Log: Sixshot and Blast Off.
Blast Off: Blast Off is starting to sorely regret making that bet with Onslaught as he not-quite limps down the hallway to his room. Glit has proved to be a difficult cat to catch, and all he really wants is to go back to the calm and quiet and sanity that is space - instead he is stuck on this dirtball of madness. A frustrated thrum and an almost resigned sigh, if this was going to continue he would need to be euthanized.
Sixshot:: Sixshot is hobbling down the hall as well. For a wolf-alt with only three legs, he moves fairly smooth, even with the massive leg in-between his jaws. He's looking for the medbay. Slag, he's been there before, but never paid too much attention to the coords. He's cursing himself now. As he turns the corner, he rams into Blast Off, dropping his leg on the other mech's foot.
Blast Off: Cue said foot getting kick-thrown away, pure reflex, really. "What the frag is your problem, glitch?" And the shuttle is in a lovely mood just like usual, he resents being thrown out of his thinking bubble by rude interruptions. (Or perhaps the bubble was of denial, one is not sure.) Either way, a fierce glare is turned on the wolf, even Blast Off's engine giving off sounds of irritation.
Sixshot:: ::You're in my way, fat aft.:: Sixshot isn't one to pull any punches, or be intimidated by anyone--even on three legs. He levels his optics at Blast Off, holding his ground even as his leg goes spinning off down the hall.
Blast Off: That gets him growling. "Go rust, groundpounder." The massive irony is alas lost on the Combaticon, not shying away from the apparent staring contest. He's not opposed to kicking you either, beastformer.
Sixshot:: Sixshot snorts, not moving his optics away and even taking a step forward, daring Blast Off to give him a kick and see what happens. He's a one mech army, the shuttle doesn't frighten him in the least. The rust comment raises his hackles (so to speak) even more and he growls back. ::Keep talking and I'll pound you into the ground all right, you ugly satellite. Now move, before I bite your fucking arm off.::
Blast Off: Sixshot might be tough, but at the moment he's a three-legged organics-mimic, while Blast Off is an almost fully functional 120-some tons. (And it might not make much difference, but it's enough for Blast Off to not back off.) He's not intimidated, he is too pissy for that, but at the same time he was never one for getting into a close-quartered brawl. "Whatever, factory reject." More glaring. "Go bite the thing that has lodged itself up your exhaust pipe, Autobot."
Sixshot:: Three legs or no, Sixshot doesn't care how big (or in this case, heavy) his enemy is. He was built for a reason, to take things apart, and that's what he does best. Not only that, when he says he's going to do something, he does it--especially when he's as cranky as he is. He lunges for Blast Off, those jaws snapping at the other mech's arm. ::I was nice and gave you a warning. Too bad for you, you were too stupid to take it.::
Blast Off: The sixchanger isn't the only one wanting to vent frustrations, jolting backwards as the other jumps him, but still isn't quite quick enough to avoid the bite completely. He doesn't hesitate to curl his hand into a fist and aim it for the wolf, though, punching him in the shoulder-area. "Fragging Pitspawn!"
Sixshot:: Sixshot's jaws close down, jaws meant to crush and tear even the toughest alloy. The blow to his shoulder rocks him, unstable with only three legs in this form. He's jarred to the side, those jaws still holding tight even as he starts to shake his massive head to rip the arm free--except his head goes one way, his bottom jaw another. There's the sound of tearing metal, and it's not Blast Off's arm. With another sharp jerk of his head, he pulls his teeth free, jaw spinning off into the wall.
Sixshot:: ::.....Primus FUCK! It's spreading!::
Blast Off: Whatever Blast Off had expected his punch to do, that was not it. Head jerks to watch the mech's jaw come off and go flying, before whipping back to the wolf. ...spreading? "What the frag are you talking about, glitchface?!" He's beyond pissy now.
Sixshot:: Sixshot is not paying attention to Blast Off anymore. He's pawing at his now unhinged jaw, trying to transform. There's the sound of a transformation cog catching and hitching. Oh hell...is it inside him now? He decides it might not be a good idea to transform and stares at his jaw, then his leg. ::Fuck. I gotta find a medic, and fast::
Blast Off: The shuttle is definately not in the mood to go along with this encryptic shit, and to grab Sixshot's attention he kicks him in the side. Up here, bitbrain! "What are you talking about, you piece of slag fragger?!" If this is a joke, he is not amused, not entertained, and will pay back with a well-aimed shot from his ionic blaster, but right now he just wants to know what in the PIT is wrong with the beast.
Sixshot:: Sixshot isn't used to being manhandled. Nor is he in the mood to play twenty questions. He turns into the kick spinning on his three legs and abruptly fires a missile. Screw the rules. Screw logic. He needs to find the medbay and if he has to tear down half the base to do so, that's what's going to happen. ::Get the fuck out of my way.::
Blast Off: Systems and alarms warn him of the missile, which he evades with a quick maneuver - though it isn't that many feet's distance that seperate the shuttle and the explosive. That glitch. He pulls his gun out of subspace just as the missile ruins the Nemesis even more, making a sizeable hole in the wall behind them, along with shrapnel, some fire and a lot of noise. To the sounds of bits of wall hitting his back, he fires at the sixchanger with his own weapon. Don't fucking shoot at him, you goddamn fragger.
Sixshot:: Sixshot is already moving through the hole, leaping over the shuttle and his weapons fire. He lands hard, three legs buckling under the weight of his frame. Medbay. Medbay. Med----BAY. Looks left, looks right. Fires another missile, making another explosion and hole in the hull of the Nemesis. He's quickly gone through the smoke, Blast Off forgotten for more important things--mainly the rust working its way throughout his body.
Blast Off: A couple of shots more, though the shuttle is too agitated to make them hit - and when Sixshot has the speed that he does, it's not that big of a surprise that he misses. A high-strung thrum of pissed off comes from his engine as he slams his fist into the nearest wall in an attempt to get some of the anger vented. It doesn't help much. He snarls obsenities and curses the wolf to the Pit's smelting pools before he starts stalking towards his room again, practically fuming as he not-limps. What had the other been going on about anyways? The obvious glitch in the wolf's processors? Another snarl, where was the target practices (Autobots and groundpounders) when you needed them.