#snakehorns

No need for nipplecovers!

Windchill hunkered in the shade, butt in the sand and back leaning against the silo wall while his optics absorbed yet another sea life documentary like a pair of flamboyant sponges. As engrossed with the datapad as he might appear, few could be more aware of their surroundings than he was in that moment. A spy plane simply didn’t need eyes, and could afford to splinter off a stream of consciousness devoted to the feeding habits of parrotfish.

The rest of his sensors and processing power he dedicated to being impossible to sneak up on. After certain revelations concerning MECH, the Earth’s core, and the DJD in turn Windchill’s life had been one of paranoia, an existence on high alert and fraught with the kind of energy usage that was annoying to everyone else. Having performed at least one patrol since that morning, he was taking a break with some coral-eating fiends.

He was also waiting for Whirl, whom he didn’t care to have creep up on him either. More importantly, he didn’t want Whirl to show up and be left to knock on the door for some gremlin to answer. Awkward. He couldn’t speak for the chopper, but that was exactly the sort of predicament that would have him mysteriously forgetting all about such an appointment. There was no sparing anyone from the worm that waited within, but he could spare his friend from suffering that much.

 The moment that the newest member of the ramshackle household was allowed outside visitors, he’d asked the ‘bot over to behold the wiggling spawn for himself. She and her carrier skulked around indoors, partially due to the latter’s distaste for sand, a distaste for Whirl, and no small measure of disapproval for Windchill’s decision to hand a copy of Dangerous Schematics™ to the very same Whirl upon arrival, which would be shortly. A little longer, perhaps, if Whirl chose to fly a more scenic route rather than bridge himself directly to the door, but seeing as Windchill’s measure of time was barely existent, he wouldn’t mind the difference. He minded only that the moment Whirl appeared—within a certain, confidential distance—he would know about it.

Windchill grunted from his spot in the shade, looking up at his mate only when he’d extended his leg as far as it would go. He’d made sure to stretch daily ever since Riot had repaired him, hoping that with the effort he’d recover even a fraction of the flexibility his more youthful frame had possessed. It meant that he was sometimes caught in odd poses—with one heel buried in his crotch and the other resting flat in the sand as if he’d taken a very hilarious tumble, in this instance—but it was hardly a downside in his opinion.

“So, you mean to tell me that we’ve birthed some manner of parasitic monster?” Or, Riot had, but he hoped the ‘we’ kept it from sounding accusatory. “I suppose we should have expected this.” He rose again, sand falling from his plating.

"I hope I'm not excluded, Love."

What is the nature of existence.