Kirby Krackle

"[colour=#ff00ff]Oh I think I'll do alright, you two. I mean, I'm definitely not much of a fighter buuuuuuuuut...[/colour]" What were clearly insults simply didn't register in his head as anything negative. Besides, he was digging through his toolbox at the time and not really paying attention. "[colour=#ff00ff]I always win at Cops and Robbers[/colour]", he finished with an ear to ear grin, giggling as his magic horn levitated two pieces of what could only be a much bigger machine: six barrels affixed to a central rotating shaft. Each of them dragging along very long chains of ammunition, fed into a base compartment. "[colour=#ff00ff]Now where are.... Oh bother, be a pal and hold these, would you? Thanks a billion![/colour]" Offering these two delicate pieces of equipment to the Griffin lady with all the concern for pencil shavings. Immediately he dug back into his box, using mouth and magic to toss out heaps of metal, (plus shotgun shells, a hot-wired controller from an old Atari, action figured and a few deflated balloons) clearly looking for something, what with his constant "[colour=#ff00ff]No. No. Nuh uh. Nada. Nope. Negatory. Nein. Niet. Nej. Nee. Nie. Nema. N.. AHA! Found you![/colour]" Out he pulled a hefty wooden crate, stamped with the seal of Mane Co. and clearly labeled 'Danger: High Explosives' and showed them with pride to the others. Clearly pleased with his efforts, he magically gathered up the entire mess he made and skipped outside, ready to put his puzzle together. Oh the way out, what a surprise! He bumped into another little pony, smaller than he and in such a fun costume to boot! "[colour=#ff00ff]Wait right here, I have just the thing![/colour]" He whizzed back through the automatic doors, quick as a hiccup, then back out to gently place a "[colour=#ff00ff]Banana sticker![/colour]" on the new pony's forehead.

I just realized! She would have her Botkiller weapon in this one!

Totally okay to join in! I'm also liking the difference in theme here. Coaltown has 'fresh meat teetering on the sanity slippery slope' and Maneworks has full on comedic sociopathy. Fun!

"[colour=#ff00ff]-somepony staaaaaaarted singing it not knowing what it was and they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end- Oh, we're here? Thanks a million! And sorry for the grease on the seats, here this should take those stains right now. Byebye now! Safe back to civilization![/colour]" One sack of bits and a can of industrial solvent to the cabby (who thanks Celestia for him finally leaving, though Tinker didn't notice) later, he was dropped off in a... less-than-fun looking set of long forgotten industry. It was a dull brownish grey, in dying need of colour. Dyeing. Ha! He let out a hearty cackle, clearly amused by his own antics. Once two and a half minutes of hysterics were up, he gasped for much needed air and wiped a few tears from his eyes. With the moment passed, he picked his song back up and started skipping through the dusty hallways and out of the way, randomly placed rooms. All of them. His half hour analysis finally ended at the most secure looking facility. Must be the barracks. One swipe of his ID card later and he found... more brownish grey. Boring boring boring. He sighed and wondered how long it would take the colour scheme to drive him batty. He carelessly shrugged his massive toolbox (which was red and covered in stickers ) off his aching shoulders, the resulting metal on metal roaring through the tiny room. Tinker didn't notice. But what caught is eye was... a Griffin! He's never seen one up close before! Certainly she's a mercenary too, and therefore a coworker, and therefore an ally in his robot hunt! Best to be on his best behavior and use the universal greeting. It works every time. "[colour=#ff00ff]Bah weep granah weep ninni bong![/colour]"

