(Awhaha xD I'm just glad it was my horse and not my mother's, Jazz would've skipped his happy ass down the street, slipped and fallen, and kept on runnin' e.e)

Lieutenant Calvert

ᓚᘏᗢ

"I imagine," Norrie snorted. "But what are we gonna do with a fleshy nesting doll? Ooh, we could probably dangle it on a rope above some stray dogs and see if they'll chase it!" She suggested all too giddily for a normal person. Definitely not normal. And now that she suggested it, she really wanted to see how far the dogs would run chasing a flying ball of meat. Probably pretty far. That also brought the question of should they let the dogs eat it. On one hand, making food-deprived dogs run burned more calories than they could get, but on the other, all the nasties mushed together probably made it unfit for consumption.

"S'long as you're smart enough not to light up a smoke near flammable shit, that should stay that way," Norrie mused. Jackson... well let's just say he wasn't born with common sense. He HAD, however, managed to learn some. Not a lot, mind you, but some. Enough to look both ways before crossing the street, stranger danger, don't look down the barrel of your gun if it jams up, the likes. Most weren't learned the hard way, luckily for Jackson, but some were. Those were the ones he learned the best, and never again fucked up. Also lucky for him.

"Uh-huh, and someone with no knowledge of anatomy once said that the eyes are the window to the soul," She said, that shiteating grin returning. "Ehh, I don't think they'll appreciate you any less, either," She said, then glanced up at the sky. It should be the middle of dinner, if a little closer to the latter half of it right now. But noooo. Had to blow shit up. Jokes on those shitters. "Are you in the habit of early to bed, early to rise like an old geezer or do you stay up late?" She asked. She was guessing the latter, but you never know. 'Specially not with him. Maybe his wardens were old fogeys and imposed their sleep cyclle on him. "Kinda," She murmured in agreement.

Thank the lord it wasn't Jazz then XD. We don't want horses getting loose- our friends just had their horses get loose and one of them got hit by a car and died. It was terrible]

-

Axl, Bloody Greasy Masterpiece

-

"Delightful idea. I'm betting more than a mile. I wonder if a fleshy nesting doll would smell worse than a normal corpse... think it would attract bears or wolves 'n shit if we dropped it in the woods?" He offered. That would be a good way to shoot some food. The bear, he meant. "Or would it smell too much like humans..." He added with a thoughtful look. These were important things to think about. "Maybe I should fly it up and drop it over a town. See if it creates mass panic." He commented with his evil crooked grin.

.

"I don't smoke due to the fact I like keeping my lungs intact. So I wouldn't have to worry about that." Axl snorted. He had always despised the smell of smoke, and choking on it. He liked to be able to breathe, thank you very much. Though the biggest reason was that he never had access to it.

.

"Good thing I don't HAVE a fucking soul to peer into." Axl snorted with a half scoff at the end, dark eyes glinting blue as he glanced out a window. This building was still fully intact, thank the lord, as he wouldn't want the tools to get injured or bent. The mechanics he didn't give a flying furball about, but these tools were nice. "True. I'm bad enough as it is, people can't appreciate me less." He wrinkled his nose slightly. He was glad he had eaten earlier, otherwise the mere thought that their food had been blown to smithereens would've made him angry. It still was Irritating, but not to the point where he'd escape from this plate just to get some bacon. He looked at her slowly as she spoke, arching an incredulous eyebrow. "I don't technically need as much sleep as a normal human, so I sleep when I have time. Maybe 4 hours a night. That would suffice. That being said, I won't start getting tired till around 2 am, so I wouldn't count on me going to bed early." He snorted, flipping the rag in his hand to the other side and wiping a smudge of grease offa his wings. He wished he could take them off, like an accessory. Then he could use them when necessary and not look like a fucking bird the other 90 percent of the time. Well, a deadly metal bird.

(yeah x'3 Oh. Oh no. That's no good ;_;)

Lieutenant Calvert

ᓚᘏᗢ

"It might. Or just flies and buzzards. Hard to say," Norrie said. "Probably'll stink like shit," She snorted. That could keep all the mamillian scavengers away, and then you'd really only get flies and buzzards. "Ooh yes do that. They'd probably think it's some divine thing from the heavens above and start worshipping it." Or perhaps in an effort to 'be green' and 'not waste anything' they'd turn it into hotdogs. Nasty.

"Huh. Smart choice. You'll be fine then," Norrie said. Well, not any worse than he was before, at least. Not if she could help it. And she most definitely probably could, to some extent.

