for Hive! for Swarm! for Glory!

Although unspoken, it’s a great place to wait for if they’re allowed back on that island filled with delicious mechanics and fun humans to scare.

Although unspoken, it’s a great place to wait for if they’re allowed back on that island filled with delicious mechanics and fun humans to scare.

He isn’t surprised to find them here, hunkering and curled away from the ice and snow. His own frame, plating tamped down with sheets of ice covering here and there- is frigid, but the warmth has retreated inside to keep his symbiotes safe and healthy. Still, he regards them with no small amount of wariness as he invades their territory- data cables flicking out to anchor himself. 

He can feel their low-level Hive hum in the back of his processor, like the flickering sound of a fluorescent light. He keeps his plating down, his posture loose but alert- and tries to telegraph that he is not looking for a fight. That he is completely all right, and will do no harm. 

He finally comes back to himself, process trees coming online as he glances around those that are clustered around him. His fingertips trace here and there, awkwardly grooming back as they begin to rouse around him. The large one that he’s connected to sends him back signals about the Hive, and he parses the information.

On impulse, he sends a greeting through the buzzing broadband- to see what sort of reaction it would illicit. He has no quarrel with them, and in fact is quietly grateful that they DIDN’T take him apart while he was in recharge. He answers what questions he can of his symbiotes, allowing Lazerbeak out to perch over his shoulder. She chirps in curiosity at all of the milling insecticons. His fingers brush over her plating, reassuring.

The group mind snaps to attention eagerly, yielding to his presence at it’s edge, making them stir in addition to the promise of the storm’s end- they’re all awake now, awake or dead, shivering and flicking plating and wings to stretch, ease aches out of joints held still for far too long. The large one beside him isn’t sure what to make of laserbeak and Soundwave may be aware of his thought process, settling upon a term for her.

Skitterling?

Close enough, at least, as he puffs warm air at her, curious. Somewhere nearby, an insecticon lets loose a warbling cry, excitedly, as they hit a form of consensus, and one of the living- now rapidly dying shields against the cold is pulled open, frontmost armor cracked and pried apart, filling the steaming shelter with the gleam and scent of fresh energon. Strangely, even through the hivemind, there is no panic from the dying- even when the sounds of Insecticon jaws scraping and squabbling over choice bits grows louder. A dull sort of regret for lost resources, maybe, but no disappointment, nor panic.

The smaller one who’s watching perks up- and lets out a warbling sound- half amused and half irritated, hurrying to try and right their flipped friend, who seems more intent upon thrashing irritably. Blackshell could right himself, continue fighting, but...instinct tells him he’s already lost.

Cautiously, the smaller one looks over Heatwave...and decides that they’re not interested in a fair fight, turning to altmode and buzzing away, deeper into the tunnels, seeking their third member. WAIAIAIAAIAIAIAIAIA- it’s cries echo.

He isn’t surprised to find them here, hunkering and curled away from the ice and snow. His own frame, plating tamped down with sheets of ice covering here and there- is frigid, but the warmth has retreated inside to keep his symbiotes safe and healthy. Still, he regards them with no small amount of wariness as he invades their territory- data cables flicking out to anchor himself. 

He can feel their low-level Hive hum in the back of his processor, like the flickering sound of a fluorescent light. He keeps his plating down, his posture loose but alert- and tries to telegraph that he is not looking for a fight. That he is completely all right, and will do no harm. 

Potential meal winds out at the next hard gust. It doesn’t send the mech flying away, but he does rock as the gust catches the wind plains of his plating- making him stagger. He turns from it, steps slow and sure- careful, because if he moves too fast he feels like he’ll fall apart.

Slim fingers dance here and there, reaching out to touch round beetled shells and segmented legs in a little gesture of gratitude. He nestles in the open space, opening vents to flare out life-saving heat into those clustered around him. His symbiotes move within his frame, their smaller sparks fluttering and the wheeled bond that spokes back to him comes alive with questions.

The one he touches, connects with, doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest beyond letting out a curious little sound, and resuming it’s low-power status quick enough, lazily huffing. Another grooms meltwater off of soundwave’s plating, even though condensation coats them all every time one of the outermost insecticons shifts and a gust of chill enters.

