Arena of Fear by Decepticon Dominion MUSH

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Arena of Fear
Saturday, November 3, 2001

Another day passes in a haze of exhaustion. Between Ravenwing's normal 12-hour shifts, plus the addition of a half-shift of tunnel-clearing labor, it's all she can do to make it back to her quarters before passing out. That's the point, of course. Don't give herself any time to think, to brood on what happened, and... it actually works; her rest is dreamless, if too short. This is only a temporary measure to postpone the inevitable, but it's the most she can do. Perhaps in a decacycle or so, Spinister will get over his paranoia and rescind his ban on tunnel expeditions. If not... a bad, bad situation. She may have to "disappear" for a time, yes against orders, but better a demotion than to flinch or hesitate the next time she's in a life-threatening situation. That would get her dead far more surely than the Fabled Femmes of Doom.

The clearing of the underground proceeds well, but this is not a short-term project. The accumulation of millions of years of debris and neglect aren't going to disappear overnight. There are the repairs to be done as well... thankfully only metal is needed, so this isn't draining Valckasta's scant resources. Very little of the junk littering the tunnels is recyclable, the scavengers have seen to that, so it is simply disposed of in an appropriate place... the border with Tyrian. Maybe use a phosphorescent sealant on the tunnels after repairs are done... it wouldn't produce a great deal of light, but enough to counter the stealth ability.

There's the problem of the sensors and detection equipment being compromised as well. She has some ideas on how to remedy that, but those need to wait until she's more alert. They will have to be placed individually and as secretly as can be managed, which eliminates the possibility of doing so until such time as the tunnel ban is lifted. If she takes an army with her, there is no way that the Femmes would miss them, and that would tell them exactly where to look. If the territory weren't so large, she could have them stomp around the entire region as a distraction from the placement, but there's just too much ground to cover and too many possibilities of ambush or booby traps.

Tired, she's so tired... Won't be able to keep this up for much longer. She can still manage to do her work well enough, as it's not particularly demanding right now, plus she's grooming young Trajectory as her Second. He's young, inexperienced, but has an impressive grasp of guile, a convoluted mentality, and a high degree of subtlety, something you might expect from the younger son of a noble house. He may go far, this mech... that, or be murdered at an early age. Thankfully, he's taking over part of the more mundane daily work, giving her enough of a breather to keep up with the work. Still, it has to end soon, before it adversely affects her ability to perform her duties. What she must do after that... well, she'll make that decision after a full rest cycle. Whatever she decides, there will be a price to pay.

Decepticon Dominion - Saturday, November 03, 2001, 10:15 AM
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You enter Grand Arcade.
Grand Arcade

Beneath the glazed dome, wan light filters down, dappling the elegant courtyard with shifting degrees of shade and colour. In the centre of this flat, plasteel expanse, a Decepticon insignia has been carefully inlaid in glittering bits of mosaic. This main access area to Valckasta is in far better condition than the outside would have one believe, and shafts and travelators connect this main meeting ground with the rest of the city.

Thunderwing [Robot]

Ravenwing is returning from unknown business outside the gates, her step as light and graceful as usual. Also as usual, she merges with the darkest shadows, something easier now even with the Earth's sun so distant. She pauses near the north side of the Arcade to lean casually against a wall and just... observe for a time. Observe and take in the soothing ambiance of her home, something she will not take for granted again.

Thunderwing is doing much the same thing as his Director of Security, were he the one to actually admit to something so crass as merely watching people come and go for no other reason than...watching people come and go. As is his wont, he remains in a patch of shadow by one of the access ways, not obeying some obscure need for drama, but rather admitting defeat to a sometimes inconvenient, yet very real fact; observing the citizens of his city in their natural habitat, as it were, becomes nigh impossible when they are completely aware of his presence.

Ravenwing isn't entirely indulging in a leisure-time activity. She's also observing individuals, their posture, their expressions, their gestures, and in some cases, their conversation. While her hearing is exceptionally keen, the quantity of sound in the vicinity negates that to a degree, so only the nearer or louder stand out to her. No, she's not suspecting that any citizens are secretly spying for the Autobots, just keeping tabs on what goes on, from the trivial to the... not so trivial. The Lord High Commander would fall under that second category, if he were close enough for his unusual colouration to mark his presence. Alas, the convenient patch of shadow cloaks him from the Director of Security as well as the rest of his subjects.

Thunderwing is not, much as song and story (or perhaps an ego the size of Unicron) would have it, omniscient. Many of his achievements have been pure windfalls, and so it is this time as well. It is merely by chance that his wandering attention focuses on a familiar form and turns all focus to it. Hmm... That the rest of the citizens and denizens remain at least mostly unaware of his presence is not something that bothers him overmuch. Indeed, it was his intent that such should be the case, and though he is not a stealth operative by any stretch of the imagination, he has spent enough time around those skilled in such matters to have picked up a few tricks. Knowing full well the psychological reality of someone being aware of being watched, he looks away from the femme and produces the datapad that seems an integral part of his existence and produces its stylus before replacing the pad in its compartment. Once again... hmm...

Ravenwing is as still as a shadow herself, even her optics dimmed out. The long, long habit of stealth. If she ever *should* succeed Thunderwing, she might have trouble not being overlooked. Her gaze drifts from one group to another as her fleeting interest briefly alights upon them, and then moves on. Something finally catches her attention, and she moves... Taking care now not to be seen, she eases through her friendly shadows to approach a small group of young mechs, whose voices are becoming louder and more heated as they debate the esoteric political point of whether or not Megatron and Colossus conspired together to force Valckasta under Megatron's command.

She emerges from the darkness in time to tap an angry young mech on the shoulder. "Keep it to words, or take it to the Arena," she tells him coldly. The young mech blinks, then notices with some embarrassment that he'd half-drawn his energy sword. Before he can respond, Ravenwing disappears into the shadows again, but this time quite a bit closer to the lurking Lord High Commander.

Thunderwing arches a brow as his Director of Security actually seems to have grasped the finer details of the parts of her duties that do not involve crawling around in tunnels and sublevels. Then again, he considers with a smirk, given that both jobs are basically rather antisocial vocations... He shrugs philosophically as he has to admit to having his thoughts brought in the direction of pots and kettles of the Cybertronian variety...ah well... The somewhat frivolous thought has not interfered with his carefully casual observation of Ravenwing, or the unfolding of an extremely simple little plan...for him, anyway. Carefully, oh so carefully, he sinks deeper into the shadows that conceal him, inching a bit further away from the femme and into a large patch of dense darkness created by a mezzanine overhead and noting with a slight grimace that this brings him into a corner. However, Raven's proximity does take care of one concern; her new proximity lessens the chance of anyone else noticing (and misunderstanding) what is afoot.

No weapon was ever wielded with such delicacy, no instrument of death ever brought to bear with such careful intent as the stylus which is carefully directed with its writing point 'aimed' at the lurking femme. As the statement of the pen being mightier than the sword can be followed with the rider 'only if the sword is very short and the pen very sharp', it is hard to see what could possibly be the point of this...at least until the Lord High Commander slides one finger over a pressure point and brings the instrument's second nature into play. What teacher or scholar would be caught dead without one of those oh so handy laser lights to direct the attention of unruly students? For perhaps two or three seconds, a small red dot of light glitters on Raven's armour, strategically placed precisely over her core.

