22 - audio

Aug. 11th, 2012 06:18 pm
heavyweaponsbot: (Human | Urk...)
[12 hours after being placed in the stocks, they open, and an Autobot-turned-human drags himself to his feet.]

[He leaves a message, when he gets back to his room:]


Need a medic. Nothing serious. Just dislike leaking all over the place.

[Nothing else.]

[He closes the book.]
heavyweaponsbot: (FLAWLESS.  VICTORY.)
[Good evening, Keep residents. Where is your resident Autobot, you might ask? Why, he's found himself the Armory, that's what.]

[And, he was hoping to find some scrap metal. But, like so much of his life, lately, he's out of luck. No metal, no charges, no medic... not even the stupid frog.]

[His engine growls a low, almost mournful note before his fingers close around one of the practice blades, and he flings it across the room, where it smacks against the wall with a satisfying sound of cracking wood.]

[But the feeling only lasts for so long, and he's left with a broken sword, and no 'family'. Not even the scraps he was looking for.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Stand alone complex)
[If you haven't heard from Ironhide lately, that's because the big 'bot is keeping to himself. Ratchet... vanished. Bumblebee is too quiet.]

[He doesn't like this feeling. This weird... lonely feeling. And, in a classic Ironhide move, when he doesn't like something, he shuts down.]

[If anyone cares to, they can find the old weapons master standing near the edges of the temple grounds, staring at something invisible in the distance.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Stand alone complex)
[Anyone wandering the top deck may, in fact, come across a big, black robot, standing at rigid attention.  His optics are fixed on the place in which he spotted the red bird, the last time he was up here.  It isn't there any longer, of course, he's simply watching the spot - as if he can make it reappear by sheer force of stubborn willpower alone.

Although, he's not quite certain why.  He didn't mean to come up here.  The voices are gone, and yet he still can't get them out of his head - whispering his guilt.  And there's only one incident he can think of.  Only one a disembodied voice on this boat could know about.

The little Autobot.

His failure to save her.  Her death in his arms.

He never did find out if it was possible to enter her into the system.  And with the first mate gone now...  The weapons master rolls his shoulders, as if to physically shrug off the thought, and returns to his vigil, apparently unmoved.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Rise or fall)
[If anyone's listening, there's a clatter over the comms, as something heavy hits the ground. There's no sounds of fighting, no shouts, cursing. Just a thunk. And silence.

Somewhere in the palm trees, exhaustion finally got the better of the old Autobot. He'd spent weeks now, with all systems engaged, first while jeweled, then searching for his missing comrade. And when Ratchet failed to be located, he's thought the worst. It's taken a toll on him.

Should anyone feel the need to investigate the sound, they'll find a huge black pile of metal, sprawled amongst the trees... out like a light and apparently quite comfortable.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Lies betrayed and the oppressed)
[There's static for a few moments, before the comm actually picks up the very subdued voice.]

Ratchet... I... need you. Please.

Help.

[All of the above fall under things he would never... ever... say over open comm lines like this. Thank you very much, Captain. There's a pause, but anyone with decent hearing can hear him muttering to something--or someone.]

It will be fine... going to be okay... quiet now.  I have you... Going to be fine... not going to hurt much longer... hush.


[Aren't auditory hallucinations fun? He has not left the hall the elevator dumped him into. And he likely won't on his own--thanks to being blind from Infected Passenger Spit, badly damaged, and with absolutely no sense of direction, the old boy's stuck on Deck 12.]

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Ironhide

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