"I knew you'd say that," She snickered. Kind of the only available worthwhile response. Anything else one could say to that was certified Fucking Stupid. (actual footage of Axl) "That's the spirit!" She said with sarcastic enthusiasm. One might argue that that was a terrible sentiment, and one might also get a boot to the ass, courtesy of Norrie. AND one might DESERVE said boot in the ass for opening their goddamn mouth. "Lucky you," She snorted, "though that does give me more time to argue with The Fuckwads Above about sleeping arrangement n shit." Norrie couldn't really imagine that he'd enjoy staying in The Pound, and she was already plotting the argument in her head. After a devastating act of terrorism was committed at the TF13 compound, subject D-94 demonstrated excellent skill, loyalty, and bravery. The subject succesfully hunted down and eliminated all terrorists involved and identified them. It is with this evidence that I believe D-94 should be treated as part of the task force and not a hostage. Perhaps more detail and emphasis on the good shit, and maybe a bit of intimidation. Oh yes, there was no way they were gonna deny any requests with that one, and if they did, bam, boot to the ass.

No good indeed)

-

Axl, Souless Slightly Funny Dipshit

-

"Likely." He agreed, then nodded slightly. Still, the drop meat on a town idea was looking pretty golden. "Oh goodness gracious gravy that'd be terrible. Imagine if they put it in a museum after preserving it. 30 years in the future they test it and find who it's made of, but instead of throwing it out, they find those fuckwads decendants and they get boatloads of money." He groaned. That'd be just something a human would do. "All my hard work making someone else rich. It'd be quite sad indeed." He added with a heavy sigh. That was less fun to think about than mass panic.

.

The thing was, in a roundabout sense, what he said was soooort of true. Ignoring the whole soul part. Eyes did give away a lot of emotion, as it was hard to hide emotion in your eyes. If you were observant you could decode someone's emotions by their eyes. However, he was an expert at keeping his emotions completely hidden, even from his eyes. Most of the time, his eyes were just deep pools of blackness. An Abyss. (MY STUPID phone won't let me open YouTube so I have to wait till I get home :/ ) "It's better than being disappointed because I think I should be worshipped for my amazingness." He snorted. He would much rather value himself as dirt like everyone else so when people threw a disgusted look at him... he expected it. "If at alllll possible, I could ask to at very least not be chained up?" He asked drily, rubbing his wrists where white bandages wrapped around each one, covering the patch of raw, bloody skin that had been completely rubbed off. He would really prefer not to make it worse. He would REALLY like if he wasn't put in a cage like a fucking dog, but pick your battles. He knew he was valued as less than the humans. He didn't expect a king suite. He'd be happy with a frigging prison cell if it had a bed. A shitty terrible bed, sure. Axl twitched his ear slightly, glancing around inside the shop. He could've escaped all of this, slept in a fucking hotel- after threatening anyone who saw him- eaten venison that he caught and cooked himself... it would've been so freeing. Yet he had come back here, to this big ass cage? Why? He internally knew the answer, but refused to acknowledge it.

Lieutenant Calvert

ᓚᘏᗢ

"Oh blegh god I hope not. I hope they DO DNA test that shit and find out they were terrorists," Norrie said, "then again, with the average patriotism of the pinko population, that ain't gonna matter." (I'd like to note; the broader, less harsh definition of pinko is generally just left-winged, however in this particular context I'm using it, you guessed it, more harshly- to define communists. Like, Joseph Stalin type shit. If I recall correctly that is the context in which it used to be used more frequently, however it's become a bit less harsh. Don't quote me on that lol. Thank you for coming to my ted talk) "Or, y'know, it's possible they do as they did with mummies and make brown paint," She suggested. HOPEFULLY. But Norrie thought it'd probably end up in a museum.

(Damn T-T) "Look on the bright side, there's probably tribes in the jungle who, if they saw you, would immediately worship you and think you're a god." There was a good chance of them instead sacrificing him, but Norrie didn't bother to say it. Axl, if he wasn't dumb as shit, would get it. "That sould be fairly easy," Norrie said, "No promises, but I think I can do you one better." It all depended on how reasonable The Fuckwads Above decided to be. If they were true to what Norrie referred to them as, then it'd be The Pound. Which wasn't too terrible, but given the shit Axl'd done today, Norrie thought he deserved better. If Jackson got himself a nice enough room and Axl got The Pound, Norrie'd be throwing hands. Or maybe ask Jackson nicely to trade places. He'd probably agree, with the reasoning of Sure, I've kinda always wanted to see what it was like. Sometimes the idiot was useful.

Axl, I'm Running Out Of Names

-

"It probably doesn't even MATTER if they're terrorists or not. People will still feel bad that they got squooshed." Axl scoffed. "True true." He shook his head. This country was doomed. Goodbye farmers, hello people who torture hybrids for fun. (Thank you for the talk and clarification. I will forever hold this with me xD)

"Unlikely." He let out a suffering sigh. The shitweasels would likely be worshipped because they were unlucky enough to be stuffed into each other. Or the idiots would assume it was one person born that way and call it a freak of nature and study it and spend millions of bucks on it.

