Crash Course

Razor Ridges

The ceaseless heat has melted away all but the most resistant layers of litho-metallic sediment, which are thrust upward here like a series of vertical razor blades. The sides of these narrow ridges have been smoothed and polished by the infernal temperatures, and now stand as rows of multiple mirrors, reflecting the light back and forth among themselves in a blinding array. What little shadow these stark, knife-edged crests provide, is rendered useless by the thousandfold increase in reflected light and radiated heat.

Obvious exits: North  leads to Borderlands - North. South  leads to Northern Mirrored Plains.

Fly 

 Blueshift says, "ARGH"

Fleet has arrived.

Catechism looks around the hot bleakness that is Charr, and she wonders why she's here. She's grateful to Fleet for hauling her two halves off Alkor Zephyr. She's thankful that he dumped her parts at the medical tent. She even knows he has blackmail material on her, the Inquisitor. But this is /Charr/, and the Olympics are on! Not that she has any matches or events left. Still, she could watch Dinobots murder Blueshift. That has to be more entertaining than Charr.

Tetrajet  is probably here for a break from the Olympics madness. Or to keep random people from challenging him. Something. He crouches and looks over at the blasted landscape, then shakes his head. "You wouldn't think this would be one of the most useful places in the Empire," he observes.

Tetrajet  transforms into his Fleet mode.

 Swoop says, "Hmm.."

 Penumbra says, "Make him say Uncle?"

Fleet completely retcons his last pose.

Catechism glares over at Fleet and snaps, "Actually, /I/ would. Boring. Dangerous. But useful, yeah. Why'd you even drag me out here? What do you want?" Surely not peace and quiet, if he brought her. Catechism is a menace.

Fleet doesn't retcon his last pose, then. Instead, he looks up at Catechism and smiles faintly, then shrugs. "Great place to practice."

Catechism clamps her hands on her face and stares off at the horizon. She admits, "Yeah, I guess this would be a better place to practice hitting a planet in two places. A lot closer to civilzation and medical help." Crashing into planets is no fun, as Fleet would also know!

"No, not that," Fleet answers, straightening up to pace along the edge of a knife-edged crest. "Dance practice." Fleet turns towards Catechism and sighs. "You know that Aerial Dance requires at least four particpants to start, right?"

Catechism frowns and nods, folding her hands behind her back. Then, she flings one out to wave it dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. If there were just three, then no one would get shot, and that would be boring." Catechism is pretty bloody-minded, and it shows, that when talking about a graceful, beautiful martial art, she immediately starts talking about the violence inherent in the system.

Well, it *is* an inherently violent system.

Fleet nods. "Well, there is a competetion coming up. Survivalist, obviously. And so far we've only been able to scrounge up a total of three." He sighs faintly. The dance is a dying art.

Catechism rubs the back of her cone, and her face scrunches up a bit as she thinks. What is she supposed to say here? 'Sorry that no one likes your hobby right now?' Catechism looks over at Fleet, trying to search his features for some clue as to what he wants out of her. He sighed. That means... say something comforting? Catechism coughs and reaches out a hand to try to gently pat Fleet on the shoulder, and she tries to encourage, "Just cosh someone over the head at one of the bars and drag him off to your competition?"

Fleet chuckles lightly. "Well, I was /hoping/ you'd just say yes, but I could try the bar thing if that isn't enough. So, to the nearest bar?"

Catechism's optics widen, and she takes a few steps away from Fleet, putting her hands up. Oh, no no no! Being the sap that gets all shot up is... well... okay, that is Catechism's day job! Backing away from Fleet may make her look ludicrous, but no one is here to see it, and Fleet's sneaky! And Catechism is still not entirely sure if Fleet actually has a reflection or not! She squeaks, "Me? You have got to be kidding me? Did you /see/ me in the Space Race? That's how I fly. I spent the whole time running into people and tipping them off course! I am a general nuisance in the skies!"

Fleet shakes his head and straightens. "Actually, no, I didn't watch the space race. But I know you're capable of more grace then you let on."

