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: (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.]


Hmn.

Old fool...
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: (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: (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: (OH FUCK MY LIFE)
[Sand in his joints, a gaping hole in his chest, no medic, no other Autobots, no way home... a tiny rodent following him around everywhere...

And now.

Snow.]

...

I hate this place.

[The big Autobot is standing in front of his pod, kicking his feet, and trying to shake the snow out of gaps in his armor, shuddering all the while.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Rise or fall)
[If it's possible for a five-ton Autobot to sound tired, Ironhide does.  Not nearly as much as he would, if he'd been organic, but still.  And then, finding the ship in complete disarray?  Not so good on the nerves.]

We... have returned.  All those who lived. 

[A pause, and he cycles air through his intakes.]

The one we went in for, the female, has been secured.  I want a status report from... anyone who can give it.  On the ship, on... yourselves.

[And anyone he cares about -- YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.]
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: (FLAWLESS.  VICTORY.)
[Ironhide was going to speak up, to say something - check on Mikaela, bother his team, something.  But when he flips through the network, and notices another missing ID...

There's just an angry snarl before the comm goes dead.

Then he's off, storming around the ship.  He doesn't deal with loss all that well - he doesn't deal with feelings all that well.  He ends up on the Bee Deck, as usual, and just starts punching the nearest buzzing creature he can find.

Should anyone come across him, he'll still be there, whacking insects and growling to himself in Cybertronian.]
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: (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: (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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