But laugh, laugh, laugh [closed]
Characters: Mad Mod and Franky.
Location: The woodshop.
Time: hammer time After classes, but mostly after these disasters.
Content: Discussions and debates about certain inventions.
Format: Prose, or action, really who can even tell with these guys.
Warnings: Two lunatics in a room full of heavy machinery. Pray whilst you can.
It was no great secret that the school chef was about as adept at understanding electronics and technology as the average duck, and consequently equally incompetent at inventing things of such a nature.
So, it naturally left to Mod to wonder, who exactly had been the brain behind the little device that had caused so many unforeseen problems during their latest encounter?
It didn't take long to figure out. There were plenty of technopaths around the school, but he'd witnessed the blue-haired cyborg conversing with the short-tempered pyrokinetic on more than one occasion now, and it hadn't always been in the form of an argument. Besides that there weren't that many others around the institute that he could think of that would be able to create such an artifact on a whim, at short notice, and be competent enough for it to work even without testing it.
Not to mention that he was now rather interested in this 'Franky' as of himself. Someone with that curious stature and infinitely more curious dress-sense was already intriguing, but when he'd rifled through the staff files to do a little reading, well, what wasn't fascinating about a man who was part-robot with a limited amount of data available on the details of his personal history?
No wonder he got along with the cook.
So it was that the hologram, after fixing his systems to be a little more robust (along with making a few improvements- he'd been meaning to add a little extra boost to his ability to extend his projection for a while now anyway), made his entrance to the woodshop in fine style, roaring through the back wall on what appeared to be a perfectly solid and functional white Vespa. Skidding the contrivance around to park next to the sizeable band-saw in the corner, the red-head dismounted his vehicle whilst removing his helmet and goggles, nodding amiably at the exceedingly tall teacher he'd not-quite run over.
"Franky, isn't it?"
Location: The woodshop.
Time: hammer time After classes, but mostly after these disasters.
Content: Discussions and debates about certain inventions.
Format: Prose, or action, really who can even tell with these guys.
Warnings: Two lunatics in a room full of heavy machinery. Pray whilst you can.
It was no great secret that the school chef was about as adept at understanding electronics and technology as the average duck, and consequently equally incompetent at inventing things of such a nature.
So, it naturally left to Mod to wonder, who exactly had been the brain behind the little device that had caused so many unforeseen problems during their latest encounter?
It didn't take long to figure out. There were plenty of technopaths around the school, but he'd witnessed the blue-haired cyborg conversing with the short-tempered pyrokinetic on more than one occasion now, and it hadn't always been in the form of an argument. Besides that there weren't that many others around the institute that he could think of that would be able to create such an artifact on a whim, at short notice, and be competent enough for it to work even without testing it.
Not to mention that he was now rather interested in this 'Franky' as of himself. Someone with that curious stature and infinitely more curious dress-sense was already intriguing, but when he'd rifled through the staff files to do a little reading, well, what wasn't fascinating about a man who was part-robot with a limited amount of data available on the details of his personal history?
No wonder he got along with the cook.
So it was that the hologram, after fixing his systems to be a little more robust (along with making a few improvements- he'd been meaning to add a little extra boost to his ability to extend his projection for a while now anyway), made his entrance to the woodshop in fine style, roaring through the back wall on what appeared to be a perfectly solid and functional white Vespa. Skidding the contrivance around to park next to the sizeable band-saw in the corner, the red-head dismounted his vehicle whilst removing his helmet and goggles, nodding amiably at the exceedingly tall teacher he'd not-quite run over.
"Franky, isn't it?"