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Reforged; Necessity is the mother of invention
Topic Started: Jul 19 2012, 10:59 AM (554 Views)
Blue Warlord

"You got a point, Des." Rusty yawned again, stretching his arms out. "I mean, it'll still be here tomorrow, right? As far as I know we haven't got to rush for anything right now whilst Rachel's still gathering people. Actually, speaking of which, did any others come with you?" the mechanic quizzed, honestly curious. "She looked tired as all hell last time I looked and that's normally cause she does group teleports. One guy couldn't have taken THAT much out of her."

At the mention of the red head though, Rusty bristled slightly, his voice low and controlled.

"Let's just say I said some things about her boyfriend that I still believe in. She didn't like them. Let's leave it at that."

Walking back towards the blades, Rusty began to start measuring lengths and noting them down, work ethic re-established in order to get out of discussing Tsubaki Yayoi any further.
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Smitejr
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Noting Rust's desire not to talk further on the subject, Desmond decides to answer his previous question.

"Yes. I have been brought here along with Micah and his group, of Sureshot. I had a fortunate run-in with them, and Rachel's timing was even more fortunate."

Sighing as Rust gets back to work, Desmond takes a seat.

"Just because you had a bad run-in with a friend, doesn't mean you should take it out on your new weapons. They might resent you for it, down the line."
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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Blue Warlord

The mechanic abruptly stopped measuring stuff on the new weapons as a memory flashed through his mind.

Splitting the head neatly in two, the Kingfisher fell limp, defeated. The Halford gleamed once, as if to show Rusty what it had done, as if to ask if he was proud.


"Yeah...yeah, you're right. Again." Rusty muttered, hands flat on the work bench, head bowed deep in thought. "They... gah, this sounds silly. But they can look after you, can't they?" Not yet facing the mercenary, the rocker gently lowered the complete axeblade back down. "I mean, already this one feels like it was made BY me, FOR me. Halford felt like a guardian, a protector. Like my Dad, really, when I was younger. This... This one doesn't even have a name yet and it already feels like a partner or a comrade. That's why I wanna add the stuff to it. It needs it's own identity. Or like you said. It's gonna resent me for it down the line..."

NOW Rusty turned around, looking as if he hadn't talked out of his arse for the past two minutes.

"Micah's back?! That's actually awesome! I left my gun kits back at The Duct Tape when it got murderration beam'd so hopefully he managed to get some of his stock through that I can work with!"
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Smitejr
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Desmond smiles.

"I am not sure if weapons truly have personalities of their own, but I can see why some might believe that. I do not know whether they do or not, but I assume they do. No need to take chances, correct?"

Chuckling softly, he continues. "And if that's how you feel, adorn it as you please. If it is anything like yourself, then it wants to be as garish as possible."

When Rust brings up the beastkin, however, he shrugs.

"I do not know where he is at the moment. You may look for him throughout the mansion, but I felt that it was necessary to check up on you. I heard that you were working yourself to death, and I was correct."
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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Blue Warlord

Pouting and sticking his tongue out at the veiled insult Desmond sent his way, Rusty just huffed in mock annoyance.

"Man, you're so goddamn boring, Des. Lighten up sometimes, will ya?" the mechanic grinned at him eventually. "I'm not gonna hang bells and whistles off of it." The mechanic, at that last phrase, grimaced. "Right, okay, I need to name it and soon. Just calling it It is leaving a bad taste in my mouth."

Putting down the pad and paper, Rusty FINALLY sat down, collapsing in a heap on top of the wooden furniture. Already, his eyelids were fluttering. But the mechanic refused to let them fall completely. He'd finally gotten a decent weapon and he was so close to finishing it!

"M'not working myself to death..." he muttered as a rebuttal. "If I was, you'd know about it. I'm ho-*yawn*-onest. I promise, I'm absolutely fi-*yawn*-ne."

Smacking his lips together slightly, the rocker splashed some water from his flask into his face, trying to wake himself up some.

"Need to find Micah anyway...he can help with the flame barrels I was thinking of. And...and...and other stuff... Me no thinky good right now."

The Soul Pick, normally glowing bright white under his shirt, was glowing dimmer and dimmer, indicating his tiredness and fatigue.
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Smitejr
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Desmond nods. Rust was obviously not in a good state of mind at present, and should be treated as if he had imbibed an unhealthily high amount of alcohol.

"Rust. Be reasonable, you are exhausted. If you do not rest, than I will have no choice but to render you unconscious."

He didn't want to attempt that, if at all possible. His skillset was primarily meant to kill, and that included most of his knowledge of martial arts. Still, he believed he could limit himself, if that proved to be his only recourse.
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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Blue Warlord

"Render me KO'd? Des, man...thought you were cool. Honestly, I'm completely and utterly 100% fit as a fiddle. Like I could probably go a round with Orpheus again right now I feel that go-"
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Smitejr
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Noting that Rust did not heed his words, Desmond slowly, imperceptibly assumes a fighting stance as Rust blathers on. Moving immediately, he starts with a punch to the gut, followed by a trip, forcing Rust to the ground.

Bending down on one knee, Desmond ends the combo, with a fierce punch to the head. Letting out the breath he held, he admired his handiwork.

"I hope I didn't go too far..." Desmond muses. It had never been a problem before, as it usually didn't matter even on live-capture assignments. Usually, those clients didn't particularly care if their prey had brain damage.
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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