#neverasaint

((AAAHHH SOMEBODY LIKES ORIAS))

((It was bound to happen sooner or later.

Muse:

Mun:

((AIN'T GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR INSANE SHENANIGANS TODAY, ORIAS.

((Raf won't even come near you with a forty-nine and a half foot pole, and even I am reluctant to.

*sets down the candy as if it's an offering and scampers off*

Even as a Cybertronian, Raf was dwarfed in size by Orias.  She towered over him, a looming shadow waiting for the opportune moment to swoop down and strike.  From behind his clear visor, Raf's optics widened at her approach, having nowhere left to run.

A smirk passed over the Decepticon's visage, shark-like and triumphant.  She knew it.

"S-Stay back!" Raf called, drawing his blasters and aiming for her.

"Cute," she countered, unfazed by the puny threat, "But can you really hit me?"

All the while her advance never stopped, and the boy-turned-mech had to stammer before he made his decision.  He had wasted crucial seconds in indecision and now fired haphazardly at the femme before him.  Shot crossed between her legs and to either side of her large frame before Raf took a deep breath and began to concentrate on aiming with his optics open.

One breath.  Two breaths.

His systems calmer now, the boy aimed higher for the denser part of her frame and shot three Energon bursts in quick succession.  All three found their mark, and their close range hit hard.

((So, what’s going on here? Is Bee here on the Nemesis, or is he communicating through a comm-link?))

i-wish-he-would-just-understand started following you

never-a-saint started following you

Perhaps it was not the wisest of seating choices, and yet...

Loki was not considered (at times) the wisest of gods.

It was that flirting with chaos--the dance that the trickster loved engaging in, two-stepping and slipping away from the edge of destruction, of ending, of utter and complete disarray--easing into a flirtatious courting with that which could ever so easily end in his death. It was that uncaring courtship that separated tricksters from so many others:

The manic glee that bled into all that they did.

And it was that unnatural delight that found the Norseman currently seated easily at the bend of a tree branch that dipped out over a sluggish river, water moving at a snail's pace while Spanish moss hung low to trail through the green-tinged liquid.