Lancer: Louder than God’s Revolver

[Awful]

Spindle

"Let's save the tea for when we find a better place to stop," Spindle said. "I'd keep an eye out for trouble, even if the enemy is falling back; it's not hard for infantry to hide in buildings, or even smaller mechs."

[Bitter]

“You’re probably right,” says Drifter despondently, “I just hope the lack of tea doesn’t impact moral and lead to a decrease in our combat efficiency.”

[Awful]

Spindle

Feeling a little awkward, Spindle clicked her comms back on.
"I-I think," Spindle replied, "A bullet through the faceplate would impact morale and effeciency more."

[Amaril]

"Yeah, somehow I think we'll manage." It's hard to tell if Ash is kidding. "Ready to move."

[n0ble]

"Tea?" Momentary confusion tracks across Scilla's face, then is gone just as quickly. "Plenty of time for that once we all get where we need to." A curt tone creeps into the Staff Sergeant's voice. He looks offscreen for a moment before resuming. "I wouldnt expect much, Khusrau's done a decent job of getting the civies to the plaza-" the rally point-"And absent their outer tiers Sekkur's consolidated back to more defensible positions in the upper burgs." Absent any more questions, Scilla confirms the end of communications with an offered "Still, be careful eh? Safety first." Then they flick off their camera. They dont insult your intelligence by suggesting that any friendly civies encountered should come along.

The interior of Parad is much in the same as outside its walls: quiet and gutted. Oddly, there are no civillians to be found-they must have already made their way further inside or are dead. The odd corpse, burnt or splattered across the white stone in inhuman shapes, is at least a testament to the latter, just as subtle signs of foot traffic across the cobbles hint at the former. Occasionally your sensors pick up life-vermin on-ground scurrying from your advance. Avians circling low for their chance at carrion. Canines that momentarily bare their teeth before whimpering and skittering out of conventional sight. Furtive and hesitant in their motions, like their not sure what to make of the new apex predators that walk the street.

Your scanners ping with recognition of friendlies before you reach the rally point, though the noise of accumulated humanity cues you in long before that. Coming to it from the street, you see that the point occupies the fulcrum of a y-shaped intersection: a broad plaza paved with the same stained rock that makes up the rest of the city, ringed with buildings tall as (if not taller than) a Barbarossa. Odd stains, craters or scorches occasionally mar the scene, though its hard to tell given the number of refugees milling about. It seems as though all population of the city's lower tiers is present here. Lines have begun to form for food and water, and while there are no pre-fab shelters present there are several bulk transporters that have clearly been brought here for the purpose of evacuations. The people's countenance is a harried one, as though they cant decide between getting a meal and taking the first transporter out of here. A functioning 3d printer stands ready off to the forum's left, complete with enough material to print for both your team and Scilla's, the latter of which has arrived before you. Union personal thread their way through the crowd with offers of medical attention or aid-more than a few Paradians are looking for someone amidst the swell of people-while DoJ infantry stand guard at the plaza's two entrances and exit.

Hannah "Angel" Janhee looks frail out of her mech, like a strong breeze might blow her thin-framed body and white-blonde bun of hair straight into the sky at any moment. She directs the personnel in charge of medical aid with a tight, professional look on her face, a sort of pained sympathy creeping into her visage whenever the medic sets to personally addressing a person's injury. Her ride- a Lancaster you know as Do No Harm-has disgorged a fully operational medical suite onto the plaza's cobbles to supplement things where her first aid kit proves insufficient. The device whirrs and clicks as it synthesizes various analgesics and casts from an inbuilt collection of fluids and print material. The mech itself is your standard lancaster olive-green. One of it's legs looks fresh, like its just be reprinted and grafted on. A singular diagnostic drone accompanies her, far too large to be for personal use. A cyan light comes from the tool, scanning the person that Angel is working on before going back to the deployed medical suite to retrieve what is needed. Agnes looks up, gives you a tight smile, then resumes helping a civillian with their arm.

