WHO: OPEN LOG
WHERE: The Park
WHEN: Monday afternoon.
WARNINGS: ... hideousness.
SUMMARY: Starscream thinks tribbles are delicious. This is what entices him to learn to cook. Thus, he brings a grill to the park and a cooler full of tribbles. Possibly, the ES21 crew will show up later for tribble football.
... I'm hideous.
FORMAT: Whatever you
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Originally it was due to the fact that they reminded him of those hateful little mice, true. But an accident had led to the discovery that the little meat that existed on them happened to be delicious, and he hadn't looked back since. Even better than pigeons, this.
Slagar followed one through a line of bushes, throwing dagger in one hand and his bolas in the other--and popped out at the very edge of the open spot by the pond.
Hm. He'd seen that one before.
Ignoring the Tribble for the moment, Slagar put away the weaponry-turned-utensils and slowly trotted over to Starscream.
"You're a fair hand at that, eh?" he called out, curious.
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On the other hand, he seemed somewhat familiar. Starscream was sure he'd seen the guy around on the comms.
"No, actually," he admitted. And it was true - he'd screwed up the first tribble, ruining the fur, though he was doing slightly better at the second. "I'm not a particularly good cook, I'm afraid."
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This was the time for sweet little lies, though--prying and testing and being so gracious to others. And so he would be, for the moment. Even if the Decepticon hadn't seen him before, he likely would have recognized the distinctive, raspy voice.
The one that was currently attempting to work its powers on the ex-robot.
"Why don't you let me show you how it's done?" he offered innocently, the twisted and frozen smile on his face hidden behind the silk mask. "Call it... a favor from a friend."
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But somewhere in the back of his mind, Waspinator's memories buzz and accept that he's not always the best at what he does with a sigh; and Shockwave's tell him that it is only logical to occasionally accept help.
That, and he tries not to be a complete jerk in public.
"... fine," he says. "Show me."
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Being that there are plenty of extra Tribbles, getting a fresh one isn't a problem; he picks a particularly hefty-looking one out and examines it. After a few seconds spent smoothing the fur on one side down out into a part and exposing a line of skin, the knife flashes.
Before anything can really register, the ex-vermin has made a set of three nearly surgical incisions, and neatly unrolls the skin from the poor Tribble's body. As he cleans out and slices it into a grillable section of meat, it becomes clear that he's done this before.
...A lotAfter all of a minute and a half, the Tribble is de-furred, opened, scooped, shaped, and casually tossed onto Starscream's grill. Slagar seems less than concerned about the state of his hands, given ( ... )
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"I know that," he says, trying not to snap. And he goes to do so, turning it over.
"Why the mask?" he asks, suddenly. It's probably a dangerous question, but Starscream has a bad habit of asking those.
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