Ravenwing barely, just barely catches it. If she had had more time, she might have identified that red flash as not being laser sights after all, but it's gone before she can really see it, let alone get a fix on its position. Laser sights = Sniper = Elita One and her Femmes. Her worst fears are fulfilled, and despite her body screaming at her to move, she... freezes, feeling the cold, paralyzing touch of death again, that blast of agony in her back... The blast doesn't materialize, but she barely notices, trapped in her own mind. Despite her fear, she still knows what she *must* do, and slowly, so very very slowly forces her body to turn towards the expected snipers, bringing her almost imperceptibly shaking arms up to line up her most powerful weapons: the internal plasma cannons. Even to a novice, her movements would seem slow and jerky, but she manages to make her body do what it's supposed to. If there had indeed been a sniper, she would be dead by now. Alone for so long, it never occurs to her to call for help. No targets, though... Where... where are they?

It does the Lord no honour at all to admit that yes, part of him is vaguely amused by this reaction in the femme. He had been half expecting it, true, but the reports and his own conclusions had not quite illustrated the extent of the Director of Security's... ah... uncertainty. Thunderwing takes a good look at the entertained glimmer in the back of his mind, shakes his head, then places the impulse somewhere even further back and deeper down, where it can do no more harm. This is a time for business, it would seem, not childish mind games. At least not ones of this caliber. And then there is the matter of suddenly staring into the face of potential pain by plasma. No, he had not quite realised that the other was quite -this- far gone. What to do, what to do... Had the Arcade been empty, he could have prolonged this indefinitely, or until Raven ended up putting holes in the decor, but there are other matters to consider, not the least of it being the potential of perforated citizens. Shaking his head in mild disgust at the turn of events, he simultaneously steps out of the shadows and flickers the light back on again, playing the pinpoint of red over the femme's form before allowing it to wink out. Time for the proverbial leap of faith. Faith in his reflexes, that is, should Raven's paranoia be even worse than a cursory evaluation would have it seem.

Ravenwing isn't in any danger of perforating any citizens, or even the Lord himself, normally. Pattern recognition was something drilled into her over thousands, if not tens of thousands of years of training and practice. Not just appearances, for those can be faked, but body language, posture, and movements. She knows the people here and how they move, and especially knows how the Lord High Commander moves, so she doesn't *quite* fire at him. If not for the laser pointer, he would have been in no danger at all, but that definitely catches her attention. A target, finally, a tangible target! Combat-honed reactions take over, and she fires... toward him. At the last microsecond, she recognizes the "target", and her arm jerks upwards, directing the blast harmlessly overhead, assuming the Lord were still in the same general location.

Thunderwing doesn't even flinch as superheated death pass overhead, screaming its message of pain even as it impacts with the dome and brings down a shower of metal debris in varying states of incineration. As the dust quite literally settles around him, the Lord continues casually approaching the femme, the stylus that was the start of all of this twirling between his fingers. He comes to a halt about halfway there, as though only now becoming aware of the flurry of frenzied activity caused by first the plasma burst and then the crash of metal and cloud of dust and ash. With a politely puzzled expression, he turns to look over his shoulder at the place in the dome where there by all rights should be a panel, then to the suddenly much thinner crowd, then to Raven. It is there he stops completely, features devoid of all emotion, positive or negative, head tilted just so and brow just beginning its incline into a query.

Ravenwing is... horrified, but that only shows for a mere second before her emotions are hidden behind her nearly-opaque mirroring optics and suddenly serene face. Whatever her fear, horror, and anger, they're hidden from view now. First things first... She glances upwards, briefly assessing the damage, then makes shooing motions towards the citizens, saying soothingly and with no truth whatsoever, "Just someone's silly prank that got a bit out of hand. Stay clear of the immediately vicinity beneath that panel, if you please, until it's repaired." While there are indeed youngsters here and there, they seem as confused as everyone else, but people are willing to accept a fairly reasonable explanation, however hurriedly it was thrown together. There are some mutters against the instigator of the "silly prank", but nothing more than that. Unless the author thereof wishes to take credit for it...

Thunderwing pays no attention whatsoever to Raven's damage control, nor is he particularly interested in claiming this particular issue as something of his making. -He- wasn't the one jumpy enough to blow a hole in the ceiling, after all. The Lord contents himself with simply watching the femme go about her business, still fairly radiating the air of polite bemusement in the manner of a tourist waiting to have the eccentricities of the natives explained to him.

Ravenwing is occupied with damage control, directing the citizens away and summoning a work crew to assess the damage and start on repairs. The Lord is... ignored for a time. After all, he has optics to see, audio receptors to hear, and should be able to figure out what happened... even if he weren't the instigator.

It helps to have things to do, a facade to maintain. It gives her time to calm down, clamp down firmly on her white-hot fury. Some training drones are going to die for this, though, as this anger has to have a place to go. Once things are in well in progress, she turns abruptly and leaves, not even looking at her Lord. Not to her quarters, or even to the tunnels, as those are forbidden her. She heads for the gates instead.

Thunderwing's mild attitude changes rather drastically as Raven's direction, if not her intent, becomes clear and his voice, though for some reason kept low enough that only those with exceptional hearing might be aware it, still carries the crack of a whip in its terse wording, "You. Follow me."

Ravenwing finds it oddly easy to pick her Lord's voice out of the crowd, however soft or low-pitched it might be. Maybe because it was one of the first voices she ever heard? Though tempted to ignore him, she hesitates... then reluctantly turns to look back at him. There's no fear on her face or in her bearing, not now, but she is *not* happy at his command.

Thunderwing doesn't give a...well...Transorg's behind -what- Raven's opinions are at this point. He issued an order and his entire attitude is one of someone living in the complete assurance that there is no possibility of anyone ever contradicting him. The Lord High Commander hath surfaced, and he is -not- going to take no for an answer. Still, knowing the femme as he does, he makes another gesture indicating that he wants her to follow, then sets off.

Thunderwing enters Eastern Dome Complex < East>.
You enter Eastern Dome Complex.

Eastern Dome Complex

The Eastern Dome Complex served as the Officers' Academy in times past. While few are still trained here, Valckasta's main resource in the modern era has become the storing and management of information. As such, the area was re-designed with oblique rectangular sculptures and muted light playing off the pale-coloured walls to create a refined and scholarly atmosphere.

Thunderwing enters Valckasta Officers' Academy < East>.
You enter Valckasta Officers' Academy.

Valckasta Officers' Academy

This series of connected lecture theatres, holovid training rooms and simulator domes served as the main Decepticon Officer's training academy for much of its history. Candidates were hand picked from the Grinder (the infamous Decepticon boot camp, administered by Straxus) or selected by a patron and given elite training in these very halls. Currently the Academy is closed, but the inhabitants of Valckasta expect its doors to open to the next generation of Decepticon elite in the future.

Thunderwing enters Grand Arena < East>.
You enter Grand Arena.

Grand Arena

When Valckasta was the main Decepticon Officer's training academy, potential new recruits aiming for the rank of officer were put through single combat here to test their worthiness. Now that the function of officer training has been passed to Grinder (the infamous Decepticon boot camp, administered by Straxus) this medium sized, circular arena is rarely used. The arena floor is flat and surrounded by a wall, which is decorated with sharp spikes bearing the emblem of Valckasta. Tiers of seats rise up above the wall, mainly plain, unadorned seats for the commoners. But in the southern part of the audience seating area, just above the wall, there is an enormous, ornate, silver throne intended for the Lord High Commander of Valckasta, and lesser thrones intended for the second in command and minor aristocracy.

Thunderwing enters the arena and dismisses the bewildered youngsters already present. Targets of earlier reprimands from Raven, taking her advice and seeking a new venue for their 'discussions', perhaps? That done, he punches in the code that locks the door and keeps it locked, barring the Apocalypse occurring somewhat earlier than scheduled. Without so much as acknowledging the fact that he isn't alone here, the Lord moves to one of the panels that control the nature of the...challenges one can find in here.