You have to pan up to see them, but once you do it's fairly easy to spot Dominick "Hideaway" Hyde's mech. Eschewing the traditional dyad of legs that most chassis use, the Tarentella has more in common with your standard Cradle arachnoid than a human-shaped mecha. With their clamps engaged, Team Two's vanguard is splayed across the wall of one of the two buildings that flank the exit. A massive blade is scabbarded across the Tarentella's "back", while two of the lower legs, the ones that terminate in hands-hold a pair of progressive knives readied for downward stabs. Like bared fangs. They occupy the area like a stain, the black paintjob of the mech a poor fit for the white stone. It makes it all the easier to note their stance: there's a certain intensity to the pose, like they're primed to spring onto whatever might encroach on the square. No acknowledgment comes from Hyde, not even on e-channels.

Noah "Babble" Birch's mech is a collection of at least eight disarticulated arms that swirl around some sort of odd energy lodged in the navel of the chassis' torso. Balanced on four hind "legs", the Tower's insectile communication array clears any nascent static from your comms as you enter the square. The hands on the end of each limb blur across exposed wiring while another pair remove what looks like a dented panel. Team Two's resident techy shoots a disinterested nod your way-a minimum of acknowledgement-before they resume calibrating the box and dish combination that serves as the uplink to Union forces in-orbit. One of the mech's limbs gives the box a slap, seemingly to no avail.

Legwork is out of his mech and taking a knee, one hand on the shoulder of an awed Parad child, the other gesturing with a wrench at some of the Strongman's more pronounced features. A group of kids has begun to clot around Kensington, sharing in the fascination of the youth he's interacting with. Sans a chassis to occupy, the artillerist's Sparri heritage is plain as the prostheti arm holding his wrench. Occasionally, the helmet portion that Greg occupies points to the same location with their arms and the child's smile grows larger. Upon seeing you the Lancer gives a salut with his wrench, then aims the child's attention your way with a friendly point. "Hello friends!" Greg chimes in with a wave of their arms, "I hope your journey here was a safe one, there is a tea, coffee, juice-" The list of liquids goes on for a minute, including several different types of MREs "-icken parmesan too. Please, let me know if I can be of any assistance." A happy diagnostic chirp comes from the NHP as the Strongback lifts a limb from ground, testing it for functionality.

Genovese is off to the side of the plaza area, still ensconced in the Queen Bee. A few of her drones orbit the chassis, blinking with diagnostic lights. One of them tracks your arrival. The broken arm of her mech has been repaired and given a fresh coat of paint. Both sets of manipulators are crossed. A small figure speaks to both her and Scilla. Well. Small relative to the pair's mechs, especially the Staff Sergeants fresh off the line looking Sargamartha- the Last Call. The figure stands tall over the Paradians. The crowded populace seems to be giving the trio a wide birth, concerned as they are with other priorities at the moment.

It gives you a good view of the third person they're conversing with: Lieutenant Jermaine Khusrau. They cut something of a dashing figure, garbed in the standard officers uniform. A sweeping blue longcoat is wadded about and cradled under their arm, revealing the functional sword and laser pistol hitched to their belt. It looks like both have seen action. They hail you over the comms, breaking contact with Genovese and the Sergeant. A series of tattoos rim their face: what look like dots from a distance become planets as you zoom in, with each of the nine easily recognizable as a celestial body from Cradle's solar system. The professional tone of their speech does a bad job at hiding how clipped and awkward the Lieutenant sounds. "Lancers. Welcome. Glad to see your alright. Please, get yourselves situated. Make necessary repairs if you have to. Progress into the city has gone better than expected. Briefing on whats happening can wait. Until after your back up to par."

[Amaril]

No Redemption's stride slows as the civilian crowd comes into view, the skull-helmed Everest falling a step behind the rest of its squad. So many people, crowded so closely around three teams' worth of mechs, practically naked, completely defenseless...it's so easy to imagine the spider leaping into the press fangs first, Queen Bee's drones tearing into the mass of humanity, carving lines of red across the white stone, people falling by the dozen, the panic erupting, the screams....

Legwork's NHP is talking. As he snaps out of it, Ash realizes he's still hanging back at the edge of the plaza. Come on, breathe. Repairs. "Yes sir."

He heads for the printer, giving the civilians as wide a berth as possible.