.

"You mean, if they don't feast on my meat before that?" Axl asked with a snort. "I hope I give them metal poisoning." He added with a sniff. Life just wasn't fair. Feared one place, eaten another. Pick your poison, apparently. "I can totally look like a god, though. Paint the wings golden, put a crown on, maybe take a shower, a kilt like thingermajig like the ones they wear in the deep forest where they eat people, and presto chango.... Axl, god. They'd write books about me. If they can write. There, in all his glory, miles of bronze skin stretched out, every perfect muscle curved a line into his skin, his face shone of regal pride and his crown glowed golden." He flashed his crooked grin. Like that would ever happen. Here was the Greasy bloody hybrid speaking. "I'll be happy to just not make my wrists bleed again." He replied. He'd take what he could get at the moment. He really didn't want to be shoved in another small cage like an animal, but what the hell. "If only life was fair, eh?" Axl shook his head, subconsciously tucking his wings in closer to himself. Those, his horns, and his fangs made him different. It wasn't even that much. He narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. A long moment. "I wonder..." He mumbled, walking quickly over to the table and picking up a tool, examining it. He then pulled his wings around, looking at the metal. His ears twitched and he reached his hand around his back, twisting to feel for the base of his wings. He ran his fingers around the metal connecting to skin the best he could, feeling for the diameter. Once he had gotten it recorded in his database, he grabbed a sheet of paper and a stump of a pencil and scribbled some shit down. Axl wrote out some measurements and drew the base of the wings, then a contraption beside it. He could DO this. If he could reach his wings. This would fix almost everything. It would make his life better, and he knew people would look at him differently.

Lieutenant Calvert

ᓚᘏᗢ

"No, probably not. Everyone wants to pity the criminal and shame the victim," Norrie sighed. Why must people be so goddamn stupid? It was reverse evolution at its finest. (You're welcome. Now you have another insult courtesy of me xD) "Yeah. I still think if they aren't worshipped they'll be made into hotdogs." Twas a small hope, BUT it was slightly comforting. The pinkoes could gobble on human flesh for all Norrie cared. If they weren't already.

"Hey, you never know. Just stay outta reach and you'll be fine." Yeahhh. Like that was totally doable. MAYYYBE if he stayed in the trees like fuckin monkey, but then they'd probably assume him to be a bigass cryptic bird and fear him. "If you choose to be the god of war the shower isn't even necessary," Norrie snorted, shaking her head at his overly extravagant, wishful thinking depiction of himself. Riiight. "I think that can be arranged, but in the event it can't, would you settle for fluffy pink cuffs?" She asked teasingly. It wouldn't be necessary; she could definitely pull the right strings. So long as General Hauffman agreed - and Norrie thought he would - just about anything could be done.

The Beak, who had popped open the truck's hood and was poking around, looked at Norrie a little confusedly as Axl started fuckin around, and Norrie just shrugged. She could guess what he was doing, but it only mildly interested her. He wasn't starting fires, killing people, blowing shit up, so Norrie wasn't gonna bother him. Right now, at least. Later he'd probably be able to consider himself Thoroughly Bothered, but that was better than a boot to the ass. Now, were Axl to want help, Norrie had a feeling Freddy'd be more than willing to do so, if Axl'd let him. Freddy had admittedly girly hands - in Norrie's opinion - but those dainty little fingers were useful sometimes.

Axl, Wannabe God

-

He shook his head with a slight eye roll. People were SO stupid. How were they still alive? Existing? They TRIED to kill each other and themselves. It didn't make any damn sense. He let out a snort at her words. "That would be mortifying. Not even I would eat that." There was a hint of a joking tone in his voice. Something that was rare.. he didn't joke a lot. He made sarcastic comments, sure, but jokes were reserved for when he was in a good mood, and that was rare.

.

"Stay outta reach. Right." He said drily, wrinkling his nose. Totally doable. "True true. Something worth thinking about. Maybe I could remove the grease, though. Just leave the bloody tapestry." He mused, pondering that thought. He'd be a pretty scary god of war. He could totally rock it. And kill anyone who dare oppose him. He was glad he had a second career option just in case slavery didn't work out for him. "I'd rather die of blood loss." He responded in a deadpan manner, though he looked sliiiightly amused. He would PREFER to not have big fluffy pink cuffs, but when had he ever gotten what he wanted? Then again, he'd Rip anyone in half that tried to put them on him.

.

