OPENING LOG: Awakening

[re_alignedmods]

WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: The Junk Pile.
WHEN: Right here, right now.
WHAT: Game opening! Our Heroes find themselves in a strange place not of their own world, however familiar (or not) it may be.

---

Consciousness is slow, and a struggle to obtain. The moments before darkness are hazy enough; a great vertigo, a twisting, and then, falling. Falling for what seemed like forever. And when you are finally aware of your surroundings, it is most decidedly not where you came from.

Instead, you are now in what appears to be a wasteland. A wasteland...of junk. Debris as far as you can see, heaped in mini-mountains that offer only so good of a view of the world around you. Perhaps in the distance, you can make out some flatter land, perhaps you can just make out what looks like a crevice - but it's difficult at best. The light here is all wrong, the two greatest sources being a white line in the alien sky that doesn't so much give off light as simply have it - and something in the south that glows like a setting sun.

You may or may not notice it at first, but you, too, have something alien - something on your arm, more likely than not. A marking that glows softly, but offers no clue as to how it got there - no pain, no sensitivity. It's simply there, as you are here.

So.

Now what?

((OOC: This is it, you guys! Have a blast! Please remember to keep everything under the first thread for now; we'll be adding the Firstforged in in a little bit...

OKAY There is now a second thread to post in! Feel free to make new threads there to react to the arrival of the Firstforged, or respond directly to the Firstforged themselves.))

Comments

Re: AWAKENING

[winged_knight]

He thought he'd been ready.

Those were the last coherent thoughts that Wing's muddled processor returned after a status query. The rest--the terrible burning sensation, the jagged tear at the heart of him that felt like his world shattering, falling, the world full of color and light and pain beyond imagining before darkness--simply loomed in his memory like a chaotic wound. It made little to no sense in contrast to the still surroundings of the strange gulch made of debris in which he lay.

He shifted. His joints seemed to ache, his frame tight, like that slightly unfamiliar feeling that accompanied new repairs. His hand twitched and he realized he'd been rubbing it over the center of his chassis, above his spark chamber. Scenes of the battle to save New Crystal City came to him. The battle in the desert, his struggle with Braid--fought and...lost.

Yet, he was whole? Was he dead? This...did not match any of the expectations Cybertronians had for an afterlife. Wing shook his helm. Though uncertain what the strange chaotic memories following Braid's attack meant, they were not the most immediate issue.

Wing rose to a sitting position, the digits on his hand bumping an object lying beside him. His Great Sword. He curled his fingers around it, the first familiar thing to greet him in this strange place, and it sang to him. He felt his spark flicker in acknowledgment. No. Not dead. But then--the battle?

The knight rolled to his feet in a swift movement despite the tightness in his frame, swinging the Great Sword onto his back where it effortlessly locked into its cradle. "Drift?!" He called, his comm useless, while scanning the area and listening for sounds of battle, "DRIFT!!" He pushed away the pangs of anxiety that threatened. "Axe? Anyone!?"

a little different than planned, but let me know if this is alright?

[mccrane]

McCrane was, to his mind, on a mission.

Somewhere in this vast wasteland of junk there had to be someone who knew what was going on, but so far Gunmax and he had been unable to locate a likely candidate. McCrane had suspicions that whoever it was would probably not have a mark on their arm, and would also probably have some interest in robotic beings...

Because nearly everyone he'd seen in passing, thus far, had been robotic.

However, he hadn't been able to draw a correlation from it all. It felt like he and Gunmax had just been dumped here. It felt like they'd been claimed, or had a mark put on them for tracking.

And it definitely, definitely felt alien.

It was alien.

If he was going to make any progress, however, he was going to need to get more information from the other robots that were present. This was still, at its heart, a case.

He was still a detective.

He just needed a better vantage point to chose who to approach.

He'd chosen a pile at random, and had disembarked from Gunmax's motorcycle to investigate further by climbing to the top. It had made sense, at the time.

It made less sense, now, when suddenly what seemed like debris was sitting up and reaching for...what was that?

A sword.

It was a sword.

McCrane did not hesitate in pulling forth his shotgun immediately, especially startled at the shouting from the....robot?

Yes.

Excellent.

His first interview was about to commence.

Warily, he aimed his weapon, his feet planting themselves wide and wedging between pieces of rubble until he felt secure.

