Well enough, I guess. All things considered.
Good t'hear. *grins* You w's really somethin' out there earlier.
*not sure how to respond to such open admiration from an enemy* Uh, thanks... You eat yet?
Yeah, there's leftovers onna stove. S'jus' spaghetti. Had a li'l sausage left over from breakfast. *ruffles the hair on the back of his head, leaning a little into the couch* You're welcome to it 'f ya like.
*Well, ain't that a nice change of pace. Goes to make himself a bowl and comes back with it. It's only when he claims a space on the couch that he notices Sid's crocheting... and gives it a skeptic stare, before turning back to his food. RED's.*
*the other Soldier's settling down brings a smile to Sid's face, until he notices the staring and tenses a little; once the BLU has gone back to his food he forces himself to not pay it any mind* How is it?
*the noodles are more evenly cooked than Soldier usually manages* It's all right.
Good t'hear. *the smile relaxes his face somewhat* I, uh, don' think we been innerduced b'fore, have we?
*he must be one of them name-knowing types* Your reputation precedes you, Soldier. But I guess mine don't. They call me Soldier. *decides he ain't quite willing to shake hands with a RED presently*
*snorts* W'll, ain't that distinctive. *grins, picking up his crochet again* Y'c'n call me Sid. 'F you ever get tired'a sayin' Private or Sir or what have ya, I mean.
*doesn't look up from his food* Orders are not use names.
*that puts him off a little* Well. I -- guess I oughta confess I never put much stock in that p'ticular order. *having figured out where he left off, his fingers set to work, a little slowly*
They don't pay you to pick and choose what directives to follow. *to be honest, he's not sure why RED pays him at all*
'F they cain't enforce an order I don' see no point givin' it in th'firs' place. *glances up at him* Folks get attached out here. 'F we're all livin' together stuff's gonna get personal, y'know?
*snort* If you need to know names to give a damn about anyone else around here, then I'm all right with you not worrying about me. Probably live longer that way, by the looks of it.
*looks a little stricken at that, dropping his gaze back to his project; his earlier smile has been wiped clean* -- w's jus' tryin' t'be polite. Sir.
It's not real polite to go round bragging about how little regard you have for the work.
I wasn' braggin'. *frowns*
Well, you seem awful proud of yourself for it.
I like usin' names, s'all. *chews on his lip, examining the stitches he's just placed before ripping them out methodically* Haven' even been a Soldier long enough t'remember I oughta get called one.
It'd probably help if you didn't try to get people not to call you by it. Since you seem to need reminding. *maggot*
*presses his lips together and scowls down at his project, annoyed; the implicit apologies don't seem to be doing him any good, and he's rapidly losing track of where he was* Maybe you're right. Sir. *glances up at him, still looking truculent* I 'pologize f'r offendin' you.
Good! My name is Soldier! Or Sir! Sir is fine too!
*smiles grudgingly, still not looking particularly happy about where this has led him, but already resigning himself to the fact* Nice t'meetcha, Soldier.
Nice to meet you too, Ground Control. *om nom nom*
*snorts softly and looks down at his project again, beginning to pick up where he left off* So how long y'been deployed out here, Major Tom?
Few years. How long have you been twirling yarn?
Most've my life, really. *keeps his eyes on his work* Think I musta been 'bout seven or eight when I picked it up. M'sister wasn' as into it.
*doesn't really know what to say about that* My mother used to knit. *and there was the extent of his knowledge on the subject*
*glances up at him, grinning a little at the awkward reply* Well. Y'did ask. *the grin stays in place as he goes back to his project* How long'd it take ya 'xactly t'learn that thing where you blow yerself up 'n fly through the air, like?
*it could have been a perfectly innocuous question, but he was an enemy* ...I don't remember exactly. *he did* It took a lot of trial and error.
Oh. *he looks a little disappointed at that* You ever mess it up bad as I did, then, or --?
