Bored. Bored. Still bored.

[show_my_cannons]

Who: Sarah Lennox, SG!Rodimus, Movie!Ratchet, Movie!Ironhide
What: Talking, ceiling tile counting, gratuitous use of the ">:|" expression, booze.
Where: The Tyran Household
Summary: Ironhide is still laid up, visitors show up to help with this... or tie him down.
Notes: In-progress

Comments

[evilmoustache]

Rodimus was tired of waiting for people to come to him. Ironhide was laid up, recouperating after a battle with Prime (something Rodimus could sympathise with) and was obviously bored.

What was a bot to do but offer to drop by and be company, especially company with 'booze'?

After explaining his 'mission' to the human who answered the door, Rodimus made his way to the still-prone Autobot.
"Figure you could use a distraction from bein inoperative. I brought high-grade."

[evilmoustache]

"They taught me a few things already." He agreed, thinking about renewable resources and how he wanted to rule things properly.

Rod kept the high-grade flowing, making sure to give Ironhide the cans of actual high-grade while he himself drank something a great deal less inebriating. (You could buy almost anything in the lower levels, and they'd package it any way you wanted for the right price.)

"Only thing that's ever certain is if youse don't fight back, he'll roll right over you. An then the rest of the galaxy. So you fight." He waited a moment, picking his words carefully. "Because...life is worth protectin'."

[show_my_cannons]

"They tend to do that," he answered, and realized he'd been staring into the can for a lot longer than he should have been. How many was this now? He'd forgotten. Ah well... it didn't matter.

He turned to face Rod, optics shuttering more times than necessary to focus. "That is because," he said. "His alternate mode became a tank." And then he raised his good arm, threateningly, voice picking up strength in the enclosed area. "And so we fight back! Until the Decept... icons have been defeated!" A nod, and another drink. "We must. It is our function--my function. Not..." Who's wasn't it? "Not. Hmpf." Oh, right. "Not the medic's."

[evilmoustache]

Rod raised his can, as if in a toast, and nodded sollemnly, letting himself relax as Ironhide rambled.
"'S'your function. My function too. Fightin' till the 'cons are destroyed. The medic-" Which one would he be talking about? Probably the same one Wave brought by, since Mikaela said he lived here as well. "Ratchet- he don't fight?"

He looked capable- but if he didn't, that would be useful to know.

[show_my_cannons]

"A tank," he repeated, glowering at the far wall as if it had personally offended him. "A... jet tank. I want... to know how long... he c'do that. Could do that."

Wait, they were talking about something else, weren't they? He made himself focus. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Nah. He fights. He fights... got a gun. Gun and..." He raised one hand, moving it in a haphazard, circular motion. "Bzzt. You know. Bzzt." Which, apparently, was the drunken word for "saw blade". And then he shook his head again. "Try an' keep him out've it. All we got--have. All we have. Need 'im."

At least, he did anyway.

[evilmoustache]

"Ain't got no other medics?" Rod questioned, gesturing to the patch job on Ironhide's chest. "Thought the humans were helpin' out? Ratchet's a good bot, fixed me up- be tricky if you ain't got nobot else to do repairs tho."

And if they didn't have any other medic... well, things could get troublesome if he disappeared.

[show_my_cannons]

"Nah," he answered, shaking his head more times than strictly necessary. "Do a little. We can do a little. Not like 'im." He gestured randomly in the direction he thought he'd seen Ratchet depart. "Humans... hnn. 'Kaela has tried. Does try. Not for this." Having forgotten his earlier forays into probing his injuries, Ironhide prodded one of the patches--only to be rewarded with a sharp reminder why he'd stopped.

"I protect 'im," he announced, proudly holding up a can. "With m'cannons."

[evilmoustache]

"He don't sound like he needs protectin'" So only one medic for this group. At least only one Ironhide trusted- it'd be good to double check with Mikaela later.

Rod considered for a moment, then gave the long shot a chance: "He outta be appreciatin, bein looked after by you, considerin how long you been 'round."
The end of the sentance was drawn out like a question, but left vague enough not to be an actual pry of sorts.

