Start Your Engines! Talking Technology & Technicalities!

[Vio]

^{Garfunkel #1}

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Tropical sun shining down upon Yesten greenery was a welcome sight, refreshing even. This wasn’t an island where industry had overtaken every inch, or at the very least threatened to, but all the same it was an industrious place, if a little mundane. Yesten steel was prized and praised for its quality — a fact that made such an isle strangely wealthy in the economical flow of the South Blue. If he’d been a smith himself, he could’ve perhaps settled down somewhere in the mountains and opened a shop, joining the ranks of the famed and renowned.

A comfortable livelihood.

No, that wasn’t for him. Geissler Garfunkel couldn’t waste his time idling by, basking in the steady income of traditional crafts and perceived stability. No. Rather, the man of middling age from a land far away had settled himself on Yeste Island for a few days to collect his thoughts and draw inspiration from unlikely sources. As it was, he sat on a folding wooden chair on the outer edge of the mainroad that wound its way through the Yesten valleys — themselves an extension of the city that spread itself sparsely across the entirety of the island. It seemed one could walk a fair few miles and see barely a handful of households and homesteads, but the reality was that it was a populous and prosperous place of agriculture and smithing; you were never far from someone’s storefront or abode, even if you found yourself surrounded by greenery.

Dressed in his usual garments, consisting of brown slacks and a beige shirt, working boots of brown leather with a matching belt around his waist, his grey jacket and fedora hung off the back of the chair. His mop of hair, a grizzly grey, had been combed back slightly from his face by the motion of raking fingers and a set of goggles were affixed to his eyes as he tinkered away with minute pieces of metal. Little gears and springs and other pieces being linked together with steady hands to form something rather simple, but perhaps valuable to someone. Only time would tell.

“Hrm,” he grunted, straightening his back as he raised his goggles from his eyes and took a moment to adjust them to the light cascading from the sapphire sky. He set the device he was working on down upon the wooden box he had been using as a temporary workbench, where various other odds and ends lay beside a box of tools, and stretched. “How long have I been at this? Two hours? Yeah, seems about right,” Gar muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair for a moment before flinging himself forward into a standing position, legs a little stiff from being set in position for longer than he should have allowed…

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SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:—}
<sub>After some hours tinkering away, Garfunkel decides to stretch his legs a bit.

Notes:— Zaz</sub>

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Geissler Garfunkel | #cb6d51

[Zaz]

Chester really hoped he wouldn't bleach with this much exposure to the sun. He knew his paint was hardy, pretty much permanent, but having spent so much of his existence indoors he couldn't help but worry. The Iron Circus did have him stroll around outside occasionally, such as to get a crowd excited or merely as another spectacle, but those were brief expeditions at best. Ever since he had escaped his makers he had been exposing himself to more and more direct sunlight, and it wasn't until he set foot onto a tropical island such as this that he remembered that paint didn't take too kindly to extended amounts of exposure to direct, harsh light. Such as, you know, from the sun. Chester certainly didn't want his color to begin fading, it was one of the many great things about him!

Then again, he was probably just worrying too much. His paint was robust, much like the rest of him, and would probably resist fading in color for a good while yet, even when weathering such clear, direct sunlight on days such as this. And outside of that worry, the day was actually fairly enjoyable. He wasn't even in the sunlight right now, at least not directly, nor had he been for the past hour or so, wandering through the forest as he was. The reason behind a nine feet tall robot such as himself wandering through the forest seemingly at random? Well, he was just curious. Sure, Chester had been to many an island before, but hardly had he ever actually looked at them, experienced them, trapped in service as he was. For one of the first times in his existence, he found himself simply taking the time to observe what was around him, and he found it quite interesting.

Should one be observing him, however, they might still have a few questions about what in the hell he was doing, as experiencing his surroundings, for Chester, consisted primarily of getting uncomfortably close and staring at them. Most of the time, the animals he had done this to hadn't much appreciated this and scurried away from him rather quickly, though he had gotten into a sort of staring contest with a particularly large lizard earlier. The flora around him, however, went almost entirely undisturbed by his presence. Demonstrating his capacity for careful, yet often strange, movement, Chester had thus far managed to avoid damaging really anything, moving almost silently through even thick pockets of vegetation. Not that he realized it, but that was probably why so many creatures had startled away upon his sudden, rather disruptive appearance.

It was with this same near silent movement that Chester came to the end of the particular tropical thicket he currently found himself in, moving even his hammer in such a way that it barely brushed anything as he walked, or rather did some kind of an upright slither, out of the treeline, coming face to face with a road just a short distance away. What caught his attention first, however, was a man standing just a bit closer, next to a crate of some kind. Chester at first made to wave, but after realizing that the man stood facing away from him, aborted that soon after. Instead, wishing to make himself known, he decided to greet them, dialing up his volume a bit to make sure they heard him clearly, as was polite.

