G1 Blast Off / Hope
When Blast Off enters the fort, he doesn’t see any of his team mates, and is pretty relieved. He actually feels quite good and relaxed, and the time in the desert seemed exactly what he needed after the marathon of hauling cargo around.
At first the metal for the Autobot’s bunker and the planned construction, and then explosives and bombs for his team mates. In hindsight, the work with the Autobot was less troublesome than working with his team - ungrateful slaggers. They should be thankful that Blast Off didn’t fly away after they yelled at him; and that more than once.
Blast Off hates being yelled at, especially when it’s by some stupid lunatic with frequent emotional breakdowns. Or some stupid lunatic with serious program glitches.
Blast Off huffs and enters the smaller rooms of the fort, where he notices the new bombs and explosives. He acknowledges them only briefly, because they’re not the reason he is there.
Searching for paint, Blast Off takes a closer look at the shelves. He finally wants to take care of his paintjob, which has suffered from the fight. The dents are mostly gone, but the bleak metal spots and scratches are still obvious and clear to see.
Blast Off finds some appropriate paint, the purple is a little too bright, but he also discovers some red and blue and will be able to mix the right tone. Surprisingly, there is also an airbrush, which will be more accurate for painting.
With these supplies and a cover for the table, Blast Off puts them down in the briefing room.
None of his team mates seem to be there, and the light is better than it is in his room, so he decides on repainting his armour there. He closes the door nonetheless, like this he isn’t visible at the first moment if someone comes into the fort.
With a sigh, Blast Off takes a last look at his armour, and then begins to remove the first plate of his upper arm. Initiating a small transformation sequence, he takes of the plating and begins to work on it with sandpaper, making it more abrasive so that the paint will stick better.
While he works, his HUD flickers and the prompt list pops up.
Blast Off groans, annoyed.
He totally forgot about that, and he isn’t happy to be reminded.
With a huff, he picks the word "Hope".
Hope…
Blast Off hopes to get out of this place someday. The sooner the better, but he doesn’t think he’ll have that much luck.
Some mechs seem to just vanish, maybe to somewhere worse, maybe they’re transported back home. Or maybe not “home”, but the place where they come from. He wouldn’t say that Chaar is his true home, though he would definitely feel better in a place where he could fly into space.
Blast Off takes another section of plating off, and uses the sandpaper.
Absentmindedly, he recalls the memory file from the day he was thrown into the Nexus and another smaller window pops up in his HUD.
There is Chaar, and it’s dark. There is nothing unusual until his scanners go haywire, the vision scatters, and there is no image for a moment, before the ground is far too close. The visual flickers, and Blast Off remembers the weird feeling of sudden gravity, and he feels sick for a moment.
Another sigh when Blast Off continues working, replaying the memory file again and again, still not discovering anything helpful.
After a while, the paint is mixed, the airbrush filled with it. The cover is on the table under a few parts of his plating. Two plates of each upper arm, the arm-shields from his lower arms and plating of his thighs.
The arm-shields are already repainted. Blast Off hadn’t done that in years. He didn’t need to. Every re-entry would burn off the paint and it wouldn’t be worth the time and material.
When the other plates are also painted and shimmer brightly brown, Blast Off needs to wait until they’re dry.
He feels a bit naked. Where the armour on his upper arms and thighs is missing, circuits can be seen, but also parts of other plating which is usually covered. It’s metal which grows during his transformation and insulates his instruments, circuitry and scanners when he’s in alt-mode. It’s not painted, because even in shuttle mode, it’s only inside, and hidden behind brown or purple plates.
Blast Off rubs his face, remembering that he needs to repair his dented battle mask some time soon, and frowns when the brass coloured circuitry on his lower arms catches his attention. Shining and looking clear compared to the rest of him, it’s usually protected by the heat shields. Blast Off shifts slightly on his chair. He doesn’t like the idea of this part being exposed, and just hopes that no one will come in as long as the shields are off.
Hope… right, he was answering these prompts.
Hope to get away from this place. Hope to fly into space… Hope to be home someday - with or without his team. Right now, he doesn’t care, even if his programs give an unnerving twinge at that thought.
He might need to answer every word from this list, and then he can go, or will be transported back.
"Great..." he mutters. It’s a long list, and he will probably finish his construction before he has answered every prompt.
At least he hopes so. Answering all this means to reveal too many things and too much information about himself.
Hopefully, the construction will be done soon, and the probe he still needs to build.
Blast Off pauses in his track of thought.
All the things he has to do feel suddenly like a weight on him. He can only hope that he can get everything done before his programs malfunctioning even more, and the echoes start coming back…
Tiredly, he leans back and takes a datapad from subspace.
