[Open/Social] Workshop / Repair shop

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Commissar Cat
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Postby Commissar Cat » Mon Sep 11, 2017 2:50 am

The workshop is open to all who require it. A rolling metal shutter is mostly open, high enough for the average trooper to step under, if the average trooper isn't a strapping young Cadian.
Well lit, connected to a dedicated generator, and reasonably dry, the workshop consists of a number of workbenches, powered and unpowered tool racks, and a low dividing wall cutting across the back third of the workshop. Symbols, tape, and a small gate signify that the workbenches to the rear are not for general use.

Carefully labelled guns lay in neatly organised racks behind the wall, waiting for their owners to return. They are within arm's reach of the observer, but such a reach would be disrespectful and you don't know of anyone who has dared do so.
The back wall contains another large shutter, with a smaller door beside it, both leading into the motorpool courtyard. From the nearby tools and stains on the cement, it appears that the large shutter is to allow access to more civilian vehicles, such as four-wheel trucks, service cars and motorbikes. Anything larger would certainly struggle to fit into the space.

At the moment a small food delivery vehicle is parked at the back, a pair of folding fabric screens hide her delicate innards from outsider eyes. Like doctors caring for a patient, occasionally a tech priest will step into the workshop from beyond and disappears behind the screen, quiet murmuring and soothing words given just as freely.

Shelves and containers of parts are for the most part well labeled, but there are signs of recent inquisitive hands. Cigar ash and a few stray butts sit at the back of upper shelves, and after the first time you put your finger in used gum, you're less keen to rest your hands on the underside of any shelves.

One front section workbench seems to be solely dedicated to the construction of Cadian pattern mines and charges, though the components seem almost experimental in origin. Nobody seems keen to disturb the contents, perhaps for the better.
Another workbench, this one in the back half, is covered in seemingly both precariously and perfectly balanced brass instruments, many of them perpetual motion devices in various stages of construction. Occasional, rhythmic chimes sound from amongst the flow of movement.

A wall shelf by the back door houses a small shrine to the Omnissiah, illuminated gently by neon light, the scent of incense and sacred unguent permeates the air nearby.

---

The workshop is a social workroom where you may also bring your gear to be repaired, upgraded, duplicated and so forth. You may build, add tools or features and create parts of the scene.

Guard: You may use the shop tools or request help.

Admech: You may play an enginseer NPC or one of your own admech of similar level.

Rank is largely irrelevant, manners (or having interesting things to work on) are key to getting seen.

Absolutely no xeno technology or corrupted items/characters relating to the comic plot without prior agreement.

No pure-ooc posts. Notes on posts with content that contribute to the topic are fine.

---

As you enter, a sandy-robed tech priest is behind a bench, he waves a hand in faint acknowledgment while his other arm and several mechadendrites are busy in the guts of a desktop cogitator.
He says nothing, because obviously, you are here for a reason.

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Techpriest Dave
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Postby Techpriest Dave » Mon Sep 11, 2017 12:55 pm

The elderly Enginseer Hall walked into the building with a mumble on his lips and several Lasguns held in his servo arms.
<HEY YOU!> he said, in a loud binaric buzz, to the other priest <I NEED SOME HELP WITH THESE.> and dumped the 6 Lasguns on an open workbench.
As Hall goes about disassembling the first of the Lasguns. His cane, leaning on the table, sparks violently. <QUIET YOU!>

((About time I took Hall for a test drive. ))




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Zink
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Postby Zink » Sun Sep 17, 2017 1:39 am

Maintenance and appeasement of a Guardsman's gear was paramount - it was a necessity instilled in the first days of any Guardsman's training. The difference between life and death could come from something simple as the jam of a lasgun, either through neglect of body, or a dissatisfaction of the machine spirits, who care little for the plight of their users. With the ever-dwindling amount of supplies available to the local Imperials, a Guardsman's duty in maintaining his wargear is as Important as ever.

