Post by Drake on May 28, 2023 20:35:33 GMT
Today had been abnormally hot, even for the tropical heaven that Manifest was. It was the sort of day your very vision distorted due to the heat, when mechanics had to struggle between putting insulating gloves that would have their hands sweating like crazy or risk burning their flesh on the heated surface of their equipment. Ray hadn't seen Kaz yet, no orders had come down the chain of command to sortie, nor were any members of their detachment around the makeshift 'hangar' for playful jabs at Gespenst's inexperience and innocence. "I bet they're cracking open a cold one by now, lazy bastards." He mumbled under his breath, hanging upside down from Atlas's arm, oiling his machine's joints to prevent early rusting.
He had his usual cargo pants on, the sleeves on his white shirt rolled up to vent his arms a bit, although the cloth clinger to his frame from the sweat. A line of black traced it's way across his forehead, another obsidian stain not quite fully rubbed off beneath his left eye. He had been working on the customary daily check-ups to ascertain his machine was in top condition were they to be needed. A safe man was an alive man, after all. Besides, his mobile weapon was so far removed from what the mechanics used to work on that it was practically required he kept on top of it's maintenance along his missions.
Ray didn't quite mind it, though, he liked taking his time to assure Atlas had both the presence and the performance it was worthy of, even if he felt it lacked in the pilot department sometimes. The Iron Atlas was his partner, it's mechanic limbs saved his life more than a couple times, and even if he often found unworthy of such advanced weaponry, it wasn't as if he would let all his partner's sacrifices have been in vain by abandoning it to someone else. It had called to him, not to anyone else, if his abilities were insufficient of it's might, then he would be better.
He had to.
He had his usual cargo pants on, the sleeves on his white shirt rolled up to vent his arms a bit, although the cloth clinger to his frame from the sweat. A line of black traced it's way across his forehead, another obsidian stain not quite fully rubbed off beneath his left eye. He had been working on the customary daily check-ups to ascertain his machine was in top condition were they to be needed. A safe man was an alive man, after all. Besides, his mobile weapon was so far removed from what the mechanics used to work on that it was practically required he kept on top of it's maintenance along his missions.
Ray didn't quite mind it, though, he liked taking his time to assure Atlas had both the presence and the performance it was worthy of, even if he felt it lacked in the pilot department sometimes. The Iron Atlas was his partner, it's mechanic limbs saved his life more than a couple times, and even if he often found unworthy of such advanced weaponry, it wasn't as if he would let all his partner's sacrifices have been in vain by abandoning it to someone else. It had called to him, not to anyone else, if his abilities were insufficient of it's might, then he would be better.
He had to.
