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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Nov 13, 2010 15:53:56 GMT -5
At least Swerve is pulling out his tool kit, not weapons, but Emirate Xaaron hopes this doesn't end with Swerve taking a welding torch to Perceptor's catalytic converter.
Emirate Xaaron attempts to drag Perceptor down to that bench and wrestle him down onto it for Swerve. Swerve might pick up that Emirate Xaaron's a bit stronger than he looks - Emirate Xaaron can at least throw someone in his own weight class.
He replies, glancing over at Swerve, "He was drugged. I don't know enough to say if the delivery method matters or not, be it gas or fuel. I don't know where the gas came from. I should probably have some security types search his work area.'
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Post by Swerve on Nov 13, 2010 17:42:59 GMT -5
"Not yet it isn't," Swerve mutters to himself, already giving Perceptor a foul look. He grabs a newspaper box and drags it over beside the bench so he has somewhere to set down his kit while he works. Somewhere that isn't in Perceptor's reach with Swerve between him and the kit since he doesn't want to know what a crazy mech can do with welding torches, drivers, spanners, and enough small spare parts to choke a whole burrow of glitch-mice.
Warily, he sits near the end of the bench with his kit, leaving the rest of the space for Perceptor, assuming Xaaron manages to wrangle the bigger Autobot into place.
"Whatever you're gonna do," Swerve snaps, "go do it! It's better than you standin' around like a burnt-out lamp post!" He turns away from Perceptor to search his kit for a diagnostic tool and waves off Xaaron with his free hand.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 13, 2010 18:07:28 GMT -5
The Grail wants to lead him to the glade. Perceptor can do that. The vines keep trying to trip him, but, with careful, exaggerated steps, he can maneuver past their grasping tangles and sit where Mephistopheles bids him. Washes of colors flare and pulse around him, the living walls of the air itself enclosing him in a whirlwind of dizzying swirls.
"Don't be so cross, butterfly," he muses as the disembodied, burning head floats over to settle near him. The shadows where Swerve's body used to be suddenly sprout huge, fiery red wings that flicker and dance with ever-shifting patterns.
"I told you," he murmurs calmly toward Xaaron, watching as the Emirate dissolves into a pool of golden radiance which gives rise to a frilled serpent that looms over them all. "Oil Slick. Payback for the gargoyle spawn." Perceptor giggles a little, as the serpent's tail slides up to encircle his leg, tickling him. "Fuzzy. My eyes are fuzzy like burlap faucets."
The wings keep drawing his attention, though, and he finally reaches over to pet them, running the palms of both hands down their wide, smooth, warm surfaces. "Don't consume the pretty butterfly, silver serpent. I like him. The pavement will dribble you out a snack once the rainbows pass, I promise."
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Post by Long Haul on Nov 13, 2010 20:04:33 GMT -5
It's not that Long Haul was intentionally taking his sweet time - it's just that he really can't take anything else. Even on the streets of Pz-Zazz, he's not a small vehicle, but he's still slower than the norm. Spying the other Autobots, he rumbles up to them and pulls to a stop. His bed has some supplies in it, though it's still less than half full - plenty of room for the others when the time comes.
For the moment, however, he transforms, the parts in his bed shuffling into subspace, and he approaches the others. "Er, sorry to have taken so long. Traffic's backed up on the light about four blocks down."
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Nov 13, 2010 21:26:55 GMT -5
Having wrangled Perceptor down onto the bench, Emirate Xaaron makes a radio call to get some investigators out here to try to figure out what happened. He replies to Swerve coolly, "I am doing something. I'm managing people. It's what I do."
Emirate Xaaron gets out of Swerve's way as the racer starts his check on Perceptor, and he leaves the bus bench entirely to make room for Long Haul, explaining, "He got hit with some kind of hallucinogenic gas. Don't know if there's anything more to it. Need to make sure he's not contagious and stable to be moved. Then, we can load him up in you, get him to the spaceport, and get him in Skyfire."
He rubs the 'crown' on his helmet. "If we could get Perceptor to turn into a microscope, Swerve would be faster transport, but for one thing, we might not be able to convince him to transform into a microscope right now, and for another, if he suddenly decided to turn back into a robot while inside Swerve, I'd be worried about Perceptor breaking Swerve from the inside out."
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Post by Swerve on Nov 16, 2010 14:01:22 GMT -5
Xaaron should worry more about getting a microscope into one of Swerve's seats at all after Perceptor plants his hands – both of them very cold – on Swerve's bonnet and starts petting. The racer's transmission grinds noisily, his brakes squeal as they engage even while his wheels try to spin in drive gear, and Swerve himself screeches a high-speed string of curses in that thick Velocitronian dialect as he hurtles off the bench and almost straight into Long Haul.