"This is the brave police," he spoke, in crisp, formal Japanese. "Drop your weapon."

Oh we can work with this, yes!

[winged_knight]

Wing heard a commanding shout from behind him and spun, the digits of his rear hand wrapping instinctively around the grip of the short blade at his waist while the other stretched out in front of him in a gesture of warding. He planted his feet as best he could, his chassis turned so he presented the smallest target area possible, balance shifted back in a defensive stance.

The knight stood quietly, calming, assessing this sudden stranger for several moments. The newcomer appeared to be Cybertronian, but of a strange frame type. His weapon was also not like the energy weapons Wing was accustomed to seeing, even the archaic ones in the museums of New Crystal City. And whatever the individual had said, either Wing's language processing protocols were on the blink or it was a completely different language.

Not Cybertronian then. Wing's grip on the short blade shifted but he did not draw. He spoke in what he hoped were gentle, peaceable tones. "I mean you no harm."

Excellent!

[mccrane]

McCrane remained stationary, hands on his shotgun, watching to see how this robot would react or if there was a person inside, piloting it. Its movements didn't feel that way, nor did its cockpit seem like it was capable of carrying that sort of equipment, but it was not a possibility he would discount until it was proven otherwise.

It...

It sounded like a 'him,' more than an it, as well.

It also spoke a foreign language, like the human he had talked with earlier. However, this language was completely unfamiliar to him. This time, he did not even have Gunmax's english to fall back on to assist.

Slowly, he let his optics trail upwards from the two sword-hilts at the robot's side, looking for, and finding, the glyph that marked his arm. It did not look similar to either his or Gunmax's.

Neither did this robot, at all. McCrane also wished he'd take those hands off of his swords.

Stepping closer, gun still pointed, he dropped the nozzle slightly, aiming for where the hands were, instead. "Hands off," he spoke, softer this time. It would make him feel much, much better.

Re: Excellent!

[winged_knight]

Now that he was paying closer attention, that language was definitely unfamiliar. Body language spoke plenty enough however, and this mech seemed as wary as he, if not moreso.

Wing considered the factors. He knew little of the stranger's speed, accuracy or even the power of the weapon he carried. If mass was a sole indicator the other mech might be slower, simply judging by the set of his pedes in the debris. He also had the higher ground and had approached without detection, an indication of either luck or good training. Wing guessed the latter.

Even if it put him at even further disadvantage, a peaceful gesture had to be made.

Wing's dark fingers gently loosed from his sword grip, arms moving slowly out to his sides, the motion drawing attention away from the slight bunching of his legs as he prepared to dodge any incoming fire.

The knight turned both open palms toward the other. "There's no need for a fight, I mean no harm." He inclined his headed, looking pointedly at the weapon in the other's hand, "Now if you'd put that away maybe we can work on more constructive things?"

[mccrane]

It was a small gesture, but it was more than enough for McCrane. If this robot was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, then that was something he could return.

Carefully.

By lowering his weapon, if not by releasing it completely.

As an officer of the law, he knew how quickly criminals could switch from innocent to dangerous, but as an officer of the law, it was also generally not his job to go pointing guns at the populace.

Generally.

He had a very loose idea of 'populace,' right now, especially since he had the feeling this....person?...was as out of place as he was. The best thing to do right now was to ascertain his threat level, determine if there was a human inside of him or not, and possibly get his name and address. Or planet.

Taking another step closer, McCrane planted his foot as carefully as possible.

It completely failed.

Care or not, the junk beneath his foot was sliding, and there was little he could do but watch in horror as he almost faceplanted in front of the robot he was supposed to be interviewing.

[winged_knight]

Wing relaxed just a touch as the barrel of the gun was lowered, venting softly. He schooled his EM field, laced with the tension of battle readiness, into something more neutral. He had been about to release the tension in his stance when he saw the objects under the other mech shift.

"Be careful--!" he shouted, and acted on instinct, battled-honed melee skills coming immediately into play. The latent kinetic energy in his crouch propelled him forward and slightly to the side, away from the gun, his hand reaching out to grab the stranger under the elbow of his non-weapon hand, the strong bar of his Wing's offering some modicrum of stability. The knight's feet fought for stable ground, wing panels and ailerons shifting in an attempt to compensate.