Roleplay Type: Mane vs Machine Map: Maneworks Name: Tinker Tailor Sex: Male Age: Stallion Species: Unicorn Eye colour: 'Pink as Hell' Coat: Cobalt blue Mane/Tail: Curly, long and unkempt. Tail cut short. A deep commitment to purple. Physique: Above average height and a little stocky. Too many donuts. Occupation/Class: Engineer and toy maker. Cutie Mark: Two interlocking gears. Loadout: Rescue Ranger/Wrangler/Stock Wrench. Wears the Industrial Festivizer, Idea Tube and the Teddy Roosebelt. History: Tinker Tailor was born with a beautiful curiosity about the inner workings of the modern world. That's good. He was also born with poor impulse control. That's bad. His delight over machines would cause him to cause random acts of destruction on alarm clocks and the like just to see the cogs inside turning. This behavior would unfortunately bleed into the young colt's social life, leaving the toys of a few friends dead. He was quick to realize his heel realization though, rushing to salvage both the wind-up pony figure and his friendship. His compulsion to deconstruct became a new found love to build. Good as new! And a cutie mark to boot! As he grew to a fine young stallion, he became the local Mr. Fixit, able to repair anything from faulty plumbing to engine blocks to grandfather clocks. It was a challenge at first but became a bore very quickly. His real passion was still in toy making. A decent profit was made selling his designs. Some improvements on best selling cube puzzles, plus a wide variety of mechanical board games and budding novelty electronics to name a few. The bits from this would fund his more daring projects, which allowed his creativity to flourish. One inspiration persisted: his first repair of the wind-up toy. And it budded into a concept only read about in science fiction: robotics. What if he could market fully functional self operating machines to the market? Eagerly he proposed ideas to any company that profited from his work, though none nibbled without some kind of prototype. His idea seemed dead before it began. But what's this? Rumors were floating around about an army of machines threatening the livelihood of his friends and neighbors. It certainly explained why some were packing up and leaving their families as if it were a wartime draft. What if these rumors were true? His mouth practically watered at the idea of reverse-engineering these monsters into a child's plaything! A few inquiries and an acceptance letter from one "Saxton Hale" later, he was sent an ID card as well as the blueprints to several astounding inventions. He would familiarize with them along the way the battlefield. Character summary: Tinker Tailor possesses a friendly and bubbly personality, tending to give off a 'few sandwiches shy of a picnic' vibe. It comes from the fact that he spent most of his time growing up in front of a tool box and pastel paints, rather than outside having a life. He tends to ramble and when not intently focused on his engineering, his mind tends to wander and will begin playing with the few action figures he has stashed in his tool box. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ On a side note, I would like to point out that no, I'm not playing a male Pinkie Pie. I'm playing a not-murderous Toyman. Superman villain. Look him up.

I don't see why not? We should decide on continuity then, to accommodate this. Which map "exists" first?

Rather than clutter up the OOC forum, perhaps in application, there should just be a new section for which map you're playing on. And yes, Maneworks. Because I hate that map. It's a terrible map with too many tight corners, too many ways for bots to flank and no real way to reset the bomb. Perfect. Oh, and just because, I think my Engiepony's name is Tinker Tailor. No worries, friend. Hectic is most of my life too.

Well, off to the front lines for drills of tactics he's never performed in his life. Though, as he followed the one massive and one tiny teammate out from the barracks, he suddenly felt much better about his weapon of choice. Her... his... its? Whatever the Pyro was had an arsenal that looked just as bad as his. On close inspection (purposely ignoring the neon display), the biggest gun looked like it had a car muffler bolting everything together! Was this Mane Co. in the business of hiring the poor, derelict and crazy? Because he could only find one pony that probably wasn't bonkers, whom he beckoned to follow with the rest of the team. "[colour=#0000cd]Let's go, Doc. Best to know what we're doing before any sirens blow[/colour]", Reveille called, keeping the automatic door open for Sweet Scent.

...I'm in, should this happen. I suddenly have plans for an Engineer. One of the bigger questions is whether to relate him to the Apple family at all.

http://www.screwattack.com/shows/originals/death-battle/death-battle-starscream-vs-rainbow-dash Because an Epic Rap Battle of History wasn't enough. May be some fowl language but that's about it in regards to safe viewership. I know the Batman vs Spiderman fight had some cussin'... But anyway, here we go!

As far as Stranges go, keep an eye on the Wiki page when there's an update with new crates. As you know, crates have a very specific list of what can be inside them. The weapons listed (unless otherwise notes ((frakkin' 2012 festives...)) ) will always be Strange. So, buy some keys and start unlocking or trade with someone who bought some keys and started unlocking. I swear, the minute a S. Beggar's Bazooka comes out...

The only reason I didn't roll Spy for this RP is he would basically be Curtain Call, my level 4 Rogue in the Pathfinder RP on this very forum! And yes, we could totally do other classes on other maps. I actually love this idea.