"Wire-stripping fragged solder-mouthed bootleg spawn from the Pit!" he snarls once he reaches a point where he's speaking intelligibly again, putting Long Haul between himself and Perceptor before he convinces himself it's okay to draw a weapon. "What the smelt d'you think you're slagging doing?! Blasted cold– are you cracked grabbin' on me like that? Ghhh!" Swerve shudders because he swears he can still feel fingers on his plating.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 24, 2010 19:31:02 GMT -5
The most immediate thing in Perceptor's world is that his beautiful, fiery butterfly suddenly leaps away, and starts singing a bawdy song as it flits out of reach. "Don't go, butterfly," he whines mournfully, reaching toward those warm wings that dance just beyond his fingertips. In a puff of sparks and perfume, they vanish, and Perceptor glimpses Swerve for one blessedly sane moment before the racer is swallowed up by a massive crimson pitcher plant that erupts from the ground.
"Swerve? Are you all right? I'm not certain if the plant can digest you. We should get some help."
He turns, looking for help, his vision swimming disorientingly for a moment before his gaze alights upon a princess with a silver crown standing beside a brilliant green dragon. "Tiny? You grew up! You're... very green."
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Post by Long Haul on Nov 24, 2010 21:45:40 GMT -5
"I didn't bring nothing to make sure he's not contagious, but neither of you are talking crazy," then he looks at Swerve and considers Swerve's outburst. "Well, no crazier than normal, anyway. That's gonna have to be good enough."
He watches Perceptor as he reaches towards Swerve and tilts his head. "I do got some rope, though. We gonna need to tie him up before we toss him in my bed?"
No, Long Haul is not aware of how wrong that might sound.
He automatically looks around for Tiny, but when he doesn't see her, he just shrugs.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Nov 24, 2010 23:42:31 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron steps behind the bench and tries to grab Perceptor's hands from behind and pull them up and out of Swerve's way. He tries to catch Swerve's gaze and says clearly, "Swerve, don't be angry at Perceptor. He's not thinking, and it's not his fault. The Decepticons did this to him. Oil Slick did this to him. Be angry at Oil Slick, not Perceptor."
Swerve has a frightful temper, and Emirate Xaaron can only imagine what could come of it were Swerve properly aimed.
Emirate Xaaron explains to Long Haul, "Tiny's back up on the ship. I suppose we may as well tie him up and hope he doesn't transform out of the bonds."
Also, hope Perceptor doesn't turn into a tank. That would also be awkward, and...
"...Swerve, could you disable Perceptor's weapons access temporarily? For his and our own safety?"
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Post by Swerve on Nov 27, 2010 9:11:42 GMT -5
Putting up one arm and the hot pipes on it defensively when Perceptor continues reaching for him, Swerve looks first at the scientist – who still makes no sense but seems to recognise him – then to Xaaron and the bizarre sight that little golden wretch makes as he tries wrestling Perceptor's hands out of the way.
"Tie him up," says the racer to Long Haul, "lemme disable his motor controls and everything else, same slaggin' difference." He shivers expressively one more time, then tweaks his shoulders and returns to his toolkit. He keeps a safe buffer zone of empty air between himself and Perceptor until he's sure Xaaron has a secure hold and there won't be any more cold hands grabbing onto him. "Either way, I ain't gonna carry him back." Swerve's expression darkens as he selects or ignores tools and sets them to one side and his tone grows lower, harsher. "And whoever Oil Slick is, when I find him, he's gonna wish he'd never been manufactured," he growls. "Gonna start with breaking things so he can't get away. Rip out whatever he has for an engine one part at a time and beat him with his own pistons until his face looks like fifty miles o' that cruddy overpass. Then I'm gonna start rewiring him. Slagger can't need to wiggle a finger without shutting down his power plant…." He carries on in that vein as he works.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 28, 2010 13:36:12 GMT -5
Fortunately for Xaaron's peace of mind, and everyone's safety, Perceptor is so busy simply absorbing this strange new world he is immersed in to even remember that he can transform. He does, however, put up a bit of a struggle when Xaaron restrains him, until he glances behind and spots the gold and silver Morphobot whose tentacles have tangled him up. He remembers his Morphobot subject from so long ago. Such a fascinating creature it had been, and very, very strong. But relatively harmless to the non insectoid robot, which meant it would be rather pointless to continue to struggle, since it wasn't out to harm him, since he wasn't a-- "The butterfly!" he exclaims woefully, turning back to where it had vanished, wondering if it would be safe. What he sees, instead, is that pitcher plant, being torn apart from the inside