Feb 13, 2022
Just for that, maybe itâs time to start teaching Kyan how swords work. Blunted weapons, of course.
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Just for that, maybe itâs time to start teaching Kyan how swords work. Blunted weapons, of course.
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@prowls-analysis
Armed with several polishing cloths, Tarn cleaned every surface and crevice of the crate holding one of his most prized cultural artifacts. Once it gleamed akin to his plating, he put the cloths aside, and took a moment to rest his hands upon its edges. He studied the line and make of the crate, gaze simmering in admiration for what it housed within.
âOne day,â he whispered, âyou will return to where you belong. Of this I swear upon my honour as the Empireâs justice.â Bowing forward, he offlined his optics, and placed upon the crate a kiss.
âBefore then, there is someone I would like you to meet.â
He sent a âPingâ to Mandaic, and waited for a response.
prowls-analysis replied to your post: defectiicon: Well, itâs not really a box so much...
A prank of Sideswipes. A bedlam of Sideswipes.
Sides: *snerks*Â âA chaos of Sideswipes.â
âA confusion of Sideswipes?â
âWait that one was taken. Uuuum. A Madhouse of Sideswipes?â
Sunny:Â âActual hell.â
Do not believe those who throw insults without releasing their names, Bumblebee. They are cowards seeking attention and power without compensation. Such creatures are not worth any of your energy or interest. I assure you that I know from evidence that you are loved by most of those who know you. They make the mistake of assuming you know it and do not need to be reminded. I do not make that mistake.
Iâm trying not to. It is reassuring to hear it from you, Prowl. You wouldnât lie about something like this. I donât know about most-- sorry. Iâm trying to get better. Thank you.
Jazz is trying not to be insufferably smug around Lingo. Someone should probably put a metaphorical bug in his ear about how HE could let himself be tricked by holograms and some blatantly-manipulated election results, after all the dirty tricks he's played and seen played in his life.
On the one hand, Jazz has every right to be insufferably smug considering all the other ways Lingo has been insufferable to him. He had told her it wasnât the Autobots, that it was weird that all the folk close to Prime getting sent away was a big red flag that something else was going on....Â
On the other hand, sheâs having A Big Sad⢠right now, coupled with a minor existential crisis, and him being smug would either push her to snap at him or - possibly worse - start crying and make everything awkward for everyone involved.Â
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*Leaves deformed Predacon hatchling in a box lined with Insecticon hide outside Hotshot's door. The wheepling little thing isn't much longer than Hotshot's hand and can't be more than a few days old. The note in the box says,* "Name is Spitfire. Mother bit hr I can't afford 2 fix. I no u like babys. Maybe she will di anyway but you can try." There is nothing in the box to identify the bot who left the tiny beast. (Okay, yeah, I'm evil and up way too late at night.)
@prowls-analysis
There was a loud thump at Hotshotâs door, enough that he was able to lift himself from the ground and dry up his sobs.. at least for the moment. Venting slowly and carefully, he heads to the front door and immediately crouches down beside the box with optics wide. âOh--Oh sweetspark!â The breeder exclaims before he picks up the small thing and carries her into his shop. âSweet little Spitfire.. Itâll be okay... I--Iâll get you all fixed up..â
Averting Dilemmas
@prowls-analysis
The arenas had been completely torn down from the inside out, slaves being taken into custody on Prime's order. The voices of an uprising completely vanished. The twins were pulled from their cells, kicking and screaming. Quickly sedated and silenced. They'd wake in a cell, but it wasn't their own. It was clean and bright, they could see other mecha resting in cells across from theirs.. and their frames did not have the Kaonite slum filth that plagued them since Sparklinghood.
Rehabilitation started roughly. Stripped of their weapons, what little possessions they had, and their unnaturally thick gladiator plating.. they had nothing else but each other. And they feared they were being stripped for parts. At least until they were fitted for new plating, thinner and less durable.. but still protective.
They didn't understand Iaconian, at least not until they were sedated once more. Programs and coding obviously tweaked rolled through their HUDs and they could understand now, and it granted them access to far more creative measures to resist these new Handlers. Although it didn't stop them from promptly snapping at mecha as they stepped by, or rush at guards as they attempted to restrain one brother but not the other at the same time, or even try to break free of their irons and rails when given the opportunity. But they did not willingly communicate with anyone else, they didn't feel the need to.. they simply existed to fight and kill as directed.
So when the day came they were brought into a rather plain room ad secured against the wall with restraints they knew they couldn't break themselves out of.. let alone move much in.. perhaps they were going to be used as bait to train another mech and they sort of hoped it might be quick. Their optics stayed trained on the door, exclusively..
@prowls-analysis
Cont. from [x]
::Greetings, Commander Tarn. To what are you referring when you say accelerating my recovery is a âdire necessityâ?::Â
::Well, I was of the mind your recovery is the dire necessity. Pardon my being blunt, but having seen you struggle...:: Tarn paused, contemplating how to best broach the subject.
::It saddens me to see you reduced to depending on the likes of painkillers to do what you do best.::