Jazz
Rookie
SugarSugarBoozeSugarSugarBoozeSugarSugar!
Posts: 175
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Post by Jazz on Aug 10, 2007 17:38:10 GMT -5
Poor Skyblast. Doesn't he remember? Ratchet was in Jazz's group-- and even Ratchet couldn't save him! Of course, that would probably be because Ratchet was a little busy at the time elsewhere.
Poor Jazz. Still out like that LED that Long Haul mentioned. At least it's not a burned out LED, with no hope of ever being functional again. It's sparing the others the really bad puns and jokes, but whatever corner of the exhausted and slumbering mind Jazz is dwelling in right now, it's not a pretty one. The past few days for him have been filled with conflicting emotions, scenes, and a lot of violence. But the only one he can really cling to is hope. Hope of something he may have imagined he'd heard just before the darkness. It could have been a pain-induced hallucination, but still... All he wants is home. And home Jazz is, for now. A beautiful new landscape. Access to the information about this brand new culture via their internet. And a kicking new alternate mode, where he can sit and be admired as he soaks up the sun and new idioms in a parking lot.
Yeah. For the moment, there's peace. Fortunately he's not going over what went wrong with that last battle. There'll be enough time for that later. Much. Much. Later.
And hey! He might remember more puns to use on the unwary around him.
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Post by Swerve on Aug 10, 2007 19:42:57 GMT -5
Swerve eyes Kup with a look. It isn't a look that says he thinks the old Autobot is off his axles, or a look that says he thinks the old Autobot should install a muffler on his vocal circuits. In fact, it isn't really an angry look at all. It's a look of mild disbelief, tinged with insult. It also passes very quickly.
"You can quit thinnin' the mix," he mutters, tone grudgingly humble. "I said I'd help out, slaggit." He says words and they don't get heard, apparently.
The racer gives Xaaron a very wide berth – wide as he can in here, anyway – and looks for a seat a safe distance from the lavender-splattered mech. After their brief radio exchange, Swerve has decided any overt friendliness from him can't mean anything good. There's just something downright slagging underhanded about that mech… rubs every last circuit the wrong way. And he can quit leaking smiling like that anytime now.
If Swerve looks like he knows what he's doing as he gets himself strapped to a seat, it's because he watched the others. He's never been aboard any sort of transport. Slag, he isn't sure why they have to strap in, but he's stubborn, not stupid. He'll do it, clenched jaw, balled fists, rigid back and all. He throws a quick glance at the wailing little orange bot. Someone – Perceptor – called him Wheelie.
"Cool it already, kid," he mutters. "S'just a lotta noise." It's as close to reassuring as he gets, and he'd like it if Wheelie was quieter. Much quieter.
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Post by Slingshot on Aug 10, 2007 20:31:51 GMT -5
The deep voice talking of Decepticon fliers slowly worms its way through Slingshot's blinding anger and sense that the universe is out to get him personally.
(Slingshot would never say something like the universe not being fair, because he knew it wasn't fair. It made him the slowest of the Aerialbots, didn't it?)
Okay. There was a helicopter out there and some other guy that Slingshot would need to watch out for.
(Of course Slingshot was good enough to handle any of the other Decepticon fliers. He was Slingshot.)
Skyblast coming barreling in gets a snort from the white jet. "Can't land worth a damn, can you?"
Everyone else starts bustling around him to get settled in as soon as Omega starts counting down. For the first time since he's arrived, Slingshot takes a good look around at the chaos, trying to figure out who all he knows.
... It's a depressingly small number. Perceptor, the geek. Omega Supreme. Long Haul and what the heck was that all about? Optimus Prime, who was... Fingers dug into his palm as he forced himself to articulate it in his head.
Optimus Prime was dead. Very, very dead.
And he didn't know how or why, he didn't know who he had to hurt to make- To make all the rage in his head go away, to make all the other stuff that wasn't rage but was harder than rage go away.
Omega's door slams shut just as he turns toward it, almost not-thinking that he would throw himself out of it and fly back.
(Back where?)
No choice then.
