Noisy Boy, The Steel Samurai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wakizashi_straight) wrote2012-06-13 11:32 pm
wakizashi_straight) wrote2012-06-13 11:32 pm
Fading
who ; Noisy Boy, Midas, Charlie & Max Kenton
what ; Noisy Boy is running out of good years
where ; Crash Palace & Tallett's Gym
when ; n/a
warning(s) ; n/a
In his years, Noisy Boy had learned that fights can turn in an instant. This? This was one of those fights. Using the Pain Revolution this early in a fight was a mistake, he knew, but his handler had asked for it. He wound up and moved to deliver the blow… Only to be rocketed back, skidding to a stop in the opposite corner.
It only got worse from there.
His opponent was on him, hammering into him with fists and feet – illegal fight move, he thought, with annoyance. The only sounds were the faded noise of crowds and the announcer. No instructions he could execute came, save Panic Shield which gave him a needed reprieve, so he had to take the beating. Midas scooped him up by one arm as he was flagging, a mockery of aid that ended with his right arm ripped off. He couldn’t howl in pain, so his optics simply blanked for a moment.
He had hope as Midas backed off for a moment. Instructions came… right roundhouse? He executed as was expected, ashamed of the spray of dull purple hydraulic fluid from his missing limb. Noisy Boy ducked his chin in apology to the disgusted tilt of Midas’s head. Another instruction, ‘use your left’. Use it for what? Still, he desperately flailed his remaining arm until his opponent pinned it, and the beating began anew.
He sank against the chain ropes as his latest handler screamed for him to get out of the corner. Optics flickering, it took all his energy to stagger out of the corner… in time to see Midas striding forward to meet him. Grabbed hold of his shoulder. Played to the crowd. He tried his best to stay on his feet, and heard the announcer say something. That human had seemed so impressed to see him, when he came in…
He saw Midas's fist flying in towards his face-
-his optics and audio started flickering back to life.
“-ope you appreciate this, Max,” he heard his handler grouse, as though annoyed. Annoyed but… affectionate? His optics finally came back online, to the face of the small human he’d first seen when he stepped out of his crate. The tiny human – Max, he guessed – seemed delighted.
“Are you kidding? This is great!” He started to tilt his head in confusion, but the pistons in his neck suddenly stuck and ground together. Max dropped out of view, and his handler came into view, quietly cursing under his breath. He immediately started eyeing and prodding the pistons. Noisy Boy looked straight forward… and noticed another bot.
Older, dingier, more dinged-up. Smaller. It looked like a G2, maybe. A sparring bot probably. It was charging for the moment, slouched forward and offline. Some time must have passed. More than he’d expected.
His handler moved away with a frustrated sigh. “That’ll take more work.” He shifted his head again, the pistons moving but groaning in protest of the movement. Max came up then with a headset – not his headset but a different one, he just knew – tapping his handler’s elbow with it. “Yeah, yeah…” his handler grumbled, sliding the headset on. Background noise faded out, sliding off the table as he was instructed to get up. Then, a familiar order: Scimitar Right.
He should not have been so surprised when his own right arm came into view, but he was. He had been put back together… even if his bout with Midas likely sealed his career entirely. Especially with the way his hydraulics ground together and how his arm ached from that one simple move. Even Rubicon hadn’t finished him so.
He heard his handler huff quietly. That would take more work too, he could guess. Nothing would fix Noisy Boy’s wounded pride or murdered career, though. But Max had apparently seen fit to pester his handler into fixing him for some reason. He looked back down to the two humans – the smaller one decidedly more excited – and then looked back to the other bot. Perhaps something could be gained from being revived, after all…?
what ; Noisy Boy is running out of good years
where ; Crash Palace & Tallett's Gym
when ; n/a
warning(s) ; n/a
In his years, Noisy Boy had learned that fights can turn in an instant. This? This was one of those fights. Using the Pain Revolution this early in a fight was a mistake, he knew, but his handler had asked for it. He wound up and moved to deliver the blow… Only to be rocketed back, skidding to a stop in the opposite corner.
It only got worse from there.
His opponent was on him, hammering into him with fists and feet – illegal fight move, he thought, with annoyance. The only sounds were the faded noise of crowds and the announcer. No instructions he could execute came, save Panic Shield which gave him a needed reprieve, so he had to take the beating. Midas scooped him up by one arm as he was flagging, a mockery of aid that ended with his right arm ripped off. He couldn’t howl in pain, so his optics simply blanked for a moment.
He had hope as Midas backed off for a moment. Instructions came… right roundhouse? He executed as was expected, ashamed of the spray of dull purple hydraulic fluid from his missing limb. Noisy Boy ducked his chin in apology to the disgusted tilt of Midas’s head. Another instruction, ‘use your left’. Use it for what? Still, he desperately flailed his remaining arm until his opponent pinned it, and the beating began anew.
He sank against the chain ropes as his latest handler screamed for him to get out of the corner. Optics flickering, it took all his energy to stagger out of the corner… in time to see Midas striding forward to meet him. Grabbed hold of his shoulder. Played to the crowd. He tried his best to stay on his feet, and heard the announcer say something. That human had seemed so impressed to see him, when he came in…
He saw Midas's fist flying in towards his face-
-his optics and audio started flickering back to life.
“-ope you appreciate this, Max,” he heard his handler grouse, as though annoyed. Annoyed but… affectionate? His optics finally came back online, to the face of the small human he’d first seen when he stepped out of his crate. The tiny human – Max, he guessed – seemed delighted.
“Are you kidding? This is great!” He started to tilt his head in confusion, but the pistons in his neck suddenly stuck and ground together. Max dropped out of view, and his handler came into view, quietly cursing under his breath. He immediately started eyeing and prodding the pistons. Noisy Boy looked straight forward… and noticed another bot.
Older, dingier, more dinged-up. Smaller. It looked like a G2, maybe. A sparring bot probably. It was charging for the moment, slouched forward and offline. Some time must have passed. More than he’d expected.
His handler moved away with a frustrated sigh. “That’ll take more work.” He shifted his head again, the pistons moving but groaning in protest of the movement. Max came up then with a headset – not his headset but a different one, he just knew – tapping his handler’s elbow with it. “Yeah, yeah…” his handler grumbled, sliding the headset on. Background noise faded out, sliding off the table as he was instructed to get up. Then, a familiar order: Scimitar Right.
He should not have been so surprised when his own right arm came into view, but he was. He had been put back together… even if his bout with Midas likely sealed his career entirely. Especially with the way his hydraulics ground together and how his arm ached from that one simple move. Even Rubicon hadn’t finished him so.
He heard his handler huff quietly. That would take more work too, he could guess. Nothing would fix Noisy Boy’s wounded pride or murdered career, though. But Max had apparently seen fit to pester his handler into fixing him for some reason. He looked back down to the two humans – the smaller one decidedly more excited – and then looked back to the other bot. Perhaps something could be gained from being revived, after all…?