"Why hello there good sir! A fine day it is, isn't it? Rather good for exploring, If I do say so myself!" Chester said loud and clear, staring at the man with the same unblinking, colored gaze and eternal smile that he always wore, carrying his hammer at his side, very slightly slouching, and without a care in the world beyond whether or not his paint would start bleaching some time in the future.

[Vio]

^{Garfunkel #2}

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“Why hello there, good sir,” a voice greeted from somewhere near. Even when he was soaked up by his tinkering, he tended to try and remain aware of what was happening about his person, but perhaps this was an oversight on his part. Tropical air had certainly had a different impact upon the man’s lungs, perhaps his physicality as a whole by proxy. It was nice. All the same, the enigmatic engineer quickly scanned beyond his original periphery, eyes of soft brown settling upon an unusual sight.

Xelor’s got nothing on this… His mind momentarily blanked of all idle thoughts, replaced instead by the steady whirr of a technician’s insight, for that which had graced Mister Geissler’s presence was no mere man. Garish and garnished with all the aesthetic choices of a carnival, the figure’s height—an estimated three metres at a glance—let it loom over his much more modest stature. Polished metal gleamed softly in the sunlight, scuffed in a few places, though perhaps only visible to the eye of somebody inclined to see such things. In some ways the entity was as much a menace upon the eyes as it was a marvel, though the Xelorian knew which side of the field he belonged to.

^{“It sure is,” he replied:
“I didn’t see you there!”}

Guessing some kind of lightweight alloy for the chassis, if not a thin steel frame, Gar processed in silence. The fact that something that had at first appeared human but decidedly fell into his forte excited him. Not because the beast before him was a machine, no. Because it wasn’t Xelorian in origin, nor did it match the ‘schematic’ of the World Government’s own units—not that he’d seen one up close yet. Doesn’t look like it was designed for combat purposes, but that doesn’t hold much water as a theory, he confirmed to himself. Adjusting himself slightly and clearing his throat, he took off his goggles and rightfully replaced them with a pair of simple, round sunglasses that better stifled the glare of the sun’s rays.

“My name’s Garfunkel.” Step by step. Much as he wanted to walk up and start a more thorough analysis, patience was a virtue, especially when a mechanism of such sort could speak. Besides, the figure was armed to some degree, though how much of a threat it posed was entirely up for debate. “What about you? What’s your name? And… I’m going to take a guess you aren’t from here,” he added. A test of less intrusive style, given that it could speak. Then again, there was the smallest suspicion in his mind that it was a pilot in a mechanised suit—still an interesting possibility…

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SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:—}
<sub>A little surprised and very intrigued, Garfunkel helps kickstart the conversation with the colourful contraption!

Notes:— —</sub>

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Geissler Garfunkel | #cb6d51
Chester | #800080

[Zaz]

Huh, it was actually quite nice when someone didn't react... negatively, to Chester's presence. He always shrugged it off as it didn't really bother him, but he could feel the difference when he was both the one to initiate contact and the other party didn't immediately begin freaking out. It was different when he was still a part of the Iron Circus, but he supposed back then that the people he met had come there knowing vaguely what to expect, and so hadn't been terribly shocked upon meeting him despite his striking appearance and personality. Likewise, in the current day, anyone who themselves initiated contact with him had likely steeled themselves for the encounter enough to not freak out and run when he responded. Usually, that is, as there had been exceptions to this.

Chester would give a brief chuckle, tilting his head upward as he did. While such an action wasn't autonomic, he had long since gotten into the habit of doing things like this to appear more natural, at least when around people. Laughter emanating from an unmoving object tended to unnerve people, especially if that unmoving object was staring straight at them. Chester also didn't technically have to laugh at all, but he could very well still feel amusement, and expressing it felt natural in some way, likely as a result of both his sapience and his observations of how living things acted. Chester would then straighten himself as he locked his eyes onto this Garfunkel, as they were named, once more.

"You would be quite right, my fine fellow!" With a single twirl of his hammer, Chester would fold his left arm across his chest and lean forward into a bow. Though his motions were somewhat exaggerated, due to the height difference Chester's head remained above Garfunkel's at all times, making his bow look somewhat like he was attempting to loom over them from some distance away, albeit in quite a silly manner and straightening out soon after. "I am Chester, traveler from the far-off seas of the North Blue, though I do not call them my home. No, I'm a free man now! Traveling the world and living life as I please! I find myself on this island because, well, it was here and looked interesting. I do find the metalwork I've found around to be quite interesting indeed, but as expected, the work put into a sword doesn't translate very well to, well, anything else, at least not on me. It's still been fun to have a look around though!"

