Post by Rodimus Prime on Dec 25, 2010 22:47:13 GMT -5
Remember when we asked people to submit their thread starters, said we'd pick our favorites and then let everyone vote on a top winner? That's great, because we totally forgot about it! Uhm... whoops! But we finally did remember, so here it is. The top five are listed below. Please only vote once, even if you have multiple accounts.
Mindwipe
On a busy streetside of Pz-Zazz, there is table covered in a tacky cloth, and mounted on an even tackier stand is a crystal sphere. Behind the table stands Mindwipe, hands resting on the table and murmuring to himself. His Decepticon sigil, and a majority of his upper torso is covered in a rather schlocky shawl. Hands raise up, cupping the area immediately around the sphere, moving in caressing motions around it as if divining guidance from the trinket, before he dramatically straightens up, knocking a chair behind him over, pointing at another Cybertronian in the crowd. "YOU!" His eyes flare red, and his pointing hand turns over, beckoning the target over with a repeated curling motion. "Come here..."
Blurr
The incoming storm system sends thunder rolling up the coast to herald its arrival, but a sharp eye will spy the Autobot looking to beat the weather at its own game – one of the few around here who can, in fact. Blurr rockets lengths ahead of the thunderclap and the wind; he's little more than a streak over the dull black roads on his way toward Autobase and the only thing moving faster than his chassis right now is his transmitter.
//Looks like a nasty storm on the way in,// he announces over the radio, sounding utterly exhilarated in spite of his less than sunny news; it isn't every day he gets to outrace nature itself. Maybe the roiling, pitch-dark clouds and the storm surge rapidly forcing its way up the coastal deltas and inlets are already a strong indicator of the maelstrom's ferocity, but Blurr feels it's a point that needs emphasis. And maybe some reiteration, too. Delivered with his distinct personal touch, of course. //Not very pretty with the wind and the sideways rain and the crazy lightning everywhere – almost hit me! Not a pretty thing at all, a real ugly one in fact! Maybe not as ugly as Skullcruncher – it's hard to be as ugly as Skullcruncher, really – but sure is close enough! Absolutely, definitely not picnic weather!//
A new thought occurs to him and he blurts it out right on top of the rest.
//You've gotta tell me, Long Haul, please tell me the base is weather-tight because it IS weather-tight, right?//
Blitzwing
Blitzwing glared, arms folded over his chest and his one foot on the ground. He reached out and waved his hand where the motion sensor to the door should be, but nothing.
He steps back a few paces, and then advances again, but the door still remains firmly shut. Finally, he pulls his leg back and launches a kick at the door, achieving nothing more than making a loud noise and scuffing the paint on the door a bit.
That was it. The door had thrown down the gauntlet. Its stubborn refusal to open was nothing but a challenge leveled towards Blitzwing. Oh sure, he could just o find another door into the lounge area, but what would that say about him?
And if he called Hook over a stuck door? First, he'd yell at Blitzwing for being an idiot. Then the door would work for Hook, and Hook would call Blitzwing an idiot.
Blitzwing takes off back down the hall a fair distance, turns, and charges the door to shoulder charge it. As he nears the door at break neck speed, it makes a small chime, opens, and.....
Nightbeat
OOC Note: This would have been worked out with Spinister's player ahead of time.
Muzzle emerges from Tiny's in a haze of smoke, turning up the collar of his trenchcoat and pulling down the brim of his hat against the rain. It's not much help, though, he gets soaked to the bone in the amount of time it takes him to flick away a cigarette and rush across the parking lot to Nightbeat, even with Nightbeat helpfully opening his door for him. The little detective climbs into the Porsche and slams the door shut behind him.
It is really pissing down out there. Crank the heat up, partner, I'm freezing.
The Porsche's vents start blasting hot air as Nightbeat replies Should have worn your armor.