[show_my_cannons]

"Does," he muttered. "Runs int' things. Into... power lines. An' dams. Trippin' over th'legs." A dismissive hand wave. "Too long."

Another pause, while Ironhide consulted the rapidly depleting high-grade for answers. "Should," he agreed. "Watchin' him since... war started. S'a good 'Bot." And then an expression nearly like a sulk crossed his face. "But doesn't. Always... push. Bicker. Ridin' me f'everything. Didn't mean t'get busted up..." The sulk became another scowl.

"Don't 'preciate it at all. He doesn't. Should. Doin' it for 'im."

[evilmoustache]

Rod reached over and gave Ironhide's shoulder (the uninjured one) a light punch. "That ain't cool, m'bot. You outta get more credit than that. 'specially if youse fightin hard, havin someone watch your back - that's important."
Rod knew that one- he hadn't had anyone he'd trusted since the Wreckers. Havin someone to watch your back was useful- and a good bot shouldn't shrug that off either.

"How 'bout your Prime? He watchin out for youse?"

[show_my_cannons]

He twitched slightly at the unexpected punch, before flailing an arm around to try and return the favor. Drunken coordination didn't get him very far, however. "I should!" he agreed, probably louder than he should have. "He should thank me! Not... not lecture me! Complaining, rusty old..." He looked over at Rod. "You understand perfec'ly."

Ironhide went quiet again, downing still more of the high-grade before he went on. "Prime... can't be ev'where," he mumbled. "Does too much. Gotta help some'ow. Watch 'is back too. I do. Cover fire."

[evilmoustache]

"Know how it is" Rod sympathised, "I ain't got nobot here. S'hard, bein alone... Ain't got nobody watchin out for me... an' Jumper- Screamer probably took him offline when I got stuck here. I shoulda been watchin him, fightin' back. Instead I'm... here." The noise that came from his processor was too rude to be a snort.

"Sounds like my Prime." Rodimus ventured carefully "Good bot, good fighter, but...."

[show_my_cannons]

"Not alone!" Ironhide countered, pointing one wobbly finger at Rod. "Autobots 're here! All of us! 'Cept... not... all of us..." He trailed off, trying to work out how that little statement made any sense. "And Starscream! Feh! Here too! Disgusting, crawlin', grovelin' traitor!" He meant, of course, the one from his universe. "'Commander' my black aft."

Wait, the other 'Bot was saying something else. Mental brakes slammed on. "Starscream can't e'en take outta human dam," he said, waving his hand. "Got nothin' t'worry 'bout."

He nodded vigorously, moving to finish Rod's sentence. "Too noble. Too collected. Too much'a leader..." he said, though there was no scorn, only fond reverence. "Someone's gotta watch 'im."

[evilmoustache]

Rodimus shook his head, shifting to sit down beside Ironhide, companionable and (hopefully) a little pathetic. "Autobots, sure." He was just enough under the influence to like sitting- leaning against Ironhide's berth for support and not looking at the other directly. "Autobots here, but they ain't mine. Ain't my bots, an everything's messed up. My Screamer's here 'cept he ain't mine- an he's a good 'con even if he looks like my Screamer inna metal. He says I'm lookin like his 'Rod, who's bad news in his verse. I ain't exactly been welcome here 'cause of it. Ratchet ain't exactly likin me neither, for all he patched me up." A long sigh. "An dunno bout your Starscream, but my Screamer? Worse than Megs onna bad day, cause at least Megs was crazy. Screamer took out a lot of good bots, an we ain't been able to ground him yet

[show_my_cannons]

"Autobots stick together," he advised the pathetic heap of metal beside him, nodding sagely. "You're an Autobot. M'an Autobot. All Autobots." Ironhide snorted, trying to figure out how to best explain why Ratchet had taken a dislike to this bearer of high-grade. "S'the face... thing," he said, as if hit by inspiration. "He prolly doesn't like it. So. Doesn't like you. S'a picky old scrap heap..."

He was about to say more, both on the subject of Starscream, and on Prime, but a familiar yellow blur announced its presence with a huff. Looking almost gleeful, Ironhide waved at the approaching medic. "There y'are!" he called out. "Look. Look. Look. It's." He held up the can. "Lookit what 'e brought. Th'good stuff."