For this reason, a Cadian found himself at the Workshop - standing only a few feet away from the entrance, though his feet were stayed for the moment. He'd seen the odd Techpriest barge into the shop, and from his experience with the more eccentric elements of the Cult, the cloth, oils, and space he needed for his Lascarbine's maintenance seemed a little less worth it - almost. Willing himself forward, and hoping the Tech-priest wasn't in a talkative mood, he reached up to push the metal shutter just a little bit higher, giving himself (and the lascarbine slung around his shoulder) some extra clearance, just in case.

"Ave Omnissiah, Priest...s" The words left his lips on instinct, with the plural slipping out as he noticed the shop's caretaker in his post. Signing the cog over his chest, a motion he had memorized as well as the Aquilla, the Operator took a step forward, pulling off his already unlatched helmet from his head. "Pardon my intrusion." He spoke, hands idly latching his helmet into a position on his waist, looking back and forth between the Shop's caretaker, and the... odd one, who was currently disassembling Las-weapons en mass.

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Fairemont
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Postby Fairemont » Sun Sep 17, 2017 7:30 pm

The guardsman was not the only one to arrive at the workshop in search of improving and maintaining their armament. As soon as he steps away from the door another individual arrives, practically appearing in the doorway. The only thing missing was the flash of lightning and roll of thunder as the clearly worse-for-wear person entered the shop after practically appearing from thin air. Having taken a step indoors, they stop and look around, a mask obscuring their visage, but not the eyes that were clearly scanning the room from within.

When the newcomer spots the techpriests, they approach and without hesitation, draws a sidearm from a holster at their hip and places it reverently upon the counter nearby, then turns towards Enginseer Hall who has his hands and mechadendrites full with a batch of lasguns. The voice the that emanates from the individual is muffled and distorted by the mask, but is clear and articulate enough to understand for the average person: "My weapon seems to be having issues. It is down in power capacity by roughly 1.702% and the delay upon trigger-activation has become .03 seconds greater than previously. This concerns me as my efficiency has dwindled."

They stare at Enginseer Hall for a short time. "Can you assist in returning my firearm to proper working conditions?"

Though Hall might be busy with lasguns, the opportunity to work on a relic weapon like the knight's graviton pistol should be enough to incentivize the enginseer to put off other duties... temporarily.
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Techpriest Dave
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Postby Techpriest Dave » Sun Sep 17, 2017 10:30 pm

Hall was half way done re-assembling the 5th las gun when the two others walked in. One was obviously a guardsman, stock standard, probably dead in the next month or so. The other was different, clearly noble based on accent and... weaponry. Hall made the two wait until he was done with the las gun pile before he picked up his sparking cane and made his way to them.
One snake like servo arm grabbed the las-carbine off the guardsman shoulder quickly. Hall took a second to look over the pistol in the hands of the noble, clearly a grab weapon.
An oily hand picked up the ancient weapon unceremoniously. "Where did you get this? Actually no I don't care." Hall sighs and looks at the pistol. "of all the things I thought I would work on..." he says with a tired sigh.
Do we even have the equipment? Probably not. he thought. Hall walked back to his work bench and set both weapons down. He quickly found the problem with the las-carbine, and in less than a minute he righted it.
Then he looked at the grav-pistol. Hopefully the problem isn't too deep within the mechanism. "You're lucky," he shouted across the workshop "very few know how to work with grav weapons in general, I think I'm the only one here who know how!" He punctuated with a chuckle.

Carefully he opened the grav pistol, bearing its innards to the world. With deft motions he cleaned the projector and housing, small and near unseeable grains of dirt fell from the casing. Hall applied holy unguents to the few moving parts of the weapon, and closed it up.
He loaded the las-guns back into his servo arms, including the rifle from the guardsman, and stowed the pistol in his greasy blue robes.
"I'm going to test fire them, you can come if you like. Always need an extra par of hands."




