One Pair Just Ain't Enough

Summary: (May 2025) Fusillade commissions Fulcrum to make a spare set of wingblades.Best served with "Vedi, Le Fosche Notturne."

IHQ Laboratory

''Enterable only through the airlock that connects this room to the Med Bay, the laboratory is filled with all means of scanning and testing equipment. The room is large and has a catwalk-like floor that forms an open upper level, allowing for more room to be used for experiments. Both the upper and lower levels have shelves filled with equipment lining the walls, and tables all around are littered with burners and containers ready to be used. As this lab is new, not much of it has been used yet, but it would seem that it is already destined to be cluttered.''

The light patter of be-thrustered heels is muffled as Fusillade makes an attempt to be respectfully quiet. The dark grey and white flyer hums to herself as she slinks over to a directory, and jabs a finger at the listing, scrolling down until she appears to find what it is she is looking for. Pausing on occasion to let techs rush with any equipment or project they're working on, she seems content to wend her way through the aisles and equipment-strewn counters. Those vivid orange-yellow optics visually scour the area, certainly searching for someone or something.

An unusual sound echoes through the corridors of IHQ - that of the rhythmic tolling of a large bell. As one approaches the source of the sound, it is gradually accompanied by other noises... a low roaring, and the occasional mutter of voices. A red/orange light flickers from the partially open airlock of the laboratory from where the ringing comes, and if someone were to poke ones head around the door, or even step into the room, they would see that the tones are not those of a bell, but of hammers striking metal, the roaring that of a fusion-furnace unit, and the quiet voices those of Fulcrum and his two assistants as they work on a large metal "blank". Holding the glowing metal in large tongs, Fulcrum moves it from the furnace to the anvil, striking it once with his own hammer, his assistants adding their own strikes in a practiced routine, folding the metal over on itself, strengthening and shaping it into a weapon.

Obsidian gauntlets flex as Fusillade hovers expectantly over one of the counterspaces. However, that metallic resonance strikes home. The cacophony is in fact compelling, and it is not long before Fusillade's wrapped her fingertalons around the edge of the doorframe, and she peeks in. The incandescent white and yellow spray of sparks, the lurid convection of superheated air over orange metal, all is reflected in that visor. For a good long moment, Fusillade is transfixed by the visceral splendor of just how... physical the entire process is. She recognizes Fulcrum, and doubly perks up, before stepping over, and waiting until he's at a decent stopping point so as not to mar his work. With voice raised over the bellows, she says, "You know, they still have that statue of you up in New Crystal City!"

Whoosh! goes the furnace, as the metal is placed back into its flames, Fulcrum making a minute adjustment to its heat settings, Kitbash and Scratchbuild pausing to wipe coolant from their faces, though both low ranking med-techs don't take their optics from the cherry-red metal. "Really" Fulcrum replies, giving Fusillade a dark look through the shimmering air and raising his voice over the sound of the forge. "Are you certain?"

Fusillade's hands drape thoughtfully over her current set of wingblades as she watches the trio's well-concerted movements. At his dour expression, Fusillade returns fire with a brief moue, and she nods. "Absolutely. I've been playing ping-pong between here and E-yarth the past couple of weeks. Was sorely tempted to do some foolishness with that icon, but my pranking days have been soundly put to rest." That glittering smile returns, as she deigns to pace a bit more closely, vents dilating some to accommodate for increased cooling demands of the foundry. "Is this labor one of your favorite things to do? Do you get to do it often?"

Fulcrum does not reply straight away, instead removing the blank from the forge and placing it back on the anvil and striking it twice with his hammer, his assistants following suit, one after the other, and then again as he shifts it in the tongs. "I'm sure the bombardment has left several unseen but irrevocable flaws in.. the thing." Fulcrum replies as he returns the metal to the forge, looking back to Fusillade with a less stern expression. "No doubt it now poses a danger to passers by, and should be destroyed." He holds her gaze for a few moments, then looks back to his work. "It is my function" he states simply.

"Well YEAH it's your function, but do you enjoy it?" At this point, Fusillade's planted her hands on her hips, head canted to the side. "Just curious," she quickly amends, this time stepping over to peer over his shoulder at the alignment of his arm, the tongs and the piece currently being worked on. She doesn't offer any further commentary on the statue, earmarking it as a 'go' for toying purposes since it sounded like he didn't really care about it. "Well, if you don't have anything backordered, I was hoping to make a request?" Her tone sounds hopeful, and she dares to lock her gaze with his own.

Again, Fulcrum tends to his work before answering, folding the metal over on itself to give it more strength. "You misunderstand" Fulcrum replies, not unkindly. "It is literally what I was constructed to do. The process of forging and refining a weapon..." he shrugs, trying to find a way to describe it. "It gives me a sense of completion. It centers and balances my mind and spark. It is not really a question of enjoyment.. but yes. I also find joy in the work. If I did not, the blades would not cut as well, the armor would not turn aside blows." He shrugs again. "But I babble. What is your request?"

Well, not quite the answer she had in mind, but it'd do. An energetic "Ah HA!" complete with fingerpointing is sent Fulcrum's way, as she sidles over. "I KNEW it! How would you like a bit of a challenge? Not just a single piece..." Her gaze strays to the piece that Fulcrum is working on, "But a fifteen-segmented, interlocking assembly with individually sharpened edges designed to serve as all purpose club, blade, fan, umbrella and flying surface? Two of 'em?" She hooks her thumbs together and fans out her hands in a demonstration, before patting the pleated, currently folded, wingblades sitting in her hip holsters. "I figure most would consider it a pain, but you would at least not be bothered by it. And might find some joy in it."

Fulcrum considers the request as he works, the peals of his hammer blows echoing around the room. Sounds interesting. Of course, the interlock and functionality wouldn't prove a problem, but ensuring each segment was the same as the one before.. ah, that would be the trick. "I accept" he replies, placing the folded metal back into the forge. "Now, what was the challenging work you wanted?" What might be a smile flickers at the corner of Fulcrum's mouth. That might have even been a joke.

"I'm pleased to hear that you're willing to do it. I could have the second pair just ordered and pressed in factory, but it just... wouldn't be the same." Fusillade is midway through snapping out both wingblades like a bizarre trophytop display angel, when her processor finally trips over that last statement. "Wha? Hey!!!" At that point, she flashes that toothy, grins sassily, and then extends both forward in a flourished bow. "You have my thanks." She restrains the instinct to bolt out the door and crow her victory and accomplishment to anyone else in the base. But, restraint! She squares her shoulders, gives him a sharp nod, and says, "I'll let you get back to it, then. No rush, by the way -- they'd just be a second pair to have on hand for me -- the downside to modular design is that the modules sometimes don't return with you from the battlefield." She moves to exit.

Fulcrum nods. "I will let you know" he replies, before turning his full attention back to his work, the sound of ringing hammers following Fusillade from the room.

--End--