Ravenwing follows the Lord in to the Arena, offering the youngsters a cool nod of acknowledgement before they leave, then stops to watch Thunderwing fiddle with the Arena controls. She's been here before, knows *that* one of the secrets this place hides. Crossing her arms, she waits for the Lord to explain himself. No, not about his entertaining himself by playing with her fears, for she knows his explanation for that, but for ordering her here. Perhaps she needs target practice. After all, she missed him. Well, not entirely true, but close enough.

Thunderwing is not particularly in the business of explaining himself either. People get the information necessary in whatever circumstance they may find themselves...or whatever scraps the Lord feels like sharing. He is up to -something-; that much should be obvious, but one might suspect that this one feeds off the confusion and annoyance of others, for all his reluctance to actually let anyone in on the plan/cosmic joke. Another careless gesture, this time in the direction of the arena floor, this time followed by a "Down there." that is every bit as terse as before, if just a little distracted this time, as he is busily making adjustments for...whatever he is up to.

Ravenwing arches a brow, but isn't overly surprised. Going to put her through her paces, is he? Or arrange a "training accident", mayhap. She feels the controls on her anger beginning to give. Damn him. Damn him to the Pits. Well, at least the hapless machinery here will give her an outlet for her rage. Why not tear apart *his* toys instead of good, reliable training drones? Or... maybe it will be the other way around. She'll see, won't she? She takes her time in obeying her Lord, but finally ambles down towards the arena floor, a subtle defiance in every graceful step. She *chooses* to obey... this time.

Thunderwing is -very- impressed by Raven's defiance. Honest. Nothing like one who, knowing that one can shout one's opinions to the sky, is nevertheless heartbreakingly relieved to find that one can do it in a whisper. But the Lord has yet to allow any amusement he may be feeling to show. Through all of this, he has merely watched the femme in an utterly detached sort of way, as though studying a fascinating but inconsequential specimen of some alien breed. His fingers play over the controls and, as Raven surmised, some of his toys -do- make their entrance; two of them, in fact.

The drones are about the height of an average Cybertronian and resemble the prototype drone Thunderwing amused himself with several turns ago; the same birdlike stride upon legs with inverted joints, a body consisting of a single, oblong unit to which a sensor array and two arm like appendages are attached. There are differences, however, not only in size. The legs and arms are longer in proportion to the overall mass of the drone, the sensors far more advanced, and while there are what looks like either pulse lasers or particle cannons affixed to the arms, they sport 'hands' comprised of four dagger like talons, each looking sharp enough to cut through armour with relative ease. The drones are also painted a dull, light-absorbing black and move with a remarkable smoothness for automatons. In fact, the usual whine and grind of joints in motion is completely absent. The pair take up positions in either corner of the shorter side of the arena, completing a rough triangle with Raven herself as one of its points, and for non-sentient creatures, they somehow manage to convey the impression of watching and sizing up their opponent.

At his position by the controls, Thunderwing watches the unfolding spectacle with one hand hovering over the controls, ready to start the program. Merely bringing Raven's...playmates into view has been naught but a demonstration. When you are ready, little bird...

"Rules?" Ravenwing inquires coldly.

Thunderwing shrugs, "None in particular, though I would esteem it a service if the room itself sustained as little damage as possible." As though sensing its master's words and not wholeheartedly agreeing with them, one of the drones flexes one of its 'hands', bringing about a clacking sound of talon against talon. But that's probably just a side effect of the systems checks being conducted prior to actual engagement. Probably. Very likely. With 90% surety, anyway. The Lord looks down at the femme in the arena once again and now he -does- arch a brow, but there is no implied question in his optics. Merely that one slight shift in his expression and then his hand descends upon the controls...and plunges the room into absolute darkness.

Ravenwing... wasn't expecting *this*, and it is completely unwelcome. Yes, her thoughts flash back to the tunnels as she tenses and listens intently, her hands curling into fists in the darkness. Her keen hearing failed her that last time, didn't it? Will it fail her again? Snarling silently at herself, she stubbornly prompts her suddenly clumsy body to move. Can't stay in one place, not down here... She's not a melee fighter, and has to keep a distance, especially the way those drones are armed for close-range fighting.

The drones are unusually silent, yes, but they are -not- soundless in their movements. But a certain measure of stealth is maintained by the gentle tread of a creature with a decidedly avian flavour to its structure. Another nasty little trait is that their long legs and graceful bodies allow for rather remarkable speed. Oh, a Cybertronian could outrun them, no doubt, but the automatons, like their master, have a better turn of speed than a cursory glance would allow for. But for now, they stalk their prey, needing no light to guide their motions. One drone moves off in one direction, another takes the other path, apparently intending to converge upon the third player in the field.

Ravenwing hears... something, but her racing fuel pump almost drowns out the stealthy sounds. If she recalls correctly, the Lord's "playmates" are programmed to near killing force, and any mistakes will cost her dearly. Correctly deducing that they do not need light to see, or this entire exercise would be meaningless, she herself sacrifices stealth for speed. Her speed also failed her... No, don't think about that, or you're dead before the match even starts! A wry thought weasels its way through her dread and near panic. The Lord should have had the decency to paint the drones pink...

Timing her steps carefully, she listens as best she can and tries to keep them from flanking her. An obvious solution occurs to her, but she holds off on it for now. This is serving a purpose, even if she's still shaking. She hopes to Primus that Thunderwing can't "perceive" how badly her nerves are shot...

...scrape...clang...

...scrape...clang...

...scrape...clang...

Slow and unyielding come the faint sounds of three-pronged feet being lifted off the floor and gently set down again, each time closer than before. And then, there, in the nothingness on Ravenwing's left side comes the clicking scrape of talon against razor-sharp talon, one of the predators expressing deadly intent.

Ravenwing has no place to hide. No cover, no nothing, much like the tunnels are becoming now, to negate the stealth abilities of any infiltrators. This is almost becoming a foot race, or a children's game, or something else... Ravenwing dances in the darkness, using her exceptional speed to just barely keep out of the reach of the avian drones. She is still clumsy to start with, but her movements become more graceful as the dance progresses. Unlike most dances, the steps of this one vary; never the same thing twice, lest the drones anticipate her and strike, and that would hurt... a lot.

She's on the defensive only, and she knows it, but she desperately needs this time to... to... pull herself together? While she can't forget the pain, the weakness, if she lets those memories slow her down, it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. She should strike back, go on the offensive...

The drones are non-sentient, true, but these particular specimens have been programmed to act in concert, in addition to their normal, independent modes of action. And they too join in the dance. Though they can 'see' their prey, they have yet to use that fact and the relatively small space of the arena to their advantage, seemingly pleased to harry the femme back and forth, relaying her movements to processors untouched by sentiment and incapable of appreciating the beauty before them. And in the end, someone has to tire of the game.

The move, when it comes, is strange to say the least. One of the drones suddenly burst into action and like some great dark spectre it closes the distance between itself and Ravenwing with that uncanny speed it is capable of, completely sacrificing stealth for an advance that -should- be accompanied by some kind of savage war cry, but brings nothing but ringing footfalls and absolute silence in its wake. The arms fly open during the rush, displaying widely spread talons -- if only there was someone there to see -- talons that are then brought down with a hiss cold as death itself.

Ravenwing doesn't have time to think, which actually works out for the best. Motivated by a large dose of healthy respect for those claws to better even her own phenomenal speed, she is in the air and firing down concurrently at both avian drones with each tense arm before her thoughts catch up. Well, it was something she'd thought about earlier, but hadn't yet implemented.

The flash of light from her first blasts provide a modicum of lighting, at least to see the nearer one, and she fires again at a more precise target: its sensors. All this in under a second, and she's still trying to get some distance after she fires before that brief second is gone.

