Burnt Out And Wasted

[show_my_cannons]

WHO: Ironhide and Open
WHAT: Venting frustrations. Or at least trying to.
WHERE: Roaming between Zones 7 and 9, and the Fighting Rings
WHEN: After all the deportations happened
WARNINGS/NOTES: None for now. Tag yourself in, and let it be known where your character is. And seperate threads, please!

Comments

[no_glitter_plz]

Glit made a habit of canvassing the lower levels and the arenas - it was both an excellent way to keep his hand in, and a way to overhear a lot of excellent gossip. And as far as gossip went, Ironhide was certainly making the rounds.

He and survival have never been on the best of speaking terms, and one of his lesser-known skills was a certain amount of tracking ability. Not that he actually had to use his nose that much, since the Autobot was leaving a not-inconsiderable trail behind him.

The cassette wasn't about to try and sneak up on a high-strung warrior, and so he made no secret about eeling his way through the crowded streets in order to catch up.

[show_my_cannons]

By now, he was used to unfamiliar signals worming their way across his HUD. And, while they made him decidedly edgy, they were rarely a cause for concern. After all, they got out of his way quick enough. Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice the creeping Decepticon.

But when he did, he stopped, optic narrowing. His frame went tense.

Not again...

"I have no desire to so much as look at you," he growled, not even bothering to glance behind him. "Leave me alone."

[no_glitter_plz]

"Think of it as revenge for the building collapse thing," Glit suggested, not put off in the least. Not that he's coming within arm's reach, either, mind you. "You're extra cranky this evening, I see."

[show_my_cannons]

"You had your fun back then," he snapped, marching forward again in a determined effort to lose his little stalker. "Leave!"

A few more strides before he spoke again. "I am always 'cranky'."

[iplaywinner]

It was nearly impossible to separate the jet-twins upon Jetstorm's return to the Nexus...and he in particular had remained more 'clingy' than he normally was (even if he would have blasted anyone who might suggest that word.) The two had spent most of the time in Ratchets clinic...staying to the inside, staying together, constantly to be pinging each others signals in case by some freak accident one of them was disappearing...

And Jetstorm had...recovered. Slowly. Not easily, but steadily. He and brother had been out a few times, reveling in the sky, and Jetstorm did appreciate how much he could forget when he was flying with his twin...

...but the sky here still was wrong, and being here was still wrong, and he knew it was not so fair to Jetfire that he suddenly was down all the time, where he'd been happy before. He was hating it, himself, and hating that his brother could sense it, and he was not wanting to be alone but he needed to be figure everything out. It was just being...so...complicated

[show_my_cannons]

He stopped. A few others behind him ran into him, bouncing off his armor. But he didn't move. He knew that voice. A gloriously uncomplicated one, in comparison to all the other issues bouncing around him lately.

Not to say that Jetstorm was... free of problems himself. There was still the problem of the little jets' recovery--both physical and mental. He'd tried to leave them to their own devices, checking on them as often as he could without being overly obtrusive. They'd needed each other, that was clear. But that didn't mean he felt any less protective of the pair.

Scanning for the signal, trying to get a fix on the flier--planes, jets, helicopters, why did they never stay on one simple trajectory?--he turned around.

"Jetstorm...? What are you doing down here?"

[iplaywinner]

It was him!

Jetstorm could not help but grin a little, partially because a reunion with the bristly-canon meant he wouldn't have to comn for brother to come find him, and partially because...well...it was Ironhide. It was...familiar.

The grin faded a little when he noticed the additions to the scars, flitting closer to land next to the Tyran, immediately poking at one and making a 'tsk tsk' sound. "...Mister Ironhide has been fighting again. He is knowing that neon-bot does not like it when he is to be over-exerting on himself." This was also met with a frown. "...would want to be coming with you, besides." He...really...really understood the need to pummel something flat. It had been popping up more and more, lately, especially when he was thinking of being ripped away from brother out alone on the streets...

[show_my_cannons]

He watched with his usual disgruntled expression as the jet darted in for a landing. The way they flew around like that... it shouldn't annoy him. It was simply hard to keep them in visual range. That was all. However, such didn't stop him from taking a protective step closer to Jetstorm once he'd landed, a wary optic on any passersby so much as glancing in their direction.

This was derailed, however, when Jetstorm started his investigation of the latest set of scrapes. It stung, a little, and he hissed, shifting away from the poking fingers.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "I was..." A shrug of huge shoulders. "Just... needed to do something. Neon-Bot does not have to know." He'd only fritz and worry himself offline again.

He tilted his head. "Coming with me? Where?"

[like_a_bossbot]

It wasn't intentionally, that Optimus had found himself in the lower zones.

While he didn't have the most accurate sense of direction, he was by no means navigationally incompetent. His scanners had not yet been adjusted to the layout of the Nexus, as he was not yet familiar with it. And while the lower levels were not the safest, they were the ones the Autobot had found himself in when he had first arrived.

Of course, being the kind and leaderly spark that he was, how could he ignore the snarling sounds of Ironhide's rage? He was either in danger, or a Decepticon - both options, in Prime's optics, could not be left unchecked.

He was careful not to sneak up on the larger bot, whom he quickly recognized as the one the Jet twins had been living with. His designation was Ironhide, if his memory circuits served him well.

"Are you alright?"

Well, obviously not, when he was so lividly attacking an innocent scrap heap... But it seemed a better conversation starter than 'why are you punching that?'.

[show_my_cannons]

He might as well have asked "why are you punching that", for all the difference in reaction it produced. The voice was vaguely familiar, but not enough to give him the pause that a more well-known individual would receive.

Sadly, it was also not enough to spare "Larry" the glare Ironhide shot him, before checking himself.

He stepped back, straightening. Embarrassing to be caught like this. Intakes hissed, and he rolled his shoulders, trying to look more like the veteran warrior, and less like an angry youngster.

"I did... not expect to see you down here."

Which avoided the question nicely.

[like_a_bossbot]

Fierce though the expression was, Optimus did not back down from the larger bot - Instead, he waited a few nanoclicks for him to collect himself. It was obviously a bad time to catch him, if the mangled scrap was any indication.

Better that, than another 'bot's face, at least. He had barely been in the Nexus, and he'd seen more than enough violence to last him - Then again, when said violence had been enacted upon your near identical replica, it tended to hit a bit too close to the spark for comfort.

"I'm still collecting my bearings, I guess," he admitted with the ghost of a smile. "This is a far cry from Detroit, after all."

He noticed the deflection, but said nothing of it at the moment. They had barely met, after all, and trust had to be earned.

[show_my_cannons]

It was better this Optimus had caught him here, than back in the rings. Here, at least, he was only beating in scrap metal. Back there, it had been nameless, faceless opponents that all too easily forgotten. It almost bothered him sometimes. There was no honor in it. Just empty violence.

"You do not want to be down here. Worse than anywhere on earth," he said, simply. "Not without armaments."

A few glances told him enough, even if he hadn't known this one was from the little jets' universe. All smooth paneling. Nothing exposed, no weaponry to easily spot. He was a little jealous, sometimes, of how well those from other universes could hide their weapons... but, then again, he'd never been one for dissembling.

"Unless... you are armed..." He sounded skeptical.