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Fairemont
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Postby Fairemont » Sun Sep 17, 2017 11:26 pm

When the tech-priest inquires about the origin of her pistol and then swiftly retracts it, Aenaria nods. "Probably best that it remains a secret, Enginseer. But I am glad that you believe you have the equipment and knowledge necessary to fine-tune my weaponry. It will be very useful in the coming days." She folds her hands behind her back and looks over at the guardsman for a moment. It had been a long while since she had served alongside any of them, and even then, it was generally from within the relatively safe confines of her knight. She would have to get used to seeing them everywhere around here and figure out how to fight alongside them. If nothing else, how to make them fight effectively around her like meatshields. Sub-satisfactory replacement for ion shields, but it would do.

"Very well, enginseer. Let us see if what you have done will have been the proper adjustments. That weapon has saved my life countless times and I hope it continues to do so." Aenaria readies herself to follow the techpriest where-ever he goes. They'd probably need to find something... dense to test it on for proper feedback.
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- , Shas’vre of La'rua Mon'ket
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Postby Commissar Cat » Tue Sep 19, 2017 3:09 am


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SilverRuby
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Postby SilverRuby » Tue Sep 19, 2017 12:34 pm

Sequestered in the corner of the workshop, was a small, makeshift workbench that clearly was not occupied by any self-respecting Mechanicus- the station itself was a bit haphazard, with smears of oil and scraps of metal skewed across the surface- pushed aside by the lazy sweep of an arm during a moment of fanatical genius.

The low, heady beat of stomp blasting through some [broken] speakers could be heard emanating from this corner, its occupant bobbing her head slightly to the music while attempting to fix a broken motor piece.

While Guardsman Waltz had shown exemplary knowledge in taking apart vehicles and mechanical things to a frightening degree, she was far from effective in the re-assembly process... Tech-Priest Ollie had seen to making the convict useful, as she had requisitioned a station of her own, despite the other Mechanicus' protests that she stay outside, strictly in the visitor's area. Slowly and surely, the lime-haired woman had weasled her way in, and made her own little sanctuary full of knick-knacks, filched tools and bad taste in music. Scattered around her were various, horrendously soldered together pieces, with the metal traces dribbling off the wiring, or parts stuck together with some poorly-mixed epoxy (that didn't appear to be setting...) in haphazard ways that could not have been any further from fixed.

She glanced up at the entrance of the others- habit formed from the penal-colony where she was constantly looking over her shoulder at any noise (It was best not to arouse suspicion!), and actively busied herself trying to shove a bolt into a spot that wasn't meant for one- repairing, yup, that's what I'm doin'.

After glancing up at Hall, then at the fancy newcomer- she certainly wasn't interested in gaining the attention of either- the third visitor, however, drew her eye. Tracy paused in what she was doing to lower her goggles, clearly giving Michael an optical pat-down from head-to-toe with a cursory pause in between. Handsome, swarthy- The base was really churning out some attractive eye-candy lately to ogle and make "work" more interesting.

"I could help ya maintain yer weapon if ya like," She called over, leaning back on her stool with a grin, waving coyly with her soldering iron- clearly the wrong instrument for the job, but the intention was semi-pure.
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Postby CyGamer » Thu Sep 21, 2017 10:30 am

A small collection of broken servitors could be seen near the far corner of the workshop. Calligraphus, Charron Pattern, Pugnis-class, even a few Choir Drones were pilled in a small section beside a bench-which if you asked the other Admechs was continuing to grow everyday-as spare parts and limbs hung above in well labeled but jumbled array. Floating above in a endless game of labeling and rewriting, two servoskulls sifted through the piles of broken machines in search of usable parts. Sitting at the bench, shrouded in a red robe with oil stains creeping up the bottom, Chirigus was busy testing a Calligrahus arm to see it was still operational. So far the only function he'd gotten was a high speed spray of ink.

He had been trying to ignore the blare of Waltz's speakers, while he spoke the prayers in a half-hearted manner. Of the 47 units he'd inspected, only 8% of the parts were in good condition and only 3 percent of those were in any working order. The Tau had been destroying most of the servitors on the plant to hinder Imperial forces, and those citizens left had cannibalized the machines for their own uses. All of this left a very frustrated Chirigus alone to sift through the remains is hope that there would be something of value.

