Ironhide - 7 oh godredfirelightJuly 8 2011, 04:50:55 UTC
13. Writing sample - Third Person Prose: Ironhide was not an Autobot given to fantasy. It served no purpose. It didn't help anything. Sure, here and there, he'd catch himself thinking of a myriad of ways he'd like to tear the Captain's head from his shoulders, or how best to place an explosive device to get one of the lifeboats free. But that was, honestly, the extent of his fantasies. There was never anything all that intricate, or elaborate, and they were always fleeting.
However, that seemed to have changed since he was shoved into a human body. Something else the captain had to answer for.
He was, currently, seated on a low chair in the quarters he shared with the Autobot medic aboard the Elegante, trying to fuss out how exactly he was supposed to tie a shoe. How was it that he was capable of creating intricate firing mechanisms for his various weapons, but the ability to work the tiny strings of the shoelaces was utterly beyond him? It made no sense. He was a smart 'bot. He should be able to pull this off with relative ease.
Of course, part of his inability to do so was probably due in part to the fact that his medic was hopelessly engrossed in a tray of food he'd pilfered from the kitchens. It was primarily sweet things. Something else Ironhide normally disdained, even while shoved into human form. But... something about the way Ratchet was so carefully regarding a cookie, combined with the way he was standing just so -- leaning his weight on one leg, his hips slanted slightly to the side -- was suddenly, endlessly distracting.
Ironhide was not at all given to fantasy. But looking at Ratchet then, it was suddenly incredibly difficult to focus on the shoestrings in his thick, scarred old fingers.
14. Writing sample - First Person: This... is a lie. It must be. It cannot be possible -- not again!
Who is listening? Can anyone hear me! This is Ironhide -- stuck in some... room somewhere. With a talking book. And no frog. I had a frog on me a moment ago.
... Ratchet! Do you read this? Answer me! ... Answer me. You must be here.
15. Tattoo: Circling his Autobot insignia, which is on his tailgate as a truck, and somewhere in his legs as a robot. Probably on the bottoms
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Ironhide was not an Autobot given to fantasy. It served no purpose. It didn't help anything. Sure, here and there, he'd catch himself thinking of a myriad of ways he'd like to tear the Captain's head from his shoulders, or how best to place an explosive device to get one of the lifeboats free. But that was, honestly, the extent of his fantasies. There was never anything all that intricate, or elaborate, and they were always fleeting.
However, that seemed to have changed since he was shoved into a human body. Something else the captain had to answer for.
He was, currently, seated on a low chair in the quarters he shared with the Autobot medic aboard the Elegante, trying to fuss out how exactly he was supposed to tie a shoe. How was it that he was capable of creating intricate firing mechanisms for his various weapons, but the ability to work the tiny strings of the shoelaces was utterly beyond him? It made no sense. He was a smart 'bot. He should be able to pull this off with relative ease.
Of course, part of his inability to do so was probably due in part to the fact that his medic was hopelessly engrossed in a tray of food he'd pilfered from the kitchens. It was primarily sweet things. Something else Ironhide normally disdained, even while shoved into human form. But... something about the way Ratchet was so carefully regarding a cookie, combined with the way he was standing just so -- leaning his weight on one leg, his hips slanted slightly to the side -- was suddenly, endlessly distracting.
Ironhide was not at all given to fantasy. But looking at Ratchet then, it was suddenly incredibly difficult to focus on the shoestrings in his thick, scarred old fingers.
14. Writing sample - First Person:
This... is a lie. It must be. It cannot be possible -- not again!
Who is listening? Can anyone hear me! This is Ironhide -- stuck in some... room somewhere. With a talking book. And no frog. I had a frog on me a moment ago.
... Ratchet! Do you read this? Answer me! ... Answer me. You must be here.
15. Tattoo:
Circling his Autobot insignia, which is on his tailgate as a truck, and somewhere in his legs as a robot. Probably on the bottoms
of his feet.
16. Room Preference:
None.
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