As Ravenwing takes to the air, the attacking drone halts, recovers its equilibrium and proceeds to track its target with the other weapons at its disposal. Unfortunately, it is not quite a match for the femme in her element and her aim proves to be true, disabling the automaton's sensors, leaving it as disabled as its prey had been only moments earlier. But the command to fire upon the acquired target had been issued in the same split second the plasma impacted, and cannot be stopped. Two lances of purple-white energy stab at the darkness where Raven was last known to be. Then, the deaf and blind drone falls silent, hunching down like some great beast, crippled, but by no means dead.

The other drone has made no rash moves such as those that left its companion in its current state. Under the cover of the brief racket made by the exchange of fire, it withdraws into the dense darkness again, perhaps eluding the airborne femme's illumination of the arena.

Ravenwing isn't quite as fast in the air as on the ground, as agility in the air is generally meant as maneuverability in larger areas than the short range involved here. One of the energy lances strikes her, but as she was already in motion, it doesn't strike full on, catching her as she was twisting away instead. A muted gasp is her only audible response, not out of any machismo but because of the long experience that taught her that sounds in the darkness usually mean a quick death.

She's still moving away in the air, but not only is her right arm badly scorched, but the energy overflow has made it pretty much useless as well. Ouch. Fortunately, antigrav hovering is almost soundless in of itself, and she has the chance to listen for the other, more cautious drone. One down, but at this rate, she won't be feeling very good after this is over... This is what she should have done from the beginning. Played on *her* terms, not theirs. Used *her* advantages of speed and ranged accuracy to keep them out of striking range. Still, hovering isn't particularly fast and leaves her an easy target, so she sets down again, as far from the other drone's estimated position as possible.

These drones were designed for combat with the Lord High Commander, and unless he followed her advice to expand his own practice to ranged weaponry instead of concentrating on his forte of close-range, these drones will also be specialized in melee. From what she's seen thus far, her hypothesis is supported... She keeps moving, listening, and trying to ignore the insistent pain from her outraged arm. Oddly enough, now that she's actually been hurt, she seems steadier. No doubt there is a complex psychological explanation for it, but she's not particularly interested in that right now.

Thunderwing has 'watched' the events on the arena floor with a coolly assessing mental gaze. Every so often an action will prompt him to either nod or scowl, depending on its wisdom and ultimate outcome, silent approval and reproach being distributed evenhandedly to femme and drones alike. When Ravenwing finally lands, the Lord taps in yet another command to alter the circumstances yet again. A hiss of air escapes the disabled drone as it sinks into a stance that seems curiously like feline repose, all systems being shut down as the femme is conceded point for her efforts so far. But this does not mean things are going to be easier from now on.

Gently at first, then with a growing insistence, the floor begins to tremble as thin panels slide aside to allow a network of walls to rise and form a haphazard network of nooks and crannies, sometimes entire stretches of 'tunnel space'. Among the sound of metal grinding into place is the faint echo of a skittering as the remaining drone darts aside to avoid being upended by the rising wall it was standing directly above. Of course, while the walls are a good ten feet higher than Ravenwing is tall, there are no roofs, leaving her perfectly free to take flight again, should she wish to do so.

Ravenwing is, once again, unamused at this attempt to recreate the tunnels, but understands the rationale. While there are no rules as such, there is a certain amount of grudging cooperation in their stead, so she doesn't simply transform, take to the air, and strafe the hell out of the drone, wherever it's hiding. She lost track of its location with the arena's sudden transformation. What wonderful toys Thunderwing has... She would dearly love to have one of these for herself.

The first thing she does, as always, is to change her position. Just because she didn't "see" where the drone went doesn't mean it didn't sense her own location. Still listening, she ghosts soundlessly through the new level, pausing occasionally to kneel and lay a hand on the floor to test for vibrations. A subtle difference now, as she's taken the initiative and started hunting the drone, hunting the drone that is hunting her... This is dangerous, far more dangerous than dancing in the dark. Her own sniping advantage has been nullified, to a degree, and her main remaining advantages are her speed and training. However, the drone can't sense her as easily through the walls... or can it? She's in trouble if it can still sense her around corners and through walls.

Hunters hunted? How...quaint. The remaining drone steps gingerly around a corner and halts for a moment. The walls -do- block its sensors, it would seem, because there is a newfound caution to its movements as it inches from cover to cover, carefully seeking out its prey, even as it attempts to remain undetected. But there is a mindless, unyielding intent about the drone as it goes about the sole reason for its existence, for a moment coming to a halt next to its deactivated companion and sweeping the area with powerful sensors that return nary a sign of the lurking femme.

Up by the control panels, the Lord High Commander continues feeding a steady stream of commands into the program currently being run, loading parameters that might seem odd to the casual observer, then stepping back from the controls altogether, watching the loop run itself and seeing that it is good. Smirking, the mech reaches down to the floor beside him and picks up a slim metal object no longer than his arm, before quietly, oh so quietly making his way down to the arena floor himself. Ravenwing has done well against opponents she has seen beforehand, now it is time to see how she handles herself when faced with the unexpected... and calculating.

The Lord may think that he's moving so very quietly, but he is heard. Ravenwing tilts her head, listening. The echoes confuse the issue quite a bit, but those aren't the avian footsteps she's grown to recognize. Well, why would she expect the Lord High Commander to play with anything remotely resembling fairness? There could be another dozen drones in here already. An elegant and amusing way of ridding oneself of an unwanted Heir, no?

A more traditional training drone, mark. Now, where's the other avian? She avoids the new drone, opting to pursue the one she knows better before dealing with a new threat. This is a gamble, and she knows it, but all existence is a gamble, is it not? If she detects the drone first, she wins. If not, she dies, just as it was with Elita One... That unwelcome reminder makes her flinch, and she loses some of her confidence. Damn, damn, damn! Anger kindles inside of her, anger that's focused on herself, not the hapless drones that are just doing what they were programmed to do.

The voice of a long-ago instructor drones in her memory's audio receptors. "Anger can be a source of strength, but unless it's controlled, it's a tool for your enemy. In other words, use it but don't be used by it. Remember that, cadet, and you might live a day longer." Ravenwing makes a face at the reminder and scowls silently, "Yeah, yeah, yeah." She treads that dangerous line now, balancing her anger against her self-control.

Thunderwing is blissfully unaware of Raven's mental state, even though he could probably make a few quite educated guesses as to the paths her mind is wandering and how many of them feature idealised hopes for violent retribution. Oh, well...isn't it a shame that he really does -not- play by the rules? Unfortunately, once he sets foot on the floor and begins moving among the walls, he is subject to the limitations of the drone that is quietly stalking the same prey as he. Being as thin as they are, the walls have been shielded to simulate much thicker structures, bypassing the sacrifice of realism for space necessitated by the arena floor, and their shielding makes them all but impervious to even his keen senses. Hmm... The beginnings of a plan are brought together in the Lord's mind and he walks slowly and as silently as he manages to the fallen drone.

The remaining avian has already moved away from its unfortunate brother and is busily tracking down its original prey, paying no heed to its new 'partner', having been commanded to accept the new infrared signature as no threat to it. Rounding another corner, the drone freezes with one foot still delicately held in the air as a sensor reading provides the ghost of the presence it is looking for, even though it is distorted and faint, courtesy of the walls and their shielding. Slowly, gently, it sets its foot down on the metal floor and begins triangulating for position and distance...

Ravenwing has not yet herself detected that she is not alone, but neither is she taking unnecessary chances. She pauses again and again to listen, to check for vibrations or even any faint air movements that might indicate that someone has passed recently or is nearby. While her anger warms her to a degree, she still feels the cold touch of fear. The similarities... damn Thunderwing anyway. Damn him and praise him, the supercilious bastard knows *exactly* what he's doing.

