41st Transmission

[heavyweaponsbot]

... 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?

Comments

[heavyweaponsbot]

No. Just asking.

[autodidacticone.livejournal.com]

Would you like a coating of rustguard, Ironhide?

[heavyweaponsbot]

[A grunt.]

Ratchet assures me it is not necessary.

[autodidacticone.livejournal.com]

Yeah, and neither are painkillers, but I still like having them around.

[Kimmi's not asking what Ratchet wants, Ironhide. Actually, come to think of it...]

Who's Ratchet?

[heavyweaponsbot]

My medic. Whose opinion I trust above all others.

[autodidacticone.livejournal.com]

Oh? I'd like to meet him...her? It.

...

I'd like to meet your friend.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[A pause.]

He... is busy peeling plastic off his faceplates.

[autodidacticone.livejournal.com]

...Why?

[heavyweaponsbot]

Because it is stuck there.

[autodidacticone.livejournal.com]

Oh.

[She thought it was something more interesting and briefly entertained a complex theory about facial blemishes and mechanical acne]

Well. If youuuu change your mind. Or, whenever he's finished, I mean.

I'm available.

[heavyweaponsbot]

[No, Ratchet's just curious.]

We have it noted.