OH C’MON!!! LIKE YOU WOULDN’T DO THE EXACT SAME DAMN THING!!!
Montana turns around and looks around himself furtively. In a small voice he replies to Benny, “Dude, you know Thorn would kill me if she saw me doing something like that! Besides, I’m not into birds.”
Ernest wanders into the simulation room lugging a huge, janky-looking sword with random pieces of kitchen equipment and exposed wiring all around the blade. He holds it carefully in both claws and points it at Benedict.
Ernest: Oi! Tell me if this hurts!
Ernest presses a button on the hilt, and with a sizzling like overloaded wires and overcooked waffles, the sword explodes. The surroundings are splattered with waffle batter. Ernest’s ETB activates, and he can be heard swearing loudly from the simulation room.
Ernest: Eagle f*ckin’ dammit! Foxtrot! You forgot to remove the thermal resistor! Atti, we’re gonna need another sword - hop to it, puke!
I suppose we could break down my armor and forge it into a sword. But then we wouldn’t have the armor.
The armor that I was going to throw out anyway… Nova? Do we have anything on board hot enough that we could use as a forge?
Rath has a forge.
Ugh… Anything else?
My fusion core, which I’m super not comfortable with opening up for you guys. Ooh! I know! Why don’t you go down to the shuttle bay and use the exhaust ports on one of the landing ships to melt your swords? There’s no possible way I can see that ending badly.
Benedict enters with a lawn chair and a beer still snickering about watching the sergeant blow himself to pieces.
I ain’t gonna help, but I am gonna watch.
He plops down and cracks open the beer.
Montana and Thorn enter with lawn chairs, a keg of beer so frosty steam rises from it, and a large bucket of popcorn. Montana sets his chair down besides Benny and taps the keg. Thorn sets hers down next to his and smirks at Benny as she sits and starts to munch on the popcorn. “This should be as good as watching you in the holodock, bird brain.” Montana looks at Benny and gives a little shrug to say “I didn’t tell her.”
WHY THE HELL NOT!? THE LOVE BETWEEN ME AN’ THE FEMALE VERSION OF MYSELF WHO LIVES IN MY HEAD IS A BEAUTIFUL THING, Y’ALL!
Montana just quietly pours a glass of beer for him and Thorn. He then pops some of the popcorn in his mouth and crunches on it noisily. Thorn leans forward and smirks at Benny. She then pats Monty on the thigh and settles back into her lawn chair, sipping her beer.
Benedict shrieks in horror.
Hi Benny. Anyway… so… Dad… I’m totally not makin’ a pancake launcher. But if I was, would it be ok to use premade pancakes, or would that make me a noob? I mean, it doesn’t have to cook 'em on the way out, right?
A few minutes later, Ernest, Attikus and Foxtrot wander into the main hangar, Attikus dragging a mess of heavy metal plates behind him.
Ernest: Aright. We’ll use that bit there (he points at a vaguely triangular piece of armour), but I’m too lazy to forge it properly, so we’re gonna just stretch it the f*ck out and hope for the best. Foxtrot, grab one of them tow trucks.
Ernest strokes his chin. Hmmm… for an amateur crafter of food-related weaponry, it would be acceptable. He glares at Larry and grins. But you ain’t no amateur, puke! We ain’t takin’ no shorts here! Cook em’ in the barrel, and don’t forget the goddamn maple syrup!
Ernest climbs into a nearby drop shuttle and backs it out into the middle of the hangar, then engages the docking magnets, clamping the shuttle to the floor. He flicks a switch and the engines begin to warm up, then he hops out of the cockpit.
Ernest: Aight. If we just stick this here - he clamps the piece of armour onto the back of the tow truck - and you hold that end - he passes the other end of the armour plate to Attikus, who looks at it dubiously - we’ll be good. Foxtrot, soon as I tell ya, you drive that tow truck that way. Attikus, you hold onto that sh*t for dear life. I’ll sit in the ship and run them thrusters. If we heat it up, and you two pull it hard enough, it’ll stretch out good. Hopefully into a vaguely sword-ish shape.
Attikus: And I suppose I just ignore the fact that I’m standing less than a meter from the engines.
