Prompt: Frenemies
TFA Lockdown
Wishing Blackout and Fireflight well, the hunter leaves The Roost, subspace packed full of various savories and sweets. He had made certain to tip the jetlet well, not only for his culinary prowess, but for the last-minute urgency of the order. Lockdown had promised to show up at the WTP with take-out and there was no way in the pit was he going to go back on his word. It didn't matter that his intended dinner date with Slipstream had devolved into plans of slaving over the mass-production of transformation cogs, he'd be damned if they were going to do it on empty tanks.
Cruising down the strip, he scans the frequencies for a music feed but instead stumbles onto the prompt channel, specifically an older ping: Frenemies. One he could tackle much easier than the current prompt. That fraggin' one about love.
Had plenty of acquaintances in my past that could wear that label, namely unsuspectin' quarries I'd chum up to over a cube or two (or twelve) before springin' the trap. They were amateur criminals with mediocre prices on their heads but reputations big enough to give 'em a big head, a strokable ego, easy to butter up. Could fill an entire night with useless blather, social fluff, all under the 'guise of one drunken son-of-a-glitch to another, exchangin' stories a'past "conquests" be it petty crimes or notches on the berthpost. Most a'the time I could relate to the fraggers, actually find some common ground worthy a'buildin' a friendship.
S'a shame I wasn't ever able to further those 'ships beyond lurin' em onto my ship to "sleep it off." Actually felt sorry for a couple of 'em, imaginin' the look on their mugs when they awoke in clutches of my employers, hungover, stripped of their dignity, freedom and their mods. Most of 'em were likely too sauced to even remember my face--which is a pity given how handsome it is--but a few probably had some recollection of the night. Probably the same few I had second thoughts about handin' over. The ones I had an unexpected meetin' of the mind with. Kindred spirits.
I learned quickly after a too many a'those nights NOT to use that tactic anymore. No room for attachment in any shape or form in the life of a bounty hunter.
But here in Nexus it's an entirely diff'rnt story.
Frenemies here are those that used to be on my hit list (or had me on theirs) but are now almost considered a friend. Take Ratchet for example. Had a grudge 'gainst that crusty ol'veteran since our go-around in the war when he took my arm. Sure I had it comin' for huntin' his sweetheart and yeah, I've long since replaced that arm with something much prettier, but it's the principal we're talking about here. You don't mess with a mech's looks. S'why I don't regret bustin' up his bucket, he had it comin' as well. In fact, on the grounds of cosmetic damage, I still owe him as it was him that chipped my fraggin' tooth. He's got TWO on me now.
Anyhow, that grudge has been put on hold since we all been stuck here. N'fact it's more n'put on hold. I'm currently en route to a night filled with cog-craftin' so the Mighty Medic of Grump can reassemble his frenemy, a mech neither of us should give two scraps about. Hell, ol'buckethead and I even exchanged apologies earlier this evenin'. Talk about truces.
And just to make sure this solar topped the charts for frenemy experiences, I made certain to kick it off by pissin' off my business partner AND gettin' in a brawl with his boyfriend, and not even in the same encounter. However, the details a that ain't something I wanna divulge for the moment. Save it for the Fun & Games prompt.
The muscle car pulls up to the WTP, transforming and activating him comm.
//Trix?\\
He enters the domed building through the main doors, eyeballing the security drones with a threatening glare.
//Gonna call off yer guarddogs or should I fight my way through?\\
The hunter is, of course, teasing despite the layers of 'tough guy' in the gravelly voice.
(ooc: open thread to WTP staff and regulars)
Wishing Blackout and Fireflight well, the hunter leaves The Roost, subspace packed full of various savories and sweets. He had made certain to tip the jetlet well, not only for his culinary prowess, but for the last-minute urgency of the order. Lockdown had promised to show up at the WTP with take-out and there was no way in the pit was he going to go back on his word. It didn't matter that his intended dinner date with Slipstream had devolved into plans of slaving over the mass-production of transformation cogs, he'd be damned if they were going to do it on empty tanks.
Cruising down the strip, he scans the frequencies for a music feed but instead stumbles onto the prompt channel, specifically an older ping: Frenemies. One he could tackle much easier than the current prompt. That fraggin' one about love.
Had plenty of acquaintances in my past that could wear that label, namely unsuspectin' quarries I'd chum up to over a cube or two (or twelve) before springin' the trap. They were amateur criminals with mediocre prices on their heads but reputations big enough to give 'em a big head, a strokable ego, easy to butter up. Could fill an entire night with useless blather, social fluff, all under the 'guise of one drunken son-of-a-glitch to another, exchangin' stories a'past "conquests" be it petty crimes or notches on the berthpost. Most a'the time I could relate to the fraggers, actually find some common ground worthy a'buildin' a friendship.
S'a shame I wasn't ever able to further those 'ships beyond lurin' em onto my ship to "sleep it off." Actually felt sorry for a couple of 'em, imaginin' the look on their mugs when they awoke in clutches of my employers, hungover, stripped of their dignity, freedom and their mods. Most of 'em were likely too sauced to even remember my face--which is a pity given how handsome it is--but a few probably had some recollection of the night. Probably the same few I had second thoughts about handin' over. The ones I had an unexpected meetin' of the mind with. Kindred spirits.
I learned quickly after a too many a'those nights NOT to use that tactic anymore. No room for attachment in any shape or form in the life of a bounty hunter.
But here in Nexus it's an entirely diff'rnt story.
Frenemies here are those that used to be on my hit list (or had me on theirs) but are now almost considered a friend. Take Ratchet for example. Had a grudge 'gainst that crusty ol'veteran since our go-around in the war when he took my arm. Sure I had it comin' for huntin' his sweetheart and yeah, I've long since replaced that arm with something much prettier, but it's the principal we're talking about here. You don't mess with a mech's looks. S'why I don't regret bustin' up his bucket, he had it comin' as well. In fact, on the grounds of cosmetic damage, I still owe him as it was him that chipped my fraggin' tooth. He's got TWO on me now.
Anyhow, that grudge has been put on hold since we all been stuck here. N'fact it's more n'put on hold. I'm currently en route to a night filled with cog-craftin' so the Mighty Medic of Grump can reassemble his frenemy, a mech neither of us should give two scraps about. Hell, ol'buckethead and I even exchanged apologies earlier this evenin'. Talk about truces.
And just to make sure this solar topped the charts for frenemy experiences, I made certain to kick it off by pissin' off my business partner AND gettin' in a brawl with his boyfriend, and not even in the same encounter. However, the details a that ain't something I wanna divulge for the moment. Save it for the Fun & Games prompt.
The muscle car pulls up to the WTP, transforming and activating him comm.
//Trix?\\
He enters the domed building through the main doors, eyeballing the security drones with a threatening glare.
//Gonna call off yer guarddogs or should I fight my way through?\\
The hunter is, of course, teasing despite the layers of 'tough guy' in the gravelly voice.
(ooc: open thread to WTP staff and regulars)