Negatory. *goes back to his eating*
Aww. *looks a little more disappointed* You, uh -- think maybe sometime y'might be willin' t'give out a couple pointers? Prob'ly help in gettin' around with all 'is. 'N Lord knows I c'n use all th'help I c'n get. *laughs*
( |^\ You're a RED.
'M your teammate. Now, anyhow. *shrug* Don' look like we're gonna beat these fellas back anytime soon.
But we will. Eventually. And when we do, we will go back to our own base. Where you would use anything I taught you against my team. ( |^[
*laughs humorlessly* Fella, you take a good hard look at me 'n give a holler when you find some killer instinct. *does a few more stitches* Like I says, lucky 'f we'll ever make it off 'is base. 'N 'til we do it's in our best interest t'help each other. *smiles a little* Heck, we weren' ever real competitive. Most've my bes' friends been on BLU these pas' couple years.
*suspicion* That so?
Yeah. Me 'n Sniper go back a long way. 'Course, he w's a RED 'til recently. *realizes that didn't help his case much* Th'ol' BLU Engineer 'n me w's close too. 'N Dan, f'r that matter.
The rest of my team is too friendly with the enemy. They have no caution. *still, the maggot has a point. He's a piss poor Soldier as it is and he would do the team a lot more good if he improved* You didn't learn anything in training it looks like. *sneer* So these are the terms. Familiarize yourself with the rocket launcher and the rest of your weapons. Improve on your own. When you can score 50 points in one attack, then I will teach you to rocketjump, Stumpy.
Fifty points? *looks stricken* I couldn' do that when I w's an Engineer. How d'you 'xpect me to do it now?
You weren't fighting robots when you were an Engineer. There's more of them, but they ain't as smart as people. If you can't kill your 50 points worth, then you shouldn't be here at all, Goldbrick!
-- Goldbrick? *headscratches*
It means you're a lazy ass who hangs around in the back and tries to look like he's working!
I am workin'! Jus' inna back, s'all. : [
You're offense, maggot! That ain't where you belong.
I -- *opens his mouth and then closes it, looking away* -- I'd jus' wind up gettin' blown t'bits out there. I ain't no good at this.
You need to get good! If you're going to be on my team, you need to pull your weight.
*well, at least he's on his team now, he guesses* Yessir.
Damn straight! Now quit your moping, Back Row! You have robots to kill! HRAAAUUUUGGGHHHH!
*blinks uncertainly at the sight of the enemy Soldier yelling over a bowl of pasta, genuinely unsure of what the appropriate response to that is* -- Uh -- there ain't -- I don' think there's robots out there right now, sir.
There's not! Until then, you gotta get your ire up for them! Come on, Yarnball! HRAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!
*winces, looking around uncertainly* I, uh -- dunno 'f they 'xactly care about how mad I am, sir --
No, but I do, Sewing Circle! Show me your war face!
*now he's just getting a little fed up* I don't got one, sir. *his eyebrows furrow a little* Told you, I ain't cut out f'r this.
Sure you do! Every warrior has a war face! Especially warriors who want to learn to rocketjump! *hint hint, maggot*
I don' think even you've gotten t'fifty points, sir. *starting to blush a little at his own nerve, but continues stubbornly anyway* 'F you didn' wanna teach me you coulda just said so right off 'stead've stringin' me along f'r a fool.
I damn sure have! *true, it was only the once and it'd been a lucky streak of crit rockets and a wave of mostly Scoutbots, but the maggot didn't need to know that!* But no, I don't want to teach you techniques you can later use against me and mine. But I like your attitude! *when he wasn't being a whining sissy anyway* I am giving you a chance, Needles. It's your choice whether you take it or not.
*sighs, rubbing his fingers against his eyes for a moment* -- 'Ll try. *it seems like he's done nothing but try since he got here, he thinks before glancing up* Guess there's no chance'a you givin' me a couple pointers on gettin' t'fifty, then.
*regards him for a moment* Don't shoot at where they are. Shoot at where they're going to be. Unless you have your shotgun out. Then shoot at where they are.