Ernest: Yep. That’s what ya arm’s made outta metal for.
Foxtrot: You’ll be fine! Let’s f*cking do this!
Ernest hops into the cockpit and cranks up the throttle. Foxtrot revs the tow truck and Attikus backs up, before gripping the bar of metal and pulling as hard as he can. The engine’s afterburners flare into life and the metal begins to glow quickly, from a dull orange to bright white. The tow truck strains and Attikus grunts as they slowly stretch the metal out. It’s much thinner and about seven feet long when Attikus’s metal arm rips a chunk off the top of the blade and he flies backward with the lack of resistance. The tow truck, now with nothing holding it in place, careens across the hangar. Foxtrot bails out at the last second as it slams into the opposing wall and explodes. He brushes himself off and walks over to the wreckage, where the sword sits on the ground, cooling amidst various pieces of engine.
Foxtrot: Soooo… success?
Ernest shuts off the shuttle engines and wanders over to gaze at the sword. Success. The worst sword ever made. Fit the waffle launcher on before it cools, will ya?
Foxtrot grabs the waffle launcher prototype from the workbench and slaps it on the blade of the sword, embedding it into the still-soft metal. He tosses a battery on top, whips some tape over it, and plugs it in.
Foxtrot: Done. Prooooooooobably won’t explode this time.
Ernest: Here’s hoping.
Attikus picks himself up off the floor and ambles across the workshop, groaning. So, uhh… do you need this? He holds up the chunk of metal ripped from the sword in his mechanical hand.
Ernest looks at the broken-off top of the sword, which is little more than a long metal triangle, and snickers. Naaaaaaaaah.
And suddenly out of nowhere, Seven excitedly runs into the room yelling
WEAPONIZING EDIBLE OBJECTS? WEAPONIZING EDIBLE OBJECTS!
Ernest grins at the constructor. Weaponized edible objects indeed. While we sit here waitin’ for this piece o’ work to cool off, you got any further suggestions for any more such constructions of weaponized edible objects?
Seven starts to babble ideas from what it overheard. The Big Bot sure likes to spy on things
Maple Syrup Applicator to Make Waffle Adhesive to Impair and Slow Enemy Movements.
Retractable Slicer to Slice Waffle into Smaller Portions for Shotgun Mode.
Then Automatic Fire when in Shotgun Mode for aaaaaaaa02193085984376293-10-2902841031-96-04970-
And then Maple Syrup applied to Blade. No Organic Lifeform wants Syrup in Wounds. Unless like Licking Wound. Then… Wait, Makes it Better. Hrm, Unshure Now.
Don’t you wear a diaper?
I gotta change the damn thing, a**hole! Oh, an’ don’t none of y’all take my seat. I called dibs. With my ass.
Benedict rushes out.
What does calling dibs with your ass mean?
I think it means he pooped in the chair.
Why would that matter if he’s wearing a diaper?
AUROX: (Stealing his seat and moving towards the airlock)
It doesn’t, but we can’t be too careful, right?
Ernest looks over at Foxtrot and raises his browfeathers suggestively. Foxtrot grins through his helmet and immediately starts ripping off his-
Ernest: F*ck’s sake, not that kinda suggestively, dumbass! I meant we should do that!
Foxtrot pauses in the middle of stripping. Oh. I thought you meant-
Ernest: I know what you thought I meant, and it was pretty f*ckin’ wrong! Gah, I’ll just do it. Run to the mess hall and grab me a bottle of maple syrup, will ya?
Foxtrot returns after a few minutes, and Ernest bends over the sword contraption, cracking open the casing. He shoves the bottle of maple syrup in upside down, wraps some tape around it, then snaps his fingers at Foxtrot.
Ernest: Combat knife. I need ta borrow yours.
Foxtrot: F*ck off! I’ll never get it back if it goes in that thing!
Ernest: I know you have at least three. You can spare one.
Foxtrot: Nope. Not a f*ckin’ chance.
Ernest sighs. Fine, I’ll use my own then! Gah.
He pulls a small knife from his vest and positions it on a motor inside the waffle launcher, also wraps this in tape, fiddles with the contraption for a few more minutes, then stands up and slaps the case shut, gives it a kick and pronounces it done.