It wasn't raining when I went in, dammit! communicates Muzzle, stripping off his wet clothes and reaching into the back seat for said armor. Anyway, it's just like you figured. The wounds are consistent with a nuclear flamethrower, though I still think the 'Cons aren't stupid enough to leave a body in public. And it's a big planet. Bound to be other flamethrowers. I really do not want to tangle with any of Thunderwing's crew again. Bad memories.
The carformer's engine starts just as Muzzle is getting his helmet on and climbing back out into the pouring rain. His door slams as he transforms into a headless robot and the Nebulan leaps upward, transforming into a head and landing in Nightbeat's hands with practiced ease before being set in place on his neck. "I'd love it if Spinister wasn't behind this, but he's still our prime suspect. He better have one hell of an alibi," Nightbeat mutters before walking off into the rain.
Slugslinger
Slugslinger's relationship with Praxus Fold 'Em is a torrid love-hate affair. It's a game all about bluffing the other guys out of their money, lying to win, and getting away with it because that's how the game works. It's like the game was made for him, with his divisive face and keen interest in never telling the truth. Bluffing his opponents is so much more fun when they can't tell if he's grinning or grimacing about his hand. Toss in a little distilled energon for sipping and it can't get much better.
But he always loses. It's like the universe itself is out to mock him, dishing him the worst possible hands so that even his best bluff means the minute someone calls, he's out half his pay. Or, he thinks, eyeing his handful of chits with various maintenance duties scrawled on them, he ends up with more than his share of work. That's even worse than losing money!
He still can't resist the call of entertainment that won't get him dragged in for another chewing out; after the incident with the caustic adhesive, the less Spinister and Needlenose he gets in his life, the better. A pink helicopter and a flamboyant jet shouldn't be that scary. It's violating some law of the universe, Slugslinger's sure – as sure as he is that people must have noticed his little leaflet on the activity board in the rec room by now. They'd better have noticed since he put the blasted board up himself. He hates putting in effort and getting no return for it.
"All right, gentlemen!" he announces with a smirk that's also a sneer as he barges into the rec room, taking up as much room in the doorway as he can with his shoulder vanes and his wings. "And I use that term very loosely around here, if it makes you feel any better… like I posted on the board, I've got a deck of cards and the itch for a nice round of Praxus Fold 'Em." He takes in the room and the Decepticons milling about to gauge reactions.
Mindwipe
On a busy streetside of Pz-Zazz, there is table covered in a tacky cloth, and mounted on an even tackier stand is a crystal sphere. Behind the table stands Mindwipe, hands resting on the table and murmuring to himself. His Decepticon sigil, and a majority of his upper torso is covered in a rather schlocky shawl. Hands raise up, cupping the area immediately around the sphere, moving in caressing motions around it as if divining guidance from the trinket, before he dramatically straightens up, knocking a chair behind him over, pointing at another Cybertronian in the crowd. "YOU!" His eyes flare red, and his pointing hand turns over, beckoning the target over with a repeated curling motion. "Come here..."
Blurr
The incoming storm system sends thunder rolling up the coast to herald its arrival, but a sharp eye will spy the Autobot looking to beat the weather at its own game – one of the few around here who can, in fact. Blurr rockets lengths ahead of the thunderclap and the wind; he's little more than a streak over the dull black roads on his way toward Autobase and the only thing moving faster than his chassis right now is his transmitter.
//Looks like a nasty storm on the way in,// he announces over the radio, sounding utterly exhilarated in spite of his less than sunny news; it isn't every day he gets to outrace nature itself. Maybe the roiling, pitch-dark clouds and the storm surge rapidly forcing its way up the coastal deltas and inlets are already a strong indicator of the maelstrom's ferocity, but Blurr feels it's a point that needs emphasis. And maybe some reiteration, too. Delivered with his distinct personal touch, of course. //Not very pretty with the wind and the sideways rain and the crazy lightning everywhere – almost hit me! Not a pretty thing at all, a real ugly one in fact! Maybe not as ugly as Skullcruncher – it's hard to be as ugly as Skullcruncher, really – but sure is close enough! Absolutely, definitely not picnic weather!//
A new thought occurs to him and he blurts it out right on top of the rest.