First y'want me t'yell at you, now y'want me t'see th'future. *smiles wryly, setting his project aside again*
*humph, a wiseass* The robots ain't smart, private. They follow the path and they don't avoid fire. You can tell where they're going to be when your rocket lands. If you shoot at where they are, they'll be out of the way by the time the rocket gets there.
*nods* -- Anythin' else I oughta know?
Fire into crowds. Use your splash damage. You might
not kill them outright, but you'll rack up kill-assists when everyone else helps. *thinks for a moment, trying to remember the things he does, but never thinks about. Or things he never needs anymore* If you can't hit them in the chest, try to aim for their feet.
S'ere, like -- some way t'not die while I'm doin' all 'is? *he's starting to feel like maybe he should have brought a pen*
If you were killing as many robots as you oughta be, private, you shouldn't have to worry about anything trying to kill you. And you shouldn't worry about it anyway! Dying for your team is a great honor! And then you come back for vengeance! HRAAAUUUGGGHHH!
Yeah. Hraaaaaah. *he doesn't look particularly enthused by all this hollering* Look, sir, I jus' -- I get th'impression I'm gonna get tore t'pieces 'fore I c'n do any damage 'f I jus' run at 'em head on, is all. *deflates, looking at where the TV ought to be* I guess I shoulda stuck with th'big guns, huh.
*sigh* *he didn't want to have to say this* The rocket launcher is a long range weapon. You should fire it from a ways back. Not from the spawn room, but far enough away that the robots aren't aiming right for you. * ( |^\ * And not at your own feet.
You shoot it at your feet, don'tcha?
I know what I'm doin', Crash Course.
*chuckles* Unnerstood, Sarge. *he goes quiet for a moment or two, looking at least a little less depressed* I guess that means I jus' gotta figure out a good distance 'n keep it up, 'en?
You want to be up close, but not actually in with the robots. That's for the Spies and Scout to do.
*nods* Guess I c'n give 'at a try. *he looks a little comforted*
Good. *glances over at him to see if that was a pout or not, and finding Sid to be satisfactorily neutral*
*smiles at seeing him glance over* Thanks f'r your help, sir. Means a lot.
Won't mean nothing 'til you make something of it, Craft Fair. *gets up to wash his empty plate* So see that you do!
Yes sir! *happily, not just because of the war tips but because he saw the clean plate*
*comes back in* Ain't you on the roster for watch tonight, Earthbound?
I -- *doubletake* I am? *frowns down at his crochet* W'll, shoot. 'F I'd'a known. There ain't no light out there t'see by.
Their eyes glow, maggot! Don't be a sissy!
*snorts* That don' do me much good, sir. *grins* S'th'schedule posted someplace, 'en?
It's on the network. *someone is not prepared for class*
-- Oh. *scratches head* Guess I'm gonna have t'reset th'password or somethin'. Can't get inta mine.
You can do that in the morning. See if the shopkeep won't reset it for you. But you have work to do now, private! Hup to!
*sighs* Yeah, all right. *gathers up his things* Y'like th'dinner? Sorry it wasn' nothin' fancy. Didn' expect company or nothin'. *grins*
*why is he asking again? he already said it was all right* Yeah, it was good. *is that the right answer, toybox?*
*smiles* Might have t'take this up more often. W's nice talkin' to you. *glances around to ensure he hasn't forgotten anything*
Yeah, you're all right for a RED, I guess. *holds the door for him* Stay sharp, Soldier. *that's an order*
Thanks, Sarge. *he's fairly beaming as he leaves to make his way up to the rooftops; finally, something that went right for a change*
Where: Common room
When: I don't know. March, I guess? Let's go with Marchish.
What: The fine art
*rolling on through the common room, securing the perimeter and also seeing if anyone else made food- oh, well lookee here* Evening, Private. *for once, he really means to suggest something with the name to another Soldier*
*glances up at the BLU as he enters, grinning* Hey Sarge!
