heavyweaponsbot: (Optimus I am disappoint.)
Melee tournament, huh?

[He sounds so unimpressed... but...]

Then I will be entering this tournament.

[His voice has a tone of 'whether you like it or not', despite the fact he doesn't come out and say it.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Save your fears)
I want a status report! Infected, well, whatever, sound off.

Xanth, Zuko. Tell me you are unharmed.

Some illness will not affect me. I will protect anyone who requires it.

[With or without a response, the big Autobot is going zombie stomping, looking for his kids.]
heavyweaponsbot: (All Spark why would you even --)
[Granted, Ironhide is an alien robot. However, that does not mean he likes getting snow in places. Or the cold. He never has.]

[He was out stomping around the castle grounds when the snow suddenly hit. And by the time he gets inside, he's covered in white, slightly damp... and incredibly grouchy about the whole thing.]


Where is the nearest heat source? Going to rust if this all stays... like it is.
heavyweaponsbot: (I dislike this plan.)
Headcount. Who all here remembers the Elegante? Speak up.

[There's a couple reasons for asking. The general headcount, and asking a few important questions that came up when he spoke to Zuko.]

Need to figure some things out.
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: (We are not amused)
What has happened this time? Who is responsible for all these deaths? Hmn?

[There's the sound of a heavy fist impacting a wall. Someone is very displeased by all this death nonsense. Someone he reasonably liked was among the dead, if the comms were any indication.]

I want an explanation.

Now.
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: (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: (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.]

MAKE UP YOUR MIND!  

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: (Your plan is dumb)
[Today, the Elegante will be graced with a roaming, restless Autobot. He starts out up on the top deck, practicing combat drills. There's only so much he can do just hitting bees. Granted, he is working alone, but it's better than nothing. He'll be up there, rolling, running, and punching at the air for several hours before heading out.

Next stop is Deck 12, to gather up more scrap metal. He's there for about half an hour, rooting around, finding things like staples, jewelry and the like.

Lastly, he goes to the bar for a refueling. Which he will sit and drink slowly, scowling at the general area around him. Despite feeling somewhat accomplished, he's also feeling stiff from the workout, and that, inevitably, makes him grouchy.

Approach?]


((ooc: Open to anyone at any point!))
heavyweaponsbot: (Hide your pain)
[If one listens closely, they may hear a soft smack-smack of fish tails against fishy bodies, as Ironhide turns on his comm.]

I do not see how this qualifies as a punishment.  Not so bad... Once you get used to it...

This is not going to deter me from taking action against anything, Captain.  Especially not from protecting my charges from mad women and other organics... who have more disgusting tastes than mere murder.


[Of course, Ironhide is not mentioning the fact that he hasn't rested lately, thanks to the fish he's covered in bursting into song on every hour.]
heavyweaponsbot: (FLAWLESS.  VICTORY.)
Unless there is anyone with a useful proposal for my time, I will be occupied on deck six.

[Punching bees: what giant robots do in their downtime, kids. Of course, he won't come right out and say this.]

I grow tired of individuals who are too incompetent to work a simple communications device.

Hmnf!
heavyweaponsbot: (This waking hell I am)
[Careful observers of transmissions may have noticed an absence of a big, black presence. Especially where one Mikaela Banes was concerned. In fact, he hasn't made a peep since he and Ratchet went to investigate the restaurants.

He is, however, making amends for it now. Crashing his way down the decks and hallways, attacking nearly anything that moves, leaving a wake of destruction in his path... With a large smear of neon paint on one fist...

Said careful observers may also notice the bit of jewel--hard to distinguish amidst the scars and bits of metal he's made of--set into the semi-circular piece on his helm.

Approach?]
heavyweaponsbot: (WTF JUST HAPPENED HERE.)
... Ow! Rocks...?

[Silence - except for the familiar creaking and groaning of metal as Ironhide looks around. When he speaks, the gravely, aged voice is back. He does sound more... groggy... than usual. "Hungover", would be a better word.]

What... just happened...? Why... am I in... the bar?

[And as it all dawns on him. Crap, crap, crap.]

... I can explain everything. To all of you. Ratchet--I did... not mean to leave...
heavyweaponsbot: (FLAWLESS.  VICTORY.)
[The following transmission has been backdated to the end of the hour after this occurred. Ironhide was "assaulted" by dancing macaroni in his personal space.]

Little scraplets! Be quiet I say!

[There's the sound of heavy metal feet impacting the floor, and the muted crunch of dried pasta. Eventually, as the hour winds down, the singing dies away, and Ironhide stops destroying his room killing macaroni.]

...

Hah! I have done it!

Now who is in control, Captain? Hmn! Your little tricks are worthless! I have defeated them.

[No, no he hasn't, the time just ran out. But he just sounds so proud of himself...]

I win.
heavyweaponsbot: (Sideglance FTW)
If this crew is finished calling their master down on us, I will repeat a previous statement.

I have a frog. I want a question answered. Answer me.




[Locked to Leonardo - 90% Unhackable]
Asking if you are all right is foolish. I will not. I... [Awkwardly] I will only apologize. Should have kept my vocals mute.

Especially since I have no room to talk, when it comes to ignoring that creature calling himself a captain.


[Locked to Ratchet - Unhackable]
Hey. You uh... you got a minute?
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. ]



[ALSO.

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: (Soldiers stand or die)
I grow tired of listening to constant lies regarding the state of our homeworlds. Been asked why this... crew... would lie to us. When they stated they would not.

[He snorts]

I ask why they would not.

They wish to keep us here, hmn? Must have been a lot of work to gather us all... why would they want us to slip away? To look for an escape? Waste of all their efforts. Best to keep your prisoners compliant... when there are so many more of them than there are guards. Or, shall I say... crew?

I do not believe their story. Not asking anyone to agree with me, I do not care if you do or do not.

Just saying.

[And the comm clicks off.]

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Ironhide

June 2014

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