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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Apr 26, 2011 20:30:05 GMT -5
Swerve's work ethic is admirable! Emirate Xaaron notes wryly, "Yes, Spires forbid anyone see what's inside my back." No, he knows that he doesn't want dust getting in there. Blasted Maximals, them and shedding their pseudoskin, making dust.
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Post by Swerve on Apr 29, 2011 13:01:10 GMT -5
"Same old gears and shafts as anybody else," Swerve grumbles. He stumps off for that cover and discards more than one sheet as too small before he holds up another to size it up visually. Satisfied, he comes back over and plunks down again. "Just gonna tack weld it," he advises, "so don't go jumping into fights or whatever other blinking stupid thing you do 'less you want it falling off. Shouldn't take me more than a day to get a proper piece ready, so come back tomorrow."
He'll be up all night working on it if he must to ensure it's proper, too. He's turning into a miserable perfectionist about his repair work with so much time and energy to focus on it instead of on racing and killing and avoiding the need to care if this part is an exact match so long as it works long enough to get him through. Unconsciously, he stretches one leg off to the side to ease the ache in his knee.
Still too stiff. I'll have to shave it down more. And if Xaaron gives the okay, Swerve will get to that tack welding.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Apr 30, 2011 18:50:55 GMT -5
Swerve's warning feels rather familiar, almost homey! Emirate Xaaron shouldn't smile, but he does. He insists breezily, "I swear I don't do these things just to make more work for you. It's that if I see a thing that needs doing, I will do what I can. It's only decent."
Swerve is free to tack weld at will.
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Post by Swerve on May 1, 2011 9:40:50 GMT -5
The racer snorts indelicately before welding the first seam.
"Work?" says Swerve. He'd rather have the work than get rusty with no use for it. He can't very well keep modifying himself if he doesn't keep up his skills. "I just figured you had a death wish." A second, then a third line in place. He tries not to think about Xaaron's remark about doing what needs to be done; it reminds him faintly of why he put on the Autobrand in the first place. He welds the last seam and sits back.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on May 1, 2011 21:52:26 GMT -5
"That's what people keep telling me, and I keep telling them I don't," Emirate Xaaron insists, like he's had this arguement before.
He has.
"I just don't see how I could, in good faith, ask my people to take risks I won't. If I won't face down Starscream in combat, why should I expect Clipper to do it?"
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Post by Swerve on May 1, 2011 22:13:38 GMT -5
Swerve is largely behind Xaaron on the matter of risk-taking as Xaaron explains it – at least until he mentions Clipper. Swerve slams both hands to the tabletop and is on his feet in an instant, scowling, optics flashing.
"You expect what?" he demands. Holi and Clipper contribute in their own ways, certainly, but if Swerve won't let Kup spar with Holi or even condone racing with Firebolt and Skid-Z, he sure won't stand for tossing Clipper at Starscream.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on May 1, 2011 22:26:37 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron looks perplexed, and he explains, "That's how I ended up with most of those damages. I was reinforcements on the bridge against Starscream and Screwdriver."
He does not understand that Swerve's problem is with Clipper.
If Swerve ever finds out what Emirate Xaaron did to his Micromasters, Emirate Xaaron is going to be beaten to death with his own treads.
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Post by Swerve on May 3, 2011 17:21:52 GMT -5
"I mean the kid," Swerve grinds out, fingers scraping on the tabletop. "You'd seriously– Frag it, never mind. Just get out." He suddenly isn't sure if he misunderstood or not; Xaaron couldn't have been serious about sending Clipper into a battle. She's even less combat-ready than her little blue shadow and he has to know that. He's just being… being… slag it, what's the word?! He doesn't mean it seriously, right? Swerve shakes his head and points violently at the doorway. "Get out. I'll have the new piece done by tomorrow."
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on May 3, 2011 19:29:41 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron greets Swerve with sheer and utter incomprehension. There are younger-minded Autobots in his reality, but they fight. They all fight, and there is nothing more to it. Blurr, bemoaning how he was too young to die, fought. Bumblebee, everyone's little brother, fought. Springer, a few days old, fought and took over from Impactor when he died.
Emirate Xaaron cannot understand why Swerve is growling about 'the kid'.
He stands and leaves without a word.
OOC: Out of thread unless stopped.
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Post by Swerve on May 12, 2011 12:00:57 GMT -5
Swerve waits silent, fuming, not looking up from a tray of small parts – diodes, solenoids, valves – that he'd sorted and laid out earlier, until Xaaron is gone. He saw that confused look on Xaaron's face; the old Autobot must not have been serious after all. And instead of explaining himself, Swerve just lost his temper.
The most frustrating part is that he feels like a complete stop stick for losing his temper.
He snaps, cursing and flinging the tray at the far wall, then sits down heavily on a stool and props his head in both hands.
OOC: Wrap.
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