The Hive, for what it’s worth, seems either to barely notice his intrusion or simply not care, but when he taps into that it’s alien presence is easily read, through the silent processes of every Insecticon there. They are well-fed, well-organized- Insecticons only appear chaotic to those who don’t know them, but even now they’re neatly arranged- the largest, the strongest encircle, those closer to the center, those near Soundwave, are more vulnerable, or more valuable, and each of them is accounted for in the Hive’s presence.

Every Insecticon is accounted for. Distantly, they can feel the echoes of their brethren across the globe, sleeping in stasis or foraging in warmer places, a faraway echo, compared to the count being kept here among them. They all have an awareness- who is around them, who has succumbed to the cold already (bodies, frozen in place, still valuable for retaining heat within) or been lost in the blizzard.

It’s the first time in a long while she’s felt her guardian go into the deep-defragmented recharge that he needs to parse the amount of data that goes through his processor and systems at any given time. Her plating flares a little as one of the other members of the Hive move closer to bolster his leaning frame and eventually provide support as he begins to slink down and go horizontal. 

Rumble and Frenzy are still in their half-stasis, pinging back questions back and forth across their hub-bond. She can’t answer everything, and only Soundwave can once he’s fully conscious. But since the biggest of the Hive isn’t looking at her as if she’s an appetizer, she’s disinclined to see them as a possible threat. It amuses her to see a couple of the smaller members begin grooming his plating, though she goes to hide under one of the other beetle styled ones when they come for her.

When the storm finally begins to die down, they grow restless, shuffling carefully around recharging forms, squabbling in little bursts of hissing and whines, but refusing to fight or scrabble, instead these little bits of unhappiness are soothed by feeding and grooming. They’re waiting for conditions to clear up enough for travel, and it’s getting them riled. The hivemind’s awareness registers that it’s lost a few more to the cold, and others are somehow marked, their brethren lingering close, opportunistic.

These ones won’t be strong enough to travel on their own once the storm passes.

Insecticons seldom carry their wounded or weakened, however.

“I’m going to draw a transformer decepticon, and i’m picking the insecticon one this time because he looks so cool and there is not a lot of it around, and i’m going to give him luv” And it was supposed to be a doodle of a night, not a 5 hours doodle of doom because i wanted to also draw it with it’s mouth open because i will look cooler, and the teeth where also a pain, EVERYTHING WAS A PAIN, CHARACTER THAT I LIKE TO DRAW IS HELL TO DO. Or just i can’t do these :V, how do you people do it?

Chew on that!

He heaves, pushing forward. Glad for the redundant stabilizers in his struts and pedes. Usually meant to help him keep footing on even ground when using water at high pressure; it lets him dig in a bit more. Cables straining in his arms and neck.

His claws dig furrows into the cave floor, but top-heavy Insecticons are made for brawling and crawling. Rather than trying to recover his balance, he transforms and hits the ground on all fours, er.....sixes, wheeling on Heatwave and brandishing his altmode’s huge, curved horn, shrieking and wings buzzing again, even if he can’t compete with the spectacle of a fire truck’s lights and siren.

He isn’t surprised to find them here, hunkering and curled away from the ice and snow. His own frame, plating tamped down with sheets of ice covering here and there- is frigid, but the warmth has retreated inside to keep his symbiotes safe and healthy. Still, he regards them with no small amount of wariness as he invades their territory- data cables flicking out to anchor himself. 

He can feel their low-level Hive hum in the back of his processor, like the flickering sound of a fluorescent light. He keeps his plating down, his posture loose but alert- and tries to telegraph that he is not looking for a fight. That he is completely all right, and will do no harm. 

Potential meal winds out at the next hard gust. It doesn’t send the mech flying away, but he does rock as the gust catches the wind plains of his plating- making him stagger. He turns from it, steps slow and sure- careful, because if he moves too fast he feels like he’ll fall apart.

