Nov 18, 2008 08:45
Nobody expects to be plucked out of Detroit's skies and unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a dressing room.
Thus, Terrorsoar finds himself making a mad scramble to catch himself before crashing his brand new altmode into the wall, screeching in dismay as he collapses to the floor in a jumble of red jet parts and pearly-white accents.
After a moment, he manages to find something like equilibrium, sorting himself into robot mode and focusing on what's really important.
"I scratched my canopy!"
... Well, on what's important to him.
terrorsoar