He found an empty place and strapped himself in. No choice at all.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Aug 10, 2007 22:00:52 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron decides that he needs to stop playing with Swerve. He sees how Swerve sat far away from him. Emirate Xaaron makes a mental note to be very, very gentle with Swerve. He cannot seem too interested in his abilities. Still, he's going to scope out how good of a medic Swerve is when he gets the chance. Swerve did seem happy enough about Xaaron's missive to tear off Needlenose's arms. Perhaps a steady stream of violence is in order to sate Swerve.
He notes how blasé the other Autbots are about his comment that Spinister and Needlenose will almost certainly kill him, given the chance. He didn't mention that his death is the good outcome there. If they capture him, they'll torture him until he talks. Then and only then will he die. That's fine, if they don't care. He was going to watch out for himself, anyway. No reason to change that, even if anyone did care. False senses of security are so, well, false.
Skyblast and Slingshot promise to be trouble. The others seem to have Wheelie handled.
Emirate Xaaron continues his chat with Wedge, //Ah, the space bridge in my universe is used for planetary travel across galaxies. Yours sounds quite useful, however. There is no associated nausea with transport?//
Seeing that Holi seems unusually down, he smiles warmly and says, "You do, Holi? Oh, excellent. I won't use it now, because I am no painter in the best of times, and in-flight, I fear that I will make nothing but a mess."
Perceptor has handily filled in Arcee, and now...
They need a leader. He's not sure how to raise the subject without sounding greedy.
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Nimbus Tsura
Major
Secretary to Mr. Breakaway
Sky-Painter Extraordinaire
Posts: 735
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Post by Nimbus Tsura on Aug 11, 2007 17:54:25 GMT -5
Skyblast takes a few faltering steps back at Perceptor's push, and his wings flicker uncertainly. His gold optics rove over to the body that they brought in for parts. How in the world will parts from that mess work for Jazz and Bumblebee? No, Skyblast still doesn't care about the other Autobots here. It's something that he's going to have to learn. Finally, he mutters, "Sure thing, Doc."
These people have no appreciation whatsoever for performance art, Skyblast decides. He huffs and darts off to find himself a seat. He has a bit of trouble with the latches and buckles of the seat. Indeed, it looks like Skyblast is intent on murdering the buckle by stabbing it repeatedly with the latch before he finally sinks it in and is buckled. He proceeds to nearly lynch himself getting the straps tightened. Skyblast may well kill himself when it comes time to remove the straps and disembark.
So what? To his thinking, if he needs to go a long distance, he'll either fly it with his own wings or shape up into a protoform to face the cold of space.
Skyblast shrugs off this indignity of his own inability to deal with straps and buckles and sneers over at Slingshot. He calls, "Can't land? See, I thought about landing on you, but I decided that would be way too exciting for you. That, and I didn't think you could make the catch."
If he hadn't wanted to run into the ramp, he wouldn't have. Skyblast spent a few years purposefully running himself into various objects. That way, he knew exactly how much margin he had before he actually hit, and he could pull off tighter turns and closer shaves than ever with no fear. The medics didn't like him very much that year.
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Omega Supreme
Minor
Shorter and Coloured Funny but Still Angry as the Pit
Posts: 456
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Post by Omega Supreme on Aug 11, 2007 17:55:01 GMT -5
Omega Supreme is full of strangers, some strangers who wear the skins or names of those familiar to him. Having to deal with all these temporally displaced Autobots is quite the issue in and of itself. The urge to throttle Long Haul in advance for who he will become, to make him pay for his future sins in the past, is still strong, and Omega Supreme knows just how wrong he is to even contemplate such a thing. Perhaps he never deserved them, even when he had them. So it's bad already. Then they have to add bickering and whining and general noisiness on top of it. They are inside someone! He can hear everything. Do they have no sense of consideration whatsoever? There is a low hum that rises to a grumble, and Omega Supreme demands, "Silence: required." It isn't, really, but now he thinks he understands why Astrotrain wanted to jettison live Decepticons. Oh yes, it took its own sweet while, but even that story eventually made its way to the Autobots through the intelligence networks. The countdown finishes its last seconds. Everything is in place as much as it's going to be. He launches, and so a number of Autobots are given their first introduction to mass aerospace transit. There will not be an in-flight movie, and little bags of peanuts are out of the question. OOC: Okay, I'm time-skipping now. Just imagine that the world went black and a giant spinning Autobot symbol appeared, winked, and vanished! When it was gone, we were at the Zoo!
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