REPLY  TOPIC

» A Broken Arm, Tag: Edgar Cadbury (but always open!)
Hope Karinia
 Posted: Apr 14 2012, 12:49 AM
Quote Post


Member

Female Screw
cook's assistant
Guildless
player: Liz
28 posts





Location: Noja's Canteena

A bar in Silver Lantern Lane, Noja's was an old place that seemed to have been around since Tottenham itself was founded. Back in the day, this ground level pub was one of the finest, offering affordable and delicious meals to anyone who could afford to pay for it. The atmosphere was good, the food was better, and the drinks were unmatched.

Of course, that was a long time ago. Nowadays the place looks a bit more run down than it used to, but it's still decent. The worn metal floors are as marked as any busy road, the seats are slightly de-fluffed, and the grill is outdated, but everything still works fine. The Noja family still owns the place, though obviously it's founder passed away long ago. Now they rent it out to various chefs and bartenders, taking a lump sum out of the money earned for themselves. The job doesn't pay well, but it's a good place to be if you can't branch out on your own quite yet.

As such, the current barkeep was a rather jolly Canid named Cadomedd. With a heavy frame that put him well over the weight of most of his kind and a bit taller as well, he was surprisingly long lived, going on forty years with almost no signs of slowing down other than the occasional Silver hair in his neon blue coat. Given his genial but calm personality he seemed more akin to a large stuffed bear than any dog, but that was getting off topic. Cadomedd was a good barkeep and an amazing chef and manager, living in one of the two rooms off of the bar and keeping the place as tidy as he could. He couldn't put much money towards maintenance, as he was saving up for his own diner, but he did as best as he could hope on the limited budget, keeping the little place up and running himself rather than relying on Mechs for any of the work. Heck, he worked the place alone with the exception of his one helper, his adoptive daughter Hope...

------------------------

Makayls sighed a little, leaning back in the booth she was occupying in the corner. She knew that there was no real heavy work to do today; the bar was closed for the day as it was this time every week. Still, she hated just sitting around while Cadomedd worked to tidy up the place. She hated feeling like she couldn't help him, or anyone for that matter.

A small smile graced her lips as she looked up at one of the three lights hanging in the room, watching the bulb flicker on the edge of failure. It wasn't that she just felt like she couldn't help; she really couldn't. Her false arm had started acting up a few days ago, but she hadn't taken too much notice. A little stickiness of the joints never killed anyone, and a few knocks on it were enough to fix it for a while almost every time durring the day. She knew her big hairy father figure would insist on paying for any repairs himself despite him trying to save money because he had always been that way. Instead, she had not told him and tried to fix it herself, taking apart the mechanical bits to the best of her knowledge to figure out what was wrong, but hadn't been able to find anything. A photographic memory meant it was easy enough for her to put it back together afterwards, but she had simply blamed it on her imagination or a bit of stuck material that had fallen out when she opened it up and moved on. Then just yesterday near closing time, the limb had suddenly seized up entirely and made her drop the tray of food she was carrying. There was no hiding that from the boss, and he'd made her stop working for the rest of the night, and called up his old friend and her mechanic to get it checked out.

She hook her head a bit to herself, still smiling at the irony. She had been trying to save Cadomedd the trouble and cost of getting it looked at, but now it would probably be even more expensive to fix, and there was no good way of keeping the old Canid from paying. On top of that, she was somewhat useless until then, meaning a full day of no work as opposed to the hour or so if she'd gone and gotten it fixed herself. Her eyes refocused, and she looked at the flickering light a bit more intently. She was just like that light, in a way. She wanted to keep working, and rather than just letting herself be swapped out she had fought on, her flickering only making the problem that much more promenant.

Well, at least Edgar would be here soon...


