[Ripa, in attempts to spite his squirt-happy comm device, has traveled to the caves. He is kneeling there now, his head bowed. The Arbiter had never been overtly religious, but his fanatical loyalty to his hierarchs has him attempting prayer.So full of hate were our eyes that none of us could see
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Your jaw ever heal up?
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[The greeting isn't as snarly as it might be for others. Ironhide has proved himself to be a very well-trained warrior, and for that Ripa practices grudging respect.]
My jaw is fine, yes. And your chest?
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[The more warriors on board, the better. So long as they're not like the Decepticons, which Ripa has proven not to be.]
Good. Chest... eh... ended up in pieces again. Someone figured out my small weakness.
[He says "small" rather amusedly - gaping chest holes are not small.]
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Fun, huh?
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[Ripa's kind disapproves of doctors for the most part, but there's no need to bring that up now.]
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[He snorts.] Nothing but lay around and get out of shape, hmn?
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[Ripa's tone is approving. He's all for a little payback.]
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