Who: Sarah Lennox, SG!Rodimus, Movie!Ratchet, Movie!Ironhide
What: Talking, ceiling tile counting, gratuitous use of the ">:|" expression, booze.
Where: The Tyran Household
Summary: Ironhide is still laid up, visitors show up to help with this... or tie him down.
Notes: In-progress
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So many tiles... )
What was a bot to do but offer to drop by and be company, especially company with 'booze'?
After explaining his 'mission' to the human who answered the door, Rodimus made his way to the still-prone Autobot.
"Figure you could use a distraction from bein inoperative. I brought high-grade."
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"You do not have any idea how much I need one," he said, still propped up on an elbow. "Good to see you... thing on your face and all."
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So that was what it was called. It sounded about as ridiculous as it looked. Ironhide couldn't help but laugh a bit, smirking for the first time in a while. "It is difficult," he said. "It's... just so easy a target."
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Rodimus tried to look petulant: It failed, miserably. "Whatever it is with this place, they sure gots a thing 'gainst a decent moustache. I think that's about what everybot's commented on."
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It was hard to look at the other and not... well... laugh. It just looked so out of place. "Hard not to," Ironhide told him, maneuvering the can in one working hand. "Where I am from... that sort of thing does not exist."
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He stroked his 'stache for a moment and laughed. "I'm guessin that it ain't exactly normal, from the way everybot's been acting."
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He shook his head, finally taking the high-grade. "No, it isn't," he said, letting the stuff do its job. "Not in any of our universes, I understand."
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Lucky? He supposed so. "It only means there are fewer left behind to protect the planet," he said, scowling at the drink. "And those that remain... are no help at all."
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The working optic flicked down toward where Rod sat. "They are young, foolish and untried," he growled. One can wasn't enough for this kind of conversation. "Never should be left to their own devices... I should hope yours are more capable than that."
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Good.
Rod tossed him another can, trusting the bot to catch it (instead of handing it to him like some invalid). "Our humans were too damn busy fightin each other to care much about any 'cons coming at em. Optimus' crew is better than that- but there ain't much of us left." He crushed his can flat and opened a second, sipping carefully. "The 'young, foolish, and untrained' got old and hard quick. Or we lost em. We lost a lot of good bots."
The best part was that he wasn't lying. It was just... letting the situation colour the truth.
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Prime.
Ironhide squared his shoulders, best he could, discarding the old can to match the younger 'Bot drink for drink. "The threat of hostiles from another world settled many scores amongst our humans," he said. "Like yours... our forces never outnumbered the Decepticons... never will." He was silent a moment. "It... does not always ensure survival. Being a veteran. Not against Megatron."
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"I don't think nothin gaurentees anythin, in war. But the kids who go off stupid without thinkin get themselves killed, an we lose another warrior. We've been lucky to keep as many as we got, but when we're fightin Megs....."
He didn't finish the sentance. He didn't need to.
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The quiet, he used to catch up on his drink. The meaning of the word "nurse" in relation to high-grade was not a part of his vocabulary. Especially... when there was talk like this. "When fighting Megatron," he finished for the other, sounding bitter and angry. "There are even fewer certainties."
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