Aerospace Ascendent?

Summary: (August 2026) Fusillade seeks out advice about the fated future of herself and a large portion of Military Operations.

NCC Medical Ward

���� The Crystal City repair bay is far larger than previous versions in Imperial Headquarters or Trypticon himself. Clearly it was designed by a medic, for a medic. The entire room is rectangular in nature with medical beds arranged in a neat grid pattern. The beds themselves vary, with some being precious little more than metal slabs, and others having full scanners and tools attached, as well as everything in between. In total, there are about twenty beds. There is room for more in an emergency situation. The cabinets line the walls, spaced out between medical terminals. Everything has a place, and organization is key. With battle mode being initiated, the huge windows are covered up as the bay is encased in metal for its own protection. Access can still be gained with the right codes, however. Red warning lights flash on and off.

Earthscorch is still where he was the last time: sitting on a table looking like he could use some repairs, and perhaps a bit bored. It seems the wait for a rebuild is a bit long.

It's with a rather prim flick of wingblades that Fusillade stalks into the repair bay. One glossy hand cradles the weight of the folded metal as she leans on one of the counters. A few guttural curses escape her, including an uncooperative demand for an oil change. A hiss escapes her as she spies the padd handed her way, and with a sharp, "Fill it out yourself!" she squares shoulders, and begins to size up the available tables. Soon enough, one of the ones near Earthscorch is occupied by her lithe form, and a salutation is sent toward the awaiting Earthscorch. "And to think that Bonecrusher wanted to get out of the bay so eagerly the other day when I spoke of military strike missions..."

Earthscorch looks over and notices Fusillade (though it's hard not to). "Hmmm? Bonecrusher?" he inquires, then quickly changes the subject. "Are you taking to command? Finding it to your liking? Have you taken my advice to heart and perhaps applied it to your situation?"

"I mean, it'd just be a terrible shame to think of the challenge waiting for them right here in the repair bay. Instead of putting you together in your stronger, larger form, they want to go on missions. Granted, it's a mission with me..." Fusillade then snaps a hand up. "Just kidding, really." At his other questions, Fusillade seems happy enough to answer, "The paperwork hasn't been that bothersome, actually, and all the arranging, and organizing, and moving resources around, well, it really is quite fun." She clicks fingertalons on the table to emphasize each section. However, it is at that last question that the mirth drains from her pearlescent features. "Applied? No, not really. There actually was this one incident in the stands of the holo arena. I mean, yeah, I wanted to claw the person's face off, but then I couldn't go through with it -- because it seemed like they were expecting it of me." The convoluted psychology of THAT quirk will likely have to thought over for a moment or two. At this point, she almost looks like a scolded child.

Chimera will be wherever is necessary for her to be fixed up. And yay. She's allowed in the medical section too! And she's not of a rank of consiquence. She's escaped the burden of being in charge. Just another disposable Decepticon grunt. Yep. That's her. Not like she's got any problem with that, seeing how she's an Autobot sp-- wait. No. That's not it.

The green seeker-femme frowns as she awaits the word that she's allowed to depart the repair bay. The conversation is actually adding stability-- something for her to focus on. Hooray for familiar voices! It's better than counting the rivets in the ceiling.

Earthscorch hrms at Fusillade's strange bubbiliness. "Well... I'm glad you're acclimating..."

Earthscorch looks ponderful. "You know, I'm glad aerospace is back. The combining with Military Operations never sat well with me..." He notices Chimera and is distracted a moment, as he addresses her. "Get shot up, did you?"

A few audible blinks escape Fusillade as she hears Earthscorch's assessment. "Well, the fiddly bits that will make command happy, yes, I'm acclimating to. But I still have to deal with an entire division of cutthroats, some of which will likely want the prestige for themselves. Funny creature, that. I honestly had thought I'd be smear on a canyon wall by now after a gangbang. But it seems like... no one wanted it before? What's the deal with that?" She looks genuinely confused, and then hmmms at Earthscorch. "Technically, we are still part of Military Operations. I report to Hun-Grrr and Onslaught still, even if they haven't been about." Her gaze follows Earthscorch's, and she winces slightly as she sees the mess. "Aww, Chimera..." She slips off the table, and then sidles over to the green and silver Seeker. "Got any personal insights to add to the official report?"

Chimera gives Fusillade what passes for a slow blink, and a shake of the head. Quiet. She's got to stay quiet, or they'll know... "I failed, ma'am." She says with a wonderingly dull tone. Neutral is best. "My... fault." Oh dear. Chimera taking responsibility for something. And being polite. Will wonders never cease? The little voice inside the back of her mind reccomends it as the best path at the moment. Large Grey shape. Fusillade. She's met... hasn't she? Confusion.

Earthscorch looks thoughtful for a bit, while Fusillade and Chimera exchange words. He finally ventures, "I would like to see the return of Aerospace as a full-fledged division. It falls on you to impress command... Would you wish to see the return of Aerospace as a true division?"