It remains to be seen if she's good enough to survive this again. She failed the first time after all, out of simple luck, and simple luck could kill her this time, too. "Don't think of similarities, just think and act, fool!" she snarls to herself. Action, not for its own sake, but because it's the right decision to make. She moves again, as silently as she can, then looks for a good ambush spot. As long as she's not pinned down, it's the better tactical move. What she's looking for is a place with plenty of space, paths of retreat, and a decent amount of cover.

Thunderwing kneels down beside the inert automaton and runs his hand along the smooth surface of its armour until he reaches the jagged edges that mark Ravenwing's final victory over the unfortunate avian. Finding what he is looking for, or something suitably close to it, he wrenches it free with a short, sharp sound of metal made brittle by plasma fire tearing and wires being severed. Then he rises and sinks back into the relative shelter offered by a section of walls a short distance away. Taking great care to keep his steps smooth and even, there is no mistaking the need for urgency in moving away from the fallen hunter, as the Lord does most certainly not underestimate Raven's hearing, hampered as it may be by apprehensions at the moment.

Meanwhile, the other, more fortunate avian finishes its search and decides on what seems to be the origin of the reading its sensors made it aware of. Once again, its approach is heralded by the scraping and clicking of large feet being lifted and gently set down with a delicacy that might seem comical if it wasn't so very efficient at allowing for motion with a minimum of sound.

Ravenwing does hear it, but doesn't respond by either sound or movement. She has found a position, not quite all that she had hoped for, but still usable, and in effect has gone to ground in the closest this arena offers to a sniping post. Predictable, perhaps, but it still forces the enemy to come to her on her terms. The approaching avian is also heard, as it's considerably closer to her than the Lord.

Yes, two of them. That doesn't mean there aren't more, but... just two for now. Having laid her trap, she waits patiently, already having marked the potential approaches as well as her lines of retreat. Since any scuffle or weapons fire will draw the remaining drone, she has to be ready to move on a second's notice. She reminds herself not to close with either drone. Her claws, elegant as they may be, aren't exactly a match for that avian's...

With a bit of time on her hands, she ponders the unknown drone. If it's in Thunderwing's playroom, then it's not a pushover. Anything here has to be a threat to the Lord High Commander himself, and thus nothing to underestimate. However, she has absolutely nothing to go on, and conjecture leads nowhere... except to distract her from her fear. Oddly enough, she barely feels the pain in her arm any longer. Probably going to lose that arm...

Thunderwing isn't above using decoys, of course. Rather the opposite; if something arises that will allow him a vital edge, it will be grasped and wielded with considerable finesse, be the 'something' a living thing or not. Scowling a little at his near blindness, the Lord has to admit that he may have outwitted himself this time. Anything hiding behind one of those walls will be nearly invisible to him, which is -not- an ideal situation when dealing with someone like Raven. Shifting his grip on the length of metal he brought with him before entering the arena, and the fist-sized, heavy cluster of warped armour and circuitry he took from the fallen avian, the conclusion is reached that while biding his time is a fine thing indeed, he will also need to move if he is to time this properly... The mech moves into the uncertain yet always so welcoming darkness, stepping carefully across the floor to another patch of structures. No need in being completely exposed for far too long. Now, where is that avian?

'That avian' has proven to be less impetuous than its fellow, not given to berserker rushes into the unknown only to be faced with a barrage of incoming fire. That scenario did -not- work out well with this particular opponent, so has been abandoned for now. If the drone had had a head, it would have tilted it from side to side in an attempt to fix the position of its prey, adding to the impression of a stylised and nightmarish metal bird. Once more, it comes to a halt, but even as the sounds of its footfalls die, they are replaced with the soft hum of a pulse laser being brought online. Talons are a fine thing, but there is a time and place for everything. And still, it does not move, as though unsure of exactly where the target is located and merely preparing itself for further advance into the unknown.

Ravenwing waits patiently, in utter silence and motionlessness. Her lack of movement allows her to detect vibrations that much better as well, and she's picking up occasional tremors, though not enough to warrant an attack. She pictures the avian drone in her mind, its body, sensors, weaponry, and joints, looking for potential weaknesses. Not that she expects to find anything easily. As she already noted, these aren't weak drones. However, there's always a certain amount of give and take. If the drone is that much more flexible, then unless the Lord is bestowing his own armour on his toys, its armour may very well be weaker and vulnerable to a high-powered, narrow-aperture blast.

The other drone... troubles her. She has nothing at all to go on, not even a good place to shoot it. No finesse with that one; she has to hit it hard and fast and hope that it's off-balance long enough for her to adapt to more appropriate tactics. Well, whichever one comes here first will die first. She has enough confidence in her firepower and accuracy, even in the darkness, to take out almost any opponent with the advantage of surprise and position. Which is not to say that she doesn't intend to fall back to another position as soon as she hits the first enemy. She idly ponders her small collection of explosives, which may yet come in handy. Remotely detonated, they could guard her retreat... Still in absolute silence, she lightly feels for an appropriate hiding place along her preferred line of retreat for one and delicately places one of her bombs there.

Thunderwing finally spots the avian drone, half obscured behind one of the walls. He even catches up to it in time to hear it power up its weaponry, which is interesting indeed. Drones are not given to paranoia, as that is something available only to beings of supposedly superior intellect. Or -any- intellect at all, in this particular case. His mind begins racing through a series of possibilities, courses of action and possible outcomes, most of which are centered around the fact that his tracker has found Ravenwing and is closing the distance. The Lord's scowl deepens as he realises that if such is the case, the femme has done a good job of holing up in a relatively secure place, making his planned course of action just that much more difficult. Ah, well, no plan is so perfect that it cannot be abandoned, should it prove impractical. With a rueful shake of the head, he once again considers the fact that this would be so much easier if the drone were actually sentient and able to communicate and respond to directives, rather than following its programming and commands issued from the main controls. As it is, the avian is left to its own dubious devices and could, at best, turn out to be a minesweeper, if nothing else.

For its part, the drone is completely unhampered by apprehensions of the future and continues the course it set for itself. That it didn't just strafe the general area of the infrared signature the moment it was spotted can only be attributed to that special kind of sophisticated idiocy available to only the very best and most advanced computers. But in the end, there is only one possible outcome of this, and it can take only one expression. For the second time, the darkness is momentarily scattered by a stab of brilliant energy, aimed, strangely enough, at the wall directly -above- the position the drone believes Ravenwing to hold.

Ravenwing didn't hear it coming at all, and she can scarcely believe it. Just like before... Shock paralyzes her again, shock and doubt in her own capabilities. A rain of debris peppers her still-unmoving form, reminiscent of the shrapnel from the Femmes grenades, but thankfully with a far less-damaging effect. How can she fight something when she is the equivalent of blind *and* deaf to it? The answer is that she can't. She's in precisely the same situation as the first avian drone after its sensors were deactivated.

Without any conscious thought, she's moving away from her original position and along one of her previously chosen lines of retreat. The fear is back, but it's taking a different form: her very psyche is under attack now. She knows she can't win this. She might not even live through it, so where does that leave her? Run away? Give up and beg her Lord to spare her worthless life? Well, where training and skill fail, one can fall back on something as simple as pride. Her priorities twist violently and change, and she no longer plans on surviving, just on completing the task.

With that decision, the fear leaves her. She finds herself still moving silently through the darkness, her step as light and graceful as it should be, but she barely notices. It almost certainly can't kill her with one blast, but she can. She'll take whatever it throws at her, and then kill it.

