#slenderwave

@slenderwave a theory as to why he can’t bake cookies?

The happy little scraplet that’s managed to coordinate itself well enough to work its way outside ahead of the crowd hums and stares up at the moons, distracted by the distant blue-black glow. What a treat that would make, if only it could get there.

As it turns out, individual pieces of the swarm don’t retain Soundwave’s usual level of observational skill or brilliance upon separation. Stretches his currently limited control just a bit too far, you see.

Which means it hasn’t so much as a single clue there’s something hunting it.

Jazz is slow as he approaches, his frame pressed low to the ground, ears pricked and locked on target. His visor is black, all of his biolights off, and his attention is so focused on the strange little creature. 

A pause, and he pounces, claws extending to trap the little thing as sharp teeth try to find some sort of energon line to nip through, drain his prey of its energon before taking advantage of whatever metal was edible. 

Send ♤ and my muse will tell you something they like about your muse.  Or send ♠ for something they dislike.

... Honestly, Soundwave, I can appreciate the work you’ve put in to be a better bot. You can be a really genuinely... Caring bot sometimes.

Noise: Name one sound your muse finds absolutely unbearable.

“Well, I hate the sound of jet engines, hearing those flying idiots during a battle ruins my day almost as fast as seeing Prime’s face in the morning.”

"Here, take a basketful."

Out of the hundred shards he has in his safe, he lays about half in a small basket (rolled up in a blanket, to keep them safe). The basket is held out for Soundwave to take.

"Bury them in a nutrient-rich spot, approximately two meters apart and about six meters deep if possible. You'll know the soil's right if it already has energon crystals growing out of it."

The ping doesn’t surprise him this time. He’d been expecting it, actually, after that last incident at the Outpost. So certain is he that the caller is one of his superiors, here to tell him he’d either lost his job or worse, that Sweets doesn’t even glance at the signal. He just fires off a message before one can come through.

- I’m sorry! I know I’m not allowed to hurt the clients, but he had a hold of my antenna and it hurt and I just wanted him to let go. I didn’t mean to hurt him that bad! -

The little predacon doesn’t bother trying to speak, he already knows nothing would come out but whining.