The Charr Cleaning Crew

(Incomplete Log. We’ll just have to jump in mid-conversation.)

Random Hallway In Charr

Fleet shrugs a wing. "Which works in my favor, at least." He pushes himself off the table.

Arachnae runs a program to process the data. "Indeed it does. Granted…" She smirks, "Having such a fearful reputation in medical has its benefits."

Fleet answers, "I... can only guess."

Arachnae chuckles as she pads about, tidying the facility with absent movements. "When you're a small medic, having larger gun happy warriors slightly worried about what you *could* do to them while repairing them prevents you from getting mauled when outside of medical."

Fleet makes a noise like a burst of static in a speaker, a robot's snort of contempt. "Anyone stupid enough to do something like that to the person who might be in a position to repair him deserves whatever you might be able to do to him, anyway."

Arachnae headtilts… and smiles… She's noting this Seeker for future reference. "The empire fawns over its vaulted warriors. Medics are simply a necessity. Something small to torment when there isn't anything else to do. For, one has to leave medical sometime, yes?" She turns to straighten a tool tray out, re-arranging welders and a few small clamps in a neat line.

Fleet shakes his head. "A moronic viewpoint commonly held doesn't make it any less moronic." He leans against the table and looks at the ceiling. "In all honesty, it sometimes seems like the more widely held a viewpoint is, the more likely it *is* to be moronic."

Arachnae smiles, "Indeed. I must agree with you on that."

Fleet looks over at Arachnae, still leaning back, head still tilted. "I hate to say it, but sometimes I think that most of my kind got bored and skipped out of the assembly lines before the common sense routines could get programmed in."

Arachnae looks over her shoulder at Fleet as if startled. Wings flick out and she turns, chuckling. "Oh… I could get to *like* you… yes."

Fleet looks a bit worried. "Uhm… should I take that to be a good thing, or a bad one?"

Arachnae's smile shades enigmatic, "That is for you to determine." She goes back to absently cleaning medical. She continues to clean up medical, which, she *could* delegate but why bother.

Fleet looks over at 'Nae. In his experience, it was one of those unspoken rules that you don't stand around doing nothing while a superior worked (unless it happens to be electronic "paperwork"). "Is there anything I can help with, C- Arachnae."

Arachnae looks up, looks over, "Yes, there's a mop and bucket in the closet, might as well clean up properly."

Fleet nods and stands up straight, then walks over to the closet, opening it up and retrieving the bucket. He fills the bucket with water as hot as it will go, just shy of boiling if he can get it there (because it's not as though it would be a discomfort to him).

Arachnae wipes a table down, "Degreaser's in the cabinet to the left of the hose assembly, use about half a bottle. Floor’s looking rather scuzzy."

Fleet nods. "Yes, C- Arachnae." He pulls out the degreaser and pours it in, as instructed.

Mixmaster trudges into Charr's repair bay, trumpet up to his lips, and he's playing a casual tune. It's not manic like it usually is, just a casual ditty, though still quite experimental.

Fleet looks up and gives Mixmaster a *very* strange look. "Erm… just *what* is that thing?"

Arachnae winces at the tooting tuneful tech meandering in the bay and whip turns about, "I'll have you *not* play that around me, Mixmaster. That is…" Optics flash, wings mantle, "A rather…" manners Arachnae, you know them, use them… "disconcerting sound and very distracting."

Mixmaster lowers his trumpet as his face drops. "What… what is this? WHAT IS THIS? This is a Ceremonial Constructicon trumpet! Played at all coronations, as support fanfare during all the Monacus Olympics, or one of the many other cases in which trumpeting is required." If he had eye laz0rz, Fleet would be a melted puddle of goop about now. Arachnae says her piece, to which Mixy shrugs. He doesn't put the trumpet back up to his mouthpiece… not entirely, anyway. "I'm sure I know a song that's good for background music, Arachnae," he helpfully offers.

Arachnae shakes her head, "Well we're not having a celebration anytime soon Mixmaster. Put the… trumpet away and lend a h and. We need medical cleaned."

Fleet asks Mixmaster, "If that's the case, don't you make it a bit less special by playing it now?"

Fleet dips his swab into the bucket then wrings it out so that it's only damp, then begins cleaning. As a low-robot-on-the-totem-pole, cleaning is something he gets a lot of practice in.

Mixmaster tucks his trumpet under his arm, and thinks quickly to get out of medical bay cleaning. "Well, since I can't help improve morale here, I'm sure that I can help with the research side of things. Did you discover anything with the floor polish yesterday?"

Arachnae lifts a brow, "Mixmaster, put the trumpet /away/ and start cleaning. We can talk while we clean." Wings snap back behind her as she moves to tidy and sort another medpack. "Have to find a way to test the theory, Mixmaster. Me…" she searches for a word, "zotting, for lack of a better term to test resistance to varying electrical charges does nothing.”

Fleet stops swabbing just a moment. He had thought that was the excuse Mixmaster had given for running off when the whole "volunteer" business came up, but wasn't brave enough to smart off to a Constructicon.