((ooc: recover or pitch them both the rest of the way down the hill, your choice. ;3))

The sudden 'I don't have an icon for this' feeling

[mccrane]

((You leave me with such delicious choices... DOWN THE MOUNTAIN IT IS! Lets get them acquainted the hard way.))

Wing's assistance did help, even if McCrane found himself twisting in the grasp, trying to break free of what he wasn't certain might be an attack. He'd been grabbed, before. They'd all been grabbed, by giant mecha much, much larger than them.

Wing, in comparison, was similar in size...which was likely what led to McCrane's twisting pulling them off-balance, and toppling down the side of the pile together.

He did manage to tuck himself around his shotgun just enough to roll, not willing to have it accidentally go off. That was the extent of his control, however, and with junk sliding along-side them, they fell.

I'll admit I made one for this. 8T

[winged_knight]

((Mutually Assured Embarrassment is the most entertaining way to wage war, is it not?))

Dai Altas had often given him recriminating speeches about his tendency to be reactive instead of conservative or proactive, (Dai Atlas's definition of being proactive being decidedly different than Wing's). Realizing that his student would never be fully broken of the habit the knight-commander had switched to teaching moderation instead.

Not that any of that was aiding Wing now.

Even if his instinct to render aid had been correct the chosen action had obviously not been, as was evidenced by what was now a tumble of debris, junk and metal body parts attempting to flail in a somewhat orderly fashion despite their cascade down the junk pile.

The twisting of McCrane's frame had broken what little balance Wing had and they were pulled down together, Wing twisting himself in an attempt not to land his weight on the other, only partially succeeding. He tucked, pulling his flight surfaces as tight against him as possible, and rolled in attempt to minimize the damage. When they came to a stop, it was partially buried in junk, Wing face down with one armed pinned beneath the other, the strange twilight light shifting over his great sword.

((I'll admit this is a great opportunity to slap a pair of cuffs on him, should McCrane feel the need. XD XD XD))

Dude, that works!!

[mccrane]

((I would love to if he had any. ;-; That would have been beautiful. We'll try this instead. Let me know if it is okay?))

As he had been, earlier, McCrane found himself staring at the stars.

His balance did not immediately return, but he ignored the way he rocked when he sat up, setting his gun aside to plant himself on top of Wing. He pulled the arm that had been underneath him, holding it against the other's back, pinning the strange mech down. His first inclination was to disarm, and so he reached toward the hilt of the great sword...

...and gripped it tightly, as a wave of diziness swept over him. He did not unsheath it.

The last few seconds felt hazy, like he was still twirling end over end, the smooth white and red metal of the other mech flashing in his memory, reminding him of something. This robot...he'd been trying to catch McCrane at the top of the junk pile. He'd also been trying to shield McCrane, when they'd fallen.

That wasn't generally something that criminals did.

It was something that the Brave Police were supposed to do, and the strange nagging thought in his head solidified on that. This mech reminded him of Duke. This sword reminded him of Duke. That action had been chivalrous.

It was nostalgic for him. It gave him sympathy that he should not have harbored, especially on a strange alien world with a mech who might have only been darting forward to skewer him.

However, it did stop him from progressing any further, taking these few moments to let his balance calibrate. "You..." he started, feeling shaky. "Are you a Knight?"

Tis perfect!! :D

[winged_knight]

Wing grunted as a heavy weight settled over him. The pinch of pain in his shoulder as his arm was pinned helped clear the disorientation from his processor. He recognized the weight over him as the other mech just as he felt--sensed--a foreign hand close around the great sword's hilt.

Distress. Disapproval. Understanding. Affinity. Patience. Parley.

Wing calmed, not struggling against his captor and letting the impressions wash over him through the blade bond. If the Great Sword, which in an abstract fashion was both companion and mentor, did not consider this mech an enemy then Wing would not either.

He remained passive, his EM field loosening gently as his head turned a glowing amber optic towards the stranger. Though the knight did not understand his words, he gleaned a bit of the notion. He smiled, the blue gem of the sword flickering.

"My name is Wing. I am a friend."

OKAY attempt at me not failing is go!

[mccrane]

The dizziness from the fall wasn't wearing off, he realized...

...but it didn't take him long to understand that there was more to it than that. His disorientation wasn't merely from his gyros compensating after a severe upset--it was coming from this mech, somehow.

