#technodromes

[starter] for @technodromes

Emil barrelled into a booth, closing the curtain behind herself and nearly falling onto a man who was already in there. "Oh, sorry-" she put on a surprised tone, as if she hadn't been aware the booth was occupied; as if she hadn't chosen it at random between all the other booths, all of which were already taken.

Catching her breath more than it was necessary, she neared her face to the courtain as if peeking through a crack, her drones buzzing about her head. "Bear with me, I'm trying to shake off a stalker."

An utterly wasted Rick roaming around the Technodrome wasn't a rare sight these days. The alien fortress had become one of his favoured destinations whenever the alcohol in his system reached a certain level.

Usually, either Krang or Bishop were the unfortunate ones forced to deal with him, and it almost always ended with Rick being kicked and escorted, respectively, back to his dimension. Less often, it was Subprime. Thankfully, since things tended to get bloody and bite-y when it happened.

That day, though, the sentient being the genius bumped into wasn't an Utrom, but the resident of the Technodrome Rick had so far had less interactions with. Needless to say, his drunk brain saw it as the perfect opportunity to make up for it.

Without a warning, Rick plopped down on the floor in front of the man, not caring if he was interrupting his... meditation or whatever.

"D-Damn, pal, I don't know how you do it, b-being around those bubblegums all day, every day," Rick huffed out as a greeting, spilling some liquor on his shirt as he took a clumsy swing from his bottle. "I-I mean, yeah, they are entertaining, b-but they are also huge pains in the ass."

He cut himself off with a hiccup, but he didn't lose the momentum of his speech, leaning in close as he went on.

Damn, Rick couldn't get out of his head how cute and small the creature looked. If he were sober, he would probably keep most of his thoughts to himself. However, he wasn't. He'd been drinking loads that night.

So he let his mouth move on it's own.

The arachnid had been following the other for a mile or so. Observing. Thinking. Deciding on whether or not they would make a good friend or foe. They were of a species unknown to Blackarachnia, and that immediately drew their curiosity, as well as the mechanical droid they inhabited. What this species lacked in physical strength, it seemed, they made up for in intellect.

But ah, perhaps their technological prowess only extended so far. Their metal suit seemed to be on the fritz, whether because of a technical malfunction or an attack, they couldn't say-- although, this alien didn't seem like a stranger to war. They bore scars, a prosthetic, and what they deduced might be a warrior's mark around their remaining eye.

They might even go so far as to call them attractive.

For the last time, they weighed the pros and cons of revealing themself. On one hand, they didn't know this being. They could attack them like a cornered animal, and given the human government's collection programs, Blackarachnia had few allies left. Blitzwing was gone. Megatron was GHOST's lackey. Tarantulas was presumed dead. And they... well, they lingered, as they always have.

They released a quiet sigh, pushed aside some foliage, and stepped into the clearing. What did they have to lose?

"Hey tin can, did you get everyth‒"

Turning around, Perrine quickly realized that it wasn't her floating robot she was talking to, but something.. someone else.

"Uh, you're not Dot.."

Obviously..

@technodromes