The avian...follows, now that it has had it confirmed that the infrared blip was indeed Ravenwing. It does not really pick up more speed than it has to to keep the femme in sensor range, though evading a creature such as this, given its rather specific limitations is not a particularly hard task. Twice more, laser blasts lash out into the shadows, gouging holes in the floor and walls of the path the fleeing femme is taking. Apparently the drone feels the need to drive its point home until such time as Raven eludes it entirely.

As the action picks up again, Thunderwing sighs and begins moving himself, inching carefully closer to the center of it all, while at the same time silently cursing drones and their complete inability to understand a concept like holes in the floor=holes in the budget. Shaking his head, he begins considering a number of variants on the original theme and implements the most likely. Of course, he acknowledges sourly, this would all be easier if he could actually -see- where Raven is and where she is going.

Ravenwing isn't entirely trying to elude it. She keeps ahead of it, yes, but never increases her speed enough to lose it entirely. She's beginning to learn the twists and turns of this area as she leads the drone on a wild chase through tunnels and around corners, choosing her course at random. Or so it seems... When she finds a place where everything fits, she flattens herself against a wall around a corner and waits to ambush her hunter. Her mind is empty of everything but the task at hand. No plans, no emotions, no thoughts, just a purpose. At this time, she is much like the drone that pursues her.

Thunderwing follows the fleeing pair, having the somewhat unfair advantage of being the one who actually set the pattern of the walls, so he has a reasonable inkling of the layout, even if knowing something in the abstract and knowing the same when faced with actually having to navigate through a landscape of one's own devising are quite different things. Striding gently and with as much stealth as he is capable of, he does much the same thing as the drone, as he follows it at a prudent distance and then some, having healthy enough respect for Ravenwing's hearing, even though she might be...preoccupied with other things right now. That, and running into a potential crossfire is not exactly high on his list of worthwhile ways to spend a cycle.

Training drones, no matter how sophisticated, are not much given to creative thinking, and the avian creature is no exception. It does follow Ravenwing, taking great care never to let her signature become obscured by an increased distance. Already several internal systems are processing subtle shifts in the surroundings and the prey's motions, but from the time the conclusion is reached to the time the warning is issued anything can happen.

Ravenwing is too close, and she knows it, but deems it an acceptable risk. After all, she has little to lose, and as she can't detect the thing anyway, a ranged attack is all but useless. She waits for it to shoot her, as that's the only notification she'll get before she launches her own attack, or so she thought... The unmistakable sound of that avian gait reaches her audio receptors, even though she's not even listening. Once again, training takes over, but not in the usual way, as she's not specialized in hand-to-hand... Well, that brief drilling in melee combat accomplished something after all.

As the drone turns the corner, she closes with it. Unwise, yes, but then again, survival is optional, not a requirement. With all the speed she can muster, she drives her left hand towards that sensor array, with the intention of triggering a powerful electronic pulse directly into the sensitive equipment. That's normally for infiltrating security systems, and at a much lower power level, but one must be creative these days. Is that fickle lady, Luck, finally turning her way again? Bah. There's no trusting that one.

Ah, but one of that esteemed lady's traits is that she always appears unsummoned and unbidden. Perhaps it is her presence that descends upon femme and drone, or perhaps Raven is simply as good as her accomplishments would indicate (a truly heretical thought in some circles), but whatever the reason, the Valckastan's ploy is rewarded with a high pitched wail, overloading systems, and the acrid smell of burning circuits. But successful or not, the gamble comes with risks all of its own, not the least of which being the proximity to eight blades, all curved like scimitars and just as lethal. Suddenly deprived of 'sight', the avian has little choice but to lash out blindly, seeking to connect with the intruder that hurt it so.

Gliding through the darkness, Thunderwing pauses as the sound of the drone's misfortune reaches him, then nods once and sets off again. At this point, there is a convergence and a parting of ways of the plans and scenarios that have been playing themselves out in his mind and there are two ways to proceed. Ah, well...no time to dither and fret...especially since the Lord would have to actually learn to do either first. Turning a corner and finally coming within visual range of both his prey and decoy, to his mind's eye engaged in what seems like a most outlandish formal dance, the mech takes an action that might bring the exercise to an end a little sooner than intended and breaks into a run to close the distance between himself and the other two. With optics narrowed in concentration, the mech brandishes the metal bar he has been carrying around, bringing it down and around in an arc intended to strike a ringing blow to the small of Ravenwing's back while at the same time scanning the femme's movements for any hint that she will strike back...or even first. Having his armour torn open by those claws of hers would not only defeat a point, it would also be rather...embarrassing.

Despite her current blasa33; attitude towards her life, Ravenwing has no desire to be ripped open by those devastating claws, especially with her special front and back armour having recently been replaced by much weaker standard armour. However, her calculated risk in attacking has put her far too close to the avian for a clean break from contact, and with the dying out of the damaged drone's cry, another threat manifests itself: the sound of the other drone's footsteps behind her. Her beleaguered mind goes into overdrive, and with it comes an odd exhilaration. Despite the dull pain once again manifesting in her arm, despite the certainty of defeat, she's suddenly enjoying this.

Possibilities flash through her mind at the speed of thought, coalescing into action even as the first, blinded drone slashes at her. She can't get out of its way in time, so she grabs at a scimitar-clawed extremity with her functional hand and throws herself backwards to the ground, going with its momentum and yanking the drone with her. The probability of losing a few fingers isn't lost on her, but she's out of options here. As she hits the ground, she brings both legs up at the drone's midsection and kicks up and back with all her strength, hopefully sending the creature crashing into its rapidly-approaching comrade behind her. As expected, she loses three fingers to the razor-sharp blades, not to mention gaining a number of deep, potentially serious slashes in her chest armour, but she's finally clear. With an unbecoming amount of glee, she rises to her feet quickly, but with less than her usual grace, and pauses to listen for the havoc she's hopefully wreaked. To listen, and to be ready to fire everything she has left.

Life is full of unusual experiences, and suddenly finding oneself faced with several tons of airborne avian that has only its name to thank for any association with flight at all, is definitely to be counted among one of the more surreal things one can ever hope to see. Fortunate then that the Lord High Commander is not one to stand idle, admiring the sheer outrageousness of the situation while allowing himself to be reduced to alternatively shredded and crushed pieces of exquisitely crafted armour. However, Lady Luck must have taken offence at his courting of certain other ladies, for this is one time where he finds that his uncanny speed and agility fall well short of delivering him out of harm's way.

As Thunderwing leaps out of the way, the wildly flailing avian manages to somehow embed the talons of one hand in the armour of the Lord's upper torso, tearing four deep gouges which begin at one shoulder, then widen with the momentum of the fall to rip free an ever widening portion of silver armour as the claws rake across the Valckastan's chest and are finally torn free at the waist. Let it never be said that Thunderwing doesn't equip his toys with the capacity to cause some serious damage. After all, what would practice be, without the prospect of pain and injury to add that extra bit of incentive to perform well? To his credit, the Lord allows only a soft, resonant snarl to escape him as he turns his fall into a controlled roll and narrowly escapes being pinned under the inert drone. The automaton has seemingly been programmed, like its companion, to deactivate whenever receiving a "lethal" or at least incapacitating blow and so remains still where it fell, occasionally lighting up with a discharge of sparks, courtesy of Raven's Electric Claws of Doom (patent pending). Thunderwing gets to his feet, remaining in a crouched position like some great metallic gargoyle, or an outlandish predator, waiting to spring upon his prey. He pointedly ignores the indignant protests of his system that point out to him that, yes, he is experiencing quite a considerable amount of pain at the moment and would he please be so good as to acknowledge that fact, thankyouverymuch. He also ignores the steady trickle of energon mixed with other fluids that stain his chest, legs and lower arms, in favour of watching his prey. Watching her and letting that singularly feral grin play on his features.

