dynasty decapitated

SCREAMS

He misses being a jungle gym. The smudgy, oily fingerprints all over his cockpit glass and stickers plastered to his forearms. All the stupid inane chatter about boys and school and whatever the frag pizza was, and the endless, infuriating questions.

{ @404-processor-not-found }

:: Too late, Skywarp. I'm already mad. ::

Starscream has just about worn a long scrape of a scorch mark into the floor from his nervous pacing. It wasn't exactly unusual for Skywarp to wander off for an orn or two at a time with no notice-- fine, whatever. Starscream can generally feel him over their trine bond, so at the very least he can be certain of whether or not his stupid wingmate is still alive.

The crawling, ghostly sense of agony of late last night, though? The burning in the back of his throat, which has left his ruined voicebox even more of a sour rasp?

Already mad is an understatement.

Starscream's fragging pissed.

Starscream, out of a habit this little bird never really formed and yet, still somehow has, falls into step behind Megatron and stalks after him like a wicked little imp. Sharp white and red wings rustle, restlessly flexing fine plating before folding back together again.

"Maybe you should try it."