|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun May 03, 2009 8:37 pm
«|| How (Not) To Brew The Perfect Cup Of Tea ||» BANG BANG BANG
The sound of mallet hitting metal rang sharply through the workshop of one Rupert Maxwell Wilson-Quant (or just Max, which he preferred) as he pounded the tube separating the induction coil from the interior of the urn into place. "There we go. Hopefully that didn't hurt too much," he apologized, seemingly to no one.
"Quite all right, sir," came a tinny yet precise voice from beneath the urn. "It will be worth it to be able to perform my duties again, sir."
"It will indeed!" Max smiled, contemplating the fruits of his labours. This was the third urn he'd gone through trying to get his robotic tea service, which he'd named Sam O. Var, to work as he'd envisioned. The first two urns had exploded spectacularly -- the first one due to inadequate (read: no) venting of steam from the boiling water, and the second from... well, he never did quite figure out why, but hopefully switching from propane to induction coil would resolve that problem. Luckily the base unit, a salvaged welder, was sturdy, already wired to pass high-current electricity, and specifically bodged so that the urn was removable. He felt bad for the little 'bot; perhaps he should have waited to reprogram it until he'd perfected the design. It was so dedicated to brewing tea.
Ah, tea.
Max put down the mallet. "Let's give it a go then, shall we?" He grabbed a pitcher and filled it up at the sink, then poured the water into Sam's new urn. Giving the seals and the steam vent one last check, he put the lid on -- flat, more a tray really, to hold the teapot -- and clamped it into place. "Right." The engineer plopped cross-legged on the floor a reasonable distance from Sam. "Power-on self-test."
"Power-on self-test," the robot echoed. A row of lights across the base began to dance in sequence; the pressure and temperature gauges whipped to maximum then reset to baseline, and a happy beep sounded. "All systems nominal, sir."
"Initiate b- oh right." Shaking his head, Max quickly rose and scampered to fetch the teapot, placing it atop the 'bot's lid. Almost as an afterthought, he added some loose tea, just in case all went smoothly -- no reason to pass up a potential tea break, after all -- then sat back down on the floor. "Initiate brew sequence, Sam."
"Brew sequence initiated."
Max beamed as the gauges began to climb and steam burbled out of the vent pipe. Impatient (and easily distracted) as he tended to be, he'd set the induction coil to effectively flash-boil the water, much like a drip coffee machine. The steam continued to build, rapidly filling the workshop; Max could feel the heat of the urn from where he sat. Maybe I set the thermostat too high...
The sides of the urn groaned and shuddered at the pressure from the boiling water, and the steam vent started to wail like an asthmatic calliope. Oh bugger... Wide-eyed, Max slowly scooted on his butt away from Sam. The groaning and shuddering and wailing increased, the temp and pressure gauges pegged at maximum, and Max curled up into a little ball, covering his head and cringing, certain he'd lost yet another urn.
Abruptly, the shaking and wailing stopped and the happy little beep sounded again. "Tea is served, sir," Sam announced. One of the 'bot's spindly arms reached up and removed the teapot from the top of the urn; another arm removed the teapot's lid, and a third went to turn the spigot that would dispense the boiling-hot water onto the tea. Uncurling himself, Max got onto his hands and knees and watched with a delighted grin --
-- as steam billowed and hissed from the spigot and a sad but very hot dribble of water dampened the loose tea.
Max blinked. "Um." He crawled over to Sam and peered into the teapot, as if peering in would make tea magically appear. With a resigned sigh, he slumped in front of the 'bot. "At least you didn't explode again."
"There is that, sir," Sam intoned as solemnly as a mechanical voice could.
Max gently freed the teapot from Sam's appendage and patted the 'bot's side. "Ow," he hissed, jumping back as his hand touched the searing-hot metal. Shaking his hand in pain, he gazed mournfully at the sodden and useless tea leaves and sighed again. "Oh well. Back to the drawing board..."
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu May 07, 2009 4:04 pm
«|| Finders, Keepers ||» Max ran his hand back through his shaggy strawberry-blond hair and scratched his head in confusion. "Are you sure it's not on the manifest?"
Manny Fest, the robot that handled all the shipping duties on the Boudicca, clicked and whirred as he ran down the list. "Correct -- it is not logged into any of my databases. All items in this last run are accounted for, both inbound and outbound."
"Then where did it come from?..." Max cautiously examined the mystery crate yet again -- cautiously because something inside it seemed to be hissing periodically and he really didn't want to agitate whatever it was any more than it already seemed to be. The large crate looked rather ominous, completely apart from the potential ominous-ness of the contents; somewhat worn and battered, constructed of thick metal as if intended to contain something Big And Unpleasant, a small grated window which revealed nothing about what was inside. It was far too large and heavy to just have been randomly dragged on board. Manny's robotic cranes and forklifts could have lifted it -- but then Manny would have entered some record of it in his databases.
And if Manny didn't haul it aboard, who -- or what -- had?
The only clues to the crate's origin were the tattered edge of a shipping label which had been taped on and apparently torn off at some point, probably by another crate placed on top of it, and a flyer stuck rather more securely to the side advertising the Liberty Center. Max knew the Liberty Center -- it was on his regular run, and of course he'd seen similar flyers at the Adoption Center, next to Dr. Akari's lab outside of Barton, another regular stop. But the Adoption Center only dealt with Dr. Akari's cabbages. Didn't they?...