That faint but familiar snarl is all that saves the Lord from being the recipient of an onslaught from Ravenwing's considerable firepower. Poised to fire everything she had as soon as her hearing verified that the two drones had clashed, her entire line of thought is unexpectedly derailed, but she, too, is adaptable and abruptly stands down. Her dimmed-out optics widen even before sparks from the downed drone reveal that well-known silhouette, and she responds to his grin with wicked smile of her own, and indeed, damn near laughs out loud at this turn of events.

While there is no physical resemblance between them, they are very much a pair, the two Valckastans, with their evil grins, their slashed armour, and the fluids dripping from ruptured lines. Still functional, though, and still very, very deadly, these two. She finds her own stance changing to match his crouch, and her silver optics brighten with a gleeful challenge to her Lord. Bring it on, is the silent message in those optics.

Thunderwing could probably be forgiven the momentary lapse of judgment, as his optics brighten with white fire at the challenge so neatly laid at his feet. As much as delving into the unknown is life itself, so is this an aspect of it, sharing with its kin the element of chaos and the order wrought from it. But this is life at its most basic, burning with primitive fire and all the more beautiful for the deceptive simplicity of it all. Ravenwing's challenge is not accepted in any of the myriad ways formality would have one respond to such an invitation, but in a subtle change of stance and the flash of subspace energy that brings a light blade to the Lord's hand.

Challenge made, challenge accepted. This is not professional, this is not wise, but it's the way it has to be. Ravenwing is well aware that her hand-to-hand weaponry and experience are sadly limited, but that's not as important as this dance with darkness, pain, and possibly even death. The continuing sparks provide fitful lighting, enough to lessen her handicap, and they also reveal the steel rod the Lord had brought with him, dropped in the tussle with the drone. Never moving her brilliantly glowing silver optics from her Lord, she reaches down... to find that a thumb and a middle finger aren't exactly ideal for the task. Her optics flicker briefly with annoyance, and she tries her damaged, dully aching arm. Thankfully, the returning ache indicated a bit of recovery, enough to be able to use that hand, but to what degree? She supposes she'll find out...

Despite the even lesser chance of victory now, her strangely happy smile doesn't waver as she scoops up the makeshift weapon and with no more warning than that, abruptly lunges at her dance partner with a jab at his wounded midsection. Fair fights are for fairy tales, not for combat, even if she were at her best for this. Oddly enough, the incongruity of not using her ranged weaponry in this fight doesn't strike her. That's... the way it is. Perhaps there are no rules to this fight, but a certain understanding instead. "You're going to lose, stupid", a quiet voice in her mind whispers, but is ignored.

Spinister enters slowly. The arena is obviously in use, although Spinister was certain that no one had booked it for today. An impromptu event? He looks around cautiously, trying to make out the shapes in the large, gloomy arena. Up ahead, flashing sparks are illuminating some kind of drone, and there seems to be movement nearby. He moves towards the stands, keeping an optic on the action and trying to make out who is fighting.

Thunderwing isn't about to get overconfident this late in the game, as simply getting ahead of himself earlier got him absolutely nowhere and nothing... save for the exposed internals where the drone's talons cut their path across his body. Not precisely a fashion statement, but a bold message nonetheless... albeit one that speaks loudly of why getting in the way of sharp objects is a Bad Thing. And speaking of sharp objects... As Raven lunges, the Lord is reminded once again that speed will not win the day for him this time. It'll be down to skill then... how quaint. He does not flinch away from the femme's attack, but stands perfectly still and allows her blow to land, causing him to almost lose his footing, as evidenced by the half-a-stagger brought about by the unexpected amount of pain. Hmm... perhaps actually -listening- to one's pain receptors once in a while would be something to remember for the future. Ah well, nothing for it now... Moving into the dance himself, Thunderwing turns the momentary loss of balance into a graceful motion that reveals the reason why anyone would actually stand still and -wait- for an opponent to strike true; having gained as close proximity as possible, he reaches out for Raven's shoulder with one hand, then brings the sword down and up in a smooth arc that will rake the full length of the blade along the femme's midsection, should experience prove superior to speed and zeal this time. The Lord's utterly feral visage hasn't shifted once, though there is less merriment to the small grin than there is in his opponent's expression, but rather a content, completely focused sort of intent. Why then, for all the implied lethality, is the blade not brought to bear with the full strength its wielder has to offer?

Spinister stops dead, halfway up the flight of stairs that leads to the stands. The faint light from the open door and the sparking drone is shining on the fighters and Spinister can just make them out. In the darkness, faint, flashing light gleams off the torn and battered body of the liege himself. And the warrior he is facing? None other than his daughter! Spinister grips the hand rail of the stairs, leaning forward and hardly able to believe his optics. His mind goes into overdrive, trying to understand what is going on. A challenge to the throne? Surely not - Ravenwing seemed almost happy in her role as Director of Security. As happy as a dominant being could be... Could Thunderwing be trying to wipe out his daughter? But why here? Why in the very place that Spinister joined the Valckastan Decepticons. The games room. The practice room.

Thunderwing's sword swings down, but Spinister can see clearly, it was not with Thunderwing's usual lethal force.

Spinister's optics flare in the darkness. Practice room? Perhaps that is the answer to the mystery. Thunderwing and his daughter are merely sparring. Such injuries they have sustained are fairly normal for such an activity. Still gripping the hand rail, Spinister watches silently. The expressions on Thunderwing and Ravenwing's visages are a picture. They are actually enjoying this!

Having been put through her paces earlier, Ravenwing is definitely tiring. Though her speed is normally exceptional, it's lost its edge now. The Lord's inactivity is a warning in of itself, but she simply doesn't have the energy to avoid it entirely, though she definitely notices. Ah yes, experience does have its benefits. Even as she twists away, hard, both from the reaching hand and the reaching sword, she knows she's not moving fast enough... The best she can do is present her side to the blade rather than her weakened front armour. Ouch. As before, she makes little sound as the sword bites into her side, slicing through armour and sending a spray of oil and hydraulic fluid into the air, the droplets sparkling almost iridescently in the low light.

She almost slips on her own precious bodily fluids as she moves away, and so her riposte is a bit unsteady. Turning her twisting motion into a spin, she whirls, bringing the brandished bar around to strike a backhanded blow at the Lord's sword arm. Whether or not she succeeds in hitting him, she's going to lose her weapon, as her damaged arm just isn't up to this kind of activity. No hesitation, though, no flinching, no hiding. She's never felt so alive as when she's dancing with death, and as for Death himself? He seems to be rather pleased with himself, he does. The merriment returns to her optics as she recalls that he didn't look so pleased earlier. Not very nice, she chides herself without much real reproach behind it.

Spinister remains where he is, watching the battle below, which he is coming to realise, is more a performance than a true life-or-death battle. Not withstanding the mech fluids on the ground, the hallowed halls of the arena have seen far more deadly battles than this. The feral pleasure in the optics of each mech are all but identical. Like father like daughter, indeed. More importantly, Ravenwing seems self confident. Enjoying the battle - there is no sign of the crisis of confidence she has lived through since her near destruction at the hands of the Autobot Femme Fatales. Spinister releases the hand rail that he had been gripping so tightly, and rests his elbows on it instead, a sure sign, to those that know him, that his tension is relieved.

Thunderwing would, of course, sooner hand Colossus the keys to Valckasta than admit that he -is- tiring. The slow but steady trickle of energon from the Avian Debacle goes a long way to draining resources already severely taxed by the simple act of facing someone who might just be (though his ego won't even acknowledge the notion) a worthy opponent. However loath he may be to offer any kind of conscious acknowledgement of that fact, there is no denying that the Lord seems rather... unwilling to engage in the kind of expansive, sweeping motions that tends to be the trademark for creatures with his particular talents. In fact, as Raven does succeed in her attempt and sends the light blade clattering uselessly across the floor, there is a certain sparse tightness to the way he weaves in and out of the dance and once, just once, he nods to his opponent. She might not be one of the ladies who are his usual companions on the field of battle, but she will suffice. For now.

