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: (Save your fears)
...

Rodents are supposed to die when you step on them. What is the matter with these creatures!

[There are a series of loud stomps, followed by cursing. In many languages.]

Get away! Disgusting little beasts!
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: (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.]

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Ironhide

June 2014

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