All he had to do was keep his head down and stay as unobtrusive as ever. It wouldn’t be hard. Stick to the sidelines, find a quiet place to stay put where he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. Optics down, no unnecessary eye contact, and everything would be just fine.

“Oh, pardon me!” he apologized hastily to the mech he had half-run into. Maybe he had been keeping himself a little too turned away from his surroundings; lost in thought and with his optics trained resolutely on the ground, he hadn’t quite seen where he was going (or who was in his way). Risking a quick glance up, Rung was caught by unwarranted surprise. After all, what were the chances of him not stumbling into a familiar face when that was the last thing he needed?

“R-Rodi--!” He cleared his vocorder, hoping he had managed to catch himself in time. Not Rodimus, not yet.

M!A Build Up

“Why can’t I be who they want me to be? No matter how much I remember, I’m never going to be who they lost. I won’t be their Bumblebee.”

...

It’s been a few days since Jazz started fiddling with the multiversal frequencies in his archives, and he thinks he’s managed to piece together a sort of franken-signal that might reach into a different universe.

Maybe. There’s no way to find out except by testing it, though, so he tweaks the settings on his communicator, enters the frequency code he’s cobbled together, and sends out a ping.

"I feel like this is just a poor attempt for the anons to watch you wash, Smokescreen. Don't buy into it!"

“To look good!”

      Fortress Maximus, focused on his own datapad, hadn’t noticed just how little focus Hot Rod was managing until he was addressed. The tank shifted in his seat, lowered the report he was editing to watch Hot Rod move. Simply to move— as if Fort Max could resist any of Hot Rod’s requests. 

      “You know that I can.” 

      He crossed from his desk to Hot Rod’s and circled around behind the speedster. One hand settled on Hot Rod’s chair back, the other on the desk around his shoulder.

       “ Ah, no, I mean–! ”

       Hot Rod mimicked Tarantulas’ chelicera-looking faceplate. It was in good nature, he doesn’t mean any harm. More so, he’s intrigued!

       “ How! With your mouth? Your wiggly mouth. ”

An amused huff, and Tarantulas put one hand on his hip. “If this is your roundabout way of asking me to ‘open wide,’ you’re in luck - I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll give you a free show.”

And with that, the mandibles fluttered again before parting entirely, revealing a rather unusual maw. Twin chelicerae stretched out leisurely, directing their fanged tips in Hot Rod’s direction, before also parting to reveal the rest of the mouth behind them, glossa and all.