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: (Rise or fall)
[Ironhide was out attacking the tree when the snow started. He should have stopped, and trundled on inside. Instead, he stayed put, pounding on the tree and generally hating on the world around him.]

[... There had been much talk of that Christmas holiday, lately. And of course, what should stand out in his mind, but the Elegante. All the more reason to stay out here and pummel a hapless tree until the cold succeeded in making every last joint in his body ache.]

[His fists actually creak when he un-clenches his fingers. That's not a good sign.]

[He heads in, finally, stomping down the pathways with a more pronounced limp than usual. Yeah, it was a bad idea staying out so long. The cold, the lack of maintenance and abuse finally seem to be taking their toll on his frame.]

[A fact which becomes all the more apparent when his bad leg loses its footing completely on the rapidly icing path. There's a surprised sort of grunt out of him before all four and a half tons of giant alien robot goes crashing to the ground with a CLANG of metal.]

[The old 'bot is nothing if not durable, but even his body has to give under the impact of his own weight. When he pushes himself back up again, his leg doesn't respond. The already damaged joint is ... okay, Ironhide has no idea what's wrong with it.]

[But it hurts.]

[And now he's moodily contemplating the walk back to the barracks and wondering if he can just transform.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Facing the fire together)
[Oh yes, by now he knew exactly how to get the pumpkins to stop talking. It would have been smart of him to do so. He would probably have been saving himself a lot of trouble by doing it.]

[But he hasn't.]

[The pumpkins are still whispering and whining. He'd smashed several of them -- Decepticon faces all, and that had felt good. By now... he's tracked on to one in particular. Only centuries of long association have allowed him to tune the words out, listening to the voice. If he shutters his optics, he can pretend he's being lectured, or being made to listen to some science babble or other.]

[His head is bowed, and one of his hands is resting lightly on the pumpkin in question.]

[He can't bring himself to break this one -- not when it has the voice he's been missing for months now. He'd never expected separation to be this difficult.]

[Ironhide can be found solemnly regarding the Ratchet-pumpkin in the early morning hours of the Keep.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Stand alone complex)
[Things have died down. And now there's nothing going on but pounding, pouring rain.]

[While the old timer should probably have gone to refuel, he opts instead to go out in the wet. Why? He can't really say. Maybe he's disappointed he let his charges down -- after checking everywhere, it's become obvious Zuko is no longer among the Keep's guests. Maybe he feels he failed them some other way -- he should have been the one to put an end to Riku, not Xanth.]

[... He should still be on the Shore.]

[Try as he might these few weeks, he can't shake that feeling. There's something missing. And it's painful. Like he's missing a vital internal component.]

[Ironhide winds up near the lake, in the middle of the downpour, just staring out at the water. The water pings off his armor. He never thought he'd admit it, but the sound and motion of the waves is... well.]

[It's familiar.]

[And therefore, it's comforting.]
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: (Can angst like Prime.)
Weapons are back. My cannons remained... Going to test them topside.

Need some work done. On my armor.

[And that's all there is. There is a lot he doesn't say, a lot he hopes is going to be understood by those close to him. That if anyone needs him, they know where to find him. That he needs to do something, even now, when he doesn't think it'll do any good.

And that he needs to see someone in particular. Even if he still can't say it.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Hide your pain)
[There's a brief shot of Ironhide's face.  He looks, as per usual, disgruntled, while he toys with the comm.  Behind him are flashes of piles of objects, ranging from cardboard boxes of what looks like leather, to a neat row of plants in empty bottles.]

...

Need a favor.  Someone.

[That's all he says before the feed clicks off.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Human | NOT THE FUCKING TOOTHFARY)
[All the video shows is Ironhide scowling down into his comm.  He seems to have left the party, and is, instead, in his/Ratchet's room.  Propped up in bed.  Surrounded by pillows.  Oh yes, he is not a happy not-robot.]

...

I am still like this.  Why am I still like this.  It did not last this long the last time.
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: (Rise or fall)
[Ironhide isn't using his comm. He refuses to admit that anything happened over a public channel. Instead, he's dragging his aft away from deck 3. He moves stiffly, leaning heavily on a wall as he limps along.

One hand is constantly pressed to his chest, as if that's going to help anything. His intakes rasp, big frame shuddering occasionally.

He has one goal in mind - Get to Ratchet. Something is wrong, not just the fresh mark on his armor. He just has to get to his friend and medic.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Save your fears)
... Been a while since we went below. Some information has been shared. I am willing to tell what I found, for whatever good it does.

[There is a pause, and a shifting of metal. His voice gets a little stronger, a little more annoyed.]

Speaking of that venture... I require... my optics repaired. My medic has asked for crew assistance, and recieved no word. What are you crew doing that you cannot even answer a simple request! Hmn!

If that is not enough to sway you, I have a frog. And a question. You want this frog? Send someone who can answer my question, and fix this damage.

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heavyweaponsbot: (Default)
Ironhide

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