Too Many Sparks

[chicgeek]

*Applauds*
Al, that was perfect!

[Just Old Al]

*Applauds*
Al, that was perfect!

**bows**...one must do what one must.

NEVER mess with the Brigadier - and with Em on his side they are QUITE a deadly pair. Never for no reason - but don't give them a reason.

[GlytchMeister]

Oh, so a Gatling gun is cleaner and more precise than an anti-aircraft triple shotgun loaded with plasma-chain shot?

Why don't you just start throwing rocks at them huh? Wouldn't be much different.

(Sparky Trash Talk is good-natured and delivered with a friendly elbow nudge and a smirk)

[Dave]

Oh, so a Gatling gun is cleaner and more precise than an anti-aircraft triple shotgun loaded with plasma-chain shot?

It's just that in this case, the after-effects of firing the weapon are so... appropriate.

Glytch can now refer, respectfully, to his "steamed elder colleagues".

This will irritate the Brigadier no end.

[Sgt. Howard]

"Sech high-falutin' flapdoodle," Muttered the Old Sgt. at the sight, "'taint but sumpin' fancy to go haywire! Dimo, you handle the wagon- I gots sumpin' inna back thayt'll catch sum fancy,"
Scrambling out of the driver's seat, Greg abandoned the wheel to an astonished Dimo who sat there paralyzed.
"Vat is it chu vant me to do?" he asked without moving.
Greg looked back- Dimo was still in the passenger seat, turned around and looking at Greg- nobody was steering- there was a sharp left turn coming up.
Greg grabbed the wheel and hauled it to the left just in time, then yanked the wagon's telegraph to "1/3" while bellowing into the tube, "Don't Bank it!!". Rolling at 40 kph, the top-heavy machine did come up on to one side a little, but soon enough "CLOMPed" back down on all ten wheels.
"DIMO! Ah tol yew t' handle th' wagon!! Whut did you not unnerstan'?"
With a blank face and a shrug with open hands, Dimo replied, "Hy dun know HOW to handle a vagon,"
For a moment, Greg was dumbstruck- "Y'all cain't drive?"

[GlytchMeister]

Oh, so a Gatling gun is cleaner and more precise than an anti-aircraft triple shotgun loaded with plasma-chain shot?

It's just that in this case, the after-effects of firing the weapon are so... appropriate.

Glytch can now refer, respectfully, to his "steamed elder colleagues".

This will irritate the Brigadier no end.

OH, I AM SO GONNA USE THAT

[Warrl]

Oh, so a Gatling gun is cleaner and more precise than an anti-aircraft triple shotgun loaded with plasma-chain shot?

It's just that in this case, the after-effects of firing the weapon are so... appropriate.

Glytch can now refer, respectfully, to his "steamed elder colleagues".

This will irritate the Brigadier no end.

OH, I AM SO GONNA USE THAT

But is the pun jar a pressure vessel?

[Sgt. Howard]

Pressurized? From a quick inventory of the crap that's in there (some of which has gone sentient) used as a guide, I would say it is a "vault of holding".

[Dave]

Pressurized? From a quick inventory of the crap that's in there (some of which has gone sentient) used as a guide, I would say it is a "vault of holding".

We've been keeping the more-unstable contents safely under refrigeration to make sure the whole Jar wouldn't go KABLOOIE. Actually had to switch to liquid-nitrogen cooling a while ago, when some of the puns were approaching critical mass.... it was a dewar die situation.

[FreeFlier]

hopefully I've beaten The Block into submission . . .

--FreeFlier

“There!” the big man stops the mill once the last cutting-grumbles die away, and brushes more oil over the freshly cut iron. “That will keep . . . now for a shower, then finish loading and go.”

The black wolf yawns elaborately . . . <One thought you would never finish.>

“Fifty-seven minutes . . . less than I said.” He absently wipes oil from his hands.

<What is time to a wolf?> She stretches equally elaborately, one leg at a time, then front legs, then back legs.

He raises an eyebrow . . . she very seldom asks questions, and that one sounds . . . unlike her. “Well, I suppose that something . . . substantial . . . is still out of the question?” He slaps a massive olive-drab bulk as she trails him through another building full of green vehicles.

<Cannot. It would hurt the world/wall/tree{s} too much.> Raven-dark eyes roll extravagantly.

“And The Beast is completely out of the question, even if it was running.” He waves fondly at a massive low rusty bulk, still stained with weathered soot from ancient fires. “Still don’t believe I found that . . . and could buy it!”

Dark eyes roll disdainfully in sole answer.

“Shower, then go.”

<Quiet skyflyer for stalking.>

“Yes.” He grins. “See - sometimes I do listen . . .”