That had happened before. Strong electromagnetic signals had been able to give them headaches, and high-voltage transmissions had made it hard to think. He could even feel some sort of field nearby.

It didn't seem to be that powerful, though. It seemed to be much more subtle, nothing more than the sort of energy signature that any robot might give off. It shouldn't have been enough to prolong his calibrations, and yet...

"Wing."

He'd understood. He'd understood, and he knew that this mech meant him no harm, and he knew that, somehow, holding onto this sword was wrong. It was wrong.

It didn't belong to him.

He let go as if burned, double-checking...and then triple-checking to make certain his perceptions weren't being controlled, and that this was not another incident like Inti.

It wasn't.

The golden optics were still watching him, and the small smile was still there.

Wing...wasn't his enemy, it turned out. Wing was a friend.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and let go of the hand that he was pinning, as well, still not sure how he had understood the other robot for a moment, but accepting that he had. Super-AI had proven to spark, before, when there was an accord.

He finally shifted his weight, and let Wing up.

Aw YEAH You Succeed!

[winged_knight]

A tension lifted along with the weight upon him. Wing vented gently, waiting for the other to get clear before rising slowly.

The knight was familiar enough with his weapon's resonance, he wouldn't call it talking--there were no words--but it was still communication. Purity of concept. The fact that it had intervened in this situation and affected the other was...interesting. Whoever this mech was, he was worth knowing.

He noted the other mech's fallen weapon as he rose. Wing retrieved it and handed it to him, grip first, with a nod. "Thank you for releasing me."

Now that the hostilities were thankfully done, names were a hopeful place to begin. Wing smiled, repeating his name as he touched his chassis, then extending his hand to indicate the stranger.

*blush!*

[mccrane]

McCrane's hands reached out, automatically, drawing his shotgun to him, cradling it as the one familiar beacon he had access to right now. The questions that he had come to ask had magnified ten-fold, and he felt he almost knew less than he had, when he started.

How was he meant to draw the correlations between himself, and Gunmax, and Wing? What could it possibly been that they all shared, that brought them here?

So far, the only possibility he'd noted was the strong connections they all shared with their weaponry...or...transportation/armor, in Gunmax's case. That was a start, but even that seemed so starkly different from what it was that Wing had, or what he had, and that was the least of the questions that he wanted to ask.

Questions, however, were beginning to seem hopelessly out of reach. He could easily read the meaning in Wing's gestures, but the words that came out of the other mech's mouth were absolutely unintelligible once more. Whatever had transpired between them a moment ago, it was gone.

"McCrane," he answered, nevertheless, the grip on his shotgun pump tightening reflexively. "I am McCrane, of the Brave Police."

Now what, he wondered, was Wing?

Re: *blush!*

[winged_knight]

Wing listened to the other mech's response. Unintelligible as he feared. He assumed the initial words were his name or designation and made an attempt to reproduce the sounds...but it was an understandably poor one. The jet offered a gesture in apology, somewhere between a cringe and a shrug. He contemplated what to do next, then stumbled on an idea. Well, if it had worked once, why not a second time?

Wing smiled again and put one hand up, palm out, in a gesture of peace. Then he telegraphed raising his other hand to the Great Sword's grip, pausing before touching it as if asking permission from McCrane, before closing his hand around it. With an ease that seemed discordant to the weapon's size, the knight loosed it from its attachments and swung it in a vertical arc until is rested point down before him. He sunk the tip far enough into the ground so that it would stand on its own, the Great Sword's pommel easily level with his chassis.

Wing passed a thumb over the blue gem, evoking a smile. The weapon's resonance was calm and reassuring, so he moved forward with his gambit. Looking back to McCrane he beckons, inviting him to touch to weapon again.

"I think this will help, if you'll indulge me?"

[mccrane]

Wing's movements were slow enough that McCrane was not startled by the sword being drawn, and simply nodded when permission was asked. There was something to this, he knew. He even suspected what it might be, given what had happened last time he touched the sword.

It did not stop his hands from tightening on his shotgun, however, or the way his feet shifted, prepared to fire if he needed to. His last encounter with an intelligent sword had not gone well. It had been capable of controlling the broken J-Decker, and then had been used to unite both Cheftains into a vastly powerful, if strange, combination. He didn't particularly trust Wing's sword, at this point, especially given how he'd felt for the brief moment he'd touched it.

