Fun and fun-fun?
Copter flies back to his Island. Other mechs started showing up at the Go-Joe or whatever it was. And he didn’t want to intrude. They didn’t know him. Prowl had offered to introduce him around, but…with the copter’s history of failitude at friendships, he wasn’t really ready to start another round just yet. It would blow all the weirdly happy mellow he’d gotten from that meditation thing.
Plus he was like…kinda envious (in a mellow sorta post-meditationy way) at the rock garden. His was just…rocks and stuff that he liked where they looked. Prowl’s had like raked sand and big and small rocks and looked different depending on where you were. And bamboo. Prowl had given him some-he had it nicely tucked in his cargo hold. He hoped it was pretty fraggin’ hard to kill, because copter had like…no horticulture skills. Green thumb? Silver. Probably bad.
Still, he’s kind of excited. Something to do! He could grow his little bamboo. He’d already figured out he could use his tailrotor to make groovy lines in the sand just like at the Yo-yo.
He lands, carefully sliding the bamboo plants out of his hold before he transforms. This is going to be…well…fun.
Not as fun as that vid of the Fallen slagging Starscream though. Totally different kind of fun. This was, like, new fun. Nothing like…you know…old fun.
****wavy flashback lines****
“It’s just a game,” Grindor said. “Seriously. That’s all strategy is. You start thinking about it like it’s real and you’re going to frag everything up.”
Blackout frowned. “Not a slaggin’ game. Actual mechs are going to actually die.”
Grindor shrugged. “That’s the problem. You can’t think like that.” He set up the combat simulator again. Grindor paused. “Look. I know. Seriously. I know. But you want to get good at this, don’t you?”
Blackout snarled. “Plenty good at fighting.”
“That’s not going to last you forever. You want to be a grunt forever?”
“If that’s where I’m best, yeah.” Blackout remembered plenty of orbital cycles as a hauler. So should Grindor. They’d been the same shift for how many orbitals? Ambition? Didn’t even exist as a concept. The only ambition Blackout had was to do his best. Always. And Megatron demanded only the best.
“Yeah?” Grindor shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want you to die in the trenches.”
Blackout snarled. “You don’t get to decide.” Grindor’s concern tasted like pity.
“Don’t I?” Grindor stood up. Matching anger for anger. Strategizing, even now; meeting Blackout with his own weapons. Determined to win the battle, regardless of the battlefield.
“You think ‘cause you’re better at strategy than me you get to decide who lives?” Blackout’s fists balled. He had no other way to react to frustration than anger. And he had so much of it.
“I think you’re being thick-plated. Just try to learn. It’s not that hard!”
Blackout swung, his fist connecting with Grindor’s shoulder armor. He hated being called stupid. And he knew it was a button, and he knew Grindor was pushing it deliberately. And it still worked. And it brought him almost to tears of frustrated rage.
Grindor took the hit, grunting, coming up under on recoil with an uppercut to Blackout’s chin. Blackout snarled, and they dove at each other, crashing hard to the floor. Blackout yelped as one of his rotors bent, but he determined to overmaster Grindor. Show him what he was good at.
They rolled together fiercely, grappling for advantage, until Blackout pinned Grindor beneath him. Grindor retaliated by jerking hard on one rotor, forcing Blackout to bend, lower, their chassis grinding together. Grindor wormed his other hand free, pulling Blackout’s face down, tilting his own up, their mouths meeting in a contact that was a feral kind of kiss.
“I win,” Grindor whispered, as a soft moan escaped Blackout’s vocalizer.
(OOC: Open post, on Copter Island. Feel free to comm/visit/etc! Flyby insults also welcome!--he's got his snarkmachine turned on 11!)
Plus he was like…kinda envious (in a mellow sorta post-meditationy way) at the rock garden. His was just…rocks and stuff that he liked where they looked. Prowl’s had like raked sand and big and small rocks and looked different depending on where you were. And bamboo. Prowl had given him some-he had it nicely tucked in his cargo hold. He hoped it was pretty fraggin’ hard to kill, because copter had like…no horticulture skills. Green thumb? Silver. Probably bad.
Still, he’s kind of excited. Something to do! He could grow his little bamboo. He’d already figured out he could use his tailrotor to make groovy lines in the sand just like at the Yo-yo.
He lands, carefully sliding the bamboo plants out of his hold before he transforms. This is going to be…well…fun.
Not as fun as that vid of the Fallen slagging Starscream though. Totally different kind of fun. This was, like, new fun. Nothing like…you know…old fun.
****wavy flashback lines****
“It’s just a game,” Grindor said. “Seriously. That’s all strategy is. You start thinking about it like it’s real and you’re going to frag everything up.”
Blackout frowned. “Not a slaggin’ game. Actual mechs are going to actually die.”
Grindor shrugged. “That’s the problem. You can’t think like that.” He set up the combat simulator again. Grindor paused. “Look. I know. Seriously. I know. But you want to get good at this, don’t you?”
Blackout snarled. “Plenty good at fighting.”
“That’s not going to last you forever. You want to be a grunt forever?”
“If that’s where I’m best, yeah.” Blackout remembered plenty of orbital cycles as a hauler. So should Grindor. They’d been the same shift for how many orbitals? Ambition? Didn’t even exist as a concept. The only ambition Blackout had was to do his best. Always. And Megatron demanded only the best.
“Yeah?” Grindor shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want you to die in the trenches.”
Blackout snarled. “You don’t get to decide.” Grindor’s concern tasted like pity.
“Don’t I?” Grindor stood up. Matching anger for anger. Strategizing, even now; meeting Blackout with his own weapons. Determined to win the battle, regardless of the battlefield.
“You think ‘cause you’re better at strategy than me you get to decide who lives?” Blackout’s fists balled. He had no other way to react to frustration than anger. And he had so much of it.
“I think you’re being thick-plated. Just try to learn. It’s not that hard!”
Blackout swung, his fist connecting with Grindor’s shoulder armor. He hated being called stupid. And he knew it was a button, and he knew Grindor was pushing it deliberately. And it still worked. And it brought him almost to tears of frustrated rage.
Grindor took the hit, grunting, coming up under on recoil with an uppercut to Blackout’s chin. Blackout snarled, and they dove at each other, crashing hard to the floor. Blackout yelped as one of his rotors bent, but he determined to overmaster Grindor. Show him what he was good at.
They rolled together fiercely, grappling for advantage, until Blackout pinned Grindor beneath him. Grindor retaliated by jerking hard on one rotor, forcing Blackout to bend, lower, their chassis grinding together. Grindor wormed his other hand free, pulling Blackout’s face down, tilting his own up, their mouths meeting in a contact that was a feral kind of kiss.
“I win,” Grindor whispered, as a soft moan escaped Blackout’s vocalizer.
(OOC: Open post, on Copter Island. Feel free to comm/visit/etc! Flyby insults also welcome!--he's got his snarkmachine turned on 11!)