Fool Reveille once, shame on you. Fool him twice, shame on him. Thanks to the invisible rogue of the group, all the surprise has been sapped out of him. Mostly. His heart still skipped a beat when yet another pony popped up from out of nowhere, masked, and staring at him with dead, goggled eyes. Once again, he was glad his gun wasn't loaded. Although he considered whipping out his frying pan briefly. Only briefly, because... whatever it was, seemed relatively harmless (to them. Knock on wood.) So to him, this Jacques' taunting seemed completely unjustified. The trumpeter's first act of heroism interposing himself between the two before things got out of hoof. "[colour=#0000cd]So, I'm gonna guess and say there's personal history. Pretty sure we should be ignoring it. We can't fight the other guys if we're fighting each other, right?[/colour]" Everybody calm? Good. Himself included and he liked that. First order of business was walking over to Sweet Scent and sliding the very science-fiction backpack off to the side ala saddlebag. Problem solved. Next problem was him addressing the pony in latex, "[colour=#0000cd]Though I bet we would all feel better if you lost the mask for a spell[/colour]". The last problem was finished with him sitting comfortably for orders and playing his instrument. 'When the Saints Go Marching In' seemed strangely appropriate.

Great. Now I find the Pyro adorable. Thanks a lot! Sheesh! You're lucky I took my heart medica- Oh no. Where are my pills?! Where are m- Hnnnnng...

Heck yeah, this is still open. Climb aboard! That being said, I'm waiting for there to be six posting before I have the announcer start the count down. Trying to get TortoiseShell to stop dragging her feet, etc etc. In the meantime, just because I've had this idea buzzing in my head for a while, in regards to to character concept, draw from unusual places in the game if you're having trouble. Like, from hats and miscs and secondaries. A baseball player Scouting for the team is easy. A former Soda jerk (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soda_jerk) is different! What if the wearer of the http://wiki.teamfortress.com/wiki/Pyrotechnic_Tote actually was a pyrotechnic expert before picking up his Flamethrower? Be creative! I would love to see what you come up with!

There's that 'horrors of war' thing again. The concept of reducing ponies to nothing more than pancake batter certainly sounded like madness. Both to use such a weapon and to actually build one. Was he half way there already? Maybe. He hoped not. Though, the cobbled mess slung over one shoulder and made of hardware scavenged from a dumpster might be a point against him in that respect. Oh goodness why oh why was the idea of him being crazy now in his head? Now the poor stallion couldn't stop thinking about it! Did the apple fall far enough away from the tree or was he in for a heaping spoonful of PTSD? He didn't know. He also had no idea why he just blurted out "[colour=#0000cd]Oh ho ho, you'll be seeing voided warranties from here to Ponyville[/colour]!" followed by a joyful snicker. Well nuts, that didn't take long. Time to be worried again.

There is is. The big question. 'Just what are you doing on the battlefield?'. Reveille spent a lot of time trying to come up with an answer, except not really. The necessary hours were only half of one on the cab ride here. The rest was spent fretting over the horrors of war and taking a nap. So what did he come up with? Lots of things, actually. Most of them were one-liners or boisterous boasting which all sounded very proud and were probably shouted in his ear by the Commander (Dad) at one point in his foalhood. The Art of War, which he certainly has in his pack and has certainly studied, provided much wisdom but dang it, he could not find anything... conversational. Nothing with punch. Nothing to explain his future actions. So, truly at a loss for words, Reveille simply skipped ahead. The Earth Pony marched with as much authority as he could muster to his still gift-wrapped weapon. The colourful paper was ripped away to reveal his bazooka in all its dime-story glory. The Tin Soldier was fully prepared to be laughed out of the base. "[colour=#0000cd]I made it myself. It shoots rockets. Rockets explode.[/colour]"

"[colour=#0000cd]SWEET MOTHER OF SUNSHINE[/colour]" Thanks to the unceremonious uncloaking, poor Reveille was practically on the ceiling, all his fur standing on end. Later on in the evening, he would thank his lucky stars for not holding onto a loaded bazooka at the time, for he probably would have killed everyone in the room on reflex alone. After a few moments, his heart stopped doing the Charleston and hopped down from the rafters to which he was so desperately clutching. It started all over again when he realized what kind of a fool he appeared to be. "[colour=#0000cd]Sorry sorry sorry! Invisibility is... a new one for me? How did you... Nevermind. My name is Reveille. A pleasure.[/colour]" He may not have gained his composure, but he certainly tried to act like it. The Soldier extended his hoof in greeting, definitely curious as to the inner workings of this new pony in a very nice suit. He hid all questions though, for fear of being outed.