What if the sword was what really controlled Wing?

What if, by touching it, he was granting control over himself?

They were extremely real possibilities, and so he stared at the offering for a long, long moment, running through scenarios in his head, looking for the worst possible combination...

...and, finally, realizing that the worst thing that could happen did not make sense. Wing, or his sword, if it came to that, had not felt bad. He'd gone out of his way to communicate friendship, and was going out of his way to do it here, again. Even if the sword was capable of controlling McCrane, it didn't seem within Wing's nature to use it that way. Not on him.

Nevertheless, when he stepped forward, it was still with extreme caution, one hand still holding onto the trigger. The other reached, tentatively, brushing against the pommel with a ginger touch, testing it, watching Wing the whole time.

"I do not...trust...this..." he said, carefully. "But I will try."

[winged_knight]

The knight kept his amber optics on the other, his posture open and relaxed, remaining still. This time when McCrane spoke, he could make some sense of it. The words, though they did not sound different, took on a cloud of meaning.

Mistrust: caution. Effort.

...Effort? Wing supposed that made some sense when put into this context. It wasn't as if the blade had language skills or could speak, so of course communication would occur on a conceptual level. Which was, unfortunately open to interpretation. He chose his words carefully, keeping things simple with the presumption that this method of communication might include some trial and error.

"Thank you." Wing nodded. "I am Wing. I am one of the Knights of Cybertron. Cybertron is my homeland. This sword marks me as a knight and proves that I am worthy of being one."

[mccrane]

The hilt felt...warm...which was odd enough for McCrane. The glistening jewel seemed like it flickered, now and again, catching the light in a way that reminded him of a blinking eye.

That didn't help.

When Wing started talking, and some of it made sense that did not help either.

McCrane pulled back his hand, statled, staring with uncertainty at Wing. He'd even known this was going to happen--was likely to happen, but knowing about something and being prepared for something were two different concepts entirely. The last few words Wing spoke faded into gibberish, and McCrane's stare broke.

Gratitude? Wing, a name. Knight.

That was in line with what he'd already expected, and slowly he nodded. There'd been something about an endearment to a planet computer that he wasn't sure he understood, but then he had heard Knight again.

Knight.

Just like Duke.

The similarities were too stark, and he already missed Earth. This tentative connection, even with all of is strangeness, only served to remind him how important it was to return, and to solve this mystery he'd been thrust into the middle of.

Steeling himself, he reached out and touched the sword once more.

"I am McCrane, of the Brave Police. I am trying to investigate my appearance here, and return to my home." He glanced down to Wing's hand where it rested, close to his, deciding that if he was going to continue with any amount of comfort, this next question was important.

"What is this sword?"

[winged_knight]

Patience, as with anything in life, was key. Wing had dealt with greater communication difficulties with other mechs even without a language barrier; he was pretty sure he could manage this. There was no need to rush.

McCrane's withdrawal was unsurprising, Wing could only guess that this was very alien to him. He did not press and has happy when the other mech decided to reinitiate the attempt.

The impressions that flowed through the blade bond were not as strong as those that originated from the weapon itself, but it was something more than they had before.

A name, "Crane?" Or a variation on it that he didn't understand. An affiliation with courage and lawgivers. Something about searching for truth and... definitely a strong notion of home. The a question about the Great Sword itself.

How could Wing even adequately describe it? He could say what it was, but why it existed and could do the things that it could? That was difficult enough to explain even without a language barrier. Start simple.

"A symbol of our knighthood. It holds ancient knowledge."

[mccrane]

"Crane. Yes."

This time, when the word-feelings came through, he did not back away.

Instead, he let his crane arm lift over his shoulder, resting there so that Wing could see what he meant, hook dangling, before returning back from where it came. "It is my second mode."

He had a third mode, as well, but trying to describe how he united with his team to form a larger robot was not a discussion for today.

When Wing spoke, he listened, even if he flinched a little at the continued strangeness of it all. The message was much simpler this time, however, and left a clear impression in his head. Sword equaled Knight, and Sword was old.

Unfathomably old.

It made him hesitate once more, sensing the importance of this object to the mech who wielded it, knowing how odd he'd have felt for someone else to use his shotgun. It was only the fact that Wing's hand stayed by his that showed a continued permission, and a desire to carry on.