"Hope" vanishes from the list.
---
OOC: Closed post to Cyclonus and the Combaticons. Thanks. :)
At first the metal for the Autobot’s bunker and the planned construction, and then explosives and bombs for his team mates. In hindsight, the work with the Autobot was less troublesome than working with his team - ungrateful slaggers. They should be thankful that Blast Off didn’t fly away after they yelled at him; and that more than once.
Blast Off hates being yelled at, especially when it’s by some stupid lunatic with frequent emotional breakdowns. Or some stupid lunatic with serious program glitches.
Blast Off huffs and enters the smaller rooms of the fort, where he notices the new bombs and explosives. He acknowledges them only briefly, because they’re not the reason he is there.
Searching for paint, Blast Off takes a closer look at the shelves. He finally wants to take care of his paintjob, which has suffered from the fight. The dents are mostly gone, but the bleak metal spots and scratches are still obvious and clear to see.
Blast Off finds some appropriate paint, the purple is a little too bright, but he also discovers some red and blue and will be able to mix the right tone. Surprisingly, there is also an airbrush, which will be more accurate for painting.
With these supplies and a cover for the table, Blast Off puts them down in the briefing room.
None of his team mates seem to be there, and the light is better than it is in his room, so he decides on repainting his armour there. He closes the door nonetheless, like this he isn’t visible at the first moment if someone comes into the fort.
With a sigh, Blast Off takes a last look at his armour, and then begins to remove the first plate of his upper arm. Initiating a small transformation sequence, he takes of the plating and begins to work on it with sandpaper, making it more abrasive so that the paint will stick better.
While he works, his HUD flickers and the prompt list pops up.
Blast Off groans, annoyed.
He totally forgot about that, and he isn’t happy to be reminded.
With a huff, he picks the word "Hope".
Hope…
Blast Off hopes to get out of this place someday. The sooner the better, but he doesn’t think he’ll have that much luck.
Some mechs seem to just vanish, maybe to somewhere worse, maybe they’re transported back home. Or maybe not “home”, but the place where they come from. He wouldn’t say that Chaar is his true home, though he would definitely feel better in a place where he could fly into space.
Blast Off takes another section of plating off, and uses the sandpaper.
Absentmindedly, he recalls the memory file from the day he was thrown into the Nexus and another smaller window pops up in his HUD.
There is Chaar, and it’s dark. There is nothing unusual until his scanners go haywire, the vision scatters, and there is no image for a moment, before the ground is far too close. The visual flickers, and Blast Off remembers the weird feeling of sudden gravity, and he feels sick for a moment.
Another sigh when Blast Off continues working, replaying the memory file again and again, still not discovering anything helpful.
After a while, the paint is mixed, the airbrush filled with it. The cover is on the table under a few parts of his plating. Two plates of each upper arm, the arm-shields from his lower arms and plating of his thighs.
The arm-shields are already repainted. Blast Off hadn’t done that in years. He didn’t need to. Every re-entry would burn off the paint and it wouldn’t be worth the time and material.
When the other plates are also painted and shimmer brightly brown, Blast Off needs to wait until they’re dry.
He feels a bit naked. Where the armour on his upper arms and thighs is missing, circuits can be seen, but also parts of other plating which is usually covered. It’s metal which grows during his transformation and insulates his instruments, circuitry and scanners when he’s in alt-mode. It’s not painted, because even in shuttle mode, it’s only inside, and hidden behind brown or purple plates.
Blast Off rubs his face, remembering that he needs to repair his dented battle mask some time soon, and frowns when the brass coloured circuitry on his lower arms catches his attention. Shining and looking clear compared to the rest of him, it’s usually protected by the heat shields. Blast Off shifts slightly on his chair. He doesn’t like the idea of this part being exposed, and just hopes that no one will come in as long as the shields are off.
Hope… right, he was answering these prompts.
Hope to get away from this place. Hope to fly into space… Hope to be home someday - with or without his team. Right now, he doesn’t care, even if his programs give an unnerving twinge at that thought.
He might need to answer every word from this list, and then he can go, or will be transported back.
"Great..." he mutters. It’s a long list, and he will probably finish his construction before he has answered every prompt.
At least he hopes so. Answering all this means to reveal too many things and too much information about himself.
Hopefully, the construction will be done soon, and the probe he still needs to build.
Blast Off pauses in his track of thought.
All the things he has to do feel suddenly like a weight on him. He can only hope that he can get everything done before his programs malfunctioning even more, and the echoes start coming back…
Tiredly, he leans back and takes a datapad from subspace.
"Hope" vanishes from the list.
---
OOC: Closed post to Cyclonus and the Combaticons. Thanks. :)