*curious smirk at the name* I guess if they couldn't teach you nothing else, they got team ethic beat into you, huh?
Aww, they didn' have t'beat too hard. I'm a softie, hones'. *chuckles* How's your evenin' treatin' ya?
Well enough, I guess. All things considered.
Good t'hear. *grins* You w's really somethin' out there earlier.
*not sure how to respond to such open admiration from an enemy* Uh, thanks... You eat yet?
Yeah, there's leftovers onna stove. S'jus' spaghetti. Had a li'l sausage left over from breakfast. *ruffles the hair on the back of his head, leaning a little into the couch* You're welcome to it 'f ya like.
*Well, ain't that a nice change of pace. Goes to make himself a bowl and comes back with it. It's only when he claims a space on the couch that he notices Sid's crocheting... and gives it a skeptic stare, before turning back to his food. RED's.*
*the other Soldier's settling down brings a smile to Sid's face, until he notices the staring and tenses a little; once the BLU has gone back to his food he forces himself to not pay it any mind* How is it?
*the noodles are more evenly cooked than Soldier usually manages* It's all right.
Good t'hear. *the smile relaxes his face somewhat* I, uh, don' think we been innerduced b'fore, have we?
*he must be one of them name-knowing types* Your reputation precedes you, Soldier. But I guess mine don't. They call me Soldier. *decides he ain't quite willing to shake hands with a RED presently*
*snorts* W'll, ain't that distinctive. *grins, picking up his crochet again* Y'c'n call me Sid. 'F you ever get tired'a sayin' Private or Sir or what have ya, I mean.
*doesn't look up from his food* Orders are not use names.
*that puts him off a little* Well. I -- guess I oughta confess I never put much stock in that p'ticular order. *having figured out where he left off, his fingers set to work, a little slowly*
They don't pay you to pick and choose what directives to follow. *to be honest, he's not sure why RED pays him at all*
'F they cain't enforce an order I don' see no point givin' it in th'firs' place. *glances up at him* Folks get attached out here. 'F we're all livin' together stuff's gonna get personal, y'know?
*snort* If you need to know names to give a damn about anyone else around here, then I'm all right with you not worrying about me. Probably live longer that way, by the looks of it.
*looks a little stricken at that, dropping his gaze back to his project; his earlier smile has been wiped clean* -- w's jus' tryin' t'be polite. Sir.
It's not real polite to go round bragging about how little regard you have for the work.
I wasn' braggin'. *frowns*
Well, you seem awful proud of yourself for it.
I like usin' names, s'all. *chews on his lip, examining the stitches he's just placed before ripping them out methodically* Haven' even been a Soldier long enough t'remember I oughta get called one.
It'd probably help if you didn't try to get people not to call you by it. Since you seem to need reminding. *maggot*
*presses his lips together and scowls down at his project, annoyed; the implicit apologies don't seem to be doing him any good, and he's rapidly losing track of where he was* Maybe you're right. Sir. *glances up at him, still looking truculent* I 'pologize f'r offendin' you.
Good! My name is Soldier! Or Sir! Sir is fine too!
*smiles grudgingly, still not looking particularly happy about where this has led him, but already resigning himself to the fact* Nice t'meetcha, Soldier.
Nice to meet you too, Ground Control. *om nom nom*
*snorts softly and looks down at his project again, beginning to pick up where he left off* So how long y'been deployed out here, Major Tom?
Few years. How long have you been twirling yarn?
Most've my life, really. *keeps his eyes on his work* Think I musta been 'bout seven or eight when I picked it up. M'sister wasn' as into it.
*doesn't really know what to say about that* My mother used to knit. *and there was the extent of his knowledge on the subject*
*glances up at him, grinning a little at the awkward reply* Well. Y'did ask. *the grin stays in place as he goes back to his project* How long'd it take ya 'xactly t'learn that thing where you blow yerself up 'n fly through the air, like?