--------------------
user posted image

I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It's something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.
-Billy Joel
PM
^
Edgar Cadbury
 Posted: Apr 17 2012, 04:23 PM
Quote Post


Member

Male Human Screw
Gunsmith
Hand of Grace
player: Pabrizzle
21 posts





Silver Lantern Lane shook with a slow but relentless tempo. Don't get me wrong: this is no metaphor for the flow of traffic and the varied stream of footsteps. Right now it was actually dominated by rhythmic, metallic clanging that heralded BERTHA's mechanical strides. The massive metal boots against the hard street produced a distractingly loud sound: look at all the eyes turning and then widening with the tiniest sliver of fear at the sight of the 6'5" hulking iron behemoth. Edgar Cadbury had a pathetically thin, sickly appearance. He looked like he could be knocked over by the slightest breath, like a 7 year old girl off the streets of Tot could beat him within an inch of his life with one arm tied behind her back (it's happened before). But with his full body armor he was a much more formidable sight. Too bad the massive power consumption made it very difficult for BERTHA to actually be used in extended combat, but her huge frame was at least impressive to behold.

Noja's Canteena: that was his destination, and he'd made the walk many times before, he knew the path down Silver Lantern Lane quite well. Like he did many times a day he was going to do mechanical repairs for a client: unlike normal he actually thought of said client as a human being. As a matter of fact, The Boomsmith gave that particular distinction to only a hand full of people. Egotism at it's very best: most people's existence didn't even register. They were tools. Direct tracks to money, drugs and personal satisfaction. But Miss Karinia was different. Did he think of her as a friend? Well no. The Boomsmith isn't capable of any such positive emotion for anyone except BERTHA. But would he enjoy gunning her down with his arm mounted chain gun? No. And for Edgar, that's saying a lot. An awful lot. (Ah the wondrous smell of lead bullets and seared flesh.)

There! The door to the bar, his destination. Slightly run down, but compared to the places the Boomsmith usually frequented it was positively charming! At least it wasn't entirely filthy or uncivilized: Edgar was so used to the filth of the Steam District that such a (relatively) well-kept establishment almost made him feel uncomfortable. He directed BERTHA's steps straight up to the door. The truly genius part of his body armor's design was the effortlessness of control. Neural prostheses were common on Tot, eg mechanical arms and legs that would respond directly to the brain's control. But here you had the stunning example of two dynamical systems interfacing together. The Boomsmith's neural signals were interpreted by his own Screw parts (which covered almost his whole body, certainly more so than skin did) and then these signals transferred directly into the armor's circuitry, allowing him to act as if BERTHA was just a massive extension of his own body. He actually felt more normal and comfortable wearing the suit than he did without it: walking using his own muscles was so foreign and difficult!

The clanging stopped suddenly. Edgar stood right in front of the door, the grim visage of his face armor hiding his eyes and directing a blank gaze at the wooden door. He raised a giant mechanical fist and knocked on the door with a resounding boom, officially announcing his arrival to the whole bar. Then with the same fist he grabbed the doorknob and flung the portal open revealing the bar within. The clanging of his footsteps resumed as he entered, searching behind the visor for his client.


--------------------
user posted image
-----
The Boomsmith
PM
^
Hope Karinia
 Posted: Apr 17 2012, 05:51 PM
Quote Post


Member

Female Screw
cook's assistant
Guildless
player: Liz
28 posts





Hope couldn’t help but smile a bit as she heard the clanging sound approaching from outside. That was Edgar all right, and that contraption BERTHA as well. She’d never really understood his attachment to the massive piece of hardware, but then again she didn’t really need to. After all she wasn’t a screw by choice, so she simply left the matter as something she would never fully comprehend. She supposed it made some sense, what with the death machine being almost like a prosthetic limb to Edgar, an extension of his physical body, but BERTHA wasn’t nearly as necessary to him as her limbs were for every day tasks, and he was much closer to the small tank emotionally that she would ever be with her arm or leg. Oh well, she wouldn’t begrudge him it anyways. She was curios, but never one to impose her way of life on others.

Once the knocking started, the young girl stood up from her seat at the booth and quickly straightened out her dress with her good arm before making her way over to the door, her meek, warm smile already gracing her visage. She made to open the door for the Screw, but he beat her to it and before she could get a hand on it the portal flew open with a crash, making her wince a little bit and shy back, closing her eyes and raising her one working hands before her face. After a moment of silence, she finally peeked her eyes open once more and glanced at Edgar and BERTHA. Letting go a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her body relaxed again, and with her disengaged right arm hanging limply at her side she smiled and shook her head, stepping back to let the older man in silently.

