[Open Class] Rockem' Sockem' Trashbots (Mort + Alex) Success

[medigel]

. . .

"T-Ticking like . . . bomb?" DDD8

Damage: once in a blue moon  

[Seussi]

The mechanical, grinding, clanking, whirring, it all continued as the trashbot took yet another lurch forward.

Alex was so close to the edge now, he just gazed down the pit of trashly doom and sighed.

"It was nice knowing you, Mort!" He called out jokingly.

He really was not looking forward to this.

Trashbot B: 1/20  

[medigel]

And then Mort did a Vader No.

"Nonononononono-" Mort threw himself at the injured leg to try and pull it back from the precipice of dooooooom. "Bad! B-Bad robot!"

Was was this, a dog who got caught dumping on the rug?

Well there was probably someone's s**t in here.

Damage: OTL  

[Seussi]

One more lurch, dragging Mort forward. Two more feet to go now.

"Remember me fondly, my friend!" Alex joked.

Worst. Countdown. Ever.


Trashbot B: 1/20

(( Sorry, two of my dogs are missing and I was calling around trying to find them XD ))  

[medigel]

>8[[[[ It is not your time, Alexander Van Rotte. Not today.

With the speed of a turtle he managed to latch onto the other undamaged leg and began to Death Grip it as tightly as he could. Mort's game face was on. Srs bznz.

After about seven seconds of effort, a satisfactory crnnk! was heard as the robot's leg was crushed. The trashbot leaned precariously to the right of the chute, then gave a metallic groan as it hit the floor, finally shutting off.

Mort was just going to stay on the groan with his stumpy leg, looking tired but pleased as he let go of the thing with curled fingers that throbbed.

Damage: The most magnificent 1 in the world  

[Seussi]

The robot had just started to take one more lurch forward, which would have put Alex very close to being dumped like yesterdays trash, when Mort came through for him, and managed to defeat the giant robot trash monster of doom with nothing but the squeeze of his undead hand.

Huzzah!

Except now the giant robot was falling towards the ground, creaking over to the side and beginning what to Alex seemed like the slowest decent ever, ending with the biggest crash that finally jarred him loose of the robots clutches.

He lay on the ground, smelly, soaked, and with bits of trash stuck to his hair, and gazed up at the ceiling.

"Please tell me we don't still have to pick up garbage and throw it away?" he mumbled towards the other zomboil. "I don't think I could make myself move if there were a nice big plate of brains right in front of my face."  

[medigel]

"Mrrrr . . ." It took him a while to formulate an answer and a little longer to find his tongue working again. "Think . . . n-need get loose trash nearby, n' then con go."

And then Mort glanced about, seeing the scattered trash from his exploits to get Alex out.

And then he let out a mighty groan a zombie could be proud of.

"Sh-Shower first . . . N'then treat for help?"  

[Seussi]

Alex lay there for a time, then slowly and pathetically lifted his head up to gaze at the trash bags, some of which were tore open so their contents were spilled all over the floor.

He was guessing they weren't just allowed to leave it like that.

"Uuunnnnnnnggg" He groaned, letting his head fall back to the ground, his arms and legs splayed. Then he sighed morosely, before saying, "Ok, ok, I guess I can handle a little bit of trash picking." His insides were crying, however.

Wait what was that word he said? Sho--wer? Oh no. Nonononono. Absolutely do not want! But really, did he have much choice? Sitting there, covered in sludge and grime and whatever had been in that one liquidy bag that Mort had thrown, Alex was even almost disgusted with himself, which kind of a big deal, coming from him.

Finally, and slowly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Then, he shoved himself up to his feet, stumbling around a bit before regaining some balance.

Eyes narrowed, he said "Let's do this." And began doing something that Alex the zombie never ever did.

He picked up garbage.  

[medigel]

"Will treat, promise," Mort told him again, groaning once more as he forced himself up on his feet; though staying on the floor, even with this stench, had been tempting in its laziness and allowance to regain some energy. "Know good place for brainfreezes n' maul." Bending over to grab some of the coffee/newspaper slush one of his bag tosses had produced, Mort sighed.

"Think . . . g-gon need skateboard for this."