Earthscorch ponders over what Fusillade says, not entirely certain whether she's saying yay or nay. He nods gravely without speaking. Chimera's response seems to be of interest to him suddenly, and he watches her with mild anticipation, awaiting the continuation of her conversation with Fusillade. As if suddenly remembering to say so, he tells Fusillade, "If you do wish the return of Aerospace in its true glory, you're in the best position to work toward that goal."

Yep. That'd be Chimera wincing as she tries to continue listening to the reasonable voice in the back of her head that says it would be unwise to flinch at the hand on her helm, at someone touching her. It would be unwise for her to start flipping out. Cold saphire optics flicker momentarily, before stabilizing. "Smokescreen made the mistake of turning his back on me, so I shot him." she offers, hiding the tiniest scrap of uncertainty. "Not much organization." The fact that she deliberately pulled a shot on the Autobot is ignored for now. There is no reason to tell anyone that she actually /warned/ Smokescreen to duck-- Better to be invisible. And she really doesn't know much about Aerospace to begin with.

Flinching would have been wholly acceptable. Clawing, possibly. But shooting, likely not. Fusillade isn't privy to those kind of thoughts, and so a purred out, "Good," is offered to Chimera. The hand eventually is withdrawn to be tucked against Fusillade's chest as she crosses arms and hrns thoughtfully. Resting her left hip on Chimera's table, there's a sense of natural comfort in her posture as she crosses ankles and nods thoughtfully to Earthscorch's commentary. "That's high praise, Earthscorch. I am not sure if I am quite ready for that leap -- yet. My only concern with doing so is that it would add another division to the Empire's organization, and I don't want there to be integration issues. Already too many within Aerospace refuse to take the initiative for certain actions and roles. You're heard Cinderblock complain enough times out how he's not in Gamma Wing, so shouldn't be doing recon." A faintly rueful chuckle escapes her as she provides an example. "I'm seriously considering dissolving the formal wing structure/ Aerospace as its own entity will come to pass, Earthscorch. In time."

Earthscorch smiles at Fusillade, after listening to Chimera. He addresses Chimera first with, "Shooting an Autobot is certainly nothing to be sorry about...," then to Fusillade he says, "I rather like the subdivisions. They give the grunts something to take pride in. As does Aerospace. If you wish to work toward the goal of Aerospace's true return, you don�t need to rush it. We have time if nothing else."

Chimera could do Recon. Well. Maybe not. "I'm not sorry!" she snaps, ignoring the quiet and reasonable bit this time. "Annoying piece of scrap keeps underestimating me."

Fingertalons tap on hip, as Fusillade sizes up the exchange between the two. "Well, I'm sure Galvatron's head collection would be appreciative of the contribution. We're still working on the Jetfire one for Scrapper..." A sly grin bares silvery fangs. "Maybe we can throw an Aerospace party, let folks keep whatever body parts they manage to rip off."

Earthscorch is back to looking grumpy at this point and snorts derisively. "When was the last time anyone collected anyone's head? Threats and posturing are great and everything, but I don't think we need to try to impress each other with promises of head-collecting that we all know are never going to be fullfilled. I'll settle for shooting any Autobots that get in my way."

Chimera opens mouth. Closes it. There is one head that she knows of that was collected. She's just not able to say the name. "... shoot them all." She echoes. Not all there, no.

"Shooting is good. Carpet bombing is great, the higher and better. You two would make quite the team," Fusillade teases slightly, perhaps a bit unaware of Chimera's fugue. However, what she IS aware of is her physical condition. Somewhere, deep within, Fusillade seems to enjoy the chance to bark at a few of the lower ranked techs to pick up the pace on completing Chimera's repairs. "How long are these breaks ANYWAY!? Eighteen million vorn? Get your wretched arses over here and work on her!" And so, it's with that last final edict that the grey and white flyer begins to take her leave.

Earthscorch looks Chimera over again, apparently missing the teasing. "I suppose we would be an adequate team." He watches the medic gumbies snap-to and find something useful to do, and Fusillade begin to leave. "I am glad we had this discussion... I look forward to working with you in the future." He nods slightly.

Chimera would be grateful for the barking of orders to the repair techs, but there's the certain matter of how many rivets there are in the ceiling, and how it's not keeping the little fog from creeping up on her, and even subvocalizing the numbers isn't drowning out the soft mocking laughter in the back of her head. The voice finds something funny about the whole situation but won't explain just what. Twitch. And then one of the techs puts her under to work on something. Nighty night, Chimera. Snubbed by Earthscorch. Aww.

Yep. There's that whole 'having one's word taken literally now that she's in command' thing again. A quizzical look is sent Earthscorch's way in response to his all-too-serious sizing up of Chimera. "Well, Chimera is a sharp-shooter, perhaps she can help you calibrate your systems once your rebuild's complete. Whenever THAT gets done. Good cycle, both of you." Impatient, she is -- but having a functional gunship was something well worth being impatient over. The whisper of wingblades furling slightly as she spins on her heel finally announces her departure.