*it could have been a perfectly innocuous question, but he was an enemy* ...I don't remember exactly. *he did* It took a lot of trial and error.
Oh. *he looks a little disappointed at that* You ever mess it up bad as I did, then, or --?
Negatory. *goes back to his eating*
Aww. *looks a little more disappointed* You, uh -- think maybe sometime y'might be willin' t'give out a couple pointers? Prob'ly help in gettin' around with all 'is. 'N Lord knows I c'n use all th'help I c'n get. *laughs*
( |^\ You're a RED.
'M your teammate. Now, anyhow. *shrug* Don' look like we're gonna beat these fellas back anytime soon.
But we will. Eventually. And when we do, we will go back to our own base. Where you would use anything I taught you against my team. ( |^[
*laughs humorlessly* Fella, you take a good hard look at me 'n give a holler when you find some killer instinct. *does a few more stitches* Like I says, lucky 'f we'll ever make it off 'is base. 'N 'til we do it's in our best interest t'help each other. *smiles a little* Heck, we weren' ever real competitive. Most've my bes' friends been on BLU these pas' couple years.
*suspicion* That so?
Yeah. Me 'n Sniper go back a long way. 'Course, he w's a RED 'til recently. *realizes that didn't help his case much* Th'ol' BLU Engineer 'n me w's close too. 'N Dan, f'r that matter.
The rest of my team is too friendly with the enemy. They have no caution. *still, the maggot has a point. He's a piss poor Soldier as it is and he would do the team a lot more good if he improved* You didn't learn anything in training it looks like. *sneer* So these are the terms. Familiarize yourself with the rocket launcher and the rest of your weapons. Improve on your own. When you can score 50 points in one attack, then I will teach you to rocketjump, Stumpy.
Fifty points? *looks stricken* I couldn' do that when I w's an Engineer. How d'you 'xpect me to do it now?
You weren't fighting robots when you were an Engineer. There's more of them, but they ain't as smart as people. If you can't kill your 50 points worth, then you shouldn't be here at all, Goldbrick!
-- Goldbrick? *headscratches*
It means you're a lazy ass who hangs around in the back and tries to look like he's working!
I am workin'! Jus' inna back, s'all. : [
You're offense, maggot! That ain't where you belong.
I -- *opens his mouth and then closes it, looking away* -- I'd jus' wind up gettin' blown t'bits out there. I ain't no good at this.
You need to get good! If you're going to be on my team, you need to pull your weight.
*well, at least he's on his team now, he guesses* Yessir.
Damn straight! Now quit your moping, Back Row! You have robots to kill! HRAAAUUUUGGGHHHH!
*blinks uncertainly at the sight of the enemy Soldier yelling over a bowl of pasta, genuinely unsure of what the appropriate response to that is* -- Uh -- there ain't -- I don' think there's robots out there right now, sir.
There's not! Until then, you gotta get your ire up for them! Come on, Yarnball! HRAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!
*winces, looking around uncertainly* I, uh -- dunno 'f they 'xactly care about how mad I am, sir --
No, but I do, Sewing Circle! Show me your war face!
*now he's just getting a little fed up* I don't got one, sir. *his eyebrows furrow a little* Told you, I ain't cut out f'r this.
Sure you do! Every warrior has a war face! Especially warriors who want to learn to rocketjump! *hint hint, maggot*
I don' think even you've gotten t'fifty points, sir. *starting to blush a little at his own nerve, but continues stubbornly anyway* 'F you didn' wanna teach me you coulda just said so right off 'stead've stringin' me along f'r a fool.
I damn sure have! *true, it was only the once and it'd been a lucky streak of crit rockets and a wave of mostly Scoutbots, but the maggot didn't need to know that!* But no, I don't want to teach you techniques you can later use against me and mine. But I like your attitude! *when he wasn't being a whining sissy anyway* I am giving you a chance, Needles. It's your choice whether you take it or not.