//You've gotta tell me, Long Haul, please tell me the base is weather-tight because it IS weather-tight, right?//
Blitzwing
Blitzwing glared, arms folded over his chest and his one foot on the ground. He reached out and waved his hand where the motion sensor to the door should be, but nothing.
He steps back a few paces, and then advances again, but the door still remains firmly shut. Finally, he pulls his leg back and launches a kick at the door, achieving nothing more than making a loud noise and scuffing the paint on the door a bit.
That was it. The door had thrown down the gauntlet. Its stubborn refusal to open was nothing but a challenge leveled towards Blitzwing. Oh sure, he could just o find another door into the lounge area, but what would that say about him?
And if he called Hook over a stuck door? First, he'd yell at Blitzwing for being an idiot. Then the door would work for Hook, and Hook would call Blitzwing an idiot.
Blitzwing takes off back down the hall a fair distance, turns, and charges the door to shoulder charge it. As he nears the door at break neck speed, it makes a small chime, opens, and.....
Nightbeat
OOC Note: This would have been worked out with Spinister's player ahead of time.
Muzzle emerges from Tiny's in a haze of smoke, turning up the collar of his trenchcoat and pulling down the brim of his hat against the rain. It's not much help, though, he gets soaked to the bone in the amount of time it takes him to flick away a cigarette and rush across the parking lot to Nightbeat, even with Nightbeat helpfully opening his door for him. The little detective climbs into the Porsche and slams the door shut behind him.
It is really pissing down out there. Crank the heat up, partner, I'm freezing.
The Porsche's vents start blasting hot air as Nightbeat replies Should have worn your armor.
It wasn't raining when I went in, dammit! communicates Muzzle, stripping off his wet clothes and reaching into the back seat for said armor. Anyway, it's just like you figured. The wounds are consistent with a nuclear flamethrower, though I still think the 'Cons aren't stupid enough to leave a body in public. And it's a big planet. Bound to be other flamethrowers. I really do not want to tangle with any of Thunderwing's crew again. Bad memories.
The carformer's engine starts just as Muzzle is getting his helmet on and climbing back out into the pouring rain. His door slams as he transforms into a headless robot and the Nebulan leaps upward, transforming into a head and landing in Nightbeat's hands with practiced ease before being set in place on his neck. "I'd love it if Spinister wasn't behind this, but he's still our prime suspect. He better have one hell of an alibi," Nightbeat mutters before walking off into the rain.
Slugslinger
Slugslinger's relationship with Praxus Fold 'Em is a torrid love-hate affair. It's a game all about bluffing the other guys out of their money, lying to win, and getting away with it because that's how the game works. It's like the game was made for him, with his divisive face and keen interest in never telling the truth. Bluffing his opponents is so much more fun when they can't tell if he's grinning or grimacing about his hand. Toss in a little distilled energon for sipping and it can't get much better.
But he always loses. It's like the universe itself is out to mock him, dishing him the worst possible hands so that even his best bluff means the minute someone calls, he's out half his pay. Or, he thinks, eyeing his handful of chits with various maintenance duties scrawled on them, he ends up with more than his share of work. That's even worse than losing money!
He still can't resist the call of entertainment that won't get him dragged in for another chewing out; after the incident with the caustic adhesive, the less Spinister and Needlenose he gets in his life, the better. A pink helicopter and a flamboyant jet shouldn't be that scary. It's violating some law of the universe, Slugslinger's sure – as sure as he is that people must have noticed his little leaflet on the activity board in the rec room by now. They'd better have noticed since he put the blasted board up himself. He hates putting in effort and getting no return for it.
"All right, gentlemen!" he announces with a smirk that's also a sneer as he barges into the rec room, taking up as much room in the doorway as he can with his shoulder vanes and his wings. "And I use that term very loosely around here, if it makes you feel any better… like I posted on the board, I've got a deck of cards and the itch for a nice round of Praxus Fold 'Em." He takes in the room and the Decepticons milling about to gauge reactions.
