heavyweaponsbot | 12th Transmission

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12th Transmission

I tire of this ship, its crew, and its... holidays. I have no use for these toys. What is the meaning of this?

And is there nowhere I can have a proper spar? Settle for the bees again, if nothing else...

Hmnf.

[The comm clicks off. If anyone is so inclined, the weapons master can be found down in the caves, brooding, and occasionally slamming a fist or two into the walls.

As for his squeaky whale, it has been deposited safely in front of a certain medical officer's door without so much as a word on the subject.]

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[Ripa's two hearts are hammering furiously as he exerts himself, pushing back against Ironhide. The unfortunate reality is that the mech is far heavier than him, and with the Arbiter's arm in his grasp like this, he can't do much.

As a last-ditch effort he sweeps one leg out, attempting to knock Ironhide off his feet so that he can escape his opponent's grip.]

[There is a low, popping crunch as his leg impacts Ironhide's bad one. The hip was already a weak point to begin with. The sudden, hard impact, following the battle in Egypt, following centuries of hasty repair... The joint crumpled.

Feeling his leg going, he pushed forward with the remaining limb, trying to overwhelm his opponent with his weight alone as he went down.]

[Strong as Ripa is, there's not much he can do against Ironhide's sheer force, who outweighs him pretty handily. When the mech pushes against him he ultimately falls too, his injured leg giving out on him.

When he hits the ground he tries to roll and reverse the position. The Sangheili does not want to be the one to get pinned.]

[He can't do much besides fall, propping himself up on one hand. Warnings are flashing all over his HUD. The hip is nothing new, but the chest--it was already dangerous. Now it's worse.]

... Should finish this. Not... going to damage you further.

Edited 2009-11-18 06:12 (UTC)

Damage me?

[Ripa at first narrows his eyes in disdain, but he can see how the mech is sagging. Before he would not have held back, would have pressed for victory... but Ironhide was a brave and valiant fighter. The Sangheili's gotten his thrill from this battle. For now, it's enough.]

... Fine. We can end this, then.

[He may be a decent warrior, but he's also as stubborn as rocks are hard. A slight nod, and a shuttering of his optics are the thanks the other gets in return. He is grateful--he simply can't bring himself to voice it.

Slowly, he hauls himself up.]

You... fight well. I am... impressed.

[Ripa honestly doesn't seem too surprised to hear this-- arrogant bastard. Nonetheless, he knows respect is mandated in sparring sessions such as this, and the words he offers are in earnest.]

Yes... your race seems to be very well-suited to combat, as well. Powerful and strong. I would offer to tend to the wounds I inflicted on you, but... I obviously do not have knowledge of how to run repairs on your kind.

You have someone that can, yes?

We... are. Now.

[He rolls his shoulders, leaning against the wall. Yes, he has someone... someone he doesn't particularly want to see. He doesn't answer that, simply studies the floor, wondering how best to get out of here.]

Know nothing of how to fix your race either... Not too badly damaged?

[Ripa snorts lightly, trying to play off how thoughtfully he's assessing his own condition.]

Nothing that time will not heal. Those teeth of mine you knocked out should grow back fairly soon. As for the leg... I will just have to walk on it.

[He nods briefly, satisfied by this. If his opponent will be fine... nothing to worry about. His internal mandate survives after all.

He turns to limp off toward the exit, half-dragging the damaged leg.]

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12th Transmission

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