*sighs, rubbing his fingers against his eyes for a moment* -- 'Ll try. *it seems like he's done nothing but try since he got here, he thinks before glancing up* Guess there's no chance'a you givin' me a couple pointers on gettin' t'fifty, then.
*regards him for a moment* Don't shoot at where they are. Shoot at where they're going to be. Unless you have your shotgun out. Then shoot at where they are.
First y'want me t'yell at you, now y'want me t'see th'future. *smiles wryly, setting his project aside again*
*humph, a wiseass* The robots ain't smart, private. They follow the path and they don't avoid fire. You can tell where they're going to be when your rocket lands. If you shoot at where they are, they'll be out of the way by the time the rocket gets there.
*nods* -- Anythin' else I oughta know?
Fire into crowds. Use your splash damage. You might
not kill them outright, but you'll rack up kill-assists when everyone else helps. *thinks for a moment, trying to remember the things he does, but never thinks about. Or things he never needs anymore* If you can't hit them in the chest, try to aim for their feet.
S'ere, like -- some way t'not die while I'm doin' all 'is? *he's starting to feel like maybe he should have brought a pen*
If you were killing as many robots as you oughta be, private, you shouldn't have to worry about anything trying to kill you. And you shouldn't worry about it anyway! Dying for your team is a great honor! And then you come back for vengeance! HRAAAUUUGGGHHH!
Yeah. Hraaaaaah. *he doesn't look particularly enthused by all this hollering* Look, sir, I jus' -- I get th'impression I'm gonna get tore t'pieces 'fore I c'n do any damage 'f I jus' run at 'em head on, is all. *deflates, looking at where the TV ought to be* I guess I shoulda stuck with th'big guns, huh.
*sigh* *he didn't want to have to say this* The rocket launcher is a long range weapon. You should fire it from a ways back. Not from the spawn room, but far enough away that the robots aren't aiming right for you. * ( |^\ * And not at your own feet.
You shoot it at your feet, don'tcha?
I know what I'm doin', Crash Course.
*chuckles* Unnerstood, Sarge. *he goes quiet for a moment or two, looking at least a little less depressed* I guess that means I jus' gotta figure out a good distance 'n keep it up, 'en?
You want to be up close, but not actually in with the robots. That's for the Spies and Scout to do.
*nods* Guess I c'n give 'at a try. *he looks a little comforted*
Good. *glances over at him to see if that was a pout or not, and finding Sid to be satisfactorily neutral*
*smiles at seeing him glance over* Thanks f'r your help, sir. Means a lot.
Won't mean nothing 'til you make something of it, Craft Fair. *gets up to wash his empty plate* So see that you do!
Yes sir! *happily, not just because of the war tips but because he saw the clean plate*
*comes back in* Ain't you on the roster for watch tonight, Earthbound?
I -- *doubletake* I am? *frowns down at his crochet* W'll, shoot. 'F I'd'a known. There ain't no light out there t'see by.
Their eyes glow, maggot! Don't be a sissy!
*snorts* That don' do me much good, sir. *grins* S'th'schedule posted someplace, 'en?
It's on the network. *someone is not prepared for class*
-- Oh. *scratches head* Guess I'm gonna have t'reset th'password or somethin'. Can't get inta mine.
You can do that in the morning. See if the shopkeep won't reset it for you. But you have work to do now, private! Hup to!
*sighs* Yeah, all right. *gathers up his things* Y'like th'dinner? Sorry it wasn' nothin' fancy. Didn' expect company or nothin'. *grins*
*why is he asking again? he already said it was all right* Yeah, it was good. *is that the right answer, toybox?*
*smiles* Might have t'take this up more often. W's nice talkin' to you. *glances around to ensure he hasn't forgotten anything*
Yeah, you're all right for a RED, I guess. *holds the door for him* Stay sharp, Soldier. *that's an order*
Thanks, Sarge. *he's fairly beaming as he leaves to make his way up to the rooftops; finally, something that went right for a change*