Frenzy
Minor
Emperor of Profaningshire
Fscking Bigjobs
Posts: 339
|
Post by Frenzy on Aug 11, 2014 12:27:49 GMT -5
Frenzy blows a raspberry at Crankcase. "Don't gotta be shiny to be clean." He picks a bit at the grunge, though, instead of going straight to cleaning. Partners have to give and take. He needs a partner. Crankcase needs a partner. Make this work.
"Just sand it down?" he offers.
|
|
Rook
Minor
Avatar by Tai
Posts: 301
|
Post by Rook on Aug 17, 2014 14:49:46 GMT -5
Rook places his hand on his chest and bows low. "Ah, my apologies, Flame. No offense nor judgement was meant. It simply seemed the most appropriate term to describe our scientific contingent as a whole."
The little Predacon arches and eyeridge and glances around the room as Flame does. "Missing someone?"
|
|
Swindle
Major
This space for rent.
Posts: 571
|
Post by Swindle on Aug 17, 2014 14:53:20 GMT -5
Swindle smiles and thanks Vortex as he strides out to the middle of the room and starts dancing to the music. Presumably now that someone is dancing, other people will join in. Or if they don't he can start mixing heavier drinks until they do.
|
|
Mistwind
Major
Licensed flight addict, deepsea diving fan, mech-pilot rookie - Accepts food and play for services.
Posts: 531
|
Post by Mistwind on Aug 19, 2014 13:45:24 GMT -5
Swindle's dancing is watched from the sidelines by an increasingly confused Mistwind who hesitantly guesses, "There is no punishment for dancing, is there? Aren't you afraid to be locked up, Sir? I thought Autobots are the ones that dance... It's entertainment after all?" that said, Mistwind takes a careful step backwards as if to try and ensure he's not part of this little display should it be wrong after all. He's not risking doing any Autobot-ish things and incurring wrath from anyone with Assault tendencies, thank you kindly sir. A brief statistics message lets him know that his gyro-sensors are reacting slower than they should during his movements. In fact, now that he thinks about it? Other modules are showing reduced efficiency as well. His engine rumbles in a beginning hunger, and main processors entertain the thought of sleep as an answer. "Duskwing." Mistwind calls out. "Mister Duskwing Sir." He catches his slip-up and immediately hurries to correct himself. "Finish this. I've already exceeded my usual rationing." He holds up what's left of his drink.
|
|