++Micheal, could you please play that song, Pray_322.m3u++ he said in binary to the small Cherium sitting on the top of the work bench. With a cooing like noise, the small childlike servitor began to "sing". It did little to drown out the racket from Waltz's, but it gave him something to focus on. Until the visitors came. A mechadendrite twisted around and looked towards the trooper and the strange woman. The shutter opened and closed as Chirigus mentally furrowed his brow. The woman was having a grav-pistol repaired, a very rare and delicate machine, but was likely lacking the proper components.

With a short blurt of binary, one of the servo skulls stopped and began sputtering out a roll of paper. Ah, he was right.

++Brother Hall, if you have a moment.++ Chirigus said to his fellow Enginseer.

Who says the future has to be grimdark? Matt Ward that's who.

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Furbnus
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Postby Furbnus » Thu Sep 21, 2017 11:37 am

Holland enters the room, stomping furiously towards the Enginseers, a pair of loading servitors holding crates at his heels. He snaps at the nearest servitor and it sets its crate down, revealing that it is full of lasguns. "What are these?" he says angrily. Before anyone can answer he grabs a lasgun, loads it, points it at an Enginseer and pulls the trigger. It gives off a soft whine before belching smoke from the barrel. "You cogboys couldn't even be bothered to supply me with working lasguns?! How in the name of the Emperor am I supposed to give these useless hunks of garbage to the men? Those boys are out there fighting with what what I give them, and I'm given that by you, so you are going to give me an explanation before I get Commissar Yorke."
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SilverRuby
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Postby SilverRuby » Thu Sep 21, 2017 2:33 pm

"Ey-ey-EYYYYYYY BOY-" Tracy yelled out over the racket, alarmed that the Corporal was discharging a [broken] lasweapon at an Enginseer to make some sort of point. What sort of idiot does that... Even on Savlar, they'd had it beaten into their skulls that there were proper weapons handling procedures that wouldn't send anyone to medicae on happenstance. It was a waste of supply and manpower. Brandishing her soldering iron at Holland, she stood from her workbench, harassment of the handsome Cadian forgotten in criticizing the other Cadian.

"Ain't you never learned not to point yer weapon at yer fellas? What if that went off- and don't give me no 'I knew it weren't workin' macho grox-shit', ya don't come in here pointin' a flashlight at the boys if ya want 'em to fix 'em."

There was something about the Corporal that immediately rubbed Waltz the wrong way. Made her skin crawl and annoyed just looking at him. The convict nudged a box of spare wiring out from beside her bench to swagger over toward the younger male, "Now, we gonn' test 'em real smart like or are we gonn' have a problem? Ain't no way that entire lot are duds."
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Fairemont
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Postby Fairemont » Thu Sep 21, 2017 2:54 pm

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- , Shas’vre of La'rua Mon'ket
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Warsmith Wolf
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Postby Warsmith Wolf » Thu Sep 21, 2017 3:20 pm

Underneath the entrance shutter appeared a man, gliding into the workshop with the practised ease of one who has either become rather familiar with this place, or has developed a subconscious habit of entering rooms with panache. A long ankle-length coat obscured much of him, as did a rather peaked cap, his neatly shaven chin about the only thing visible currently. Pausing for a moment before standing back up from his under-shutter crouch, the gentleman appraised the situation before speaking in a clear tone clearly used to rhetoric or commanding men.

"And what have we here, Guardsmen?"

It is only when he stood straight and spoke that his identity was fully obvious as a Commissar - granted, who else wears ankle-length coats and peaked caps? - though only his voice, face, and suspiciously morose respirator hung neatly around his neck identified him specifically as Commissar Wittmann from the eternal land of sunshine and rainbows that was the 554th Death Korps of Krieg's HQ. He was armed, as he always was, with his bolt pistol and chainsword, though he was also armed with a satchel of supplies that anyone who regularly attended this place knew was filled with sacred cleaning unguents and a set of cloths. Once a week, every week, Wittmann quietly entered the workshop and tended to his weapons. Why here, and not at the Kriegers' HQ where he was stationed and rarely left?