out. Swerve emerges unscathed from the tatters of the plant, scowling his fierce, angry scowl. "Botanica will not appreciate that," he murmurs, eyeing the shreds of plant. But Swerve is still muttering dire threats, and looks so very angry. Flames erupt at Swerve's feet, slowly rolling up his frame in a crawling wave, leaving the racer's paint blackened and scorched and lit from within by the unearthly embers of hellish coals. Swerve's wheels flicker with a lambent intensity, like the tires are forged of molten steel, and those piercing amber optics flare like lances of Judgment from the hollows of Swerve's still burning helm."Vengeance rides upon wheels of fire," Perceptor murmurs, entranced, his hands squirming in the tangles of Morphobot tentacles to pet their smooth lengths fondly. "He started the fight when he hurt Sentinel, but I threw the first rock. The basilisk stare the viper's handshake. He said it worked, before Medusa bit me." The distant daze of Perceptor's voice and gaze flicker as he relaxes back against Xaaron, not even trying to resist, save for the occasional wandering fingers as he strokes the Morphobot restraining him. He won't put up any fight if Long Haul and Xaaron do try to bind him, seeing only tentacles curling around his limbs and that damned purple monkey flying along, chittering obscenities at the sharks that surface from the pavement now and then.
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Post by Long Haul on Nov 28, 2010 18:27:12 GMT -5
Long Haul doesn't have to transform to access his rope - that's the sort of thing he keeps in his normal subspace. Why? Because he's the logistics officer, and sometimes it's handy to be able to tie things together before they get transferred to his back, of course!
"Might want to be careful about the motor functions," he grumbles as he ambles towards the scientist and kneels, working to bind him while Xaaron holds him in place. "Might be a pain, but until we understand this what this stuff's done to him, we might not want to mess with it."
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Nov 28, 2010 19:37:00 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron quirks a brow over Swerve's tirade. He tells himself, at least Swerve's not going off on poor addled Perceptor. Swerve's going off on the right robot now. Emirate Xaaron will just have to teach Swerve what a war crime is later. Progress is progress, and Emirate Xaaron will take it! He does caution Swerve softly, "If you take your time with Oil Slick, that's time he could use to escape or call back-up. I would not want to see you tricked into an ambush due to your desire to avenge Perceptor."
Of course, that could well happen anyway, because no one ever listens to common sense and logic in stories.
Emirate Xaaron is being groped by his metallurgist. This is horrendously awkward and embarrassing. However, as long as he keeps Perceptor's hands occupied on him, Swerve and Long Haul can do their jobs of playing doctor and tying Perceptor up.
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Post by Swerve on Nov 29, 2010 0:47:11 GMT -5
What Emirate Xaaron calls a war crime, Swerve called a day's work back home. Maybe a live demonstration of the oilsport races isn't such a good idea after all.
"Yeah, yeah," Swerve grumbles right back at Long Haul. He leaves the Constructibot to the restraint issue and makes a beeline for that big barrel on Perceptor's shoulder. Even if it isn't a weapon, and Swerve's pretty sure it is, better safe than sorry. If Xaaron can stand being groped a little longer and Long Haul can get Perceptor tied up, Swerve will focus on disabling the light cannon. It shouldn't take too terribly long, so Xaaron only has to put up with getting felt up a little longer.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 29, 2010 13:05:21 GMT -5
The Morphobot tangles itself around his arms more tightly, thin tentacles binding his arms together and drawing his shoulders back. He shivers a little as those thin strands scrape across the knobs on his forearms, sending little skitters of... something very much not unpleasant through his systems. He relaxes further into their grasp; better not to fight, not to resist. Resisting will only make it hurt, and... and he feels oddly... safe.
His scope suddenly dims, and goes dark, all the connections to it blocked. For a moment, there's a swift, hot skirl of fear as he loses that input. His scope is his function, and without it...
But that is one less avenue for input when all of his senses are mingling and twisting about anyway. Everything flares into a wash of visible sound and he's tasting all the colors dancing around him again. He can't reach out to touch them, though, because the Morphobot has him bound tightly, and the scrape and tautness of those tentacles wrings a soft whimper from his vocal processor. He wishes that he could touch it all, feel how fuzzy the light is, rub his cheek against the taste of the air. Even brush his fingers back against the Morphobot again, but he can't reach it any longer, and the air is thick with mockingbirds that trill out a low harmony of energon.
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