#mnemoiisms

"Cliff, I am going to freeze my nose off out here, how much longer?"

::---::

"...Cliff? Cliffjumper-"

::I'm here, I'm here, I'm just trying to think of a good comeback to that when, y'know-::

"If you say the phrase, 'I don't have one', I will slide down this hill to come smack you," Sierra warns, scowling over the edge of the slope. There are some heaps of old building materials up here, she could find something that would work as a sled. "And besides, nothing beats 'my dog has no nose, so how does he smell? Terrible!"

There's a burst of static over her comm line, which resolves into the sound of Cliff wheezing with laughter. ::Du- hah- duly noted, kiddo. I'll try to wrap this up quick as I- aw, scrap::

The girl straightens up out of her slouch. "What's wrong?"

::Ehh, nothing serious, just annoying. Must be a water pipe leak in here somewhere, half this equipment is iced over. Can't exactly check for signs of tampering without defrosting it all::

Ugh. Which is going to mean longer waiting outside, surrounded by snow, because she insisted on tagging along and playing lookout for him. Smart going, moron.

One more glance at the surrounding empty plains and bare mountain cliffs reveals nothing, nothing, and more nothing, so Sierra comes to an executive decision. Poking through the piles of plywood and pipes does turn up some stacks of corrugated tin; she snags one, sits down on it, and scoots right up to the edge of the slope. It's a long way down to the entrance of the bunker Cliffjumper is checking out, but hey, no obstacles or other kids to worry about hitting, and she has always wanted to try this.

With a whoop, Sierra takes off-

-and almost immediately topples right off her makeshift sled when it catches on something and swings sideways across the snow.

After a long, long, long tumble down to the base of the slope, she finally rolls to a stop and groans, squinting up at the grey overcast sky. "...kay. That was- not smart. Ow."

Maybe joining Cliff can wait a minute until her head stops spinning.

Just very gently setting a processor down near the little thing and taking a step backwards to give it space.

Its head whips directly around, massive optics fixed on the processor, and a single line of drool escapes its mouth before it is zooming at the speed of sound to the processor.

" I appreciate your fine optic for authentic quality, " he says, flatly, but no less charmed by the comment.

*wiggles fingers. He can fix*

Don't touch him.

D̵o̵n̶'̶t̵ ̶t̷o̵u̷c̵h̶ ̶h̵i̵m̸.