Axl worked out a couple of things before finishing his sketch and rooting around in the scrap pile for extra metal. He found some fit for his liking, brought it back to his worktable, and cleaned it. He then started molding it, shaping it, cutting it, and bolting the pieces together. He only needed a very simple mechanism, but he wanted it to look natural. After a little bit, dark eyes focused, he grabbed the tool and twisted around, scowling as he found he couldn't reach his wings the way he wanted. He paused, hesitating. If he couldn't reach it, he'd need help, but he didn't want this to be done wrong. And he didn't want anyone to touch him. Ever. Again. His frown deepened and he started on something else. 12 or so minutes later, he had an extension to his contraption and the tool. Another minute and he had carefully positioned it.... then he started cutting off his wings.

.

It only took a couple minutes of severing metal and wires before they both fell to the ground, limp, with a thud. He felt so much fucking LIGHTER. Not wasting a moment, he grabbed the four thingermajigs he had made and carefully attached two to the stumps of metal and two to the severed wings. One more minute and he had clipped the wings back into place... attached on his back. Eyes lighting up with triumph, he unclipped them and they fell back again. He had DONE it. Finally. Now his wings could attach and unattach. A smirk flitted across his face as he gathered up one of the wings and laid it on the table. Now he could really work on them. He rolled his shoulders and spread out the feathers, going to examine the joint where it all connected.

Lieutenant Calvert

ᓚᘏᗢ

"I don't blame you, but most people will eat anything they can get at a supermarket. Even if it's more preservatives and pesticides than food, so I think they'd eat peopledogs," Norrie snorted. Basty nastards. They ate hotdogs in the first place, and that shit was also fuckin nasty, but that was their problem. They wouldn't care if they ate human flesh so long as they were told it was fine.

"I dunno, since they won't know what grease is, you could tell 'em it's... god juice.. or something. Make you seem more like the real deal," She said. God juice. That sounded like an almond mom thing to drink. Drink god juice and awaken your inner ruler! Not safe for children under the age of 10, or those with chronic health conditions. Side effects include sneezing, wheezing, laboured breathing, masochism, vampirism, sudden necromanticism. This product not for those pregnant, breastfeeding, or cosidering pregnancy, or for human beings. "Well that's too damn bad, ain't it?" Norrie snorted.

While Axl did his thing, Norrie messaged General Hauffman on some Department of Defense approved app[which Norrie hated, it was such a pain in the ass sometimes] used for non-emergency shit and gave him her sales pitch on why Axl shouldn't be kept in the same conditions as he was before. Long story short because I'm a lazy bastard, Hauffman gave in after a very weak attempt to refuse. It took all of eighteen minutes, a time Norrie was quite satisfied with, though she guessed it may partly be due to the fact Hauffman was busy with shit regarding the poor innocent idiots who'd died today. Not the terrorists, the sentries and kitchen staff n them all. Poor Hauffman had to find out who died, inform their families, and find replacements. Lucky him. AND he also had to get people to clean up the mess and fix the wall and mess hall. Lovely. At least Axl wouldn't be enjoying a stay at The Pound, though.

Axl

-

"That is terrifying." He fake shuddered, trying not to think about innocent children eating the fuckwads that would be rolled inside each other. Personally, he would eat anything that came straight from nature. Scorpions, termites, rabbits, elk, bears, you name it. If it was human or was human made... it was unlikely that it was entering him.

.

"God juice." He repeated slowly, giving her a skeptical eyebrow raise. "Suuuuure. I could also tell them it was the blood of other god's that I killed because they threatened my reign." Axl offered with an evil smirk. "That would probably be more intimidating." If he was trying to take over the tribe and say that he was a god, he would go for amazing terrifying deadly being. (I laughed so hard at your little rant about god juice xD)

"I guess so. It might even help my image. 'Oh look, the scary weird looking fellow is wearing pink fluffy cuffs! He must be a darling fuzzy pumpkin.'" Axl chirped in a High pitched voice, immediately rolling his eyes afterward, sarcasm tainting his tone.

.

He oiled the joints on both wings and spent the next 15 or so minutes making a special wrap of leather to keep them together and safe. After putting the now shiny new wings in the holster thingermajig, he rubbed his back, where there were only very small stubs of metal left with the practically flat contraption attached to them. With a shirt on, you'd barely be able to tell. And who would be staring at his back anyway? On the second hand, he'd also not have to worry about cutting anybody or whacking anybody with them, and over the next few weeks, he could work on a little homing device, so that if he ever needed them and didn't have them, he'd press a button, and presto... they'd be with him. It wouldn't be THAT simple, but he knew he could do it. He loved mechanics and engineering, and working with metal in general. He brushed some dirt off of the leather and tucked it on a shelf under the table. He didn't need them right now. He ran his tongue over his fangs in thought, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment as he stared at the table. He had a feeling there wasn't many productive things he could do here... or things at all. He flexed his hands and let his claws slide out, studying the bloodstained metal. He should probably clean it to. He started on that, glancing over at Norrie occasionally.