While he's avoiding truly resting, he is at least in his berth, focused on a puzzle when Prowl tosses a plushie at him, and he is staring at the horrible, horrendous, absolutely hideous plushie Prowl has tossed at him. He is staring, and is placing it next to him, patting its ugly little head.

The note also intrigues him, and he is certainly coming by, after treating himself to the high grade, saving a bit for later.

     Soundwave’s visor is, for once, completely blank. Prowl can likely feel a heavy stare anyways.

     He drops the text channel, specifics having been stated, and now he can return to the comfort of making-do with the many recordings in his arsenal. Not that this next response counts as making-do; it’s rather perfect, in Soundwave’s opinion. Gets his feelings across clearly.

Prowl is just barely dragging himself up off the floor, and the mention of stew only makes him want to snarl and go back to playing dead - buut its Smokescreen, and Prowl has a secret soft spot for the stupid mech.

So he gets the rest of the way up and somehow makes it to Smokescreen without toppling over or running into anyone to start up round two of beat-the-slag-out-of-prowl.

"If ya cookin' kills me 'm gonna come back an' haunt ya." Aaand he's flopping over onto the nearest surface, either a couch or a chair or Smokescreen himself. He looks bad, dented to hell and one arm is curled close to his chest like it's been snapped.

Prime's done worse to him, though. This is minor by all accounts, and Prowl won't mention any of it.

“It’s a shame you would be the least terrifying ghost I could face. Truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if you reincarnated as a little bunny, Prowl.” Smokescreen lets out a surprised beep as Prowl flops over, a bowl set aside for Prowl to taste test the stew in progress. It’s far too salty, and probably needs a bit more of everything, but Smokescreen did put genuine effort.

Effort he is setting aside as he pulls out a plunger to start taking out the dents. It’s not much, it won’t fix his arm, but it’s something. “Mech, you look terrible, hold still or else.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Hm. You seem to know quite a bit about it, don't you, Prowl? Care to explain?

...

Look for a raccoon one, if we stick angry eyebrows on it it'll  look like you.

A raccoon? Are your optics broken again? Neither of the raccoon squishmallows look anything like me. See?

Besides. Look at Stump and tell me that isn’t me.

He doesn't recognize this mech very well.

There's inklings of something in him, but it all just coalesces, for the most part, into discomfort -- he doesn't really understand the feelings nor why they then have him so uncertain. All this results in is an abnormally quiet bitty, one too busy staring at this mech to remember to wriggle.

It isn't until the kiss to his forehelm that he finally makes a noise, and it's a surprised little chrrp, optics shuttering in tandem. Nice, he realizes, discomfort folding away for ease. Another Good. He pulls his legs in to curl up against the other's plating, audial pressing close enough to hear a warm thrumming, and beeps with a content affirmation.

"Prowl, what is this?"

Smokescreen holds the tamagotchi up, squinting at the screen, holding it mere inches from his face. No, his optics are fine.

But soon, as he pokes around, his optics widen. They're just a little guy! They look familiar... He's almost ready to thank Prowl, until he realized just who this little guy is.

     “Oh, don’t even worry,” Bee hisses, un-bristling himself from the jolt that Prowl’s poke sent him into, “I’ll be as far out of touching distance as possible.”

     A part of him wilts at the way he’s talking when, really, the other mech is being nothing but generous for actually letting him stay here. Most of him, however, fucking hates it and wishes desperately that Prowl could just not be so fragging annoying for once -- Another exvent, another moment to lay his plating back flat. Bee tucks his doorwings in tightly and stiffly settles.

     He hadn’t particularly wanted to come back to this room, but that comparison in safety is absolutely right. Even if he weren’t sticking out like sore digit, any bot in those barracks is at the mercy of all the others, and he seems to be the only one in this Primus-forsaken place that doesn’t know how to deal with it.

     Rather, he knows he would deal with it normally. Trying to blend in and pretend he’s a Bee he’s not, however? Not a clue, nope, he can’t. He was going to hit someone, and his spark isn’t strong enough to pretend that he enjoyed the violence.