Ah, but it's rude to ask questions.

It's also rude to aim guns at people, and shouting isn't much better - these were things Wittmann noted upon his entry. He was familiar with the personnel involved from pict-captures and personnel files, though not from personal acquaintance, as they were what he liked to call people of note - social malcontents and former criminals, people he kept a note of in case they ever went near his Kriegers and started causing inter-regimental diplomatic incidents. One of them was both a Savlar Chem Dog and a convict, which Wittmann privately noted as never being a particularly good combination, while the other was simply... strange. No report ever spoke kindly of Quartermaster Chekov, and it was frankly quite baffling as to why - in its own way, something to keep track of.

Given this display, of course, perhaps not so baffling any more.

"Quartermaster, you are of former line infantry stock, yes?" Wittmann knew the question was rhetorical, continuing before an answer could be offered. "Then you perhaps remember trigger discipline from the Imperial Primer, or at least basic training?"

"And you, Guardswoman." Perhaps a lofty term for a convict, though by her rank it is begrudgingly correct. "Basic workshop safety procedure states that tools are not to be pointed at other people - I assume you can read the procedure. Applying solder to the Quartermaster will not fix his manners."

Assuming literacy amongst the rank and file was something Wittmann had long since dropped - barely any of the Kriegers' infantry were able to read anything but orders and couldn't write at all, and he'd encountered many agri- and feudal-worlders in the past that knew even less.

"Both of you, stand down and ensure you do not repeat your actions. Issuing punishments at this hour would thoroughly sour my mood, and I would not greatly appreciate such obstructions to my spare time. I imagine neither of you would, either."

Given Wittmann's reputation and current regimental assignment, his diction was remarkably lenient. Privately, he'd rather not have his weekly break from the drudgery of the Death Korps interrupted by a flogging.
Ferrum honore veniat.


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Postby VoxInterference » Thu Sep 21, 2017 3:40 pm

Radios, vox terminals, anything with a speaker starts to crackle and fritz. For a heartbeat, the entire Workshop - and anybody with any sort of internal vox hardware - is ringing with the opening notes of Bleizdel's Imperator Gloriana.

It's a single, disorienting moment before the noise cuts off once more.
++Are you sure your transmissions are secure?++

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Furbnus
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Postby Furbnus » Thu Sep 21, 2017 4:00 pm

Holland looks around, stunned at what just happened. "Um, Commissar sir? What just happened?" He remembers his manners and snaps off a sharp salute. "Sir! As to what I was saying earlier to this fine gent..." He picks up a lasgun and disassembles it. "As you can see, the focusing crystals aren't aligned, giving the beam nowhere to go and thus causing the charge pack to over..." He remembers the lasgun he fired earlier, pulling the pack out and throwing it in a dumpster just a few seconds before it explodes.
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Fairemont
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Postby Fairemont » Thu Sep 21, 2017 4:50 pm

- , the Freeblade Ragnarok
- , Shas’vre of La'rua Mon'ket
- , the Ancient One

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Techpriest Dave
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Postby Techpriest Dave » Thu Sep 21, 2017 7:11 pm





I figured it out!

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Warsmith Wolf
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Postby Warsmith Wolf » Thu Sep 21, 2017 7:42 pm

Ferrum honore veniat.


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Furbnus
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Postby Furbnus » Thu Sep 21, 2017 8:03 pm

A smile creeps along Holland's face "And if I may be polite sir, that ammunition doesn't exist, nor has it ever existed." He pulls out his data-slate and shows him the delivery information, 50 lasguns and 150 charge packs, 15 flamers and 45 gallons of fuel and 65 frag grenades. "Designation 42-3-B6, auspex scan these supplies."
After a moment the servitor blurts out "50 m36 lasguns to be issued to B Company, 150 m36 lasgun charge packs to be issued to B Company."
Holland nods and checks his slate again, barely concealed amusement on his face. "Mm, yes, checks out. The only that doesn't check out... Is this shipment."
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