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!
(
I'm Tired of Pacing )
Comments 36
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.
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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."
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A few more strides before he spoke again. "I am always 'cranky'."
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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 ( ... )
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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?"
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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...
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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?"
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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?'.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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