Spoiler: Rest

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Spending 1 repair to fix my 1 structure damage, and 1 more to recover full HP. 4 repairs remaining.

[Bitter]

Trooping Vagabond into the rally area alongside the other mechs, the tide of human suffering around him is a shock to the senses that makes Drifter realise their successful combat has accomplished very little.

“Vagabond manages to make it through mostly unscathed,” says Drifter over the comms, “So I’ve got time to sore. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

His first consideration is whether he can do anything to help with the relief effort, but his list of relevant skills is pretty much non-existent.

He’s no medic or humanitarian relief expert, so instead he makes his way to the snack and drinks table that Greg had mentioned. The first thing Drifter spots is a large tea urn. Walking over, Drifter takes a small cup and opens the spigot, letting out a trickle of brown water. Holding the cup to his faceplate, Drifter recoils and let’s the cup fall to the ground and shatter. That was not good tea.

Looking around and seeing that no-one is looking, Drifter puts his shoulder against the large tea urn and pushes. The urn doesn’t shift. Looking around again, Drifter takes a step back and slams his body into it. The urn very slightly rocks, but not close to tipping over.

Frowning behind his face mask, Drifter goes away to take another run at the problem. Five minutes later and the urn has a sign on it proclaiming “Warning: Low quality tea. Do not drink.”

Satisfied that he has spent his time well, Drifter goes to see how the rest of the team is doing.

[Rakaydos]

TAC also made his way to the printer, queuing up his changes.

Spoiler: rebuild

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- GMS EVEREST @ LL0 --
[ LICENSES ]
N/A
[ CORE BONUSES ]
N/A
[ TALENTS ]
SKIRMISHER 1, SIEGE SPECIALIST 1, STORMBRINGER 1
[ STATS ]
HULL:0 AGI:0 SYS:0 ENGI:2
STRUCTURE:4 HP:12 ARMOR:0
STRESS:4 HEATCAP:8 REPAIR:5
TECH ATK:0 LIMITED:+1
SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:8 SENSE:10 SAVE:10
[ WEAPONS ]
Main Mount: CHARGED BLADE
Flex Mount: MISSILE RACK / MISSILE RACK
Heavy Mount: THERMAL LANCE
[ SYSTEMS ]
PATTERN-B HEX CHARGES x4, PERSONALIZATIONS, TYPE-3 PROJECTED SHIELD, MANIPULATORS

[Caellath]

A few scratches aside the Willing Victim is mostly intact so Wall decides he might as well let everyone have a go first. "No repairs needed here, so knock yourselves out."

In the end, he spends his time maneuvering the Victim into position and lowering its back to see if the miniature trauma center on it can help Hannah and the medical team.

[Llyarden]

Siobhan saluted the lieutenant before turning to queue up her own modifications and repairs at the printer. A short time later, the Pine Needle was patched up from all the gashes that had been carved in it during the battle, once again sporting its two remaining turret drones on its back - she'd originally been planning to replace the one she used as well, but instead decided to repurpose its programming suite for a microdrone nexus that she hadn't managed to fully wire into her mech before deployment. The mech certainly didn't look quite as sleek as it had when they'd first deployed - its cape was more or less in tatters, if nothing else, and a lot of the repairs were a bit of a bodge, but it would do for now until the mission was complete.

Spoiler: OOC

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Spending 1 Repair to put my turret drones back together, and another (via Replaceable Parts) to heal my lost Structure.

And as was allowed in Discord, doing a bit of respeccing; swapping my rifle out for a nexus and Crack Shot for Infiltrator

[Awful]

Spindle

Spindle didn't really know the team well, and didn't feel all that comfortable making small talk. Thus she ran a quick purview on what repairs she might need and found them minimal.

She parked her mech out of the way of the press of the people and, digging out a set of tools, spoke aloud to the NHP lurking inside her systems.

"Keep an eye out. No causing trouble, OK?"
The low chuckle the NHP gave back was inconclusive, but she chose to take it as an affirmative.

Spoiler

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Away from the handbook but I think I'm just spending a repair to get my hp to full and reset my overcharge?