Ah, Zotting. Now, More than ever, Mixy is aware of why Arachnae is in charge of MSE, and not the other way around. Mixy angrily puts the trumpet on a nearby bench. "Fine..." he sighs, before accessing his own internal chemical tank, and giving the large medical rooms floor a generous coat of degreaser. "Do you have any form of fire or head based weapons?" He asks of Fleet.

Fleet shakes his head. "Just a standard array of lasers and such."

Arachnae sidesteps as the stream of degreaser is shot out, and continues to work on sorting out tool trays. "One spanner, a dozen clamps, set of hex wrenches, some polycarbonite resin… Hmm… Missing three scalpel emitters." She pads over to a cabinet to get what's needed to complete the tray-set.

Mixmaster hmfs. "Nevermind, we'll manage here." After layering the degreaser and giving it time to react, Mixy finds a high-pressure hose with which to blast off most of the gunk, and rinse it down one of the many drains in the floor. "So what do you mean, does nothing? Does that mean the floor polish is good, bad, or inconclusive?"

Arachnae's wings shift, "Inconclusive. We need an infected test subject and several non infected in order to utilize carrying densities of covering materials for determination if the contagions effectiveness is delayed or prevented by any countercovering."

Fleet looks at his poor little over-ruled swab, then shrugs, using it to get up what's left of the water. He squeezes the water out as he finishes up in silence, having little to contribute to the technical discussion.

The dousing over, Mixy points to a few of the more stubborn stains that are still there. He points at them and then looks at the seeker again. "Use that mop to take care of what's left. The water and solution should have loosened it, that mop will just make it fall off on contact.” Mixmaster, on the other hand, transforms. A small emitter beam appears from the top of his Cement Truck cab, sending a red thermal beam out. It's at a low charge and doesn't harm the surrounding equipment, but it helps to heat up the water, enabling it to dry a lot faster.

Mixmaster leans down as his legs fold up backwards. He falls down frontwards as he completes his transformation into a Green Cement Truck. His Cauldron begins rotating once again.

Fleet suppresses a smirk and shakes his head slightly, heading over to the spots indicated.

Arachnae collects materials and tools that would be needed for medpacks and continues to clean and sort out until each medtable has several sterilized and prepped.

Fleet frowns at a particularly stubborn stain. He heads over to the closet and grabs a cleaning cloth, then returns to the spot, kneeling to apply a bit of "elbow grease".

Cement Truck  transforms, and the floor is now clean. "Well, that's that." The Alchemist says as he wipes his hands, satisfied with another jorb well done. "Don't tell me we're going to clean every room here until all of DHQ is clean, though."

The Cement Truck's cab folds down and splits in two, forming Mixmaster's legs and feet. His wheels and part of his sides shift out into his arms, which push himself up. The Constructicon lifts himself up onto his feet and looks eagerly for something to smelt.

Fleet groans at Mixmaster's comment, thinking that Arachnea might *not* have thought of that if he hadn't suggested it.

Arachnae turns… and smiles at Mixmaster, "Should I have to tell you?"

Mixmaster grunts. "NO YOU SHOULDN'T. Honestly, I'm not interested in making this the cleanest headquarters that we /don't/ use." He picks up his trumpet again and starts twirling it in his finger. "Besides… it would be a waste of my abilities."

Fleet looks up. "How else are your abilities being employed?" He dumps the water in the bucket down the drain and returns cloth, swab, and bucket to the closet.

Arachnae smirks, folding her arms over her front, "Now now, Mixmaster, unless you want to… volunteer to be my testmech for various substrates…" Optics gleam emerald.

Mixmaster nervously chokes, before blurting out quickly, "ButIthoughtthatIsaidthatwecouldhavemehelpbymakingthechemicalsnadbeingthesubjectwouldnotwork..."

Arachnae shifts wings behind her just so.. to allow the panels to cast shadows on her front. "Oh… I can handle mixing basic chemical covering compounds, my dear… dear… Mixmaster." She takes a step closer… "Now… Volunteer? Or clean? I wouldn't have anyone say that I didn't give you… a choice…"

Fleet doesn't say anything, as this is one conversation where he does *not* want to draw attention to himself. He retrieves his cleaning cloth and container of solution, demonstrating through actions that he, at least, is *perfectly* willing to volunteer… for cleaning.

Mixmaster subconciously takes a step back.. Arachnae has a size advantage over him, and with her wings shifted as they are, that doesn't help. The two options make it easy for him. Finally he asks, trying to maintain a curious tone… “Okay, I'll bite. What /exactly/ do you need to experiment on?"

Arachnae smiles a delighted little smile, "I need someone brave and tough to stand steady while various substances are used to cvover them… And I test the resistence to varying levels of energy emmisions."

Mixmaster's hopeful face drops. "I'll go find some more cleaner." He grumbles, before snatching up the Emergency Trumpet once more, and trudging out of the repair bay.