That would be enough, for now.

"Do you know where we are?" he ventured, hoping the concept was not too abstract to communicate.

[winged_knight]

This was progress, and even if it was slow, it was forward movement. That fact that not 10 minutes ago they were grappled on the ground and were now exchanging names, was a victory in Wing's mind.

He nodded at the confirmation of McCrane's name, putting the designation and likeness to memory. The words that followed Wing had a harder time understanding. Another aspect? Clarity struck when he saw the dangling hook--did that mean he was actually a crane? An alt-mode, meaning this mech could transform as well!? The notion shocked him, was there another mechanical race out there that had their kind of adaptability? Or did McCrane have Cybtertronian origins? The shock and wonderment was displayed clearly on Wing's face at this revaluation, the ailerons flanking his shoulder nacelles flicking out playfully.

"I also have a second mode. A jet." The folded wing panels on his back spread, extending from his shoulders with the soft sound of shifting metal. Wing grinned, both pleased and excited by the notion. It was a kinship of sorts in a situation where finding common ground had only come through struggle.

Wing schooled his mood a touch as he watched McCrane, the Brave obviously deep in consideration over something. When he spoke, Wing caught some of the basic notion. A query: location. At this Wing frowned slightly, shaking his head.

"I don't know this place. I only just arrived."

[mccrane]

McCrane shared Wing's difficulty with the translation of 'second mode,' staring for a good while at what he was sure had been 'two options.' The addition of jet, thankfully, made everything clear, and McCrane's eyes widened in surprise.

Another robot that could transform? He nodded, confirming the idea, pointing to the tires on his legs to show in lieu of actually transforming.

Wing still did not look much like what he imagined a jet looked like, but...considering Drill Boy didn't look capable of flight, either, Wing was actually a few steps up. His pinions at least were streamlined!

"A jet, and an alien." He murmured. The other robot he'd encountered earlier had indicated she could turn into a boat, and she had also been alien... "Cybertronian?" he asked, wondering if that was the similarity, not realizing that it might have been the 'planet computer' of before.

"She called this Cybertron." McCrane looked around. "But she did not recognize it. It looks nothing like Earth, but..." He glanced down, saw what he was looking for, and, without letting go of the sword, he bent to pick up a mannequin. "...but this is from Earth." Many of the things in the junkyard were. Many of the things in the junkyard also weren't.

It was all so confusing.

"I do not remember how I came to be here," he tried, instead. "Do you?"

[winged_knight]

The notation of the tires in McCrane's legs clinched it; this other robot did indeed transform. Wing grinned in amazement.

The jet cocked his head at McCrane's next words, catching something like 'different' and then a concept that was definitely 'Cybertron's people'. "Yes!" Wing nodded. "I am Cybertronian." The rest was more difficult to decipher. Cybertron again, mention of another person, unfamiliarity, and, soil or ground? Wing looked curiously at the mannequin for a moment before making a different realization. "You've meet another Cybertronian here?"

The jist of McCrane's last question was plain enough in context and Wing shook his head again. "I don't know. I was in the middle of a battle. Something terrible happened, then I awoke here."

[mccrane]

That was strange. It sounded like an affirmation, but then there was mention of the planet computer again? So he was Cybertronian, but he was...

Wait.

No.

Cyber. Tron.

Suddenly, that made a great deal more sense to him. Their homeworld sounded computerized, and it was a planet, of course. So then, the next question had to be about meeting other people of the computer planet, to which the answer was a simple "Yes. I met a female."

That had been perplexing to him. She had definitely been a 'she,' but she'd not noted any particular differences between herself and other Cybertronians.

The definite denial to his last question, however, caused McCrane to sigh. He'd been hoping for some clue. The explanation he figured he mostly understood. Center of a fight? Yes. An event of sadness? Yes. Awakening.

Yes.

"Has this ever happened to anyone you have known?"

[winged_knight]

Wing got the confirmation of his question, but the 'female' part comes across making very little sense. Wing hoped it wasn't important.

It did seem as though McCrane was achieving recognition of some kind, so though it was not his own Wing was happy for the progress.

The knight understood the basics of the last question and gave another negative response much to his own disappointment. "I've never heard of anything like this happening before."

"I had only just awoken when you cam along, how long have you need here?"