Slim fingers dance here and there, reaching out to touch round beetled shells and segmented legs in a little gesture of gratitude. He nestles in the open space, opening vents to flare out life-saving heat into those clustered around him. His symbiotes move within his frame, their smaller sparks fluttering and the wheeled bond that spokes back to him comes alive with questions.

The one he touches, connects with, doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest beyond letting out a curious little sound, and resuming it’s low-power status quick enough, lazily huffing. Another grooms meltwater off of soundwave’s plating, even though condensation coats them all every time one of the outermost insecticons shifts and a gust of chill enters.

The Hive, for what it’s worth, seems either to barely notice his intrusion or simply not care, but when he taps into that it’s alien presence is easily read, through the silent processes of every Insecticon there. They are well-fed, well-organized- Insecticons only appear chaotic to those who don’t know them, but even now they’re neatly arranged- the largest, the strongest encircle, those closer to the center, those near Soundwave, are more vulnerable, or more valuable, and each of them is accounted for in the Hive’s presence.

Every Insecticon is accounted for. Distantly, they can feel the echoes of their brethren across the globe, sleeping in stasis or foraging in warmer places, a faraway echo, compared to the count being kept here among them. They all have an awareness- who is around them, who has succumbed to the cold already (bodies, frozen in place, still valuable for retaining heat within) or been lost in the blizzard.

He isn’t surprised to find them here, hunkering and curled away from the ice and snow. His own frame, plating tamped down with sheets of ice covering here and there- is frigid, but the warmth has retreated inside to keep his symbiotes safe and healthy. Still, he regards them with no small amount of wariness as he invades their territory- data cables flicking out to anchor himself. 

He can feel their low-level Hive hum in the back of his processor, like the flickering sound of a fluorescent light. He keeps his plating down, his posture loose but alert- and tries to telegraph that he is not looking for a fight. That he is completely all right, and will do no harm. 

There’s a silent debate, a brief flicker of interest rippling through them, accompanied by soft chirring and whickers that are swept away by howling wind. When they move, steam escapes from the cluster, only for the vapor to freeze on them instantly, droplets sticking to them and coating them in tiny crystals. It’d be almost pretty, if they cared for things like that.

Soundwave is deemed to not be a threat, after all, they’re tired, quiet, waiting out the storm no different than he is. Heavier, their smoothed shells clamped down to let the wind glance off, many of the outermost ones are in altmode, smoothly domed beetle-bodies compacted together. Soundwave is no threat to them here, they feel, all skinny lines and he looks so light compared to their heavy bodies several of them wonder if the next harsher gust of wind won’t send the spy flying, whisking him clean off his pedes.

Maybe it’s the instincts that demand they cluster and protect one another, or a lack of processing power here, where it’s too cold and quiet for their Queen to care or for them to register Soundwave as anything other than a potential superior.

Chew on that!

He heaves, pushing forward. Glad for the redundant stabilizers in his struts and pedes. Usually meant to help him keep footing on even ground when using water at high pressure; it lets him dig in a bit more. Cables straining in his arms and neck.

Serve and protect.

He growls, a deep bassy sub-vocal noise. It makes the hanging columns of rock vibrate when it resonates in the crystal structure,“ You had best step off. Before I make you step off. I’m not letting you harm my family.”

If anything, they can appreciate the effort of protecting a family...but there’s territory to be disputed here.

Nevermind that they’d only just arrived and started scouting out caves, just another scouting party attracted by any scent of energon or of other mechanisms. In their mind, so far, this island had already seemed absolutely ideal! So there were plenty of humans, they could be avoided. Or, failing that, there weren’t so many a proper swarm couldn’t solve that problem…

He spreads his pedes, jaw lifted as he growls. Visor snapping over amber optics,“ There’s younglings nearby and I’m not letting you ‘claim’ anything else.” If these things got near the Burns family, they looked like they could seriously injure them. Not good!

Nevermind that they’d only just arrived and started scouting out caves, just another scouting party attracted by any scent of energon or of other mechanisms. In their mind, so far, this island had already seemed absolutely ideal! So there were plenty of humans, they could be avoided. Or, failing that, there weren’t so many a proper swarm couldn’t solve that problem...