| abstract
| - October 20, 2011 (Hall Of Arms/Drill Hall, Polyhex) --- Quickrazor walks in, somewhat hesitantly. He's never been /in/ here, never had a reason to. But now is different. He catches sight of the dark Seeker who awaited him, and a smile brightens his faceplates- she was in one piece, which is good, and she stood next to a rack of things Quickrazor had no name for. "Good cycle, Nova Black." Nova Black notices Quickrazor's hesitation and twitches her wings. She's always been a warrior, and although she vastly prefers her own integrated weapons to anything unattached to her own frame, places like this are home to her. Then again, maybe she can help him with that. "Quickrazor. Good cycle," she answers, nodding to him. Quickrazor cocks his helm, gesturing in the direction of the weaponry. Many sharp objects catch his optics, but the largest thing he's had the pleasure of wielding is a laser scalpel. "There's...quite a selection, here." He walks closer, moving with his usual grace, and indicates a rack of blades, some of which are longer than his arm. "So. What would suit me, in your opinion?" Nova Black walks over to the rack of blades, studying several of them and then turning back to Quickrazor with a similarly scrutinizing expression. "One of these," she says finally, indicating a group of three heavy blades with a sweep of her hand. "They're heavy, but you're big. And fast. Which means if you're wielding one of these, anyone you don't like should probably be getting the slag out of your way." She grins, stepping closer to him. "But a weapon is a very personal thing, Quickrazor. It's a part of you, even if it's not attached. I can point out what I think will work for you, but from there, it's up to you to choose your weapon. Or up to it to choose you." Quickrazor nods. *A part of me...like hers, I suppose, except not. Hm.* He turns to the three selections, eyeing them critically. They were all large, but one in particular, a silvery blade with a widened, curved tip, caught his interest. He removed the blade from its storage position and hefted it experimentally. Nova Black flicks her wings in excitement as she watches him select a blade. It's a moment she's never witnessed for anyone else -- not really, not unless Echo developed a true connection with that sword he used sparring with her and she somehow failed to notice. And this time, she's not just a witness but a part of it; he chose to learn from her, to ask her to show this to him. That's a deep honor, and her optics flare brightly as she watches him. "That one looks good in your hands," she says, her smile broadening. Quickrazor feels unaccountably pleased to hear this from her, and he allows himself a brief moment of an entirely unfamiliar feeling to rush through his thoughts. He knew the theory behind bladework, to be sure- 'stick them with the pointy end' is terribly basic, but /is/ the essence of it, but Quickrazor suddenly has an intense drive to try and impress Nova. He draws the blade down, then- a sweeping, graceless movement, showing that he did in fact know little about what he was doing....but it felt /right/ in his left servo, almost like it was another, really long finger. "I...think this is appropriate. It feels right." Nova Black chuckles as she watches Quickrazor test the weapon. It's an ungainly, awkward motion from someone as graceful as a medic. But she recognizes the light in his optics and the discovery in his voice. "Good. That's how it's supposed to feel." Then her eager grin dissolves into a stern frown. "But before we go in there --" she tilts her head in the direction of the drill hall "-- forget that you're holding something, Doc. You're a medic -- you're built to be graceful, and if you didn't know how to use that advantage, you'd never fix anything worth a damn. I don't know your trade and you don't know mine yet either -- but I'm sure you'll swing that thing a lot more smoothly if you don't move like you've forgotten how." Quickrazor has the grace to look vaguely embarrassed. "This-" he indicates the blade "-is somewhat larger than my usual tools." *And I do not wish to look the fool in front of you.* he thinks very carefully to himself. "I should think that if I attempt to wield this as if it were only a scalpel it would not end well...but I understand your point, I believe. I will attempt to use it as if it were my own limb. That /is/, I assume, what you yourself do?" Nova Black snorts. "Well, in my own case, they *are* my own limbs, unless there's some reason I can't avoid using somethin' else. But yes, that's what I mean. You have to get a feel for it, and you can't do that if you're too afraid to really use it." Quickrazor 's optics flash. "I am /not/ afraid." He gestures toward the training area with his free hand. "If you wish, I can demonstrate exactly how /not afraid/ I am." There's not real anger in his tone- it's closer to banter, really, but Quickrazor's pride really wouldn't allow for anything less. Nova Black transforms her hands in a blur of purple light. "If you think you're ready, we can go inside right now," she says, her scarred optics fixing him with an intense stare. "But if you bluster like that -- especially in front of your *real* enemies -- they'll get at least one free hit in right there." Quickrazor nods. "I suppose the tactic of 'if you can't beat them with skill, blind them with bullslag' really isn't that effective, if you think about it." He grins. "Now is as good a time as any." He wonders, briefly, how one was supposed to carry something like this around when not sticking 'Bots with it. Nova Black chuckles. "Lies have their place, just like anything else does. I might not be alive without a few of my own. But the mech you replaced was famous for his mind games. It's always good to have a straightforward tool or two in your arsenal." She holds up her blades, grinning. "And if you're ready, follow me." Nova Black treads into the Drill Hall -- Polyhex City. Quickrazor enters from Hall of Arms. Quickrazor examines his new surroundings with a critical eye. "Lies are required on occasion...but solid metal to the internals seems to be quite an emphatic truth." Nova Black snickers. "Very true, Doc," she says, walking past the target-practice areas and into a sparring ring on the other side of the room. Taking her place in it, she drops instinctively into a fighting stance. Her expression changes as she does. Quickrazor is her ally, yes, and yes, she is here to train him, not beat the slag out of him. But a fight is a fight, and her instincts are her instincts, after all. "Come on." Quickrazor nods, considering his options and using what knowledge he has available to him. She is a formidable warrior, to be certain, but Quickrazor had a small advantage that he intended to exploit in this- he had personally dismantled and rebuilt at least a dozen Seeker frames, and as such was intimately familiar with certain innate weaknesses of the frametype. Wings were the most obvious of the weak points- the sensor net was /dense/ by necessity, but the thrusters and legs also were points of sensitivity. He eyes Nova intently for a split second, noting that her wings were a bit larger than most, and resolves to keep that fact in mind. *Part of me, hm.* He moves toward the femme, stepping far more lightly than one could expect considering his bulk, and adjusts the blade in a two-handed grip, sweeping slightly toward her left side and swinging in a wide arc, aiming for her side, using his reach and relative weapon size as an advantage, rather than a liability. His swing is far from perfect, though- he hasn't yet determined the best way to balance himself as he thrust. Nova Black twists to one side as the huge blade sweeps toward her. He isn't quite sure of the weapon's weight yet and she can tell it, turning in hopes that his miss will throw him off balance as she recovers and steps to the side. She'd known already that he was fast for someone that big already, but that was closer than she thought it would be. She darts back in quickly -- that's the advantage of moving to the side rather than backing up, and she hopes he'll notice -- aiming her daggers at a spot that his momentary loss of balance has left vulnerable. Quickrazor feels the bite of twin daggers impact upon his frame, but she'd hit a place where his plating was slightly thicker than other places. It didn't buckle, only scraped rather deeply- he instinctively jerked back backward and swung /upward/, twisting the blade toward her, but even he knew his swing was off before he ever completed it. "Slag." he said quietly, noting her previous movement...shying away from a hit is rather cowardly, isn't it. Nova Black brings her blades down to block his swing, then takes a quick step back. She's strong for someone of her frame type, but Quickrazor is bigger, and mass counts for quite a bit. Her blades are also small and not made to be locked with large weapons in contests of strength. She hears his muttered curse and chuckles. Part of it's the sheer pleasure of having the upper hand against someone who generally impresses her. Part of it's a small flare of pride; he's noticing his own mistakes and working, however awkwardly, to correct them. That's a good sign. She quickly moves in close again, thrusting one of her daggers in toward a spot on his abdomen that's not covered by armor plating, trying to get in out of the range of his larger blade. Quickrazor hears the rough clank of her blades against his, and chuckles lightly. His optics flare, but not in anger...no, he's /enjoying/ this, and his systems cycle slightly higher with the exertion. As unfamiliar as it is, he can now see why others find this so diverting. He has an idea, then- he sees her move, and only pivots a bit, just enough to divert the blow to a less-vulnerable area. As the blow lands, he releases his two handed grip, twirling the karge blade easily into his right hand- the opposite side of that he showed her, earlier- and swung in a small arc toward her right wingtip, almost as if he's drawing a line to match her accents. He rests the bulk of his weight on his left pede, vents cycling a bit faster. Nova Black snarls in real frustration as her dagger scrapes along armor plating before just barely nicking at the cabling she was actually aiming for. That probably stings, sure, but it's not going to do much of anything, and he had told her not to go easy on him, too. She sees his optics flare and growls back at him, her turbines whirling as she studies his movements, trying to guess what his next move will be. But she's not expecting him to switch hands, and her wing is a large target. She swivels, doing her best to minimize the damage. He's not intending to maim her, but that thing's *big*, and he doesn't quite know what he's doing with it yet. Her optics flicker as the blow connects, but she's lived through more battles than she can remember, and survived being blown up on top of it. She wouldn't be anything close to the soldier she is if one little flare in her wing-sensors stopped her. She grins, his own action giving her an idea. He's not a Seeker, no, but wings are wings, and maybe he should learn how much that *stings*. Her engines roaring, she swings one dagger toward his face to distract him into defending it, then quickly aims for the wing joint on his unguarded side with the other. Quickrazor raises his blade to deflect the blow aimed at his face, not particularly wanting a dagger in the optic, and totally forgets for a split second that she uses /two/ of those things, and the feeling of her blade /inside/ his joint causes his optics to short out for half a nanoklik. *Primus /damn/, that's...* He doesn't even finish the thought, his optics onlining and a very sharp ache in his wing joint. "That..." He flickers his optics, his engine kicking up another level, before recalling his very basic self-defense training, and her comment in the Tina. *Be faster. I see.* He moves to grab her arm, the one that attempted to carve up his faceplates, with the intent of using his size against her, possibly to pin her because outright disarming her has a rather literal meaning. The hand wielding the blade comes up, his grip shifting somewhat, aiming toward her thighs, judging that any more wing slices would only invite more of the same. Nova Black smirks, seeing his response to the blow to his wing. Might want to get used to that, if you ever become a fighter like me, Doc, she thinks. The bad thing about wings is everybody aims for 'em. She sees the hand grabbing for her arm and makes a split-second decision to block the blade instead, as it's more dangerous than his hand. But not wanting to ignore that entirely in case he's got something clever in mind -- and he's certainly learning how to integrate his cleverness into his fighting -- she moves her other arm suddenly, hoping that if he does manage to grab anything, it'll be her blade and not her wrist. Which he'll hastily let go of, if that pain response earlier was any indication. Quickrazor smirks. He expected that. His hand slides up past the sharp blade and snatches at her arm instead, dropping the sword with a clatter and using his other hand to stabilize himself in his position. Nova Black's engines rev in frustration as Quickrazor tosses his blade aside and grabs at her arm instead. She'd fallen for his trick -- and she was supposed to be the one teaching him how to fight. Cycling air heavily, she forces herself to calm down and take stock of the situation. He's won his prize, one of her arms, and there's not much she can do about that right now. But one of her arms isn't both of them, and the other is still free. She hisses in an apparently angry attempt to wrest her arm free -- only to come in with her other blade aimed at his side. If he's trying to knock her over, that's just fine. She doesn't much care if they're upright or prone as long as he ends up with a hole poked in him for that little move. Quickrazor hisses in pain, his plating shredding under the onslaught. He quite deliberately forces himself not to let go, though- his hands are one of the strongest parts of him, and he maglocks his knuckle joints with a click. Medical attachments apparently had uses beyond the normal, he realizes. His other hand moves to capture her free arm while he uses his greater weight to shove them down, where he can literally use sheer weight against her far slimmer frame. He isn't trying to actually harm her, though- mindful of the large, sweeping wings even.as he shoved her gracelessly backward. "Yield to me, Nova Black." His tone id...odd. Nova Black's optics widen. After all that they'd been doing, he was being delicate about shoving her? She smirks, suspecting she knows what that means. But if he thinks *this* is what she wants, he has another think coming. She twists her body sideways as they fall, ignoring his comment as they tumble across the sparring ring. If he'd wanted this to be a sparring match and nothing more, there'd be rules for that. And if he meant this not to have any, well, he'd have to try harder. Her optics gleam bright crimson as she