Her eyes express her non-vocal answer again.

[GlytchMeister]

How remarkable.

[Sgt. Howard]

"Vat? Hyu dunt know how to drive a Vagon?" Ognian asked Dimo.
"Of kaws he dunt know how to drive- HYU dunt know how to drive- HY dunt know how to drive. Ve are Jagers!" Maxim replied.
"Then git th' damn Driver up here raht naow! " Greg growled, "and see if HE knows how to drive..."
"Hey! Mebbe dots vy he's called der driver?" Ognian asked.
Dimo facepalmed while Greg muttered a blue stream under his breath.
Maxim went off through the back of the cab to where he found the boiler operation.
"Vitch vun ov hyu is Driver?" He demanded.
"I am," stated a tall, reedy New Englander, "Is that fool Confederate done trying ta make my steamwawagon do gymnastics?"
"Vat hyu mean?- HO! Hyu mean dot sodden turn? He vas trying to miss a skvirrel,"
"Nonsense!! Trying ta outmaneuver a tiny squirrel- rubbish!!"
"HO! Hyu not see it- it vas BIG!!"
The man buried his face in his hands- "Arguing with a Jagermonster... what else should I expect... very well, I expect he wants me ta drive?"
"HAH! Hyu pretty smot guy!!! Yes, he vant hyu to drive dis ting,"

Greg was trying to keep track of the other wagons when a tap on his shoulder announced the Driver-
"Ye pet iguana tells me ye want relief- zattso?" he asked in his crisp dialect.
"Yup- I gots ta git sumpin outta th' back in case we gits any other odd things in th' way," Greg replied, "Ah'll give y' back th' controls,"
"I'm told ye had a tight encounter with a squirrel- a BIG squirrel,"
"Squirrel? Yup a big one- THASS him right thar!" he said as he pointed at Dimo.
"Vat? I dint do nothink!"
"Yup, an' THASS th' problem- go ahead thar, Skipper- she's all yourn," and with that, the Old Sgt. quit the post and went aft to the storage compartment.

Going through the engine/boiler room, Greg found one of the engineers explaining the controls to Maxim...
"Hokay- DIS vun hyu call de 'Yonson' bar, right?"
"That's JOHNSON bar,"
"Dot's vat I said... un dot controls der 'Stevenson Gear'... vitch makes it go fovards oder bakvards, Ja?"
"Ayah- pretty much in a nutshell- well, it seems 'Johnny Reb' has come back heya as well- care to run the engine, do ye?"
"Ah'm an old Sgt. of Dragoons- an' raht naow Ah'm fixin t' git some shootin' irons up front in case we gits anna more trouble." He looked at Maxim, "Thisun' larnin' th' ropes, is he?"
"Well we hain't signin' him on t'day- mebbe later, cain't tell fer certain. We got plenty of crew and the biler gimbals are oiled, we're good,"
"Ah daresays- Max, c'mon back 'n' gimme a hand, would ya?"

[GlytchMeister]

Glytch pressed a button at the top of the windshield, prompting the folded and bisected roof to extend itself over the occupants and latch together. The trunk remained open, as the turret was somewhat slow to deploy, so it was safer to keep it out.
"Steam Gatling gun. Honestly, civil war tech?"

"Civil war?" Agatha raised an eyebrow.

"American Civil War. 1861 to 1865. I don't know if it happens in your universe."

"You're from America?" Agatha half-shouted, a look of extreme curiosity on her face. Gil and Tarvek both leaned forward in their seats.

"...what?"

"Well, the foremost authority on reaching the Americas has, so far, completely failed to get anyone there. Except this one convict who disintegrated, he might have reintegrated somewhere across the Atlantic, but..."

"Oh. Oooh. You... Heh, I forgot about that, the Americas are sort of not..." Glytch paused, making a quick calculation. "What year is it? 1900 or so, right? My instruments back home indicated a temporal gradient through the fissure that equaled about 110 to 120 years behind my universe."

"Thereabouts. It depends on what calendar you use." Gil furrowed his brow. "Why?"

Glytch kneaded his forehead with one hand. "History is not my forté, but... I think that was during the... McKinley or maybe Teddy's administration... Hmmm." Glytch looked at the center console, currently displaying a satellite feed, before tapping it a few times to open a second window that displayed a radar readout beneath the map. A small antenna atop the turret began to spin, and Glytch fiddled with the settings to filter out the noise.

After a short silence, Agatha finally exploded. "What's it like in the Americas? Does everyone over there talk like you? And are those clothes like what they wear over there? What do you eat? What do you do for fun?"

