#citizensofcybertron

// Hook? :0

yes 🙈 HEAR ME OUT!!!

It was a set of various paints from brand familiar to the front liner.

Sunstreaker didn't have many paints, not anymore. At least nothing for canvases, just for mechs. Polishes, wax's, buffs and paints ment to hold up in a fight. As a mech on the front lines you had to make yourself a massive target.

And he had made sure he was. And all he really had left was an old sketch pad almost out of room.

He hesitates, claws curling in before he slowly reaches out. Servos curling around the box of paints and looking them over. It was a good brand, if hard to get and expensive. Quality paints that painted smoothly, and dried nicely.

"I'm just saying, that putting ice in energon makes it taste better. And it stays colder for longer" Seacrest shrugged, not about to apologize for his beverage crimes.

Oh...

1 - something from my muse's backstory

I've mentioned her dad Tom every now and then, but one of these days I gotta figure out the whole deal with Sierra's mother and then dump that on someone's head like "HERE. Help the teenager Process Emotions."

7 - something violent

Hoo boy. This might sound terrible, but at some point I want to drop Sierra into trouble where Cliff can't come to her rescue, either while he's busy elsewhere or maybe inside a building while he's stuck in vehicle mode in the parking lot with too many witnesses around to transform. Maybe there's a human-shaped threat coming after her, or something sneaky from the Cons, or even an AU where Weirdness is going on, plenty of possibilities. Options abound for New Trauma, with a side helping of the kid getting a better handle on what she's capable of, escaping on her own and making it back to the safety of her guardian's passenger seat.

13 - a character I'd like to play with

14 - a character I'd like to play as

"Watch your head!" Issued seconds before impact, an effort was made to warn the stranger of incoming danger, hurtling in their direction. Locked in a battle with a rogue anomaly, the Society's leader had cinched his broad arms around a much smaller male, restricting the unfurling of limbs that appeared to feature metal coated pinions sprouting from each one.

Giving his all to this, a further complication arose in the matter of his descent, a fall that took him past startled onlookers as he searched for a place to land. Only, in his bid to avoid crashing into anyone, Miguel would wind up slamming against the side of a wall, taking the impact first with his shoulders, before his own inertia, as well as the added hindrance of the caught Vulture variant conspired to worsen the damage he absorbed.

Dragonfly has already consumed her morning ration, but now stands in a little open space, cradling the empty cube, optics shuttered and head tipped back to enjoy the breeze, the direct sunlight.

By the time its rage has started to burn itself out, Protoform X has laid waste to miles of Argonite coastline. Towns and shipyards are left to burn, the flames sputtering a sickly green. Hundreds of voices cry out in pain, or wail in grief and terror; their suffering only stokes the furnace of Rampage's animalistic fury.

The last town he falls upon is relatively small, though the traffic of the adjacent docks is loud and chaotic enough to draw his attention inland once more. The shouts of alarm start as several onlookers spot an unusual wave moving in from the Argon Sea; by the time he lurches onto land, they've evolved into a collective babble of fear.

A mech shoves past Outbreak, focused on his own survival—only to be promptly crushed beneath the bulk of a trawler as the monster hurls it down the street, scattering the fleeing civilians like bowling pins. Protoform X follows in its wake, his voice raw and ruined, his words melded into an incomprehensible roar. They're burned into his mind, all the same:

I killed them. I killed them all!