The ruckus had not gone unnoticed by her employer, either. After just a second or so Cadomedd’s blue hairy face peeked around the door into the kitchen where he was cleaning, ears perked as he checked who was coming in. Seeing Edgar, he gave a wolfish grin, stepping fully into view. BERTHA might have been big, but the machine didn’t even come up to two-thirds of the old barkeep’s height of ten feet, and Hope personally doubted that the machine would be able to reach around her step-father’s ample barrel chest and large stomach. The bright blue and white with the occasional steak of silver that was the Canid’s fur contrasted harshly with the pink floral shirt and olive cargo shorts in a look that was unmistakably his, and with a pair of long strides he was before the two Screws, one massive furry hand setting down on top of BERTHA’s “Head” and moving as if to rough up it’s non-existent hair.

“There ya’ are, ya’ rusty ol’ clonk! It’s goo’ of ya’ to show up on such short notice. I’d have given ya’ more time to get here, but someone…


His other hand clapped down on Hope’s head, ruffling her hair with much more success, the heavy paw enough to make her crouch slightly.

“… decided that they shouldn’t tell ol’ Cad. Sit down, I’ll make something for ya’ in the kitchen for ya’ troubles, on the house.”

When the Canid finally lifted his hand off of Hope’s head, she straightened up and fixed her hair as best she could with one hand, blushing a bright red. Of course Cadomedd had to point out that she’d probably made it worse by waiting, didn’t he? Oh well, there was nothing to do for it now…


--------------------
user posted image

I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It's something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.
-Billy Joel
PM
^
Edgar Cadbury
 Posted: Apr 17 2012, 06:41 PM
Quote Post


Member

Male Human Screw
Gunsmith
Hand of Grace
player: Pabrizzle
21 posts





His search didn't take very long: there was Hope standing in the door way. Edgar was a mechanic and his brain worked like one's: the very first thing he noticed was the arm. It was stiff and hanging at her side in a way distinctly different from the more natural posture of her other arm. The Boomsmith's mind whirred into analytical mode. Clearly not just a single joint seizing up, must be a problem with the circuitry or the interfacing, it would take a bit of time to pin-point the exact problem. Hopefully there wasn't an internal short, as that would require replacement parts depending on the path the electrical discharge had taken. Of course he didn't think about it in these exact terms: he hadn't been educated at the Thames. Edgar didn't know the underlying natural mechanisms that caused a sudden spike of current across a near zero potential-difference short circuit. He just knew about the phenomenon he himself observed and how to fix them. Fortunately, that's all that really mattered for this kind of work.

The old man was jolted out of his analytical reverie by the sudden approach of the canid adoptive father. Edgar has always despised these sub-humans, or rather these non-humans, but the look of disgust on his face was hidden by the heavy iron visor. The thing's sheer size was off-putting, and if the Boomsmith had been out of his suit he would be absolutely terrified of the huge paws. Too big to be allowed. Non-human. Even though he wasn't really capable of feeling fear inside his body armor, he was gripped by sudden nervousness, as he so often was, when the huge paw came down on top of his helmet. Extremely subtlety and practically unconsciously he raised his left arm - perhaps only an inch or so - so that the several foot long chain gun's barrel was pointed directly at the beast's leg. Just in case.

But then the moment passed, Cadomedd turned his attention and the chain-gun fell back to the floor with an awkward give-away clunk. It was only now that Edgar's eyes first landed upon Hope's face and he noticed her smile. Beneath his visor, his own face twisted into a sort of odd goat-like grimace: the closest to a real smile he'd ever get. Fortunately again, the face was concealed by the metal mask, good for something other than just stopping weapons.

"ya’ rusty ol’ clonk!"