But there always has to be a turning point, and for Thunderwing, it comes in the form of a sudden, costly burst of power and speed as he pivots first away from Raven, then back in towards her, aiming a double-handed blow to the ravaged armour of her torso, this time with all of what strength he has left behind it. Turnabout -is- fair play, little bird.

Spinister narrows his optics, bright in the darkness of the arena, as Thunderwing aims a powerful blow at Ravenwing. He rubs his mask thoughtfully with his right hand. Clearly the medics are going to be busy after this little contest. Or they should be - Spinister wouldn't put it past both the competitors to neglect themselves. He tips his head slightly on one side as he watches the battle below. Neither warrior seems to have noticed his entrance. Perhaps it is time to simulate real combat and launch an attack of his own? After all, it would be good practice for all concerned!

Ravenwing is hardly in much better condition herself, but she doesn't move to disengage, despite the fact that it's the intelligent thing to do. For the first time in millions of years, she's facing an equal. Oh, she's not arrogant enough to think that there aren't others, but for the most part, those others aren't sparring partners but deadly enemies, and despite the viciousness of this bout, it isn't deadly. This is perhaps one of the only opportunities she'll have to push herself to her limits, and that is what she means to do. The pain is a constant, white flashes from the cuts detonating through her neural system, duller flashes from her misused arm. At least her fingers can't hurt... they're lying on the floor around here somewhere... Wouldn't it be funny if someone slipped on one of them and fell?

She snickers to herself at the thought, and steps forward into the Lord's blow, gripping her damaged right arm with the remaining fingers of her left hand and swinging both up to counter the Lord's own two-handed strike. Her strength against his. Here is where she learns some of his capabilities... Her silver optics narrow as she suspects it will be an expensive lesson, but ah well. Twill be worth it.

Spinister stands above the battle, waiting for an opportunity to launch his own attack. But the spectacle below is proving interesting and he wonders if attacking himself would be a good thing. Would it be better to surprise them both when the battle is finished?

Thunderwing -does- have the advantage of greater strength...at least under normal circumstances, and even then, it's not much of an advantage to begin with. As it is, he is faced not only with a femme who seems to find something obscure very amusing, but who is also enough to deflect enough of the force from his blow to leave any attempt at following through pointless. At best, all he could hope to accomplish with a stubborn refusal to rethink would be to tickle the offending femme to death. Not a dignified scenario by any stretch of the imagination.

With a minute grimace that nevertheless speaks volumes of effort and discomfort to the one who knows how to read such things, he twists his arms to allow them to glance off Raven's (successful...ouch) attempt at parrying. Then the Lord takes one step back, seemingly to put a little distance between himself and his opponent in preparation for the next attack. Despite the darkness, the occasional spark from the unfortunate avian gives him an opportunity to survey the other, perhaps waiting for her to make the next move.

Spinister continues to rub his mask. No, it wouldn't do to attack right now. Better to watch for the victor. Spinister is most curious to find out who it will be. Thunderwing - now he would be the odds on favourite. Older, more experienced. But Ravenwing has been places that Thunderwing has not, and has had experiences in battle that Thunderwing's sensory chamber may not have provided him with. It's a battle that is surprisingly hard to call.

Spinister considers the situation. Despite his well-hidden concern for the terrible injuries both parties have suffered, he has to admit that such sparring can only be good for them. He doubts that either could have met their physical equals in sparring contests before. Drones are no substitute for a real warrior. The practice can only be good. And you never know...Spinister optics gleam...perhaps such sparring may bring father and daughter together. Ah yes, Spinister never gives up on the possibility of uniting father and daughter!

Ravenwing really doesn't have the strength of her own to follow through with another attack, at least not hand-to-hand. The temptation is there to use her powerful ranged weaponry, but... it wouldn't be right. Now, if that had been the Pink One of Doom, she would have no problem whatsoever in shooting her from a distance, from behind, whatever it took to do the job. However, this is her Lord... and her father, and there's a certain bemusement in how well she's doing against the vastly more experienced warrior.

This is the first time she's matched herself against her father, and she's doing surprisingly well. However, that's not good enough. Nothing is ever good enough. You continue to learn, continue to improve, or you die. Her opponent... he seems to be tiring, taking the opportunity for a breather as well. It would be a good idea to quit before someone gets seriously hurt, but this opportunity may never come again. Plus, there's the prospect that she might actually win this... He'd never forgive her, would he? She gives him an indulgently affectionate look, which she suspects would completely baffle him if he could even interpret it...

Thunderwing would seem to mercifully be spared any confusion as his glance skims over his opponent's features without giving the slightest flicker of recognition at what can be seen there. But even if he did see and recognise it, would he really let the world know? Whatever the reasons, the exercise seems to have come to something of a standstill, at least from the Lord's side. Rather than closing with the femme again, or seeking refuge in sheer firepower, he merely stands perfectly still, looking remarkably collected and even dignified...as much as one can, who is missing a sizeable portion of armour and has what is left streaked and dulled by a mix of energon and other fluids that are to much more use on the -inside- than on the outside. Finally, there is a twitch of a browridge. A flicker of a question gone almost before it was there at all. Not as much a peace offering, as an admission of opponents that were too evenly matched this time and the futility of proving it further. A way for both to save face, perhaps?

Correctly translating the silent communiqua33;, Ravenwing's silver optics narrow briefly in thought and in... memory. Pride is a powerful force, no? And who should know that better than she and the Lord? She tilts her head back slightly, almost like she's listening, then a look of sudden, regretful recollection crosses her chiseled face. "Ah... my apologies, my Lord," she begins softly, "...but I must beg to be excused. I have certain duties to attend to, and they have already been delayed. Perhaps... perhaps we can continue this at another time?" An out, for both of these overly-proud individuals, and... a possibility of repeating it. Despite the pain, the danger, she *wants* to continue it. Even if she loses.

Spinister nods silently to himself, perched up on the stairs like a garish bird of prey. He makes no move, waiting for the beings below to notice his presence, if indeed they do.

Thunderwing inclines his head, an amused and perhaps even approving light brightening his optics. Whatever else his opinions about the dark femme before him may be, he has to admit that she -is- observant, picking up on and correctly interpreting things most others might miss. If one didn't know better, one might almost think her a creature of excellent background and upbringing. ;) "Of course." With that, he turns to the shadows that are so often his refuge... even though the very idea of -needing- something like that probably hurts him more than the injuries sustained. Half-turned away, he stops, then looks over his shoulder and inquires casually, "Your patrols of the underground are scheduled to commence in the near future? The necessary adaptations to the new situation would take some time, but they are hardly insurmountable." Query, permission and instruction, all wrapped up in two sentences. Must be some kind of new record for this one.

The reminder of the underground doesn't impact Ravenwing as it might have an hour earlier.... Has it been only an hour? Not even that long. My, my, how the passage of time seems to slow when one is pleasantly occupied. She notes calmly, "The cleanup is nearly complete, at least of the immediate vicinity. Certain other tasks remain to make the underground less hospitable for stealth operatives, and after that, regular patrols can begin. That, and continued training of the warriors. The more outlying regions will still require my personal attention, but none of this is... insurmountable, Lord High Commander."

Thunderwing doesn't really wait for an answer, but sinks into the shadows and is gone. Not, as common sense would dictate, to the med bay. Of course not. That'd be too easy. ;)

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Arena of Fear by Decepticon Dominion MUSH