WHO: Ironhide and Open
WHAT: Venting frustrations. Or at least trying to.
WHERE: Roaming between Zones 7 and 9, and the Fighting Rings
WHEN: After all the deportations happened
WARNINGS/NOTES: None for now. Tag yourself in, and let it be known where your character is. And seperate threads, please!
(
I'm Tired of Pacing )
While he didn't have the most accurate sense of direction, he was by no means navigationally incompetent. His scanners had not yet been adjusted to the layout of the Nexus, as he was not yet familiar with it. And while the lower levels were not the safest, they were the ones the Autobot had found himself in when he had first arrived.
Of course, being the kind and leaderly spark that he was, how could he ignore the snarling sounds of Ironhide's rage? He was either in danger, or a Decepticon - both options, in Prime's optics, could not be left unchecked.
He was careful not to sneak up on the larger bot, whom he quickly recognized as the one the Jet twins had been living with. His designation was Ironhide, if his memory circuits served him well.
"Are you alright?"
Well, obviously not, when he was so lividly attacking an innocent scrap heap... But it seemed a better conversation starter than 'why are you punching that?'.
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Sadly, it was also not enough to spare "Larry" the glare Ironhide shot him, before checking himself.
He stepped back, straightening. Embarrassing to be caught like this. Intakes hissed, and he rolled his shoulders, trying to look more like the veteran warrior, and less like an angry youngster.
"I did... not expect to see you down here."
Which avoided the question nicely.
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Better that, than another 'bot's face, at least. He had barely been in the Nexus, and he'd seen more than enough violence to last him - Then again, when said violence had been enacted upon your near identical replica, it tended to hit a bit too close to the spark for comfort.
"I'm still collecting my bearings, I guess," he admitted with the ghost of a smile. "This is a far cry from Detroit, after all."
He noticed the deflection, but said nothing of it at the moment. They had barely met, after all, and trust had to be earned.
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"You do not want to be down here. Worse than anywhere on earth," he said, simply. "Not without armaments."
A few glances told him enough, even if he hadn't known this one was from the little jets' universe. All smooth paneling. Nothing exposed, no weaponry to easily spot. He was a little jealous, sometimes, of how well those from other universes could hide their weapons... but, then again, he'd never been one for dissembling.
"Unless... you are armed..." He sounded skeptical.
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Still, he wasn't defenseless by any means.
He drew the axe from his back, the blade jutting forward, the lasered edge activating. It looked like a toy by comparison, but it served him well enough.
"I have a few weapons of my own," he said with a nod, smiling at the other. It wasn't a sign of ego so much as appreciation for his concern. It was the quality of a leader in his eyes, something he looked up to in others.
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"Small," he said, shortly. "It does not look at... effective..."
Abandoning his study, he looked up to meet the other's optics. It was more of a challenge than it was anything else.
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