[Vio]

^{Garfunkel #3}

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“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chester,” Gar nodded, all the while scrutinising the finer details he could make out of the mechanical marvel’s form. “North Blue, is it? Quite a ways from your place of birth. I get that,” he affirmed, rubbing his nape beneath the mop of grey tones that was his hair. He dared not mention exactly where he was from—not that others here would really hold much interest in the facts about his origins. Besides that, Chester seemed to have quite a bit to say, to which Mister Geissler followed suit to help further break the proverbial ice.

“It’s not a bad place, Yeste, but it’s not exactly something I’m used to,” the inventor said, gesturing rather broadly to the lush environs in which he had been spending recent days. Theorists abound had suggested that his own homeland had once been equally as verdant, but history’s claws had scratched that away centuries ago, with little in the way of supporting evidence. “You do have to admire the workmanship that local smiths put into their swords, though,” Garfunkel continued with an appreciative air of the simpler trades in metalworking, and an open-handed gesture towards Chester’s looming figure.

“Forging things from metal is an artform, no matter what shape it ends up taking. Just look at yourself,” he motioned. “Somebody knew what they were doing. I, myself, do a bit of metalwork—not swords or anything like that though…”

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SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:—}
<sub>An interested Garfunkel talks to Chester!

Notes:— —</sub>

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Geissler Garfunkel | #cb6d51
Chester | #800080

[Zaz]

"Yes, that!" Chester would suddenly point at Garfunkel with his free arm, that being his left one, in an excited manner, or at least as much of one as a being as autonomically silent as he was could manage. This resulted in a motion that would have appeared ever so slightly threatening should it not have been paired with his voice, which was very capable of expressing emotion in ways easily understood by most people, something his makers had made sure of, and conveyed his emotions appropriately. Though, as always, it came with the same soft synthetic edge that always pervaded his speech when he got emotional.

Chester would pause, absolutely silent as he gathered his thoughts and pondered ways to properly express them, continuing to motionlessly stare at Garfunkel with his arm raised all the while. Eventually his arm did drop, and his body, through a series of small adjustments, took on a more serious posture. His form would straighten, his shoulders would set themselves in a wider stance, and his arms would no longer hang quite so limply at his sides. His wings would seem to flare out just a bit as his gaze, in some inexplicable manner, became more focused, more heavy, more intense as his body seemed to loom even taller.

"It has been a pleasant experience observing the works of this land. A sword, in most instances, is a creation not defined by how it is made but how it is used. A tool made to wage war, to kill, and then be discarded when it has worn down and served its purpose. But here it is different. In this land, many swords are made for no other purpose than just to be made. It's as if their existence holds value in and of itself. As one creation to another, I can tell. They feel different, their presence heavier, their being more than just the steel they've been wrought from. They are no longer just swords, but as you said, forms of art in a way."

[Vio]

^{Garfunkel #4}

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Sometimes it was uncanny. At others, it was outright peculiar. No matter, Mister Geissler had definitely taken a keen interest in Chester’s autonomy. He was free. Freedom was sought by many, but was anyone truly free? The philosophical side of the engineer’s brain kicked into gear, asking the question of whether being slave to one’s own desire for freedom in and of itself meant they could never be truly free. No. Better not to dwell on such circular debates. He wasn’t a philosopher, but an engineer, and what better to focus his mind upon than the marvel before him.

“I guess you could say they’re deeply rooted in their traditions, but I think we’ve got plenty of time to see what Yeste has in store,” Gar began, straightening somewhat and adjusting his stance as he gave the colourful contraption another optical once over. “As I said, I’m no swordsmith, but I do work with metal. So, if you don’t mind me asking, Chester, how much do you know about what you’re made of? Who made you? How do you work? …Ah. There’s a lot to ask. I’m curious! I’ve never really seen anything like you before,” he confirmed with another slightly embarrassed motion, this time rubbing his shoulder a bit to help ease a nonexistent tension.

“Let me word that in a better way.” He cleared his throat. “Would you mind answering some questions and—if you’re fine with it—could I have a look at your systems? I’ve got some experience with robotics, so if anyone here’s qualified, it’s more than likely going to be me.” The engineer inside him hoped to the highest heavens that the autonomous automaton would agree. While Chester was certainly not what he was looking for, he was still something interesting. “Oh! In return, I might be able to give you a bit of a tune up; or, if you’ve got anything you’d like to ask me, I’d be happy to answer…”

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SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:—}
<sub>Having completed some smalltalk, Garfunkel asks if Chester would mind letting him have a look!

Notes:— —</sub>

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Geissler Garfunkel | #cb6d51
Chester | #800080