heavyweaponsbot: (Action pose go!)
-- Eugh! Filthy... wretched...! Off me!

[Well. Anyone who was wondering where the hell Ironhide went off to, look no further for your answer. There are crashing sounds as the big Autobot tears his way out of the jungle. Underbrush is trampled, trees actually punched -- despite the fact that it doesn't really help matters.]

Where is that energon...

[He does sound displeased, more so than usual. Tramping around the jungle, getting stuck, and deprived of fuel for a long while doesn't do wonders for the old 'Bot's temper. And the rain isn't helping matters.]

I hate this place.
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: (Give me the strength)
... If it does not stop being wet and damp in here, I am going to rust. Or be forced to watch my joints seize up. Or let my systems run so low, they become virus-ridden.

This is stupid.

[He knows he sounds sulky, but right now, he doesn't care. Stupid boat.]

Is this foolishness going to continue every time the weather changes?
heavyweaponsbot: (Stand alone complex)
... so this is what we recieve from our captors, hmn? A reminder of all we have been taken from?

Hmpf. Foolish. Should just leave us be.

[Ironhide is still in the bar, for all interested parties, where it's warm and he's left relatively alone. Or so he believes. He's currently hunched up in a corner, being a brooding black lump. One of the picture-type gifts from the tree is in his hand, and if anyone approaches they may get a brief look at what it is.]
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: (This is the only way)
[There are dragging, scraping sounds as the comm clicks on, and they continue throughout the transmission.]

I require...

[A long pause, as if the next part is physically painful to say.]

... a mechanic. And a drink.

[The comm clicks off there, as the speaker continues hauling his broken old aft toward his quarters.]
heavyweaponsbot: (Human | NOT THE FUCKING TOOTHFARY)
...

[The com clicks on. And there is a long... long silence. Some shifting in the background. Unlike previous transmissions, this one lacks the distinct creaking sounds of metal. At last, a voice speaks. While familiar, it is not... the same as before.]

...

I require... [another pause] I... need... hmn.

Clothing. Covering. Now.
heavyweaponsbot: (Truth will show)
I begin to loathe this boat nearly as much as aircraft... Going to rust in all this... damp.

Need something to keep from stiffening up. Some sort of exercise... Only so many times I can drive around these decks. Unlike some, I do not enjoy poking holes in turf, or studying these yellow creatures all day.

Hmnf.

Open to... suggestion.
heavyweaponsbot: (Right will win)

[Gears and joints crack over the line--someone's working the kinks out]

Better. 

About time this place ceased altering my structure.  Tired of looking like Ratchet too...  So now what?  Do we continue sitting by...?  Or do we try and get answers out of these... people?

Could use a drink too.

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Ironhide

June 2014

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