Ernest: The moment of truth, ladies and gentlebirds. He looks around. Wait, where’d Benny go? I wanna shoot waffles at 'im.
Benedict emerges from the bathroom smelling the fresh scent of pine. He shrieks in horror at the sight of Larry pointing a giant cannon at his beak; more so at the sight of Larry’s face than at the sight of the actual cannon, though.
Are you a blueberry, or a chocolate chip kind of guy?
Benedict thinks quickly.
Neither. I prefer cashew butter. But yer dad said ya’d be too much of a noob to include it.
MY DAD DID NOT CALL ME A NOOB!!!
Aw, really, huh. Cuz that’s not what I heard. See, I heard him say he could build better breakfast weaponry in his sleep, an’ he’s in the shuttle bay right now makin’ a waffle sword.
Larry’s eye twitches. Benedict tries very hard not to gag.
Benedict shoves the cannon out of his face and walks down to the shuttle bay.
Don’t believe me, come check it out. He’s makin’ a waffle sword.
Benedict winks at Nova’s camera. Nova sends an urgent text message to the other Battleborn.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM NOVA.
Breakfast war. 2 mins. Shuttle bay.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM NOVA TO GHALT:
Benedict’s about to sing in the shower again. I’ve decided to put extra soundproofing around your office so you can continue to work uninterrupted. I’m awesome like that. That means I can get that upgrade I’ve been asking you about. For my processing core? The one that makes it go vroom? Wink wink, hint hint?
Larry runs into the shuttle bay and aims his pancake cannon at Ernest.
Larry: Dad! Benedick says you called me a noob!
Ernest looks surprised, then shrugs. Well I heard him call you tha m-word yesterday. And the day before that. And last Tuesday. And… you know what? It don’t matter. Who do you wanna shoot more, him or me? Assumin’ ya pancake cannon works.
Larry: Uhhh… both of you?
Ernest sighs. Eagle’s sake, puke. Point that thing somewhere else and get over here. I made a waffle sword, and guess who we’re gonna test it on?
Ernest: Ehhh… you know what? I was gonna say Benedict, but I’m down to shoot Toby as well.
Ernest grabs the waffle sword by the makeshift handle and hefts it onto his shoulder. He takes a step back and swings it at a nearby crate, almost cleaving it in two and making the waffle launcher clatter loudly. It seems to hold, however, and he grins.
Ernest: Breakfast war squad! Hoo-rah! He high-fives Larry.
Foxtrot grins and shakes his head. My work here is done. Go forth and f*ck sh^t up. I’m out.
He leaves, only to return moments later with a bucket of popcorn, snickering.
Foxtrot: Who the f*ck am I kidding. Can’t miss this.
Benedict stands looking confused.
Wait, yer NOT shootin’ me?
Benedict’s eyes go wide. He runs from the room.
Well hold on! If y’all are shootin’ Toby, I’ve just GOTTA see if Boomsday can launch a grapefruit!
Seven just sits in a corner, silently observing, fir now…
Ernest grins and nudges Larry. Larry looks surprised, then aims his pancake cannon at Benny’s back, flicks a switch on the side then pulls the trigger. The resultant high-velocity pancake arcs through the air across the shuttle bay and lands dead in Foxtrot’s popcorn bucket.
Foxtrot holds the pancake up and contemplates it. Urgh. I was never a blueberry kinda guy.
Benedict returns with a bag full of grapefruit and Boomsday.
Alright, best case scenario, this works! Worst case scenario, it don’t, I get citric acid in my eyes, and I end up havin’ to take apart an’ clean out Boomsday for the next twelve hours!
He unceremoniously shoves a grapefruit into Boomsday, aims it at the wall, and fires. The grapefruit emerges at high velocity and explodes against the wall.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I WORKED!!! I GOT MYSELF A HIGH VELOCITY GRAPEFRUIT LAUNCHER, Y’ALL!!!
He turns around, his smile fades, and he grabs another grapefruit as he lifts his launcher.
Naw… naw… y’all said we were goin’ after Toby… IT DON’T GOTTA BE LIKE THIS!!!