"Woah, slow down there, kid. I'm from a version of the United States in a completely different universe from yours. We don't have as many mad scientists as your universe, technology progressed a little more slowly and... Sedately. Different wars, different countries, different politics, yadda yadda yadda. The Americas across your Atlantic Ocean are probably completely different... If they're even there at all."

Agatha was clearly disappointed. "...Oh. That makes sense, I suppose..."

Glytch was silent for a full five seconds as he circled above the crawling convoy before he broke down. "Errrg. Fine, I'll answer your questions about where I'm from, but it's gonna be totally different from what's real in this universe. Just stop pouting!"

"Yay!" Agatha clapped excitedly.

If nothing else, it'll help pass the time... Damn steam. I'm half-tempted to show these three how to make an internal combustion engine... Glytch took a deep breath and started with Agatha's first questions, fielding each new question as they came. Eventually, Gil and Tarvek joined in, though their questions seemed motivated much more strategically, concerning mainly geography and politics and history, though Tarvek was a little more broad-minded, possibly in an attempt to hide the nature of his curiosity. Agatha... Just seemed to ask whatever came to mind. Glytch couldn't see any pattern to it at all.

[Just Old Al]

Oh, so a Gatling gun is cleaner and more precise than an anti-aircraft triple shotgun loaded with plasma-chain shot?

Why don't you just start throwing rocks at them huh? Wouldn't be much different.

"Paugh. A rifle bullet is a precision device - one shot, one kill, especially with an exploding projectile. A shotgun is indiscriminate - and with the electrical effects it's like netting passenger pigeons - there's no sport to it. One must give the prey a sporting chance - even wen it's a clank."

"Tsk. My Russian colleagues have a word for such weapons - neukulturny. An oaf as well as a skilled hunter can make a kill - present company...excepted, of course."

[chicgeek]

Em glances up at the Pontiac as it impatiently circles overhead. "He has no grasp of tactics, does he? The faster vehicle should either be scouting ahead, or maintaining the same pace as the rest of the convoy. He's shown everyone one with a distance viewer that he has both fight capability and great speed, and they will alter their battle plans accordingly. Shame he's so impatient-or just can't resist showing off. That could have been a nice ace in the hole."

"Mmf." The Brigadier reaches into a dashboard locker and courteously offers Em a large handkerchief, before pulling out another and wiping soot from his brow. "Oh, it doesn't much matter. The territory we're going through and all of the local pajandrums with their little herds of clanks, an attack was going to happen sooner rather than later."
"Oh, I know," she grumbles, absently wiping away sweat and soot. "It's just the principle of the thing."
"This from the woman reckless enough to punch a jaeger?" Grins. The successful fray still has him in an ebullient mood. we do fight well together...
"Oh, hush, you." Is that a hint of color in her cheeks? Clearing her throat-"I wonder...I believe that contraption of his is a modified internal combustion engine."
"Oh, surely not!" The Brigadier is shocked. "I mean, I know the lad is reckless...do you really think so? I don't see any exhaust, and good heavens you'd smell the wreched thing hundreds of yards away."
"Well, it's not anymore, obviously. I meant, before he transformed it. " She's thoughtful. "I'll give him that, at least. He knew enough to better it. I'm sure even Glytch wouldn't use that." She deliberately doesn't add the 'Doctor.'
She shakes her head. "The poisonous exhaust? Not to mention the fuel problem. One can always find water for a boiler. And if you want speed..." Em grins. "Easily done. But going into hostile territory, give me a solid battle wagon."
"Indeed.One thing the lad didn't note - with his comments about Baba Yaga wagons and the like - is that Clara is not just a steam wagon - she's a gun platform. Spindly legs do not stability make, but four wheels and proper jacks...yes, it does."

"True enough," she said, finishing up her cleanup with an application from a scent locket. "He does seem to have a jaded view of solid, reliable technology."
"Indeed. Another cup of tea as we travel? I'll have the boilerman bring us a billy of water."
"Yes, please. All that firing is parching."

[GlytchMeister]

(Circling at altitude to get a good sweep with his radar, doesn't want to get too far away because of "divide and conquer". He doesn't want the party to get divided.)

[chicgeek]

(makes sense, Glytch. But what with him grousing about their slowness, and impatiently circling...)
All in fun, Glytch! Fish gotta fly, birds gotta swim, the elders have to grouse.

[Warrl]

But what do the grouse have to do?

[chicgeek]

But what do the grouse have to do?

Explode, probably. *click. whirrr.....*

[GlytchMeister]

Oh, and it lets him scan the area with his eyes, because radar can be fooled.

If you want to find someone, use your eyes.

I know it's all in good fun, I just want to show my reasoning, but I couldn't think of a way to do it in-story.