Catechism rubs the back of her cone, looks off to the left, and she grits out, "It was in the Medusa Cascade. Not really your favourite scenic locale, I guess." She sighs. Fleet has blackmail material on her, and he's just as close to as admitting that he'd get her plastered, cosh her over the head, and haul her off to this stupid competition. "Ffffine, I'm in. But if your team loses, don't blame me!"

Fleet makes a clicking noise with his tongue. Yes, he has a tongue. "We don't compete against other teams, Catechism! We compete against each other!" Then he grins. "The practice is to help keep /you/ from losing."

 Swoop says, "Dinobots rule!"

 Eject says, "The Chicago Bears rule too!!"

 Swoop says, "Uhm...who?"

 Monstereo says, "Daaaa Bearsss."

 Swoop says, "Beaaaaarrssssss."

Catechism has to argue, "But then how do you know who is best, if you just compete against each your teammates and not the other teams?" She supposes she should be vaguely reassured that Fleet is at least putting some effort into making her practice, which should in theory help her not get all shot up, but it doesn't reassure her. See, if she isn't terrible at this, Fleet might make her do it again. But if she is terrible at, she'll get shot. Hrm. A pickle!

"You learn who in a team is best," Fleet points out, once more pacing along the ridge. "Then, if you wish to determine who among, say, two or three teams is best, you hold a dance with the Threes of each of those teams." He jumps into the air in a simple leap, then lands behind Catechism, touching down on only one foot.

Catechism starts to follow Fleet along the ridge, for lack of anything better to do. Then, suddenly, she has a Fleet behind her. "Ack! Uhm. It's you. How about you just give me the crash course?" Then she winces, at her own choice of words.

Fleet grins wide, almost dangerously at Catechism, and inclines his head. "That's the idea, Catechism." With that, he leaps into the air as metal starts to play. Possibly something from a Sonatica Arctica based Pandora station.

Catechism follows Fleet into the air, but the scene soon cuts to Catechism crashing into the hot, rocky surface of Charr like a goose hit by scattershot as power metal chords thrum. Several clips of Catechism coming smashing down come one after the other, and she accumulates progressively more dents and rock dust on her frame as the crash clips go on. Will she ever be able to pass for an artist in the air, an inspiring sight to behold, grace and victory on wings?

Interposed between some of those clips of Catechism crashing is Fleet watching, flying, instructing. After the first crash, he winces and then forces a smile. After the second, he sighs. With each crash he looks progressively more exasperated. With the last one he facepalms.

Catechism is trying, she really is! Or maybe she's just trying Fleet's patience. She's pretty frustrated with herself, she has to admit. Aerial dance is a martial art that puts the /art/ back into martial art, even as it puts the /martial/ back into martial art, and Catechism has never been big on creatively expressing herself. She doesn't have any mysterious concept she wants to say with her flight; she just wants to get this over! And so the F-35 just gives up on saying anything with her flight and instead tries to say nothing at all, just working through the bare motions of Fleet's instructions.

The music keeps playing, Fleet keeps instructing, and Fleet shows that he does, in fact, have a rather remarkable amount of patience. Cue Fleet soaring through the air, diving towards the charred ground, transforming, curling, tumbling, straightening, and then flying up as he transforms again. Cue scenes of him pulling up roles and loops. Cue assorted scenes of robot mode acrobatics...

Catechism is definitely better at the aerobatics than the acrobatics. She can actually pull off some reasonably impressive routines as a jet, with help from Fleet on what moves work well together. The robot mode is another story, so of course, the practise is going to focus on her weak point. There are a number of clips of Catechism splatting out, face-first, and in the clips wherein she does the moves technically correctly, there's something soulless and unmoving about them, like she's just going through the motions, losing all her drive.

Fleet continues to patiently teach Catechism in assorted clips. Presumably she gets better and better each clip. Maybe not. Either way, they culminate with Fleet giving a thumbs up to the camera, indicating that the montage is ended. Possibly, Catechism crashes into the ground behind him.

Catechism looks about to crash into the ground behind Fleet, a robot hurtling down from the sky in rather ungainly, uncoordinated fashion - and then, she transforms, snaps open her lift fan doors, and lands gently behind him with a bare whisper of sound.

THE END.