heavyweaponsbot: (Lies betrayed and the oppressed)
[His kind do not dream. There are memories, certainly. But never dreams.]

[Not until the Elegante took that hard and fast rule away -- took him, changed him. Made him human. The change must have altered something. Ever since then, his recharge has been plagued with memories, with compounded memories and fantasies, fears and daydreams. He can't stop it. And while it's unsettling... it's something he's adapted to, more or less.]

[When the dream comes, he thinks it's going to be just the same as always. Another vague half-memory.]

[He is wrong.]

DREAM SEQUENCE - cut for length and headcanon )

[The old soldier wakes alone, staring up at the night sky beside the lake. Cold sand presses against his back, where he'd simply dropped in his tracks. Water is lapping at one of his feet, damp and uncomfortable in the joints. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, staring at it.]

[And for the first time since his arrival, he notices the barest hint of neon paint transfer, caught in the scars and grooves of his palm.]

[... you're stronger than this.]


Old fool...
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: (Running to fight)
[The voice that suddenly booms over the journals should be familiar to some.  And, if not, it's certainly loud and attention-getting.  Someone is clearly unhappy.]

This... is a lie. It must be. It cannot be possible -- not again!

[A pause.  There's some mechanical shifting while the party in question tries to remain calm.  There is also a sound like... water dripping?]

Who is listening? Can anyone hear me! This is Ironhide -- stuck in some... room somewhere. With a talking book. And no frog. I had a frog on me a moment ago.

[Another pause -- and he's right back to being borderline frantic.]

... Ratchet! Do you read this? Answer me! ... Answer me. You must be here.
heavyweaponsbot: (We are not amused)
[The com crackles. Ironhide shakes it. He hasn't bothered to go find his "living quarters". Not yet. He has a far more important job to attend to.

When the comm finally starts up, the voice on his end is deep, faintly accented, and still very angry.]

Autobots. Come in. Respond! I have lost your signals... answer me!

[When there is no immediate response, he snarls into it, then goes silent for several minutes.]


Where is this place?
heavyweaponsbot: (Event | Ratchet's never looked angrier)
[The video opens on Ratchet.  Who looks exceedingly peeved.  Moreso than those familiar with him may have ever seen him.  In fact, he looks as if he'd very much like to rip his communicator in half.]

Whoever is in possession of my medic will inform me of his whereabouts.  Immediately!  Or I shall tear you apart!

Where has the captain put him!  Answer me!

[... well.  That's certainly not something Ratchet would ever say.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Human | BOTCOCK DAMMIT)
[When the comm is picked up, Ironhide starts out perfectly calm and composed.  Even so, there is an odd quality to his voice that isn't usually present.]

For the last time...

[And then he promptly bellows into the comms.]


Autobot!  I am Autobot!  Not... What is the meaning of this!  Bumblebee, Ratchet.  Respond.  Are you still... hmnf.  Is anyone else ... different?

((ooc: Thanks for the
humanizing, captain!))
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: (What are you saying?)
[Well! Here's a voice that hasn't been heard in some time. You all have Jak to thank for this. And no, he doesn't sound frantic, don't you dare suggest it, you're imagining things.]

Ratchet! Respond! Where--Has anyone seen him!


What has happened?

[Locked to Jazz, and King: 85% Unhackable]

No good with apologies. But I... I am sorry.
heavyweaponsbot: (Sideglance FTW)
[He had come to a conclusion. A conversation needed to be had. About... certain things. And he needed to do it now, before he lost his nerve.

Unfortunately, Ratchet wasn't in his room. Either of their rooms. Nor was he in the library, or the caves. Or the forest.

... How hard could it possibly be to find one neon Autobot? Especially on this boat?

Eventually, he winds his way up to the top deck, spending a moment staring out over the water, before heading toward the mini-golf course. Maybe the medic would be there.]

((ooc: Aimed at [livejournal.com profile] medicalofficer, but people can bump into him on his search if they like.))
heavyweaponsbot: (OH FUCK MY LIFE)
[Ironhide has never sounded this awkward or embarrassed in his entire time aboard the ship. He doesn't even seem able to quite get coherent words out of himself.]

I... I need... to find books. Certain... books. Of... questionable content. I... do not ask this lightly, I...

Need books about... human... mating. Do not ask.

Hate my life.

((ooc: Ironhide chucked Ratchet's books out the window. See? His wife is not happy.))
heavyweaponsbot: (OH FUCK MY LIFE)
Is there nowhere on this ship that is not freezing? Joints are rusting in this.

[Some scraping sounds over the coms - the old!bot is on the move, despite the creak and groan of a certain half-functional limb.]

Tell me there is somewhere free of this... holiday nonsense.

[He's wandering as he speaks, so feel free to run into him, if you so choose. ]


If Ratchet ventures outside his door... this book is sitting outside it. He found it in the giant luggage pile.

If Mikaela pokes her head out... there's a pink sweater, about three sizes too small, in the snow outside her door.

If Blurr comes outside... there's a cube of energon. He was a little stumped on that one.

And if Gannondorf or Shockwave come out... there are a few scattered pieces of fish!corpse outside their doors.

It seems that, despite claiming to hate the afforementioned parties, someone made an attempt at peacemaking. Sort of. Which happens to coincide with Christmas.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Interesting.  Does it explode?)
. . .

[Awkward silence for a few moments.]

Anyone here know how to dispose of a corpse on this ship? Particularly one that is... falling apart...

((ooc: Yes, the fish that so traumatized Mikaela, and had taken up residence in Ironhide's bathtub... has passed on. He's not allowed pets.))
heavyweaponsbot: (Hide your pain)
I tire of this ship, its crew, and its... holidays. I have no use for these toys. What is the meaning of this?

And is there nowhere I can have a proper spar? Settle for the bees again, if nothing else...


[The comm clicks off. If anyone is so inclined, the weapons master can be found down in the caves, brooding, and occasionally slamming a fist or two into the walls.

As for his squeaky whale, it has been deposited safely in front of a certain medical officer's door without so much as a word on the subject.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Truth will show)
[Following this conversation, a certain weapons master has stomped out of his room, headed down the halls for a certain neon medic's.

He was just hung up on. He was just hung up on. Why? What was wrong with the medic?

The stingers from the bees were in one hand. If anything, he could make a peace offering. He was fighting with Mikaela off and on, there were too many Decepticons, and now his closest friend just hung up on him.

He reached the door, and pounded on it.]

Open up.

((ooc: Anyone can accost him on his little march down the hallway ^^))
heavyweaponsbot: (Give me the strength)

What... Hmn.

If... one... were keeping... a creature... hypothetically. How... would one... keep it functional?

[Grumbles to himself for a minute - the words aren't distinguishable, but it's obvious he's just... annoyed he has to ask this question, and eager to move on to another topic.]

I was informed that if we have something... broken... in our rooms... we were to report it. I am reporting it.

Someone repair this thing before I trip over it. Again.

[Another pause]

Mikaela. You all right?
heavyweaponsbot: (More than I can compute)
[The audio feed turns on, and for a moment, there's no sound, except for the shifting of metal. It would seem the maker of this transmission is "asleep", for lack of a better word. And then... there is the sound of tiny feet on metal.]


[More metal shifting. A voice muttering something in Cybertronian. And then...]

Hmn? What...

[A pause.]


[A loud thud!, some frantic ribbit-ing, and scraping of metal against the floor.]

((ooc: ... Yeah, C4 just keeps on making friends wherever he goes. Follows this.))


heavyweaponsbot: (Default)

June 2014

222324252627 28


RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags