whatsinthehatch | The Crash Site

I don't believe that I had ever witnessed such a lesson, myself. Yet here, in what you suppose must be purgatory, there is an artificial man, a machine with limbs. Quite a charming man, in fact, for one so clearly man-made. And it seems he has siblings here with him.

Hypothetically speaking? [One corner of the automaton's mouth twitched with a hint of a wry smile. He extended his hand to Peter, intending to haul him to his feet.] We're stranded on an island with very few supplies, no shelter other than what we can build ourselves, and no access to medical aid.

[The Spine's voice wavered and dropped in volume at the last point. This was something that was weighing on him particularly heavily. He hoped that Peter wouldn't catch his vocal slip; irrational as he knew it was--and he was usually so very rational--he felt as though speaking of Miss B's injuries would remind Death that she hadn't been collected yet.]

I think the colloquial term is "up a creek without a paddle".

The Spine's booted feet dug deeper into the shifting sand as he pulled. It was too unstable, he couldn't get a good stance--the tear was widening, but not quickly enough. Smoke poured from the shredded metal and he could see the flames flickering inside. "This isn't goin' fast enough," he muttered under his breath. Not nearly. They could withstand fire, to a point, that was certain, but he wasn't going to risk it.

"Hatchy, stand back, I'm gonna make a bigger hole--"

[ He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ]

That is interesting! I don't know, I won't start to pretend as if I know how this is all supposed to work! All I know is, I'm not really supposed to be here. And it is hot. Far too hot.

[ The poor doctor has clearly never experienced the tropical sun. ]

Did they arrive as well? They mustn't be part of this 'island' then...

[ He folded his arms, staring off for a moment. ]

This is all very strange.

[Sure, it might work, or he might find himself looking up into the bespectacled green eyes of a stranger. The man is streaked in soot, fine clothes tattered and singed. His ginger hair, graying at the temples, is disheveled.]

If it works, where do you expect to be?

[His accent is English--the yawning, rounded vowels of a classical education.]

Edited (what is sentence structure) 2014-01-15 19:03 (UTC)

[A man stands just out of reach of the waves that lap the shore, squinting through cracked glasses at the approaching boat.

When it draws near, his eyebrows lift--is that a plague doctor? How very... odd.]

I would answer your question, sir, but I haven't the foggiest where Trasen might be. Were you at a fancy dress party?

[It's the only logical explanation.]

[There's a tremendous splashing and, just as Madoka's hands are about to slip from the wood, a strong hand encircles her wrist and hauls her up into someone's arms.

She's set gently on dry sand. The middling tall man that had saved her sits with exaggerated care at her side, regarding his soaked thighs with a grimace before pressing a finger to her pulse.]

Still alive, thank the Gods. Excuse me? Miss? Can you hear me?

Edited 2014-01-15 18:10 (UTC)

If it had been anyone other than The Spine, Rabbit would have put up a vicious fight, stubbornly drawing that crushed in head to her chest and childishly refusing to let go of the body or give up hope. But, this was the brother that she'd stood side-by-side with for nearly one hundred and eighteen years, the sibling who she'd experienced all of the wonders and horrors of life with. Despite their playful bickering and explosive arguments, The Spine was always her closest friend and confidant, the only member of the Walter family left who knew her as well as she knew herself.

Sure, The Jon and Hatchworth were so very important to her, but they were her baby brothers. The silver automaton was much more her equal and friend.

Skinny fingers twitched around the human woman's skull before Rabbit shifted into a kneel, the glow of her mismatched optics dimming as the stranger was set back down carefully onto the sand, the 'bot remaining there for just a moment longer, to gently adjust her position to something less horrifying than a corpse. Arms curled and head tilted to the side as if she was just taking a nap...

But then Rabbit was huffing steam and straightening, not-so-crooked mouth setting into a firm, unreadable line, though the look in her photoreceptors was still sorrowful. "Ya t-t-t-tt-take that side, check th' inside o' plane. I'll l-look near th' wing."

Time to find their family.

[Observation or not, Rabbit doesn't necessarily like that attitude, enough that it knocks the friendly chattiness right out of the 'bot.] Hmm. Well, I'm g-g-gonna check on my family. Petey s-said not t' stray too far from th' beach since they'll p-pr-probably be comin' t' pick us up real soon.

The automaton's heavy feet sent sand flying as the pair progressed forward out of the wreckage, back to where Rabbit had last seen her family. So far, Peter, Spine, Hatchy, and now Paige had been tracked down through the wreckage. That just left another Walter Girl somewhere out there...

"True--" Though it seemed the lady!bot was somewhat distracted in her response, carrying her Walter Girl away from the thick smoke, arms curling protectively around Paige as steam hissed into the air. " 'Sides, g-g-guess we gotta have some fun while we wait t' be rescued. Don't wanna s-s-see Th'Spine get all pouty like he does."

No, that was mostly you, Rabbit.

[The taller, far heavier figure only moved forward as the doctor attempted to wiggle out of her reach, causing his side of the boat to abruptly drop again, before a copper fist was curling around the robes in front of him, her metal mouth pressing together into an unhappy line. This was not a happy robot.

Rabbit's bi-colored optics flickered to the severed limb--mouth twitching unpleasantly at the sight--before Malkus was hefted up with ease and, gracelessly, tossed onto the sandy beach, head first.] I'm t-t-takin' over yer boat, Squawky!

Edited 2014-01-15 22:02 (UTC)

[There was a long, long pause before Peter finally responded. Now that he was standing, he could see the full extent of the wreckage, and that combined with Spine's somber tone (he caught that vocal slip, he'd known the 'bot too long not to pick up on something like that!) was making the awful reality of the situation sink in.]

... Well, crud. Sounds more like "on the deck of the Titanic, while the Hindenburg bursts into flames on the horizon."

No medical aid? How many people have been hurt? A plane this size dropping off the radar must've alerted somebody in air traffic control, maybe some of the radio equipment survived...

[Going straight into problem-solving mode gave Peter something to focus on other than sheer horror!]

[The stranger didn't phase him much. After all, this was probably a still a dream, albeit a very realistic dream with a ramped-up mental budget that allowed for higher levels of detail and extra background characters. Any minute now, the stranger was probably going to turn into some kind of Lovecraftian tentaclebeast. Peter just shrugged, still sprawled back in the sand.]

Well, preferably in my bed. Failing that, I might've fallen asleep at one of the desks, or maybe one of the worktables in the labs...

Given the current surroundings, I'm wondering if I fell asleep watching some kind of disaster movie marathon, although if that were the case, there would probably be more piranhas and giant sharks.

"Okay. The Spine." There wasn't really a whole lot of room for him to stand back, but Hatchworth made do, shuffling away to stand back near the flaming remains of his crate. And the flaming remains of what had probably been a lady.

After staring down at her for a moment, he turned away and started beating out the flames on his clothes with jerky motions. Don't think about it. Too much steam hissed out with each motion; he'd filled up before the trip, but the heat was overtaxing his boiler. Hatchy had always thought fire was pretty, but he didn't like being quite this close to it anymore.

[No sign of tentacles yet, at least; just a tired and careworn man attempting to smile.]

Undoubtedly.

[The stranger removes his glasses and futilely attempts to clean them on his shirt. He holds them up to the light and regards the results with a resigned sigh.]

Much as it pains me to be the bearer of ill tidings, you are not, in fact, dreaming. That wreckage is quite real. As am I.

That's about the size of it. [The Spine takes a step back now that Peter is on his feet. He rubs at the back of his neck, not quite meeting the inventor's gaze.] The cockpit is mostly intact, I think--let's get back to everyone else first, though, okay? I'll fill you in on the way.

"Nah, he'll get all sulky anyways. Complain we're not appreciating the gravity of the situation." More just talking because it distracted her from the blossoming ache, and because it would reassure Rabbit somewhat. She was okay enough to talk, that was a good sign!

"Given it's the gravity of the situation that's got us here I gotta admit I don't appreciate it at all."

"Right..." The Spine tore his gaze away from the lost woman, wishing that had something to cover her. It seemed inhuman, leaving her exposed to the elements like that. He glanced around, quickly, and spotted a suitcase nearby that had been thrown from the bowels of the plane. It had burst open on impact with the sand, spilling its contents.

A flowery sundress was used as an impromptu death shroud. The bright colors seemed irreverent; it was the best that he could do.

The sand seemed to suck at his heavy feet, slowing him down as he powered toward the wreckage. There were more bodies, broken and immobile. The plane had been nearly full. "Hello...? Is anyone--" Alive? He cut himself off and tried again. "Does anyone need help?" The passenger compartment of the jet lay open like a gaping wound, the tail half-submerged in the sea. The Spine approached carefully, sensors alerting him to fuel in the air and heat from the flames all around.

Gingerly, he stepped up into the listing compartment.

Edited 2014-01-17 03:06 (UTC)

A quick blast with the old tesla ought to do it--

Plating shifted and steam hissed as he prepared to bring the old weapon online, raising his hand. With a screeching, grinding finality all movement ceased, The Spine's arm caught midway in the transformation from appendage to device.

Error.

"Uh..." Well, okay. He'd just try something else. He opened his mouth, and--

Error.

No time. There was no time to sort himself out. The Spine gripped the edge of the tear and started hauling again. "Hatchy, if you've got any ideas now'd be the time...!"

Hatchworth looked up from where he had been waiting. So he wasn't going to blow it open? Why not? The Spine wasn't damaged, was he?

Gloved hands hovered hesitantly over the hatch in his chest for a moment, before swinging it open. He didn't have his cannon anymore, but of course the rift was still there - maybe he could still do it? "I have an. idea. Stand back."

He vented a long jet of steam, fingers nervously twitching together. Okay. Okay. Managing the blue matter wasn't as easy as using a normal weapon would have been; even in war he'd never precisely been able to control what came out. Hatchy tried to hold very still and think maybe-a-cannonball-or-something-definitely-not-actual-blue-matter-blast thoughts as he felt the rift twist and warp inside him...

...and a turkey sandwich popped out and fell onto the ground. And then caught fire.

"Never. mind."

[ When he finally touched the sand, Malkus remained seated firmly in his boat. He wasn't sure, after all, whether or not he'll need to make a quick retreat back into the waves! ]

It's-

[ He turned his back and extended a long slender arm towards the ocean horizon. ]

It should be across the lake, but I don't remember the lake having all of this sand on the other side. A party? No! Hohoh- as creative as this face may be, it's part of my profession!

[Peter stares up at the man for a few more seconds, before his shoulders sag and he grudgingly climbs to his feet. Reality has dropped on him like a ton of bricks, and when he finally speaks up again, it's in a much quieter voice without a hint of conversational levity.]

... Shoot.

I was really, really hoping that that wouldn't be the case, no offense meant. Were you on the...?

[He tilts his chin towards the plane, spidering his thin fingers together. He can't help but stare at the wreckage. God, how many people had been on that thing? How many were still alive?]

[ Faster and faster, the feeling of numb denial faded away only to be replaced by a growing sense of utter dread and complete horror. Something about this approaching womanbot made her suddenly too real. His eyes focusing on the inhuman metal of her countenance threw his brain deep into the uncanny valley.

When her hand curled around his robe, a flash of terror jolted his nerves awake with a shudder. Oh hell he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He was LOST. ]

N-No. No. No!

[ His hands shot and latched onto her wrist. The doctor gave a shrieking yell as he was lifted and tossed onto the sandy sandy sand of this scary island. The impact of his body leaving the safezone of his boat was the sealing nail on his coffin. ]

No! I have to go, I must leave! I don't want to be here! Stop! Thief! Thief!

[His gaze follows the jut of Peter's chin to the wreckage and he nods.]

... Indeed.

[A distant, sorrowful frown deepens the lines on his face.]

It was a... harrowing experience, to say the least. Do you not recall?

Part of your... [Give him a moment, his mind is changing tack. This man is clearly not the survivor of a shipwreck he had at first assumed.

Either that, or the bird-man is very, very delusional.]

Pardon me, but if I understood you correctly, you're claiming to be in a profession that hasn't existed for quite some time. Are you quite certain you haven't come from... someplace else? A shipwreck, perhaps?

The Crash Site

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that's all right, so am I!

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