Lost in thought, Max leaned his arm on the top of the crate -- and immediately removed it and backed up a couple of paces as the contents hissed and growled menacingly. What the hell is in there? His curiosity was beginning to kick into high gear, which was always a dangerous thing. "Would it be wrong," he mused aloud, "for me to just keep this?"
"The laws of salvage allow for the recovery of discarded goods and the transfer of ownership to the salvager when lacking proof of ownership by anyone else," Manny rattled off. "You yourself have done this, and continue to do so regularly."
"But this is different. It's alive." Max squatted on his heels in front of the crate and peered in; a pair of glowing eyes peered back and hissed softly. "It's more like... more like finding and keeping a stray dog, isn't it?" Yes, it was, he nodded to himself. Finders, keepers. It was how he lived his life anyway. And if it did turn out to be some poor animal that clearly was only upset from being in the nasty crate, that might just be a good thing. He'd be helping it by freeing it, and truth be told, having another living creature around would actually be rather nice. Robots only went so far as companions, even robots programmed to be as sociable as his were. The thought of actually adopting a child from the Adoption Center had occurred to him on more than one occasion (and the Sisters of the White Cloth were constantly telling him what a wonderful parent he'd be). He felt, though, that the airship was far too dangerous an environment for a child. A pet, on the other hand...
"I think I shall have some tea," he announced brightly and stood, still eyeing the crate, "then tackle the problem of how to open it. Maybe its contents will have settled down by then." With a well-pleased grin, he fairly bounced past the crate and up the stairs to the main deck, said contents hissing in his wake through the grating.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 13, 2009 3:40 pm
«|| Not Quite As Expected ||» It had been several hours since Max had left for his tea break. In that time, he'd thought and puzzled and thought some more, then returned to the Boudicca's hold and methodically examined the crate, locating and sorting out the mechanism holding the door closed.
Now all he had to do was actually open it.
Max slowly approached the large container. Whatever was inside seemed to have finally settled down, as there was no sound coming from it. "Alright then," he said, his voice soft and low, "let's get you out of this nasty box." Unlatching the lock, he turned the handle and stepped back, allowing the door to fall open. All he could see inside were the glowing eyes he'd seen earlier. He sat down on the floor and made himself as non-threatening as possible. "Come on out," he cooed. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."
The eyes blinked and moved toward the opening. Max began to make out the shape of a tiny brown creature, about squirrel-sized, with enormous ears and a ruff of white fur. Is it some kind of cat? "Hey, kitty kitty," he ventured, reaching his hand out for it to smell. "I don't bite, I promi-"
Without warning, the little animal let out a scream and lunged for Max. Startled, he yelped and instinctively raised his arms; the creature sunk tiny needle-sharp teeth into his flesh and dug its hind claws into his chest to brace itself as it raked at his face with its front claws, chittering and screeching. Max tried to fend it off, without much success -- it was so small, any attempts to defend himself might injure it, and that was the last thing he wanted.
"STOOOOOOP!!! Dun hurt him!! Pwease!!!"
The frantic cry cut through the animal's furious screeching. Max didn't know if it was meant for him or his attacker; he hadn't so much heard the cry as felt it, like an emotional punch to the chest that shot through every cell in his body, and he reeled as the animal leapt off of him. Gasping from the shock of it all, he rubbed his face with a trembling hand, wincing at the sting from the scratches, and looked toward the box, the source of the plea -- and gasped again as a little girl, barely more than a toddler, emerged from the darkness.
"Dun hurt him," she repeated, this time clearly to the animal. "He's not the bad man." The little creature looked up at Max and hissed, but didn't attack him again. Rubbing her eyes against the light, she slowly made her way toward Max on legs still wobbly from her confinement. She stopped in front of him and reached out with one tiny hand to steady herself against his chest, then gently touched one of the scratches on his face with the other. "Owie," she commented, looking at him with wide brown eyes.
Max's heart broke as he stared at her. Who would put a child in a metal crate and ship it to someone? Who was this "bad man"? And who was she? "I'm... I'm all right, sweetling," he offered a small smile. "Only a few scratches." Gently he smoothed back her chestnut-red-brown hair. "What's your name? Mine is Max."
"Max," the girl pointed at him, then at herself. "My name is N- Nuh..." Her little brow furrowed. "Dun 'member," she mumbled, chin quivering. Balling her fists into his shirt, she crawled into his lap and clung to him.
"That's okay, sweetling," Max murmured, wrapping his arms around the little girl and rocking gently. Tears welled up in his green eyes and he blinked them back as his imagination ran wild, wondering how she'd ended up in the crate, what had happened to her. He stroked her hair, as much to soothe himself as to comfort her. "We'll find you a good name," he whispered, holding her tightly. He knew he'd already found her a good home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 20, 2009 2:57 pm
In which an Enquiry is made after some Missing Books, and a Fellow in a Similar yet Very Different Boat is found instead.
[[PRP w/ ShortGreen -- in progress]]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 20, 2009 3:10 pm
In which an Art Immersion class is held at the Liberty Center Daycare, and Hilarity Ensues (along with a Spectacular Mess)
[[ORP -- in progress]]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