Arachnae receives a radio transmission from Airwolf.

Arachnae transmits a message via radio.

Arachnae transmits a message via radio.

Fleet studies his unoffical commander for a moment. "C- Arachnae, er... would you mind if I asked you something?"

Arachnae has turned to finish tidying her trays. She looks over a shoulder, wing shifting down so she can see over the arch, "I am always willing to entertain queries, Fleet. What is it?"

"You... look rather like a Sweep, but obviously aren't." Although it's phrased like a statement, Flee's question is still implied by the tone of his voice.

Arachnae blinks… and turns around, peering at Fleet for a moment, "Oh… Yes." blink as she looks at herself a moment. Having gotten so used to the general non-commentary about her form, this seems to catch her slightly off guard and elicits a faint smile. Softer somehow, "An ongoing experiment of my own." She lifts a brow, "To some, I am considered a Sweep by… training and nature."

Fleet cocks his head. "Why? If I may ask."

Arachnae leans against a table, "Why the experiment?" she return queries.

Fleet says, "Well, sure, that, too, if you want to tell me. But what is it about you that causes people to consider you a Sweep?"

Arachnae studies Fleet for several moments and comes to the determination that he's been well out of the proverbial loop. Which elicits another odd, softish smile. "I spent several… terran years under their tutelage in an attempt to learn more about them. In turn, after I was with the pack for such a time, others began to consider me a part of the hunters, even though I was not able to truly acclimate to the levels at which they function, I still endevored to go the distence."

Fleet nods thoughtfully. "That makes sense, I suppose. I generally avoid them, myself, to be honest, and am usually successful, but then, I serve a different function to begin with and thus would have no need to be… driven thusly."

Arachnae chuckles, "You would continue to be wise if you avoided them. They… do not like Seeker design as a general rule." She smirks then shakes her head, "Driven they are, that is for certain."

Fleet nods. "That much I have heard."

Arachnae shifts her wings, "They consider me part of the pack despite my… formal resignation as a hunter. Medical operations needed my skills in that area far more." A wry smirk, "And proper sweeps seek no rank. Thusly, here I am." a wave of a taloned claw. "And this is how I look."

Fleet considers that. "For as long as I've been around, I've never even considered the idea of changing my form. It's true that some might consider me a bit… overly concerned with my own continued existence, but even for that, I've always been content enough with my function. This is as I was built, and this is as I serve… I'd just like to continue serving as long as possible." He shifts his wings a little. "Strange as it sounds, this is even my factory determined paint scheme. Certainly, the randomizers are weighted towards blues and darks, but the point is, they are random, and every once in awhile you're bound to get the odd colors."

Arachnae studies Fleet a moment, then laughs softly, not harshly, just a soft chuckle really. "I have no idea where I was created, but that's neither here nor there. Wasn't ever a seeker and was forever interested in how to make things work… better for lack of another term. This is where damndable curiosity will get you." Wing pans out and shifts slightly.

Fleet nods, leaning against the medical bed, cleaning cloth still in hand. "Well, usually a quality like that is included because it helps further one's function, although I have met individuals whose personalities, for whatever reason, contrasted sharply with their purpose." He mades a brief chuckling noise, probably the first laugh 'Nae's heard from him. "I've heard it argued that I'm one."

Arachnae smiles again and absently tugs a tool tray over to sort while she talks. Fingers flex and pick through the stack of pieces, "Well, I was a medical researcher. Now… " A shrug as she looks over and watches Fleet… chuckle. Optics dim behind her visor, "I've always been oddly fond of the Seeker design.." Wry smirk, "Fortunatly for the Seekers my attention has been captured by the Sweeps."

Fleet opens his optics a bit wider and straightens up again, saying, "If, erm, I ever get into a civil conversation with one, I'll be sure to thank him."

Arachnae chuckles as she sorts and sets the tray aside, "Probably for the best that you didn't mention it to any of them. They are…" frown, "Much different from studying Seekers. Think differently, react differently in general."

Fleet shrugs a wing. "Ah. Well then it's probably just as well that the likelihood that I'd get into a civil conversation with one to begin with is next to nil."

Arachnae laughs, optics brightening… "Ser Fleet, I am begining to think you are well worth redirecting my studies to more original designs."

Fleet's optics widen again. Damn! He had let himself relax too much. Worse, he knew full well that at this point 'Nae wasn't going to be fooled if he tried playing dumb. The best current means of escape? Busywork! "Er, no need for that, C- Arachnae," although he half felt he should address her as "Commander," as he had a funny feeling he had done something "terminally stupid." "I mean, since, as you said, you know us well enough that you could rebuild one in your sleep, and such. At any rate, I suppose I should apply myself to something useful, like cleaning." With that he grabbed his container of cleaning solution and headed for the door.

Arachnae headtilts, considers.. "Damn…" muttered to herself as she turns to look medical over, "I think I scared him off. Ahh well… I can always talk with… er… Damn…" She mutters to herself as she settles into a seat and goes over the scans from eariler.