lands on top of him. She pulls he dagger away and holds it up, staring at his energon staining it with a feral little grin. "And just what do you think you're doing?" Quickrazor feels his engine stutter, for several reasons...some of which he really didn't care to analyze at the moment. "Um...would you believe me if I told you that I planned this?" His optics flash crimson with humor and something else quite undefinable. He squirmed beneath her, looking at his energon lazily dripping down her handblade. Nova Black chuckles. "Planned what? Losing?" She turns her wrist, pointing her blade down at his chestplate. "I think we knew that was happening anyway." Quickrazor snorts. "I knew I would lose. I just did not want to lose badly." Her blade in the vicinity of his spark chamber is equal parts terrifying and exhilirating. "Claim your forfeit, Nova." His optics seek hers out and he quite deliberately runs a fingertip over the sharp edge of her dagger, drawing a thin line of energon and causing a faint tickle to dance overhis hand. Nova Black grins. "Then what were you saying you planned?" She shudders faintly as he pricks his own finger, and her cooling fans kick on, too loudly for her to hide or speak over. She transforms her other hand and takes his, bringing it to her lips and licking the small wound he made before drawing away again with a dark little smile. Quickrazor shudders deeply. "I...wanted to get your notice. To show that I am worthy of your attentions." His fans roar from nothing to overdrive almost immediately...his /hands/, sweet Primus, are one of the most sensitive parts of his frame...as a medic, they have to be. He raises his free hand, questioningly, reaching to run his fingers over those dark lips again. *It's hot in here...* he thinks disjointedly. "You slagging idiot, all the processing power it takes to do what you do, and you don't realize you already had it?" She chuckles, then falls silent as he traces her lip plates. She's not surprised that he'd like her licking his wound, not after what he said in the Tina the other night. What was it? she thinks, her turbines whirling as she tries to remember. Every cut a story...? But she is surprised he'd want to touch her face himself. She kept her scars for a reason, even after a bright shiny upgrade to the rest of her frame. But it certainly had nothing to do with impressing anyone *else.* Quickrazor says softly, "You are beautiful, you know. And I mean that." Noting that she hasn't stopped him yet, he lightly traces over the scars on her cheeks, the ones near her optics, and back. "These are a part of you. I admire you as who you are...and as such, this is perfection." His systems are shuddering almost wildly, a completely unfamiliar feeling overcoming him. "I...would not think that you would...associate with one like myself." His optics offline for a few brief moments. His hands reach up, wanting to say what his lips could not. Her twinned brands, symmetrical...a symbol of everything she is. "Nova, I...will you /choose/ me?" He knows she is in control, here, and that fact is a very large part of his conflicting systems. *Want you, to be near you.* he thinks. Nova Black sighs. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to tell you, she thinks, wincing and then carefully smoothing her expression again. He might well not care even if he did know, given that he's so taken with her in the first place. And several of the higher-ups have known and not cared, too. But it still makes her spark seize to think about him knowing the truth, when he's so slagging convinced she's perfect. "Associate with you? Why wouldn't I?" But then there's the other question, hanging in the air between them, and she suddenly finds herself remembering that she's in the middle of a sparring ring in a hall of arms anyone's welcome to use at any time. A hasty, awkward scan of her surroundings yields no one passing by and no minibots hiding in the corners, and she cycles a sigh of relief. "Choose you, Quickrazor?" she asks softly, her rough voice suddenly quiet. "We've both got long lives, behind us and ahead of us." Quickrazor flashes a grin. "I didn't mean /forever/, but if you insist..." It's clear he's teasing, "As for association, well, I'm given to understand that there is a great deal of prejudice between different types. I...do not fall easily into a type, due to my nature." He looks away, unable to stop himself from wondering aloud. "Would you choose me once, then....please." His spark whirled in a tumult of unfamiliarity. Nova Black nods, her expression still solemn. "I understand that better than you think I do, Doc," she says finally. She reaches for the hand still touching her face and moves it aside. For a long moment she stares down at his face, polished and elegant and not scarred like her own. Then, in a sudden moment of decision, she lets go of his hand. Leaning down over him, she wraps her hand around his chin, pulling it up toward her mouth and kissing him, hard.
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