The almost-smile was immediately replaced with the previous look of disgust. Edgar detested nicknames. There was only one epithet he would tolerate. Of course almost no one ever actually used it: it was far too formal and awkward.

"I'm the Boomsmith."

The words were slightly muffled by visor in an artificial and almost intimidating way although clearly Cadomedd wasn't about to show any fear. That kind of confidence always bothered Edgar. Indeed, there were an awful lot of things that bothered him.

"I’ll make something for ya’ in the kitchen for ya’ troubles, on the house."

No response from behind the visor. Indeed even without turning his head, Edgar's eyes were locked on the canid's retreat back to his workplace. Never could trust these sub-humans. It took another few moments for him to retrieve his train of thoughts and turn both eyes and head towards Hope. Gruff and immediately to the point, but the voice lacking the distinctive edge that normally accompanied - disfigured even - all his speech.

"Yer arm. 'snot workin'."

With a single thought, no actual movement needed, the neural circuits in his suit worked their magic and the massive visor rose slowly, revealing Edgar's face and giving him a better look at the arm and the individual. The face looked a lot older than 58, wrinkled, scrunched and generally goat-like. His long unkempt hair was slightly sweaty and greasy from being wrapped up in the helmet. The odd grimace had returned again as he looked down (with affection?) at his young client.

"... 'ello."

Guns were the Boomsmith's strong-suit, not social interaction.


--------------------
user posted image
-----
The Boomsmith
PM
^
Hope Karinia
 Posted: Apr 18 2012, 02:36 AM
Quote Post


Member

Female Screw
cook's assistant
Guildless
player: Liz
28 posts





Hope gave another soft smile at Edgar as he addressed her, amused by his bluntness and ability to state the obvious, the menacing towards her father having gone unnoticed (A good thing for everyone’s sake, really). She knew that Edgar wasn’t the most conventional when it came to talking with others, but neither was she so it didn’t bother her in the least. The grimace on the man’s face was even part of the reason she had smiled, knowing it for his equivalent of a kind gesture.

Still, standing about smiling all day wouldn’t get any work done, and the sooner her arm was fixed the sooner she could help. Again she stepped back a bit, this time reaching out slightly with her left hand towards the elderly screw as if to take his. She did not actually touch him, having learned from experience that a handshake with BERTHA using her fleshier appendages could end very painfully, but the gesture was still warm, kind, and gentle, meant to lead the contraption safely through the maze of chairs and tables as she started to walk.

As she led Edgar and BERTHA, it suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t quite sure where to seat them. The Noja’s had just recently decided to replace all of their old chairs with slightly fancier ones, but she doubted the wicker seats could keep the heap of metal off of the ground for very long before giving way. Cadomedd had to use two to sit in so he didn’t break them, and while he was much bigger than BERTHA he also wasn’t made out of iron. The booths would be plenty strong enough, but there was no way Edgar would fit without removing himself from his suit of mechanical armor, and after a decade of having him as a mechanic (over half of her life) she knew he would sooner stand.

Still, she was a fast thinker, and had come up with a solution before she needed to even pause her step. Working her way through the table, she stopped when she reached the edge of the small room, which housed a bench facing outward and some floor tables pulled up to it. Stopping before it, she motioned for Edgar to wait a moment before latching on to the edge of the table with her functional hand. Her face set in a scowl with effort, she manage to pull the obstruction away to one side, giving her friend and surgeon access to the bench before wiping her brow and gesturing for him to sit. Only once he was seated would she move the table back into place, another strain for her small form that she happily undertook to give him the most comfort. Then it was just a quick dash over to the bar to grab a menu, and soon she herself would be seated as well across from the small colossus with her usual warm smile.


--------------------
user posted image

I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It's something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.
-Billy Joel
PM
^

Topic Options REPLY  TOPIC


 


 

Skin based on Floral Lullabies by June of Innovation Designs. | Email Admin | Legal



RPG-D Shadowplay Topsites Caution 2.0 redcarpet&&rebellion. NEVERLAND Total Drama Website - Directory of the Best Role-Play Sites
Roleplay Gateway

Full page: cbox.clockworkrpg.com