"[colour=#0000cd]Thanks, Doc. Y'know, if I can call you that. Name's Reveille[/colour]." After introductions, he zipped up his jacket (which he noticed had the emblem of a rocket on each sleeve. 'That's me', he sourly mused.) and strapped the bandolier he dug out next. Affixed to it were a pair of grenades, which he was suddenly really not happy about. How old were these things?! Duds or worse, on a hair trigger? He would have taken the blasted things off but he was afraid they would smithereen him during the attempt. He then noticed the behemoth of a pony marching in. This was what he was worried about. The seasoned veteran who could sniff out a phony from a mile away. Lickity split, he slapped on his hat and saluted his senior. "[colour=#0000cd]Sir! It is an honor to serve with you in the line of duty, sir![/colour]" Boy, that sounded fake.

So. I'm still alive. Thread still alive. Just work and so-forth. Today is my day off. Also, TortoiseShell might be joining. I dunno. Her app is slow in the making.

As it turns out, I can edit posts on my phone! Yay! As far as colour of text goes, I do the same on one piece of the pallet. If I can't do coat, then mane, then eyes, etc. Something to differentiate from the rest of the cast.

'Relieved' wasn't a strong enough word for how he felt to see the always familiar white coat and red cross. As of right now, 'international symbol of protection' translated to 'probably not a lunatic' and he wasn't at all prepared to introduce himself to hard boiled mercenaries. He could barely talk to his Pa, let alone the real Gun nuts. Professionalism told him to keep playing until the end of the song before making nice with the audience. "[colour=#0000ff]Good mornin', Doctor. Glad to see a friendly face[/colour]", he said making the assumption. Though there was a sudden nervous crack in his voice. He knew he wasn't a trained Soldier. Did she? Would the other fighters that were bound to show up? This wasn't really a time for charades. Following her trend, he reached into his own pack and donned his uniform, which was a jacket that felt like it weighed as much as he! It could probably stop a bullet or two, he assumed.

To you as well! Arthropods need love too!

And up. I'm tired from tree trimming and baking and otherwise preparing for a party later today (since it's 2am here). Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

"Coal Town?", Reveille's Pegasus cabbie asked with shock in his voice. "Coal Town's been abandoned since the dustbowl! It's a wasteland! Nopony goes out there, 'cept for a few mercenaries. But those are just rumors." The word 'rumors' was followed by a hearty laugh, which Reveille shared in, albeit awkwardly. After all, a major part of his luggage was a bazooka wrapped in Hearth's Warming paper and a pretty blue ribbon. 'A present to his mama' was easy enough to lie about, as opposed to a 'broken down war machine'. The cabbie went on with his story mentioned facilities that deserved to be condemned, treacherous bottomless pits, loose guard rails and substandard house cleaning. Once on the ground, Reveille saw just how right his transport was. What looked to be an old mining operation was in shambles! He saw exposed wires, choked on clouds of dust, wondered if he would fall through creaking floor boards and, in general felt unsafe as he explored the the buildings he couldn't find a reason for. Did anypony ever live and work here? They must have. The packs of ammunition and first aid kits must have been new, as there were no flecks of dirt upon them. A surprising contrast to the rest of this place, which Father Time certainly took a bat to. Far behind him, among the cliffs looking down the terrain, a massive machine parked, waiting for an end he didn't want to think about. Finally, at the end of his travels, he came upon the big secret. This one building, looking just as rotted on the outside and of very high standard upkeep on the inside. He needed his father's ID badge to get past the mechanical sliding doors. He was surprised to see no pony there to greet him. Was he the first to arrive? Did the cabbie zigged when he should have zagged? Was he just in the wrong part of town? He sure as shootin' didn't know. So, he figured, might as well try to be constructive with his time if he was going to have a wait ahead of him. Unwrapping his gun was the first order of business, and to give his shoulders a break, so he set the clunky thing on a nearby counter he didn't notice was labeled 'Upgrade Station'. Secondly was digging through his saddlebag for some rations he took along. Nothing fancy, just a few tough cakes of fruit and nut his Ma insisted he take. Chewy. Okay, more like eating a block of library paste, but sweet and filling. Final order of business was trying not to go insane from that sense of impending doom. Reveille pulled from the brown canvas sack his brass trumpet, still kept as pristine as the day he got it, and began playing. Just random notes at first to warm up, and then 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. He hoped he would make it back to his family and his band after all this. He hoped his father would understand if he didn't.